“So, where’s he gone, and why?” asked Briggs. “And why was it so important that he had to leave without calling us?”
“Christ! Would you look at that? My phone’s not even switched on, so it isn’t.” As soon as it was, Reilly had a voicemail message. He listened intently.
“Is it your boss?” Briggs asked.
“No. Laura. Her car’s broken down. But she hasn’t said where, just that she’s phoned the recovery people.”
“Is she okay?” asked Malcolm.
“I’ll give her a ring at home, she should be there by now.” Briggs’ concerned expression did little to abate the feeling in Reilly’s mind. The Irishman disconnected after ten rings.
“No answer?” asked Briggs.
“No.”
He called her mobile. On the third ring, a male voice answered. “Erik speaking.”
“Erik!” repeated Reilly. “Who the feck is Erik?”
“Oh, Mr Reilly... I’m sure you know the answer to that by now.”
The connection died. Reilly tried again but the phone had been switched off.
“Erik?” Briggs asked.
“Corndell!” Reilly threw the phone on the chair. It landed next to Gardener’s. “That bastard has Laura somewhere.”
“Why Erik?” asked Briggs. “Who does he think he is now?”
“I suspect he thinks he’s the Phantom,” said Malcolm. “From the film.”
“Oh Jesus!” replied Briggs.
“Who he is or who he thinks he is, doesn’t matter,” said Reilly. “Where he is, that’s what I want to know. When I find out, I’m going to kill him.”
Reilly’s temper scaled new heights, his fists clenching and unclenching. As far as he was concerned, Corndell had signed his own death warrant.
“Calm down, Sean,” said Briggs. “Losing your temper won’t help Laura.”
“Won’t help Corndell either, when I find him. So, where the hell is Stewart?” asked Reilly. “He must know something, which is why he’s left here without telling anyone. He hasn’t even left a note. That means he was in a hurry.”
Reilly hoped so, because the only thing that would stop him wiping Corndell from the face of the earth was if his partner found him first.
Briggs phoned and informed the station before putting his mobile in his pocket. “I think I know where they might be.”
Chapter Fifty-four
Gardener parked the car and switched off the engine. He remained in the vehicle, studying the building opposite: what was thought to be a disused warehouse. He now knew better. In the sodium glow of the streetlamps it resembled the mausoleum he imagined it would be inside. The sky was clear, and he noticed the start of a slight ground frost.
After the disagreement with the UPS driver, Gardener had gone back inside the house and forced himself to remain calm. It was the only way he was going to think rationally. It was obvious who had paid the driver five hundred pounds to deliver the package containing a clue as to whom he held hostage. But it didn’t tell him where.
For that, he had to rely on his police instinct and his memory. The warehouse behind the Playhouse was where the watch committee had held their screenings, the very same group of people that had banned William Henry Corndell’s film Imperfection. That’s where he had to be.
He’d phoned the station to find out that Reilly and Briggs had gone to see Trevor Thorpe, after which they were going to Corndell’s with an arrest warrant. Gardener figured they would have been far too late.
In the car, he glanced at the parcel he’d received and removed the photo and the newspaper clipping. The photo was of Laura. The clipping was the damning review she had written about Corndell’s performance at the university theatre. So, it was pretty obvious that he had Laura in there. And during the time that Gardener had spent with Fettle, Corndell had probably taken his father. So, God knows what he was going to walk into.
Glancing at the dashboard clock, it was six-fifteen. He knew that he shouldn’t walk in there alone, but calling for backup could waste vital time. Nevertheless, he owed Sean that much.
Reaching into his jacket pocket revealed he did not have his mobile. In that instinctive moment of panic he tried every pocket he had, before reaching into the glove compartment, even though he knew it wouldn’t be there.
A picture suddenly came to mind: he had thrown the phone on to an armchair before he’d gone to see who was at the door. He obviously hadn’t retrieved it. So now he had no choice but to walk blindly into the situation alone – seeing as public phone boxes were a thing of the past.
Annoyed with himself, Gardener stepped out of the car and locked the door. He saw little point in scurrying over to the warehouse. Knowing what he knew about Corndell and how security conscious he was, there would most definitely be CCTV watching his every move.
He confidently strolled to the building and opened the side door next to a roller shutter door. It was unlocked. As he thought, he was expected.
* * *
The first thing he noticed about the inside of the warehouse was the clinical silence. Standing still, he could hear absolutely nothing. That made things worse, because he would almost certainly telegraph his moves.
Glancing around, he saw what he presumed was the missing limo, and the large white truck parked in front of a corridor with rooms either side. As he crept forward and glanced in, the first office had a computer terminal and monitor, which was on stand-by. There was also a variety of other electrical equipment including, as he’d suspected, CCTV. As the screens revealed, it was also linked to Corndell’s house.
Opposite that office was another. Standing on a tripod was a movie camera. The room had plain, bland walls, with a chair in front of one of them. There was no carpet. Gardener suspected it was the room where
