‘Morton, lovely to see you again.’
It was him. The strange man on Mermaid Street with the pint of beer. The same man that Morton suspected had broken into his house last night.
‘Listen, I won’t beat around the bush. You and I aren’t silly. Look around you—you’re not going to do anything stupid, so we’ll just assume that you’re going to comply. Yes?’
Morton thought about his situation for a brief second: his hands were bound tightly behind his back; he was in the middle of nowhere and he was surrounded by five beefy men, who could quite easily have stepped straight from a Bond film. No, he wasn’t about to do anything stupid. ‘Yes,’ he replied flatly.
‘Excellent!’ Kevin said, moving closer to Morton. He crouched down in front of him. ‘What I need are the original indentures for the America Ground. Simple, really.’
Morton was confused. ‘They were stolen from my house last night,’ he answered.
Kevin laughed. It was a peculiar fake laugh that unnerved Morton. ‘The originals,’ he repeated.
Morton looked dumbfounded. He was asking for the indentures, yet he had to have been the one to have stolen them. It made no sense. ‘You took them from my house last night,’ he answered.
‘I thought we agreed no games. I don’t want to hurt you, Morton. I really don’t. It’s been a good few years since anything like this has been necessary and, to be honest, I’m getting past it. Do you know what I mean? Heading to retirement. So, where are the indentures?’
‘Right. Someone—not you evidently—but someone, broke into my house last night and stole them-’
‘Yeah, that was us,’ he interrupted, acknowledging the other men with a grin.
‘Sorry, but I’m lost,’ Morton answered, his fear merging with irritation. ‘No games. I had only one set of indentures in my possession and you stole them.’
Kevin sniffed and the grin dropped from his face. He stood, towering over Morton. ‘I want the originals, not these.’ He stopped mid-sentence and held his hand out to one of the men, who handed him the two vellums. ‘Not these, fake things.’
‘Fake?’ Morton repeated. ‘What do you mean? They’re originals. I even had a solicitor look at them.’
‘Don’t mess me around, Morton. I really don’t have the patience. Just tell me where the originals are.’
‘I don’t know!’ Morton snapped. ‘I thought they were originals.’
Kevin nodded to one of the other heavies beside Morton, who suddenly pulled out a short flick-knife and pressed it to Morton’s neck.
‘Where are they?’ Kevin shouted, hurling the indentures to the floor.
‘I swear, I’ve no idea,’ Morton pleaded, his voice a faint whimper. The blade was pressing harder and harder into his carotid artery; he could feel the first trickle of blood running down his neck, pooling in the hollow of his clavicle. ‘The person who gave them to me found them a few weeks ago…in the back of a painting…I’m trying to find…’—the blade pressed more deeply—‘If the originals exist, then I can find them for you.’
Another nod from Kevin and the blade was removed. ‘They exist alright. Find them how?’ he quizzed.
‘By finding their previous owners,’ Morton said, his voice shaking.
Kevin laughed. ‘Yeah, that sounds easy enough.’
‘I can do it; it must be a family member who had them copied—if they could prove exceptional circumstances then they could challenge the ownership of the land. Is that why you want them? Are you related to the Lovekins?’
‘It doesn’t matter why I want them—just accept the fact that I do.’ Kevin stared at Morton expressionlessly.
‘Why are you so sure they even still exist?’ Morton asked.
‘I just am. What if I do let you go off and find them? The first thing you’ll do is go to the police.’
‘I won’t,’ Morton vowed.
Kevin laughed. ‘No, I know you won’t.’ He stood up and rubbed his hands together and Morton prepared himself again for the blade. But it didn’t come. The man faced Morton. ‘I’ve got a few contacts in Sussex Police.’
Morton nodded then flinched when the man thrust his face just inches away from his.
‘Juliette Meade,’ he said. ‘A good police constable—she’s got what it takes, apparently. A strong contender to rise through the ranks.’
‘I won’t tell her,’ Morton promised.
‘Again, I know you won’t. I don’t think you’re that stupid that you would put two pieces of paper before your fiancée’s career and your wellbeing.’
‘So are you going to let me go, then and get on with it?’ Morton asked, his fright tipping into a growing confidence.
‘You’ve got one week to find them, otherwise you’re back here...’
‘Fine,’ Morton retorted. ‘Now, can I have those back, please?’ He nodded his head towards the indentures on the floor.
‘Why not, they’re bloody useless as they are.’ Kevin bent down, picked up the hood and placed it back over Morton’s head. ‘Take him back.’
‘Wait! How will I get them to you?’ Morton asked, as he was dragged to his feet.
‘Don’t you worry about that, Morton; we’ll always be watching your every move.’
Kevin’s manic laughter echoed in the barn, fading quickly as Morton was shoved back outside towards the car.
Thirty-five minutes later, Morton was standing beside his Mini watching the BMW speeding away. Almost on the verge of collapsing, his body spent from the adrenalin overload, he placed his trembling hands on the bonnet of his car and took some long deep breaths to steady himself. He touched the cut on his neck and flinched. It had thankfully stopped bleeding now but was nonetheless painful and his white shirt was bloodstained down one side. He knew that he had been very lucky to walk out
