DON'T LOOK DOWN

by Barbara Scott Emmett

  Alina thought about her home. Her mother, widowed, old before her time. Her brothers, haunted by what they’d seen and done and had done to them, but all dead now anyway. Her life was better than theirs had been. At least she was alive. And one day she would be free. Kristo said so. Once she’d repaid her travel expenses. And all the other debts.

  She prayed it wouldn’t be too long till then. The dark circles were growing larger beneath her eyes, just like the other girls.

  Fourteen

  Kicking and struggling, Lauren fought to get free. Her face was rammed into the seat, squashing her nose, her lips. With some effort, she jerked up her head and when the man curled his hand around her face, she sank her teeth into the foul-tasting flesh of his palm. He roared, throwing himself on top of her, pinning her down with the stinking bulk of his body. Her lungs emptied like bellows under his weight. He did a push up and jammed his knee hard against the base of her spine. Her breath seared her throat like a death rattle.

  ‘Bushtër!’ he muttered in a language she didn’t understand. His tone made it clear it was a curse.

  The driver said something, his voice calmer, his tone sardonic. Muscle man swore again, but pulled his knee off her back. Lauren sucked in a lungful of air. Panic raced through her like an electric charge. Her thoughts were frantic.

  ‘What the fuck’s going on?’ Her voice was shriller than she meant it to be. ‘Who are you? What do you want?’

  Muscle’s thick fingers knotted painfully into her hair. Dragging her upright, he threw her back against the seat with a growl. Lauren twisted towards the door trying to attract the attention of the few straggling pedestrians but the car sped by without anyone noticing her. ‘Help me! Let me go! Help!’

  The car raced along a main road. The driver swivelled in his seat to look at her. Taking both hands off the wheel, he made a calming gesture.

  ‘Jesus!’ Lauren shrieked when a bus loomed ahead. The driver swung back, braking and wrestling with the steering wheel as the Merc swept round a curve. Shitshitshit, she thought. Should have shut up and let him crash. But it was an automatic response. Survival instinct kicking in. She lurched for the door handle. ‘Let me out of here, you bastards. Let me out.’

  Muscle grabbed her neck, his fingers like a vice. He balled his other hand into a fist and shook it in front of her, making his meaning clear.

  The driver spoke, his eyes glittering in the rear-view mirror as he watched her, his narrow face half amused. ‘Sprechen. Sie. Deutsch,’ he said. ‘Speak German. No English.’ His diction was halting, his accent thick. Whatever his own language was, it wasn’t German.

  ‘What do you want with me?’ Lauren gripped the headrest of the seat in front, leaning forward to get a look at him. ‘What do you want?’

  The man gave a curt laugh. ‘Sie wissen dass.’

  ‘I don’t,’ Lauren protested,. ‘I don’t know why. Whatever’s going on, it has fuck all to do with me.’

  ‘Speak German, Katti,’ he said, eyebrows arched. ‘Deutsch sprechen.’

  Lauren gaped, stunned into silence for a second. ‘Katti?’ she said at last, sitting back. ‘You called me Katti!’

  Muscle man jammed his elbow into her ribs and she squawked at the sudden, hammer blow.

  ‘Deutsch,’ he mumbled, his accent thicker than the driver’s.

  He said something else and Lauren strained to work out what the language was. Russian? She didn’t think so. Polish? Romanian? Hell, it could be Serbo-Croat for all she knew.

  ‘I am not Katti,’ she told him in German. ‘My name’s Lauren. Lauren Keane. I’m Katti’s friend.’ She rubbed her side where he’d elbowed her. There’d be a bruise there soon. Along with several others she’d no doubt garnered already. ‘You’ve made a stupid mistake. Katti’s already been kidnapped.’

  The driver smiled into the rear-view mirror, his tongue bulging in the hollow of his cheek. ‘Ja ja,’ he said, as though humouring her. He rattled a few words off in his own language, jerking his head towards her. Muscle gave her a look of contempt, sweeping his eyes over her from face to groin and back again.

  ‘I am not Katti. Get that through your thick heads.’

  Lauren punched the back of the driver’s seat and Muscle smacked her hands down. The driver sneered over his shoulder at her, and only fear of the consequences kept her from lashing out at his smug face. He kept his eye on her for a moment then shook his head and turned his attention to the road.

