Doctor Who_ The Algebra of Ice - Lloyd Rose [53]
Molecross got out of bed. More investigating must be done! He’d get in touch with one of his contacts who could match the Jaguar plate number with an address. Then he would return to Amberglass’s flat, question him again. Get the Doctor’s whereabouts from him, or at least a contact email address. Yes, that was the plan. He was on the case.
But when he got to Ethan’s flat, he saw that the case was temporarily eluding him. The door was unlocked and no one was inside. He found a plate in the sink with crumbs on it, but there was no telling how long that had been there.
Molecross surveyed the sitting room. There must be something. Of course – he remembered seeing an answering machine.
The last message hadn’t been erased. Molecross pressed the play button and listened eagerly. After a few seconds, he sat down, staring at the machine.
When the message ended he knew that he could not play it again. He simply could not. This was fear, he realised, real and sickening fear. He wished he could turn time back and never hear what he had heard, never know. Never, ever know.
And there was something else, something almost as frightening.
He recognised the voice on the phone.
Molecross gaped at the huge house with its mullioned windows and elaborate seventeenth-century chimneys. In spite of the Jaguar, he hadn’t expected this kind of money. He was out of his depth here. A wealthy torturer. It was too much power to fight on his own. He ought to have notified the police. But the place was so big, and the owner so smooth. Amberglass could be anywhere Chapter Thirteen
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among those rooms, and after a cursory look, they would leave. After all, it had only been an anonymous call. . .
He could go in and tell his story in person, but that wasn’t likely to be more persuasive. Probably he’d be warned off, which was no good at all. And in the meantime, what would be happening to Amberglass? In a part of his mind he didn’t want to examine, he knew that, whatever it was, it was his fault.
Molecross crept around behind the boxwood hedges. He was safely out of sight, but the hedges didn’t go all the way up to the house. Someone could be looking out of any one of those dozens of windows. And how was he to get in?
Surely there was an alarm system. But likely it wasn’t turned on till night. Still, he was beginning to wish he had come at night. It would be bloody cold of course; even now he could see his breath. Molecross had exchanged his safari hat for a fleece-lined one with ear flaps, yet he was still shivering. Of course, that might be fear.
The house had so many windows, and they were so old – some of them were bound to be in disrepair. At least he hoped so, since he hadn’t worked out any other course of action. And once in, how was he to find Amberglass? Brett’s message had implied he was gagged. Of course, he’d be easy to hear if he were being tortured.
Molecross shivered violently. This was fear, all right. His stomach felt colder than the air around him. He thought he might pass out. What if Brett found him? He’d probably kill him immediately. Molecross had been savvy enough to leave a note at his cottage telling exactly where he was going and why, but at the moment that was little comfort. He didn’t want to die. God, he really didn’t want to die. This was a fool’s errand.
Well, he’d been a fool. And because of that, an innocent man had been put through agony.
He began to move carefully behind the boxwood screen towards the back of the house. He felt like he was pushing through the cold, as if it were a jelly sucking closed behind him. The windows were well above the ground. How could he even get to one? He spotted a garage and darted to it.
The garage was a large converted stable and contained several fine cars, including the Jaguar with the number plate. Molecross explored and, as he had hoped, discovered a storage room containing tools and other building appara-tus. Stood to reason. Grand as it was, the mansion was only a house after all and needed