‘Stolen, sir?’
‘Not as far as we know. They’re easy enough to get hold of, government surplus. All you’d need is a transfer to stick the royal cipher on the side and you’re away. Or paint it on,’ he added glumly.
‘No windows,’ Dover pointed out, on the grounds that every little helps.
‘Quite,’ said Commander Brockhurst.
MacGregor still had to play it clever, of course. ‘It’s an interesting repetition of the modus operandi, though, isn’t it, sir?’
‘Is it?’
MacGregor smiled patronisingly at the commander. Of course, he wasn’t anything like as thick as Dover but. . . ‘Their use of discarded public utility vehicles, sir, so as to avoid calling attention to themselves. First a London taxi in London and then a little red Post Office van in the country. What could be more inconspicuous?’
‘And you couldn’t look in and see it was a baby and not letters,’ said Dover, just to show he was still there, ‘because there wouldn’t be any bloody windows.’
‘We’d better get on,’ said Commander Brockhurst wearily. ‘The au pair girl’s body was dragged out of sight into the shrubbery and the empty pram was hidden there, too. At about four o’clock Mrs Sleight came home – she has her own car. She thought at first that Greta had got the baby out for a walk although it was beginning to grow dark. Then she found the washing-up half-done in the kitchen, no signs of anybody having had lunch and the baby’s feed still in the fridge. Once her suspicions were aroused she soon found Greta’s body and the empty pram. She phoned her father in Downing Street immediately and that’s when things began to hum.’
‘I’ll bet!’ chuckled Dover.
‘We’re doing no more than we’d do in any case of kidnapping,’ said Commander Brockhurst self-righteously, until he remembered to whom he was speaking. ‘Of juvenile kidnapping,’ he amended lamely. ‘Er, yes – well, actually we’d already received a message at the Yard before the PM’s people got on to us, but nobody’d had time to do much about it. The first reaction was that it was a hoax, of course. Somebody – a man, no distinguishing accent – rang up the Church Times and told the girl on the switchboard there to take a message. He didn’t give her time to write it down properly but she got the gist of it all right. The Claret Tappers had kidnapped the grandson of the Prime Minister and he would eventually be returned unharmed provided all their demands were met. He – the caller, that is – pointed out that no harm had come to Chief Inspector Dover when he was in their hands but that, equally, they hadn’t hesitated to kill the au pair girl when she got in their way. He offered this as evidence that the gang could be perfectly reasonable or perfectly ruthless, according to how they were treated.’
‘That’s meant to reassure people that the baby will be quite sate if the ransom’s paid,’ said MacGregor wisely. ‘That’s always the danger in kidnapping cases. A dead victim’s a damned sight less dangerous and less trouble than a live one. Did they offer any proof that they actually had the Sleight baby, sir?’
‘They described what the kid was wearing,’ said Commander Brockhurst. ‘It seemed to fit.’
‘And they actually mentioned that they’d kept Mr Dover locked in the lavatory, did they, sir?’
The scowl that Commander Brockhurst produced wouldn’t have looked out of place on Dover’s ugly mug. ‘I’ve already said that, sergeant! Don’t keep harping on it!’
‘Sorry, sir,’ murmured MacGregor, knowing that he had to keep on the right side of the commander if ever he was to secure his release from Dover. ‘Is there anything else?’
Commander Brockhurst began to relight his pipe. ‘Only that we were warned to start collecting half a million pounds in fivers and tenners and to await further instructions. There’s also some rubbish about the release of prisoners but there are no details as yet.’
There was a pause with everybody in the room thinking and nobody saying anything. Dover was having quite a job keeping his eyes open, but being dead scared of Commander Brockhurst helped. MacGregor had been taking notes and now, as he frowned in deep thought, he began to tap his teeth with his pencil. The noise was just beginning to grate on everybody’s nerves when MacGregor broke oft to ask yet another question.
‘Why did the kidnappers ring the Church Times, sir?’
Dover leapt on what bit of a bandwaggon presented itself. ‘I was wondering about that.’
Commander Brockhurst looked highly sceptical but it was getting late and there was little kudos to be gained from cutting Dover down to size. ‘We’re not sure why they picked on the Church Times,’ he admitted. ‘My own personal theory is that there were a number of reasons. In the first place, it’s a responsible journal staffed by responsible people. ‘This would ensure that the Claret Tappers’ message was passed on. Secondly, it’s highly unlikely that the message would be recorded. You know what national newspaper offices are like these days. Tape-recorders all over the blooming place. Same with the Yard, of course. Anybody on our switchboard would have tried to record that message the minute he suspected what it was.’
‘That seems a very likely explanation, sir,’ said MacGregor with the smile of a hopeful sycophant.
‘I’m glad it meets with your approval, sergeant!’ Commander Brockhurst laid his pipe aside because it was really making him feel quite sick. ‘Well, that’s put you both in the picture! Now, we’re tackling this problem from every conceivable angle, but that’s not your concern. What I want you two to do is to go over every single detail of Chief Inspector Dover’s kidnapping. Everything, you