  Lauren’s heart rat-a-tatted like a drummer on speed. She could hardly think for the blood-rush in her ears. Fear converted to anger, to fury. Frustration turned to cold determination. If this pair of goons thought they had her beat, they were mistaken. Very much so. The best way out of a crazy situation like this was to stay alert and positive. And wait for the main chance.

  Forcing herself to breath deeply, Lauren adjusted her disarranged wrap, her tangled hair. She flicked a few glances at the Muscle sitting next to her. He stared straight ahead, heavy brows projecting over sullen deep-set eyes; thick lips sneering under a pug nose. Though thick-set and powerfully built, his legs were so short his knees only just made it to the edge of the seat. Not a man to be messed with though.

  Disliking the view, Lauren turned away from him. The driver, she reasoned, must be the brains of the outfit, Muscle, the heavy. They’d obviously seen the purple wrap, the similar hair, and taken her for Katti. Looking like sisters wasn’t such a great idea after all. What if she couldn’t convince them she wasn’t Katti? What then? She needed to think, work out where they were, figure out an escape route. And for that she needed to stay calm.

  She stared out of the window. They’d joined the autobahn now. The Mercedes sped around the sweeping curves. She glanced at her watch. Ten to three. From the position of the low sun to the left she guessed they were travelling southeast.

  Peering at the landscape, she searched for some feature to identify the area. Snow-covered fields stretched in rippling folds to the mountains to the south. A village nestled in a dip to the right – square German houses, like a child’s drawings, steeply sloping roofs blanketed with snow. Pine trees poked above a ridge in the distance, the edge of a forest. They could be anywhere. Anywhere in Germany.

  How long had they been travelling? Quarter of an hour? Twenty minutes? They could be thirty miles from Clara’s place by now. The Mercedes was certainly shifting. But they were on the autobahn, so where they were should be identifiable.

  Lauren screwed her eyes closed in frustration. Identifiable to whom? Who was there to tell? She had Wolf’s number on her mobile but her mobile was in her bag. She’d dropped that when she slipped on the road.

  She stole another glance at the tense profile of the man sitting next to her. Sensing her looking at him, he turned to glare at her from under the thick black brows.

  Chin up, she faced him unflinching. ‘You’d better let me go,’ she said. ‘I’m not the one you want. I am not Katti.’

  He grinned, showing a set of smokers’ teeth.

  The driver barked something as overhead signs loomed in the distance. Muscle’s grin disappeared. He grabbed Lauren’s wrap and dragged her down. Slipping out of it, she bobbed up as the Merc shot under the road sign. Did she see Munich up there? It certainly seemed like they were heading south.

  She gasped as Muscle yanked her around to face him. He cuffed her hard and yellow blotches danced in front of her eyes. Catching hold of her hair, he twisted it cruelly and Lauren yelped in pain before he jammed her face into the upholstery again. After a moment she heard the barely audible click click click of the indicator.

  The car was leaving the autobahn.

  Fifteen

  Back in Clara’s flat, Wolf rang the police about Lauren. Not being able to be fully open about Katti made him sound evasive, but he couldn’t take chances. Who knew what the kidnapper could find out? What contacts he might have?

  As he’d suspected, the Police were reluctant to take him seriously.

  Reporting
another woman missing now, Herr Hauer? A British woman this time? Pushed into a car by strangers, you say? And how did he know they were strangers? Had he seen them?

  No. I didn’t see them.

  Then they could have been friends of this woman, couldn’t they?

  No. She doesn’t know anyone in Germany but my sister and me. And my mother.

  How did he know that? Was he familiar with all her friends?

  No, but they dragged her into the car. Friends wouldn’t do that.

  How did he know they’d dragged her if he hadn’t seen them?

  Wolf punched the zebra-skin settee in frustration. Other people saw them! People standing in the street.

  Who were these people? Did he have their names and addresses?

  No. He closed his eyes and groaned. I forgot to get their details. I wasn’t thinking straight.

  They noted down Lauren’s name anyway and took a description of her. She sounded very much like the first missing woman. Were they related?

  No, they were friends.

