Where There's A Will

Chapter Fifty-Three

Owen Keating marvelled that the price of his daughter's freedom, perhaps even her life, could weigh so little as he carried the briefcase from his study to the library. When he got there, he pushed the troubling thought from his mind and focused on what mattered, ensuring the ransom could be tracked once it was collected by Alice's kidnappers.

He stood to one side and watched while a small device, no bigger than a ten pence piece, was slipped into the middle of one of the stacks of money – the stack was selected at random to decrease the chances of it being found by the kidnappers if they made a cursory search of the money. Though he had been given a brief demonstration earlier in the day, he found it hard to believe that something which looked as if it should be given out in change by a cashier could help catch the people who had kidnapped his daughter.

A second tracking device, identical to the first, was hidden within the lining of the briefcase, where it was hoped it wouldn't be found. The redundancy, Evans told Owen, was necessary in case something happened to the first - it stopped working, or it was found; as a further redundancy, the second device was set up to transmit on a different frequency. Once the two devices were hidden, Evans made a quick check on his computer to be sure both signals were being received without interference – they were.

It was Owen's turn to be fitted out then. He tried not to let it trouble him, but he couldn't help feeling a little abused as DS Hunt, with only the briefest of apologies, untucked and unbuttoned his shirt so she could tape a small microphone to his chest. Owen worried a little about the amount of hair that was going to be pulled out when the microphone was removed, there was nothing to be done about it, however, and a few hairs, he decided, was a small price to pay for ensuring that those who had taken his daughter were caught.

Owen ruthlessly forced aside his concerns over what was to happen as he got behind the wheel of his car and set off for St George's Park. None of them thought the handover would actually take place in the park, at least not where he had been instructed to be at eleven p.m., nonetheless he didn't wish to be late.

He reached the park after a little over half an hour and, in obedience to the instructions received that afternoon, left his car in the car park that adjoined it. He then proceeded on foot, without looking around for the surveillance van he had been told would be parked nearby – it took a lot of willpower for him to avoid doing that – into the park so he could make for the play area that was, supposedly, the location of the exchange.

A check of his watch when he reached the play area revealed that it was still a few minutes before eleven; since that was the case he settled himself on one of the benches, the briefcase on his lap, to wait. He didn't know what was going to happen, and that made him nervous; he drummed his fingers anxiously on top of the briefcase, while his eyes moved impatiently between the two entrances to the play park and the forlorn looking telephone that stood a short distance from where he sat.

From his position in the rear of the surveillance van, Stone watched Keating as he carried the briefcase into the park. While his eyes were focused on the millionaire, he waited for his call to be answered; it was nearly a minute before DC Reid's voice sounded in his ear.

"Any sign of Rice?" he asked. He suspected he was wasting the young detective's time by having him watch for the programmer at his house, especially since the ransom drop was supposed to take place any time, but he couldn't afford to ignore any possibility.

"No, sir," Reid answered. "I spoke to his neighbours again, and he still hasn't been home apparently."

Stone wasn't surprised by that; if Lewis Rice was one of the kidnappers they were looking for, it was unlikely that he would return home before the ransom had been collected, and Alice freed, if then. It was entirely possible, perhaps even likely, that Rice would take his share of the money and head out of the country as quickly as he could. It would have been better, he thought, if they had been able to come up with the slightest bit of evidence, so they could get a search warrant for Rice's house – that lack had prevented them even getting access to Rice's phone records, which might have proved very useful, as would his bank records.

"What about the motorcyclist he was seen leaving with on Wednesday morning?" He didn't bother holding his breath or crossing his fingers as he asked that question; doing either would, he was sure, be a waste of time.

Reid caught himself as he was about to shake his head, and quickly responded verbally. "Nothing, sir. I've spoken to everyone who might have been in a position to see the motorcyclist, but no luck, there doesn't seem to be a nosey neighbour amongst them." His voice reflected the surprise and disappointment he felt; even in his short career he had learned that there was nearly always a nosey neighbour who just had to keep an eye on the comings and goings. "Except for Miss Burton, I couldn't even find anyone who saw the motorcyclist, let alone well enough to help us identify him."

With a resigned sigh, Stone ended the call and turned his attention back to Owen Keating. DS Hunt had a video camera on a tripod focused on the multi-millionaire through the windscreen of the van, the footage from it was being displayed on a monitor on the console built into the side of the van, enabling both Stone and Evans to watch Owen Keating as he waited – impatiently they were sure – for the kidnappers to either arrive or get in touch.