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Part Three: Ransom

It took over two hours to trace the ransom call. Hugh Reid finally reported that it had come from a public phone box in Carlisle Parade near the seafront. The detectives were disappointed; they had hoped to pinpoint the location to an address. Foyle told Sam to drive Milner back to the station to arrange for surveillance of the area in case the follow-up call was placed in the same vicinity. He knew it was unlikely, but for now it was the only lead they had.

He himself chose to stay at the flat so as to be on hand when the second call came. He kept a close eye on the American woman. This bizarre situation had to be a nightmare for her, especially so soon after losing her husband, but she was managing to keep her composure. After Milner and Sam returned from the school she had fallen silent, alternating between pacing anxiously and staring blindly out the window. A number of times in his career Foyle had found his ability to concentrate on a case seriously hampered by outbursts from hysterical relatives, so he was grateful for her self-control. He only hoped that she would be able to maintain it when she had to interact with the kidnapper.

The minutes ticked by as they waited for the promised call. He glanced at his watch – over three hours now. Used to keeping busy, Foyle found himself pacing too, the long wait beginning to tell on his nerves. At one point he found himself scanning the tall bookcases. They loaded with weighty volumes of history, ranging from the Middle Ages through seventeenth century. Other than one shelf filled with children's books, the only works of fiction he could see were literary classics and some poetry. He glanced over at Katherine, mildly surprised. No novel reading here, he thought. Is she a scholar? Or were these her husband's books?

She was sitting in profile to him, eyes closed, her chin resting on her hand, the strain she was feeling evident in her features. The stone-cold cup of tea sat next to her, barely touched. He noticed that her lips seemed to be moving slightly. Was she praying? He couldn't be sure.

It was past noon when the telephone rang again. Katherine jumped to her feet, reaching for it, but Foyle put out a restraining hand. "Tell him you have the money and find out how he wants you to deliver it. Nothing else." She gave a tiny nod and he gestured for her to pick up the receiver.

As she lifted it to her ear, he once again bent his head close to hers to listen. Her hand was cold and clammy beneath his; he could feel her drawing in a deep breath. "Hello?"

"'ave you got the money?" the voice growled.

A shudder passed through her. "Yes."

"Bring it to the Sea View Café at 'alf-past four. Take a table at the back. And come alone – no police, if you want to see her again." Click.

The Sea View Café sat at the crest of a hill in Hastings Old Town. Wide windows across the front offered the promised Channel vista while a row of smaller panes down one side overlooked the canal. It was a popular spot for afternoon tea, especially in fine weather. The morning's rain had gradually tapered off but it had left a dense, chilly autumn fog in its wake. The place was less than half-full when Katherine entered and asked for a table at the back.

Milner and Sam were already there, strategically seated in the middle of the tearoom. Sam smiled and chattered, enjoying the sandwiches and tarts and pleased to be helping with an undercover operation, while Milner kept an eye on the door and pretended to answer her. Foyle was watching too, hiding behind the newspaper he was ostensibly reading in a discreet corner, half-obscured by a potted palm.

"We don't know if he has accomplices," Foyle had told her earlier. "If he has, they're sure to be watching you every minute. No matter what, you mustn't look at me or my sergeant. When he comes in, try to find out where she is before you give him the money. Once he's told you, signal us. If at any time you feel as though you're in danger, use the signal and we'll move right in. All right?"

He watched her now from behind his paper as she took her seat. She looked every inch the respectable lady stepping out for afternoon tea in a pretty oatmeal tweed suit and a touch of lipstick, her hair pinned up neatly under her hat. Studying her, however, Foyle could see the tension in her face and the rigid set of her shoulders. He saw her open her handbag to check that the envelope of bank notes he had given her was still there.

She was playing her part well, he observed with relief. He hated involving her in this, but he really didn't have any choice. Any hopes of a breakthrough from the second phone call were dashed when it was traced to another phone box near the Town Hall. This rendezvous was their best chance of catching the kidnapper. He had taken all the precautions he could think of - two plainclothes officers were posted across the street and several uniformed officers were waiting in cars at strategic points a few streets away. He would have preferred more, but this was the most the short-staffed force could muster. And of course there were Milner and himself, mere yards away. He prayed that the arrest would go smoothly.

But his prayer went unanswered. The minutes ticked by, but nothing happened. Foyle could see the woman's increasing agitation as she repeatedly bit her lower lip and fidgeted with her gloves in her lap. But mindful of his instructions, she staunchly avoided glancing in either Milner's direction or his own.

At about ten past five the waitress stopped at her table. Foyle thought she must be asking if she wanted anything, but she merely handed her a folded piece of paper and moved away. He could see Katherine's eyes widen when she unfolded it.

After staring at the note for a long moment, she let it fall to the table and shut her eyes for a few seconds as though summoning her courage. Her hand reached out and pushed her cup and saucer away – the prearranged signal. Then she drew a deep breath, pushed back her chair and walked quickly toward the passageway that led to the powder room at the rear of the café.

Foyle sat frozen with indecision. Where was she going? And what did that note say? If he fetched it off her table he'd surely be spotted by anyone watching. Yet she'd used the signal … realising he had no choice, he crossed the room in a few long steps and snatched it up. The pencilled scrawl read:

Meet me outside. Back door past the toilets.

Christ, she hadn't going out there alone, had she? The plainclothes officers were posted out front, not in the back! He cursed under his breath. Catching Milner's eye, he jerked his head in the direction she had gone and hurried after her.

The short passage led past the toilets and the kitchen and ended at a small door opening onto a narrow alley. It was empty. Foyle looked right and left, trying to guess which way she had gone. Hearing his sergeant's footsteps behind him, he gestured that Milner should search the alley to the left, where it ran behind a row of shops, while he went to the right toward the canal.