  Hmmm, it all seemed very odd. But if anything showed up on a computer anywhere, he’d be the first to know. A search? Not at this stage, Herr Hauer. There was nothing for them to go on. This woman, this... Lauren Keane... very probably she would turn up soon. Along with his sister. Very probably he was worrying over nothing. Very probably they were together. If he had not heard from either of them by morning he was to be sure to contact them again.

  But the car last night. The Mercedes. It must have been the same one. The one that tried to knock me off my motorbike.

  Come now, Herr Hauer. You say you didn’t get a good look at the car last night. You also say you didn’t get a good look at the car today. How can you possibly know it was the same one?

  Wolf gave up trying to convince them. I’ll find Lauren myself, he thought. But how was he to do that? Drive about the countryside looking for a black Mercedes? He had no idea which way they’d gone. Once they’d got to the main road they could have turned in any direction. They could have headed for the autobahn. Or not. They could have gone back to Nuremberg. Or not. He had no idea where to turn. He was powerless.

  Defeated, he drove his mother to see Herr Hartmann.

  Sixteen

  The smooth rhythm of the Mercedes might have lulled Lauren into a trance in other circumstances. As it was, she remained tense, constantly on the alert for an opportunity to escape.

  She was in an awkward position, half sitting, half lying. Though darkness now obscured the view, Muscle wouldn’t let her sit up. He kept his grip on her hair firm, wrenching it back from her skull in a tight ponytail. It was painful but at least she could breathe, even if it was the stink of his sweat she was inhaling.

  They weren’t travelling as fast now they’d left the autobahn, having to stop now and then at what she assumed must be road junctions. The men spoke from time to time: questions from Brains, the driver, answered by grunts from Muscle. His words were slurred and ill-formed. They both smoked like damp bonfires, filling the car with tobacco fumes. Lauren coughed and wafted the smoke away but the men ignored her.

  Light filtered through the car window whenever they passed through a town. Each time, Muscle increased the pressure on the ponytail until Lauren thought her hair would start pinging out from her brow-line. Like her hair, she was in a state of high tension. She was holding herself ready for an opportunity to get away. One must come sometime and she had to stay alert.

  She thought about Katti. She was probably going through this as well somewhere. Forced to be where she didn’t want to be. Having no freedom of choice. But why did they imagine she was Katti when Katti had already been kidnapped? It was too much of a coincidence to think there were two sets of kidnappers out there, both after the same person. There must be some wires crossed somewhere.

  Desperation made her want to struggle but she clamped down on the panic that threatened to rise. Keep calm. Let them think you’ve given up. Take them by surprise when you can.

  Soon, there were no more towns. Muscle relaxed his grip though still exerting enough pressure to keep her pinned down. Lauren wriggled about to get more comfortable and he growled whenever she moved.

  She managed to rearrange herself to get a look at her watch. Nearly five o’clock. God, she was thirsty. Her lips, dry from fear and stale air, stuck to her teeth. I could murder a cup of tea, she thought, then checked herself. Not murder. No. Don’t want to say that word.

  When the tyres crunched over fresh snow, indicating a little used road, Muscle released her hair and leaned forward over the driver’s shoulder. He mumbled something and pointed, apparently giving directions. Lauren sat up slowly, massaging her scalp, wary in case he grabbed her and shoved her down again. He ignored her, squinting instead through the darkness, peering this way and that, shouting to correct an earlier direction.

  Lauren peered out of the window, trying to see as much as she could of the narrow road, so she would be able to describe it when she escaped. There wasn’t much to see, just high hedges and snow; the looming of a tree now and then as it lit up in the beam of the headlights.

  She sat massaging her shoulders and calves, aching from the cramped position she’d been forced into. Weary and dispirited, she rubbed her eyes. That wasn’t a tear pricking there was it? She sniffed loudly. Nothing a hot bath and a hot meal wouldn’t put right. But what were her chances of getting either of those tonight?

  The car turned down a dark lane, bouncing over frozen rutted tracks. Outside, all was dark. No lights, no houses, nothing but blackness. A pulse beat softly in Lauren’s throat, telling her she was afraid. The car slid to a halt. Wherever they were going, they had arrived.

