and found the same things had been done to both the phone and the cupboards in there. I had no doubt that the third extension, the one in the bedroom upstairs, would have suffered the same fate, but I still started up the stairs to check. Step three creaked as I stepped on it
I thought I could hear a slight banging.
I stopped to listen.
The faint knocking sound came again, but I wasn’t sure of exactly where from.
“Have you got the stuff ?” Kipper said to me through the phone.
“No,” I said. “I’m having a pee.”
“Hurry up.”
I put the phone down to my side and listened once more.
I could definitely hear someone knocking. It was below me.
I rushed back down the stairs and opened the cupboard underneath.
Alice lay there on her side, curled around the vacuum cleaner and with her arms tied behind her back. She was banging her tied-up feet on the floor. A tea-towel gag had been wrapped around her face, so I pulled it down, and she immediately spat out a dirty dishcloth that was in her mouth.
“Ugh,” she said, and was promptly sick on the floor.
“You bastard,” I said into the phone.
Kipper laughed. “Ah, you’ve found my little surprise.” He sounded pleased with himself.
I went back into the kitchen, fetched a pair of scissors and cut through the plastic garden ties that had secured Alice’s wrists and ankles. She sat on the hall floor rubbing where the plastic had dug into her flesh. I put a finger up to my mouth in the universal “be quiet” gesture and pointed at the phone.
“Phone the bloody police,” she shouted, ignoring me.
“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” said shifty-eyed Kipper through the phone. “Not if you want to see your wife again.”
“Alice, I can’t,” I said.
“Why the bloody hell not?” she demanded.
“He’s got Sophie,” I said. “And he’s on the other end of this phone.”
“Tell him he’s a fucking piece of shit,” she said with passion, continuing to rub her wrists. I was quite taken aback by her vulgarity. Alice had always been so prim and proper, at least within my hearing.
Kipper had obviously heard what she had said because he laughed again. “Tell her she should be happy to be alive.”
I didn’t bother.
“Now, get my things,” he said, “and go back to your car.”
What was I to do? I had to make him think that I still had them or he would hurt or kill Sophie. And I needed to set up a swap, I thought. That would be a good start, but, so far, I hadn’t actually worked out how to.
But first, I needed something to swap for Sophie. I took a canvas shopping bag off the hook on the back of the kitchen door and started putting things into it. First, the wad of banknotes, the takings from Bangor races, came out of my trouser pocket and into the bag. Next, I took a clear plastic sandwich bag and put ten grains of rice in it from Sophie’s rice jar. Finally, the instruction booklet for the kitchen television, together with the TV remote control, went into the shopping bag as well.
Alice stood in the kitchen doorway, watching me with wide eyes. “What are you doing?” she said. “Call the police.”
I again put my finger to my mouth, and this time she understood. I also held up the cut phone wire, and she nodded.
“OK, I’ve got it all,” I said into the phone.
“Go and get into the car and drive back onto the A46 towards the M40.”
“OK,” I said.
I put my hand over the microphone and spoke to Alice. “I’ve got to go and give this to the man.” I held up the shopping bag. “I’ll come back here with Sophie. Are you OK?”
She nodded again slightly, but I noticed tears on her face. She was clearly very shocked. It’s not every day you get tied up and left in a cupboard under the stairs with a dirty dishcloth rammed into your mouth. Thank goodness.
I stroked her shoulders in reassurance and then went back out to my Volvo with the shopping bag.
“OK,” I said into the phone. “I’m back in the car. I’m going to put the phone back in the hands-free cradle, but it may hang up again.”
“Leave it, then,” he said. “Keep it in your hand.”
I reversed out onto Station Road and retraced my path to the A46.
“OK,” I said, holding the phone to my ear. “I’m now on the A46 going towards the