Free The Locker by Adrian Magson Page A

sometimes made by clients when signing up, including phone numbers, bank accounts, solicitors’ details and so on. He glanced at Claas, who seemed about to interrupt, and continued firmly, “He also lodged separate funds with us to cover any contingencies, as we ask all our clients to do.”
    Contingencies. It was Cruxys terminology for the main party of the contract being incapacitated or killed, the lodged funds being sufficient to cover the following year’s contract or to be refunded to the contractor’s family if not required.
    And, in extremis , to bury whoever was left.
    â€œWe’ll have to dig,” he continued. “Unless and until she hears from the kidnappers, all we can do is find him, locate people who know the family. If there’s anything relevant in his past, it will be there somewhere.” He took a slip of paper from the folder and passed it to Vaslik. It held a street address in west London. “The address linked to the charity’s phone number.”
    Vaslik nodded and tucked it away. “I might not have very long to do this.”
    Claas looked at him. “Please explain?”
    â€œThe snatch occurred just over six hours ago. Abductions-for -ransom mostly follow a pattern, from the taking of a valued asset followed by the first contact and demand, to negotiation.”
    â€œBut you don’t know if there is a ransom.”
    â€œTrue. But the note, as vague as it is, points towards some kind of negotiating position: tell your husband. It implies that he will be faced with a demand.”
    â€œI see. How quickly then, overall?”
    â€œIt could be from a few hours to several days depending on how secure the kidnappers feel about themselves to the strength of their desire to achieve their aims. Beyond that, we’re in unknown territory.” They all knew what he meant: that not all kidnappings came to a satisfactory conclusion, either through precipitate action on the part of the authorities or panic on the part of the criminals. Both often led to the death of the victim, as did a delayed response to their demands.
    And this one was already entering a dangerous phase.
    â€œWell,” muttered Claas, “let’s hope it does not go on too long.” He stood up and walked from the room, leaving behind a leaden silence.
    â€œAs quickly as you can, I think,” Aston suggested softly, and nodded towards the two researchers, who were waiting for information. “But do it right. Let’s get as much background detail as we can and start digging for anything new.”

    Ruth handed her laptop to one of the researchers, to download the contents of the photo frame for the storyboards, then walked up to the admin and accounts department where all the client records were lodged. They had been forewarned by Aston and a folder was sitting on the department supervisor’s desk.
    â€œIt’s a bit thin.” The supervisor’s name was Margie, who spoke with the gravelly voice of a confirmed smoker. She opened the folder and showed Ruth the original contract, signed by Michael Hardman and countersigned by the then contracts manager, who had since left. The initial payment was by cheque drawn on a bank in Kensington, with the client’s address shown as Finchley. The contract agreement was for three years, renewable automatically every twelve months thereafter unless cancelled by the client.
    â€œHe believed in thinking ahead,” Ruth murmured. “What’s the usual sign-up period?”
    â€œ Twenty-four months, but it’s flexible. If the client wants to make it several years and pays up front, we don’t argue. Some of them get posted for long periods to the back of beyond. If they cancel the contract because they no longer need it we make a pro-rata refund.”
    â€œIs this complete?” Ruth was looking at a list of five alpha-numerics , all in Greater London. They were the previous postcodes for