Chapter 103
They drove through the night, taking turns at the wheel. When Towler was driving, Poe tried to sleep, but he couldn’t. It was like he’d been mainlining espresso. When Poe drove, Towler slept like an overfed Labrador. Head back, mouth open, drool everywhere.
They’d left Bradshaw and Estelle in charge of Susan.
She wasn’t going anywhere. The last thing Poe had done before he’d left Cowie House was drag her up to his office and use an old pair of his handcuffs to secure her to the cast-iron radiator.
The one that was noisier than a steamboat. He’d slipped the key into his pocket.
‘What if there’s a fire?’ Susan had yelled as he walked out.
‘If we don’t get Esmerée back, I’ll start one myself,’ Estelle had replied.
Poe couldn’t sleep, but the look on Susan’s face when his wife had said that was tonic enough.
They stopped just before they hit the M25, London’s orbital motorway.
Grabbed bacon sandwiches and ink-black coffee.
Topped up the fuel tank. Towler grabbed the wheel and sped out of the service station like he owed the manager money.
At 7 a.m. the M25 would be busier than a Black Friday John Lewis, but at two in the morning it was quiet.
Towler kept to eighty-five. Fast enough to make good time; not so fast that a white-hatted traffic cop would put down his doughnut and give chase.
When they left the M25 and joined the M23, Poe called Bradshaw.
‘She’s still at home, Poe,’ she said without preamble. ‘Well, her phone is anyway.’
‘We’ll be there in an hour. How’s our prisoner?’
‘Sulking. She wants her money back. I keep telling her it doesn’t belong to her any more, but she doesn’t seem to care.’
‘And how’s Estelle?’
‘I’m worried about her, Poe,’ Bradshaw said. ‘She’s just sitting in the dark staring at Susan Hawksworth. She doesn’t answer any of her questions. I’m scared she’ll do something horrid to her if Esmerée dies.’
‘She’s not going to die, Tilly. We’re going to get her back.’ He ended the call. Turned to Towler. ‘Just how big is this sack of yours?’ he said.