by Louise Wise
‘Don’t you dare laugh at me!’ she yelled.
With all the fist waving and batting of hands, her fist connected with something hard, and with a grunt Ben was knocked backwards against the chair. The momentum caused him to sit down hard so that the chair went backwards, and with him in it, tipped all the way over.
Charlie cupped her mouth in shock. Ben, his feet in the air, didn’t move. Oh, God, had she killed him?
Clutching her throat in horror she peered around the chair. He was lying on his back with his hands over his face. He brought them down, and Charlie could see that he was struggling not to laugh.
His wide generous mouth twitched and from it came a chuckle deep in his throat.
THIRTY SEVEN
He could hear the heavy breathing of Charlie and expected her to come round and laugh along at the absurdity of the situation, or at the very least, offer sympathy. That’s what should have happened. Instead, she came round, and said,
‘Bastard.’
‘I haven’t done anything,’ he protested. He scrambled to his hands and knees and stood up. ‘For God’s sake Charlie, engage your brain for a moment, would you?’ He brushed himself down. ‘I wasn’t laughing at you. I was…’ he raked his usually neatly combed hair, wondering fleetingly where his hat had gone ‘… laughing at the situation. It’s crazy.’
She looked so deflated and miserable, his heart swelled for her.
‘I wasn’t laughing at you, Charlie. Look, I’ll make us a cup of coffee, shall I? Through there?’ He pointed to the beaded curtain that partitioned off the kitchen from the lounge.
She glowered at him, but then nodded her consent.
‘OK, I’ll make us coffee, and we’ll talk.’
‘Oh, and by the way I resign!’ she yelled after him.
He ignored her and grabbed the kettle. He filled it with water and flicked the switch. Coming back into the little lounge, he saw Charlie sitting on the settee hugging her knees. She looked pale beneath the thick makeup, and Ben didn’t like the sound of her breathing, it sounded erratic. Her eyes had a glassy look to them as she watched him in the kitchen doorway warily. She stood up suddenly, her hands clutching her chest. Ben didn’t hesitate, he rushed back into the kitchen where he’d seen a discarded paper bag in the bin, and snatching it up, he rushed back to Charlie.
‘Breath into that,’ he instructed, holding it against her mouth. And as if she was used to such things, began filling it with breath, before sucking it back up again like a lifetime smoker drawing on nicotine.
Ben sat her back down as she clutched the bag to her face. Slowly she lowered the bag.
‘Better?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘You’ve done that before.’
‘My mum used to get them,’ he said. ‘What caused yours just now?’ he asked gently. ‘I’m no mad abductor, Charlie, and you’re perfectly safe.’
Charlie sat back, away from Ben on the settee like some wounded animal seeking to escape its tormentor. She lowered her head, and didn’t answer. Ben felt awkward. ‘I’ll go and finish making the coffee, shall I?’
She still didn’t answer. But this time it was because she was silently crying. Her small shoulders convulsing with each sob. Ben dropped to his knees in front of her and pulled her against him. Instead, of resisting as he expected, Charlie turned her head towards his chest, and cried louder.
‘I k-killed h-er,’ she sobbed.
‘Darling, who?’ The endearment slipped out, but he doubted she noticed. He hugged her shaking body, while his other hand came up to stroke her hair.
‘S-Sally Readman. She’s dead, I know it! The others are too, and it’s all m-my fault...’ She pulled back and wiped a hand across her nose. ‘You took her,’ she said. ‘I saw her get into your car!’
Fearing she was going to become hysterical, or have another panic attack, Ben set her slightly away from him, and with one hand on her chin, forced her to look at him. ‘Let’s get one thing straight. I did not take, or kill for that matter, Sally Readman.’
Charlie hiccupped ‘But I saw her get into your car! I reported it to the police.’
‘Ah, so you were the person who became my unintentional alibi,’ he said. He smiled, and said softly, ‘I didn’t kill her, sweetheart. I took her home and left her there. She was high on drugs or something, and became furious because I didn’t want her, er, services. If anything I’m the one who should be feeling guilty, because out of the two of us I was probably the last one to see her before she vanished.’
