James
A phone rings, Michael’s.
He glances at the screen, then curses. “It’s Lucy on reception,” he snarls. “I told her we weren’t to be disturbed.”
He stabs a finger at the mobile. “Yes?” His tone is savage. “Lucy, my instructions were clear that… What? Speak up would you… Oh…” He goes rigid. “Right… Um, yes, bring it to the house, please.” He rattles a breath. “Lucy, my apologies. Yes… Of course you did the right thing.”
He taps the phone off again, takes a moment. “Lucy says that a package has been delivered by special courier. It’s addressed to… The ‘Red-Headed Whore’s Pimp.'”
Bile rises in my throat. Mitch whimpers.
Michael continues, “She says as soon as she realised, she put it in a plastic bag to avoid fingerprints. And she picked up a couple of pairs of latex gloves from the kitchen.”
“Probably too late for that,” comments Klempner. “If they’re pros, they’ll have wiped it anyway, and since then it’s been through God-knows-how-many pairs of hands.”
“You’re right,” I say. “But still…”
Beth lays her hand on mine. “Stay calm, James. We’re all here for her.” She squeezes. “And for you.”
Richard shifts from one foot to the other. “I’ll, um… I’ll go wait by the door.”
In under a minute he returns with a clear polythene bag containing a small padded envelope and the gloves.
He gives me a short nod as he passes it to me… “James…” …then steps to one side.
I put on the gloves then examine the packet.
The package is addressed…
Of course…
…in typed print, and is heavily sealed, all but mummified in plastic tape. Wordlessly, Klempner reaches into the back of his belt and extracts a knife, passing it to me, handle first.
It takes me a moment to work the point deeply enough in to slit into the seal and slice. Then I tip the contents onto the table.
A data key drops out first, landing with a click on the polished timber. Behind that slides some fabric item and a small plastic bag.
The fabric is cotton, plain and white: a pair of panties. The plastic bag contains a snipped red curl of what is, unmistakably, pubic hair.
My hands are trembling as I finger the envelope open to look inside. I’ve got the shakes as I take out a folded paper sheet and read, then display it to the rest.
One Million and Klempner
I pick up the key, fumble and drop it, then pick it up again, slotting into a USB port.
It’s a video file, booting up on auto. The laptop clicks and whirrs, then the screen flickers to life:
The camera is set high, looking down.
She’s there, my beloved Jade Eyes.
All but naked, she’s wearing only the hospital gown she had on when last I saw her. At least then it was clean. Now it’s streaked with blood and dirt. And she’s lying on the floor.
No bed, not even a mattress or a blanket, her only protection from the bare concrete of the floor is what looks like the remains of a cardboard crate, now sodden and foul.
She’s manacled at the ankle to bare brickwork by a thick chain, and the raw lighting displays the swelling in her flesh where she’s tried to protect herself with some kind of liner to the cuff.
As I watch, horror mounting, Charlotte screams, convulsing; and a muscular ripple spasms across her belly. Then, as if that weren’t enough, she breaks into a racking cough, the breath rattling in her chest before she spits out green slime.
“Christ,” mutters Richard. “She’s in full labour.”
The image flickers, a jump in time. Charlotte’s still in the same spot, but this time, at the edge of the distance her chained ankle will allow, she’s squatting, peeing into a drain…
Klempner’s saying something to me, but there’s a buzzing in my ears. Or maybe it’s in my head. Black spots dance behind my vision and my breathing is tight.
“James…”
The voice is far away… Down some tunnel…
“James…”
… long and dark, leading nowhere. Only to more darkness…
“James!”
And I recoil at the cold splash over my face…
Klempner holds a glass in his hand, empty save for a globule of water dripping from the rim. “James, this is calculated. They’re doing it to humiliate, to torture. Jenny and us. They’re trying to stop us thinking straight. To disable us. Don’t let them do it. You know you’re playing into their hands behaving like this. This is what they want. Get your emotions under control.”
“Charlotte… Oh, God… They haven’t even given her a bucket, for Christ’s sake.”
Klempner snarls, “She has to piss. We all do. I’m sure you’ve seen it before. Now get yourself together. Don’t let them hijack your emotions. Don’t give them air-time in your head.”
Michael lays a hand on my shoulder, “James, Klempner’s right.”
Somehow, it’s Michael’s words that centre me again. I swipe chill sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. “When did you become the cold, calculating one? I thought that was supposed to be my province?”
