The Danger

'Were there a lot of people on the beach?' I asked.

'Yes, yes there were… it was so warm… But I was watching him, I could see him all the time…'

'And what happened?' I said.

'It was the boat…'

'What boat?'

'The boat on fire. I was watching it. Everyone was watching it. And then… when I looked back… he wasn't there. I wasn't scared. It was less than a minute… I thought he'd be going over to look at the boat… I was looking for him… and then the little girl gave me the note… and I read it…'

The awfulness of that moment swept over her again like a tidal wave. The cup and saucer rattled and Alessia took them from her.

'I shouted for him everywhere… I ran up and down… I couldn't believe it… I couldn't… I'd seen him such a short time ago, just a minute… and then I came up here… I don't know how I got up here… I telephoned John… and I've left all our things… on the beach.'

'When is high tide?' I said.

She looked at me vaguely. 'This morning… The tide had just gone out… the sand was all wet…'

'And the boat? Where was the boat?'

'On the sand.'

'What sort of boat?' I asked.

She looked bewildered. 'A sailing dinghy. What does it matter? There are millions of sailing dinghies round here.'

But millions of sailing dinghies didn't go on fire at the exact moment that a small child was kidnapped. A highly untrustworthy coincidence of timing.

'Both of you drink more tea,' I said. 'I'll go down and fetch the things from the beach. Then I'll ring Mr Nerrity…'

'No,' Miranda interrupted compulsively. 'Don't. Don't.'

'But we must.'

'He's so angry,' she said piteously. 'He's… livid. He says it's my fault… He's so angry… you don't know what he's like… I don't want to talk to him… I can't.'

'Well,' I said. 'I'll telephone from another place. Not this room. I'll be as quick as I can. Will you both be all right?'

Alessia nodded, although she was herself shaking, and I went downstairs and found a public telephone tucked into a private corner of the entrance hall.;

Tony Vine answered from John Nerrity's number.

'Are you alone?' I asked.

'No. Are you?'

'Yes. What's the score?'

'The pinchers have told him he'll get his boy safe… on conditions.'

'Such as?'

'Five million.'

'For God's sake,' I said, 'has he got five million?' The Breakwater Hotel, nice enough, wasn't a millionaire's playground.

'He's got a horse,' Tony said baldly.

A horse.

Ordinand, winner of the Derby.

'Ordinand?' I said.

'No slouch, are you? Yeah, Ordinand. The pinchers want him to sell it at once.'

'How did they tell him?' I asked.

'On the telephone. No tap, of course, at that point. He says it was a rough voice full of slang. Aggressive. A lot of threats.'

I told Tony about the block-lettered note. 'Same level of language?'

'Yeah.' Tony's occasional restraint in the matter of eff this and eff that was always a source of wonder, but la fact he m seldom let rip in front of clients. 'Mr Nerrity's chief, not to say sole, asset, as I understand it, is the horse. He is… er

'Spitting mad?'! suggested. 01 'Yeah.'

I half smiled. 'Mrs Nerrity is faintly scared of him.

'Not in the least surprising.'

I told Tony how the kidnap had been worked and said I thought the police ought to investigate the dinghy very fast. 'Have you told the local fuzz anything yet?8

'No. Miranda will take a bit of persuading. I'll do it next. What have you told them from your end?'

'Nothing so far. I tell Mr Nerrity we can't help him without the police, but you know what it's like. 'Mm. I'll call you again, shortly.'

'Yeah.' He put his receiver down and I strolled out of the hotel and rolled my trouser legs up to the knees on the edge of the shingle, sliding down the banks of pebbles in great strides towards the sand. Once there I took off shoes and socks and ambled along carrying them, enjoying the evening sun.

There were a few breakwaters at intervals along the beach, black fingers stretching stumpily seawards, rotten in places and overgrown with molluscs and seaweed. Miranda's chair, towels and paraphernalia were alone on the shingle, most other people having packed up for the day; and not far away there was still a red plastic bucket and a blue plastic spade on the ground beside a half-trampled sandcastle. The British seaside public, I reflected, were still remarkably honest.

The burnt remains of the dinghy were the focal point for the few people still on the sand, the returning tide already swirling an inch deep around the hull. I walked over there as if drawn like everyone else, and took the closest possible look, paddling, like others, to see inside the shell.

The boat had been fibreglass and had melted as it burned. There were no discernible registration numbers on what was left of the exterior, and although the mast, which was aluminium, had survived the blaze and still pointed heavenward like an exclamation mark, the sail, which would have born identification, lay in ashes round its foot. Something in the scorched mess might tell a tale - but the tide was inexorable.

'Shouldn't we try to haul it up to the shingle?' I suggested to a man paddling like myself.

He shrugged. 'Not our business.'

'Has anyone told the police?' I said.

He shrugged again. 'Search me.'

I paddled round to the other side of the remains and tried another more responsible-looking citizen but he too shook his head and muttered about being late already, and it was two fourteen-sized boys, overhearing, who said they would give me a hand, if I liked.

They were strong and cheerful. They lifted, strained, staggered willingly. The keel slid up the sand leaving a deep single track and between us we manhandled it up the shingle to where the boys said the tide wouldn't reach it to whisk it away.

'Thanks,' I said.

They beamed. We all stood hands on hips admiring the result of our labours and then they too said they had to be off home to supper. They loped away, vaulting a breakwater, and I collected the bucket and spade and all Miranda's belongings and carried them up to her room.

Neither she nor Alessia was in good shape, and Alessia, if anything, seemed the more relieved at my return. I gave her a reassuring hug, and to Miranda I said, 'We're going to have to get the police.'

'No.' She was terrified. 'No… no…'

'Mm.' I nodded. 'Believe me, it's best. The people who've taken Dominic don't want to kill him, they want to sell him back to you safe and sound. Hold on to that. The police will be very helpful and we can arrange things so that the kidnappers won't know we've told them. I'll do that. The police will want to know what Dominic was wearing on the beach, and if you have a photograph, that would be great.'

She wavered helplessly. 'John said… keep quiet, I'd done enough damage…'

I picked up the telephone casually and got through again to her husband's number. Tony again answered.

'Andrew,' I said.

'Oh.' His voice lost its tension; he'd been expecting the kidnappers.

'Mrs Nerrity will agree to informing the police on her husband's say-so.'

'Go ahead then. He understands we can't act for him without. He… er… doesn't want us to leave him. He's just this minute decided, when he heard the 'phone ring.'

'Good. Hang on…' I turned to Miranda. 'Your husband says we can tell the police. Do you want to talk to him?'

She shook her head violently. 'OK.' I said to Tony. 'Let's get started and I'll call you later.'

'What was the kid wearing?' he asked.