‘But what w-were you d-doing picking up call-g-girls?’
‘I could ask you the same thing about acting like a call girl. Oh no!’ He smacked a hand against his forehead. ‘How could I have been so dim! The writing dream,’ he said. ‘This is what this is all about, isn’t it? You were reporting or rather researching.’
Charlie nodded, but didn’t make any move to distance herself from his arms. Ben liked holding her. She was soft and curvy, not bony and skinny like the other women he had dated, and she smelled nice. She had a delicate, flowery perfume and…
‘What are you doing?’ She pulled away and looked up at him in surprise.
Ben reddened. Oh, God he’d been sniffing her hair! He gave a sheepish grin. ‘Why don’t you go and, er, tidy yourself up, your eye makeup is all smudged,’ he added, ‘and I’ll finish making the coffee.’
She pushed away from him. He let her go, and sat back on his knees as she made her way towards the bathroom. He heard the shower. The armchair was still on its back and Ben righted it, and picking up a pink and orange fluffy cushion he went to place it back on the chair but instead he raised the cushion to his nose and sniffed. Its scent was Charlie, and he was reminded of Bluebells in May.
The whole room was Charlie. Chaos of colour and odd ornaments. He placed the cushion back and moved towards an opened laptop, which looked as if it had seen better days. He touched the keyboard imagining Charlie’s fingers racing over the keys. The computer flared into life surprising Ben and causing him to step away guiltily.
Frowning, he moved forward again. The computer had brought up a page of text that was clearly a story. He read the first couple of lines about a girl called Sally who was trying to find a suitable place to sleep on a London street. It was night, and the place was full of revellers and tourists, yet this girl was alone and clearly frightened. Charlie had described the girl’s fear so well Ben could taste it. She was clearly an excellent story-teller.
Hearing the shower shut off, Ben went into the kitchen where he re-filled the kettle. He found mugs, coffee and sugar and set about making their drinks. Feeling, rather than hearing her behind him he turned. He smiled at her. Her face was freshly scrubbed of makeup and looked young. Her hair, damp, was a mass of red ringlets around her face.
‘How did you make your hair dark?’
She half smiled. ‘Clip-on hair pieces. I bought blonde ones, too but I thought they made me look too tarty.’
Ben couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. He pointed to the cups. ‘Just in time,’ he said, and turned to pour. ‘How many sugars?’
‘I don’t,’ she moved towards him, and reached up towards the cupboard. The movement brought them close together, and for his peace of mind, Ben had to move away. ‘I prefer this,’ and she unscrewed the top of the sweetener. She put one spoonful in the coffee. Then she picked up her coffee and looked at him over the rim. ‘Don’t you want yours?’ she asked.
Ben mentally pulled himself together, nodded and reached for his drink and followed her back into the lounge area. He glanced at the computer guiltily, but thankfully the screen had reverted to power save once again
‘So who wants to go first?’ he asked.
Charlie sat stiffly on the settee. ‘With what?’
‘The story. The story on how you became a prostitute and I a kerb-crawler.’
Charlie lowered her head. ‘You’ll sack me.’
‘You’ve already resigned,’ he reminded.
; Charlie drank from her cup before speaking. ‘I told you I wanted to be a writer,’ she said, almost petulantly. ‘I’ve always wanted to write, and thought I could use my skill to become a journalist. But I was a crap reporter.’
A chill was sweeping up Ben’s spine.
‘I had been trying to interview the women but it wasn’t going well. Then I had an idea of turning my reports into a fiction novel, but the only way I could do it properly was pretend to be a prostitute. But instead of finding hookers and whores on the street, I found people. Young women addicted to drugs, bad men or lost due to family breakdown.’ Ben had an incredible urge to gather her up in his arms as her face revealed a cascade of distress. He resisted, realising she needed to talk. ‘I met a girl, Jan, she’s only seventeen. Seventeen! Her life should be worrying about acne and the latest fashion not hoping that the next man will be as gentle as the last.’ Her voice wobbled. ‘And I’m frightened for her. When I heard of Sally Readman’s disappearance, it became personal. Sally...’ she said on a swallow ‘...was a victim of her own bad luck brought on by family breakdown, drugs and... and men out to make money from her.’ She spat out the word men, and glared at Ben so furiously he was startled.