One glance out the mouth of the alley and he knew he had his man. The American woman was standing some thirty feet up the towpath, near the lock gates. Facing her was a tall, heavily-built man in a nondescript mac who appeared to be in late middle age. Katherine's back was to him but he could see her putting something in the man's outstretched hand. It had to be the ransom money.

Foyle ducked out of sight, afraid the kidnapper might hurt her if he realised they were being watched. She looked so small and vulnerable next to him, and he knew he was too far away to protect her if the thug took it into his head to lash out. Better to let him put some distance between them before he started pursuit.

A few seconds later he heard her cry out, "No! You can't!" He dove out of the alley just in time to see Katherine flinging herself at the man's retreating back. To Foyle's utter astonishment, she shoved him toward the canal with such force that she slipped on the wet pavement and fell to her knees. The man teetered on the edge for a moment before toppling into the chilly water with a splash.

Foyle shouted for back-up as he bolted toward her. Ignoring the strangled bellow from the canal, he bent over the woman. "Are you all right?" he demanded.

"Yes," she gasped. Her hat had slipped to one side and her eyes were huge.

"Did he hurt you?"

"No, no, I'm fine." She let him help her to her feet.

The two plainclothes officers he'd posted in front of the café were pelting up the lane with several uniformed constables rounding the corner behind them. Milner hurried out of the alley. Foyle jerked his head toward the canal and his sergeant nodded and began issuing orders to pull the thrashing man out of the water.

He drew the woman away from the chaos at the canal's edge, feeling a tremor in her arm. Now that he knew she was unharmed he felt a stirring of ire at her recklessness.

"What in God's name possessed you to do that? He might have hurt you!"

"He said … I'd have to pay more money. Another five hundred pounds. I was afraid he'd get away …" Her voice was shaking.

"But you knew we were watching for him!"

"Yes, but there was no one out here! I couldn't just let him go!" She sounded defensive now, as well as upset. "He wouldn't tell me where Cecily is!"

Foyle opened his mouth to argue, then closed it, biting his lip in frustration. Annoyed as he was, he realised that scolding her further was pointless. The indistinct splashes and yells rising from the canal had been replaced by a stream of foul cursing as the hapless man was dragged out. Best to get her away from here. He glanced over and spotted Sam hovering uncertainly in the mouth of the alley, her keen eyes taking in everything that was happening. Beckoning to her, he ordered, "Take her to the car, would you? I'll be there shortly."

"Yes, sir," said his driver quickly, reading his expression. She scooped up Katherine's handbag from the pavement before leading her away.

When they reached the Wolseley the American woman got in the back seat and slumped dejectedly against the door. Sam turned round in the driver's seat. "What happened?" she demanded, unable to restrain her curiosity any longer.

"He took the money and said I had to pay him another five hundred pounds before he would let Cecily go!" Sam could hear tears in her voice, barely contained.

"How frightful! Well, jolly good thing he fell in the canal." Katherine turned her face away, looking blindly out the window, and made no reply. "Listen, you ought to be relieved. They've arrested him! Everything should be all right now."

"All right?" she burst out. "How can it be? We don't know where she is!"

"Oh, I shouldn't worry about that. Mr Foyle will find out. He's very good at getting people to tell him what he wants to know," Sam told her encouragingly.

"I hope you're right," she answered in a husky whisper.

Foyle got in the car, slamming his door rather harder than necessary. "Let's go, Sam," he said curtly.

"Right, sir," answered the girl. She was dying to pepper him with questions but a sideways glance at his grim expression told her she'd do well to hold her tongue. Not another word was spoken on the short drive back to the station.

Katherine was pacing again, this time in Foyle's office. Once back at the station he had ordered Sam to escort her there and then disappeared in the direction of the cells without another word. She had refused Sam's offer of tea with a tight shake of her head.

It seemed to take forever, but it was actually only about twenty minutes later when Foyle entered the room. He dismissed Sam with a jerk of his head and a murmured order to get the car fuelled up before closing the door behind her. "He talked," he told Katherine. "We know where she is."

She looked at him with eyes that were huge brown pools of terror. "And is she …"

"He says she's all right."

Her shoulders sagged with relief and Foyle felt his annoyance melt away. Yes, she had been heedless of her own safety, but how could he fault her for that? Wouldn't any good mother put her child's well-being ahead of her own? If anything, he should be angry with himself for not thinking to post someone behind the café as well as in front.

"His name is Perkins, by the way. Albert Perkins. Mean anything to you?"

She shook her head.

"Did you recognise him?"

"No … should I have?"

"He's the janitor at her school."

"Really? I don't think I've ever seen him before."

"What exactly did he say to you?"

"He just asked for the money. I told him I wanted to know where Cecily was first but he said I wasn't the one should be making demands. After I gave it to him he told me it was going to cost me another five hundred to set her free! Yes, I know, it's exactly what you said he'd do."

"Was that all?"

"He said I should go home and he would ring me tomorrow. Then he started to walk away …"

"And you pushed him?"

She nodded.

He sighed. "Well, it's all over, anyway," he told her more gently. "We're going to fetch her now."

"May I come with you?"

"Nnnnno. Not a good idea. Why don't you go home? Might take a while."

"I'd rather stay here, Mr Foyle, if that's all right. I don't think I can bear waiting alone in the flat."

"Of course, if you'd prefer. Use this office if you like."

"Thank you."

He started for the door. "Mr Foyle?" she said suddenly.

"Yes?"

Her dark eyes were shining with unshed tears. "Please bring her home safely. Please!"

Reaching for his hat, he paused to give her a reassuring nod before walking out the door.