  What was coming next was something she preferred not to dwell on.

  Seventeen

  ‘Clara.’ Helmut Hartmann held the door to his office open. He nodded at his ex-wife and then at her son.

  ‘Where is the note, Hartmann?’ Clara said, pushing past him. ‘Let me see it at once.’

  ‘Nice to see you, too, babe.’ Hartmann went to his desk, picked a scrap of paper off the glass and smoothed it out. Clara snatched it from his hand.

  ‘“I keep your daughter,”’ she read out, in German. ‘“5 million Euro restore her you. Wait my instruction. DO NOT CALL POLICE!”’

  ‘Odd phrasing,’ said Wolf. ‘A foreigner?’

  Hartmann stood by the wall of glass that overlooked the Weisserturm. Outside the snow kept falling, deadening the sound of the city. The White Tower lived up to its name for once and wore a snowy cap on its pyramid roof. ‘Could be. Or an illiterate.’

  ‘They have contacted you again?’ asked Clara.

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Do you think,’ Wolf said,. ‘we should maybe go to the police after all. What with Lauren missing too –’

  ‘No,’ Hartmann swung around. ‘No, man. We need to tread carefully here. Wait until this bastard gets in touch again. See what the instructions are.’

  ‘You must pay them, Hartmann!’ said Clara. ‘You must. I want my Katti back.’

  ‘I can’t do anything until they tell me what to do.’ Hartmann stuck his hands in his jeans’ pockets. ‘Fuck sake, Clara, you read the note. My hands are tied. As soon as I hear from them, I’ll deal with it.’

  Wolf took the note from his mother and studied it. It was scrawled in blunt pencil on a square of cheap lined notepaper. ‘Handwritten,’ he said. ‘What sort of amateur sends a handwritten ransom note? There must be DNA on it, fingerprints, something. We shouldn’t be handling it. We should take it to the police.’

  ‘But they might kill her, Wolfi,’ Clara cried. ‘If they find out. Maybe Hartmann is right.’ She glared at her ex-husband. ‘Maybe we should wait.’

  ‘Like you say, man, whoever it is, is obviously an amateur,’ Hartmann said. ‘So even if they find fingerprints or whatever, if this guy isn’t in the system already, it won’t help. He’d need to be known to the police in the first place.’ He flipped open a gold cig
arette case and offered it around. ‘Like Clara says, it could put Katti in danger, and we don’t want that. We need to play a waiting game.’

  Eighteen

  Brains was getting something out of the boot. As he picked his way over the snow, with the box in his arms, he half turned and locked the car with the remote. A clunk and a double flash, and the snow lit up briefly orange. He high-stepped delicately over the ruts, tall and lean, like a stork.

  Muscle grabbed Lauren’s arm in a tourniquet grip. His face was ugly, not just from the way it was formed but from the expression on it. Swinging her round, he propelled her towards the chalet.

  Sagging wooden shutters covered the chalet windows, the ornamental hinges rusted and loose. The door was damp and rotting at the bottom. Lauren stumbled over the threshold into a dark, musty hallway, shaking from cold, from fear. Her need for the loo was urgent and she squeezed her legs together. Oh God when will this be over?

  Feeling along the wall, Muscle found a light switch and flipped it on. A low wattage bulb sputtered to life, showing a square hallway with three doors leading off, right, left and centre. Pincering her arm again, Muscle marched Lauren into the room on the right, and threw her into a chair.

  ‘Das Klo?’ she said. ‘The loo? Where is it?’

  Brains put his box down on a pine table flanked by two benches. ‘Bathroom there.’ He hitched a bony thumb back towards the hallway.

  Lauren scrambled up and made for the door. The Muscle seemed inclined to tag along but she scooted into the bathroom and had the door locked before he could join her.

  She checked the window. It was tiny. God, even a child couldn’t squeeze through that. Undoing her jeans, she did what she’d come for. Even if she could escape, she wouldn’t get far before they caught up with her. The moon wasn’t up yet. Without a torch she wouldn’t be able to see a thing. Stumbling over the frozen ridges of the lane, she’d be flat on her face in no time. And the prospect of neighbours within shouting distance seemed remote. She’d find a way, though. Somehow, she’d get out of this. She had to.