They sipped their drinks in silence.
‘So you’re writing a book based on these women?’ He felt he had to come clean. ‘Sorry, I knocked your computer and it came on. I only read a few lines, I promise,’ he protested, but Charlie only shrugged.
‘It’s rubbish. What I feel,’ she poked herself in the chest, ‘is getting in the way. I’m too angry.’
‘At the prostitutes?’
She shook her head. ‘At life. At the way it turns out for some people. Some have all the luck in the world, yet others are dealt a crap hand. Why is that? Why is life like that?’
Ben couldn’t answer. He didn’t think Charlie wanted one anyway.
‘I need to find Jan,’ she said. ‘Give her a reason to give up prostitution.’
‘You took one hell of a risk going out onto the streets like that,’ he said, suddenly angry. ‘I don’t know whether you’re incredibly brave or utterly crazy. Maybe both,’ he muttered. He looked at her as she sat curled up in the corner of the settee, her hands cupped around a mug of coffee with the Fifi and the Flowertots logo. ‘And the men? Did you interview any er – clients?’
‘Only on the kerbside, I refused to get in anybody’s car.’
‘Apart from mine.’
‘Apart from yours,’ she agreed.
‘But the first time you were in my car… you knew that was me?’
She shook her head. ‘I thought you were the abductor and Jan was about to get in your car. I had to save her.’
Ben stared at her, unable to speak.
‘So, if you’re so innocent why are you picking up business?’ she asked.
‘My God, Charlie what if…’ he drew in a deep breath.
‘Well?’
‘You’re the bravest, or stupidest, women I’ve ever met. Do you know that?’
She glared at him over the rim of the Fifi mug. ‘Aren’t you going to answer me?’
‘My little sister has gone missing. She was last seen with a woman called Sally Readman.’
Sitting upright with one hand flying to her mouth as coffee slopped over the sides of her cup onto the arm of the settee, she said, ‘Oh, my God! Oh, my, bloody God!’
‘Camilla, my sister, took off over almost two months ago,’ he said. ‘She left after a, er, family row. We haven’t seen her since. You know what kids are like. They think the world revolves around them and when it all goes pear-shaped they think it’s because of them. All I want to do is find her and tell her that she’s not to blame for anything, and that Father’s OK.’ God’s sake, he can’t cry! But tears had sprung to the back of his eyes, and he buried his face behind his coffee cup before Charlie could see. But her small hand lay on his arm, telling him that she’d noticed.
‘Our mother died in September and our father, as you probably know, isn’t well,’ he continued after a moment’s silence. ‘I think Camilla thought she was the cause of his illness.’ He pinched the top of his nose. ‘In fact, I’m certain that’s the reason she left.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Charlie said. ‘I did know about Sir Donald’s health problems, but I didn’t know about your sister.’
‘You wouldn’t; her disappearance has been kept out of the media in case it frightened her away completely. You wouldn’t believe the fear I felt when I saw Readman’s name in the paper as the third victim knowing that Cam was with her.’
Charlie cleared her throat. ‘So, you were questioning prostitutes to find your sister? Couldn’t you have hired a private investigator or something?’
Ben nodded. ‘I did. But I was impatient. I needed to search for her myself, but probably only ended up making his job harder.’ He sighed. ‘I found Sally Readman, but she was high as a kite although astute enough not to tell me a thing. I managed to snatch a number from her mobile but I lost it. God, maybe my father’s right about me and I am useless! I’m just grateful the PI is closing in on Camilla now.’ He sighed again.
‘If he’s closing in, why pick me up?’
Ben looked at her without speaking for a moment and pushed a tendril of red hair from her eyes. Then, ‘Because I was worried for you, Charlie. I thought you were a, er, a prostitute and was worried you were going to be victim number four.’
Her eyes filled with tears, and Ben was under the impression that they weren’t because she was sad. They were because not many people would go out of their way to look out for her like he had.