Mitch stands, statue-still, but a weeping statue. Beth is sobbing and shaking as the short video loops and repeats.
Michael wraps arms around her, kissing the top of her head. “Shhh… We’ll get her…”
… Klempner’s eyes narrow…
“… At least this is the contact we’ve been waiting for.”
Klempner watches the pair, his eyes darting between Beth and Michael, Richard, then me and Mitch…
“Knock the damn video off,” barks Richard. “At least until we’ve settled enough to watch it again calmly.” I stab a finger at the play button, and it blinks out.
Michael, still rocking Beth, his embrace tight around her, says, “James, when you and I first met Charlotte, when we were trying to persuade her to stay with us, you were doing the cold thinking. I was the empathic one. We’ve both changed since then, with everything that’s happened. But Klempner’s right on this. It’s… horrible… But we mustn’t let them manipulate us… play us for puppets.”
Klempner snaps fingers at me. “Put the note inside the plastic bag so I can handle it. Let me see it properly.”
He reads the note, checks the reverse, holds it up to the light, then re-reads it. “No contact details,” he mutters. “No instructions. Just a demand.”
Then, plucking at his chin, he puts it down. “That settles one thing. This isn’t a random kidnapping. Or a plain ransom attempt. There’s something personal here. Beth was never the target. And Jenny isn’t the target either. She’s the bait.”
Beth pulls herself, still weepy, from Michael’s embrace. “The whole thing’s about you, yes. It’s clear now.”
All eyes swing to her.
“What exactly is clear, Beth?” says Klempner.
Richard winds an arm around Beth’s waist, holding her close. She wipes her nose on the back of her hand. “Isn’t it obvious? In retrospect at least. It’s been days since they took her. They could have sent that note at any time. And even without waiting for her to go into labour, it wouldn’t have been difficult to do something to Charlotte to tighten the thumbscrews. But they wanted you and you’d disappeared. No-one knew where. But they waited until you appeared on the scene. Until they’d flushed you out. You’ve talked to people. Visited Finchby. Then they sent the demand. You were the Target from the start.”
Richard inhales. “My Love, you’re right.” Then to Klempner. “Who’s after your blood? Could it be this Baxter? Or Finchby himself?”
He considers, then picks up the bagged note again. “One million…” His eyes shift to mine. “You got that kind of money handy?”
“Not in ready cash, I haven’t. How about you?”
“Oh, yes. I’ll draw a million in used notes from the ATM. No one will notice a thing.”
“Don’t worry about that.” Richard is tapping into his mobile. “If money is what it takes to get Charlotte back, it will be here. Now…” He heads for the door. “Please excuse me. I need to make some arrangements.”
Michael taps to rerun the video. “Okay, we watch it again. Let’s see if there’s anything to identify where she is.”
Again, we watch: Charlotte, my Jade Eyes, tortured by her own body, cold…
“James, snap out of it.” Michael’s voice is harsh. “Look for detail. Where the hell is she?”
Two walls…
… and a concrete floor.
A drain…
And a couple of sheets of putrid cardboard.
“There’s damn all to go on.”
Abruptly, Klempner snaps his fingers. “Got it! Christ!” He slaps palms to his temples. “I’ll fucking castrate the bastard…”
Heads swivel. “Got what?” asks Michael.
“I’ve remembered who he is, where I met him. That fucking face.” Klempner jabs a finger at the image pinned to the wall.
“You’ve remembered? Who is he?”
Klempner paces circles, face and body animated. He turns to Mitch. “You were right, I only met him in passing. And yes, I was distracted. It was when I was making the escape from the transport van between prisons. Baxter was running the show. He sprang me. But he had a sidekick with him. I didn’t know the man, never thought about him. He was just paid muscle. But that’s him. He’s one of Baxter’s men.”
Mitch is white-faced. “So, Baxter’s behind the abduction? Finchby was telling the truth?”
“Astonishingly, it seems, yes. He was. It’s Baxter.”
“Larry, what are you going to do?”
“I’ll get her back, Mitch. I’m the target. This is happening because of me. I’ll get Jenny back for you, I promise. And then…”
“And then?” Michael prompts.
“And then, when I catch up with Baxter, I’ll carve out his liver with a wooden spatula and feed it to that mongrel of yours.”
Michael stoops to scratch Scruffy’s ears. “That’s not exactly the low-key option.”
“No, it’s not,” says Klempner. “But it will discourage repeat offences.”
*****