Money

​

They want five hundred thousand pounds. They are going to phone again to tell him where to leave the money. And if he talks to the police, they’ll kill her. It’s all a bit of a caricature, like watching a B movie or yet one more TV cop series. It never occurred to him that it could actually happen or that they would reel out the same demands and procedures, the same muffled voice and instil the same fear. But then these idiots probably learnt their trade from the same films. 

 

He’s told the police of course and now their waiting for the next phone call. The police told him their names when they walked in but now he can’t remember either of them. The man is in plainclothes and took his favourite armchair before he had a chance to guide him to the one by the window. He has no distinctive features as far as he can see. A pleasant enough bloke, thinning on top, looking younger than his own son. Keeps on toying with his wedding ring. The woman is even younger, can’t be more than twenty five. Very pretty in a large, formalised sort of way with jet black hair and sensible shoes. About the same age as his daughter Catherine would have been. Fiona has never been the same since the accident. And now, life’s final twist of the knife, she’s been visited by the Big ‘C’. You wonder whether she wished it on herself.

 

They’ve just finished their cups of tea. Maybe he’ll make another one. It passes the time. How the hell did Fiona manage to get kidnapped? She’d been to see friends. No doubt pouring her heart out about life and what a bitch it is. Her car should have been just outside the house. All she had to do was drive home. It was only fifteen minutes. Maybe she’d left it a bit down the road. It could be difficult parking at Maisie’s place.

 

The ring pierces the room like a thousand knives. He looks at the policeman who is already preparing to listen and get the called traced. Another bit of technology he didn’t understand. He picks up the phone.

 

‘We want the money in plastic bags. Four this afternoon. The village hall car park. Anyone with you or any cars nearby and she’s a goner. Bring your mobile with you and you’ll get further instructions. Clear?’

‘I’ll never get that sort of money by this afternoon.’

‘That’s your problem.’

‘I want to speak to my wife.’

‘She’s ok.’

‘You’ll get nothing if I don’t speak to her.’

 

He hears the sound of the receiver clunking on to a table. There is silence for a while.

 

‘Harry?’

‘Fiona! How are you?’

‘Not bad.’

 

Her voice is weak and flat. He imagines that she would sound frightened, trembling and tearful but there is none of that.

 

‘Listen,’ she says. ‘I don’t want you worrying about me. There’s no point is there? You know what I mean.’

‘Of course I worry. We’ll get you back here in no time.’

‘No Harry. It doesn’t matter any….’

‘OK, that’s enough,’ says the muffled voice. ‘Four o clock.’

 

Then the call ends.

 

The policeman looks at him. ‘What did she mean?’

‘My wife isn’t happy.’

‘Can you get the money by four?’

‘I don’t know. I doubt it.’

‘We need to get your wife safe. We can retrieve the money later.’

‘I can’t get that sort of money without business colleagues and even then it’s unlikely.’

‘We mustn’t try to pull one over on them at this stage. We’ve no idea how they’d react. We must resolve this without loss of life.’

‘I’m afraid my wife’s life is already lost.’

‘I don’t understand, sir.’

‘She has terminal cancer. She got the news last month. She’s only got a few weeks left. It’s odd with some cancers. You’d hardly know she was ill. She’s feeling very weak though. That drive was going to be her last.’

 

Silence wraps itself round the words. He can hear the faint call of kids playing nearby.

 

‘I’m very sorry, sir,’ says the policewoman. ‘We’ll do all we can to get her back.’

 

But his thoughts are taking a different path. Should he place people he knew in financial difficulties for a few weeks of bedridden life? The police can’t even guarantee they’ll get the money back nor that they can save Fiona. And even if they do, he doubts she’ll thank them for it.

 

‘My wife’s had a rotten life one way or another. We’ve been comfortably off but money does nothing to make you happy. That’s where those stupid men have got it all wrong. They think by threatening me and my wife they can get rich and everything will be fine. I suppose it might feel like that to them while they’re drunk and pissing half a million quid down the sewer.’

 

There is another silence that sits on the room like a lead sheet.

 

‘But she’ll be able to spend her last few days in the comfort of her own home, sir, I’m sure.’

 

He knew Fiona better than anyone, how she struggled after Catherine was killed. Twice she’d tried to end her life and now nature or some pond life bastards were going to do it for her. Perhaps this could be her final triumph after so much perceived failure, thwarting the corrupt ambitions of some cretins who thought they could get one over on them. Well they damn well won’t. At this last moment she could gain some control over her death having had none over her life. Why wait in comfort for some malignant cells to throw their dice? And if she does manage to get away she might see them starting a new life behind bars. Could be a win-win.

 

‘What’s the drill? You follow me to the car park and then what?

‘You need to get the money together first, sir. We’ll get the bank to record the serial numbers. I take it you need to make some phone calls and make some fast transfers. Mark the bags you use. We’ll be leaving now. They might be in the vicinity later to watch your movements. Phone me when you leave the house for the village hall.’

 

He finds plenty of supermarket bags and, in the attic, a pile of magazines. There are about fifty leaves in each and, divided into note sized chunks, that would make 300 notes. Assuming £50 each he cuts up about thirty magazines and stuffs them into a dozen bags. He knots the handles and puts the lot in his boot. Finally he goes to his study and removes his pistol from the desk. The police never questioned him about his gun licence but then there was no reason why they should have. He smiles to himself. He’d had a successful life if you count it in cash but otherwise, it had been a pig. Today may turn out to be one of his most successful.