‘This phone number…’ Charlie finished her drink on a gulp, and placed her empty mug on the floor by her feet. She sniffed, smiled tearfully at him, then reached towards the arm of the settee where her jacket had been tossed – the same denim jacket that he’d tried to relieve her of earlier.
She fumbled in a pocket and brought out her mobile phone. Taking it over to her laptop where a notebook lay, she copied down a number. Tearing out the page she’d written on, she turned and said, ‘I found an old petrol receipt in your car on the first, er, occasion you picked me up. I – I gave it to the police.’ She nodded towards the small piece of paper in her fingers. ‘But not before copying it down. Here. It’s yours.’
THIRTY EIGHT
Ben looked at her curiously before taking the piece of paper in silence. Charlie could almost feel his heart pound as his hands began to shake.
‘You gave it to the police?’
Charlie swallowed. ‘I had to, I thought it was from the abductor’s car. The woman on the phone was called Jane.’
‘You rang it too?’ He sounded stunned. ‘Jane Jacob,’ he murmured. Charlie thought he was going to cry again. But he seemed to pull himself together and stood up and away from her.
Charlie missed his closeness and felt bereft. She hugged herself. ‘I wanted to warn her that I found her phone number in a murderer’s car.’
Ben looked at her, and Charlie saw a trace of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. ‘How’d she sound?’ he wanted to know.
Charlie remembered how wary and anxious the woman had sounded, and told Ben so. ‘But there was also something else,’ she said. She frowned as she tried to find the words, ‘It was as if she was disappointed; like I wasn’t the person she wanted to speak to. Are you certain this Jane is your sister?’ She didn’t sound like a little girl, Charlie wanted to add, but didn’t want to crush any hope he held.
‘Jane was one of my mother’s middle names and Jacob is her maiden name,’ he explained. He glanced at the wall clock. ‘Do you suppose eleven o’clock is too late to phone her?’
‘Would that really stop you?’ she said.
Ben grinned, he felt in his pocket for his mobile phone, bringing out instead the knife. Their eyes met and sheepishly fell away from one another. Then Ben located his phone, and pressed in the number.
It answered just as Charlie was about to offer words of comfort.
‘Cam?’
Ben, with tears shining in his eyes, was silent as a stream of words flooded the phone. Charlie could hear the tearful, but tinny voice from where she stood.
‘Are you OK? Why didn’t you get in touch? Where have you been?’ Ben interrupted the disembodied voice.
Charlie stood up and was about to tiptoe away to allow him privacy, but he held out his hand to her and beckoned her over. Close, she could make out the words of his sister, tearfully telling Ben how sorry she was, and assuring him that she was all right.
‘Did a crazy sounding woman ring you up and tell you she found your number on the back of the abductor’s car seat?’ he said raising an eyebrow at Charlie. He laughed, his voice threaded with relief.
Charlie squirmed under his arm and tried not to listen.
‘That was me. I mean, I wasn’t the abductor, but I was out trawling red-light areas for you. I even got myself arrested for kerb-crawling.’ Silence as Jane, or Camilla, spoke. Ben chuckled into the phone. ‘Yes, we’ll keep that a secret from dad, and yes, he’s fine. I’m sure he’ll live for many more years yet.’
More silence as Camilla spoke, and Charlie gave up wriggling to escape his arm curling around her waist and even leaned closer against him. She was rewarded by being held tighter with Ben smiling down at her as if he loved her! Charlie mentally shook herself, the light that danced in his eyes and over his face was for his suddenly found sister, not her!
‘I know about Sally, sweetheart. I’m really sorry. If it’s any comfort the police think they are close in nailing this monster.’
Ben and Camilla chatted for a further ten minutes while Charlie stood snug, circled in Ben’s arms.
He clicked off the phone, and replaced it in his pocket. ‘She’s living in someone’s spare room at the moment, but feels it’s too late for me to collect her tonight. Too late for her hosts, that is, who’re in bed.’ Charlie felt him hesitate. ‘She doesn’t want to go home. She doesn’t feel strong enough to meet Father again yet, so I’ll organise her a room in a hotel.’