DON'T LOOK DOWN

by Barbara Scott Emmett

  ‘So you knew the car was theirs? You were trying to catch me out.’ Lauren squinted back at him, unconsciously echoing his expression. ‘You’re satisfied my story’s true now, are you?’

  He moued. ‘It’s plausible.’

  Lauren frowned. ‘Sounds like you’re about to add a “just” at the end of that.’ She wiped up a smear of mayonnaise with her last two chips and poked them into her mouth. ‘So do you often get intuition about things? Thought police work was all facts and figures. Hard headed stuff.’

  ‘No. A lot of it is based on feelings. A sixth sense you get about things.’ He paused. ‘If you’re any good.’

  ‘Well, I’m bound to have been reported missing by now.’ She gulped down a mouthful of coffee, gave an‘Ah’ of satisfaction and smacked her lips. ‘Wolf will have told the police what happened. Wolfgang Hauer.’ She frowned again. He’d better have. ‘You should be able to check, on your, whatsit thingy, that police have.’

  ‘I’m not a police car,’ he said, patting himself down as if proving it to himself. ‘I don’t have built-in radio equipment. Tell the truth, I don’t have any police equipment. I’m working undercover.’

  ‘Undercover? So, if you had come in to rescue me from a fate marginally less worse than death...’ Lauren wiped her mouth with the napkin he handed her. ‘Would that have blown your cover?’

  ‘I would have assessed the situation first,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t have rushed in without thinking.’

  Lauren gaped. ‘You wouldn’t stop a rape if you saw it happening? No! You would. Wouldn’t you?’

  He shook his head. ‘You don’t understand. We’ve been after these people for a long time – oh I don’t mean the fools who abducted you – they’re nothing. Lowlife. But I couldn’t have put the whole operation at risk.’

  ‘What exactly are they involved in? What’s so important that one person’s safety, maybe sanity, is not worth preserving?’

  His eyes were a hard blue, his lips a thin line. ‘I’ve seen far worse than that. One rape? We’re talking hundreds of rapes. Hundreds of women, hundreds of times. In fact, if not in name.’

  He lowered his gaze for a moment. When he raised it again the expression in his eyes was softer, pained. ‘The greatest good, of the greatest number, as your British philosopher said. Jeremy Bentham, was it? That’s what we must achieve. And if that means sacrificing one person...’ He tilted his head to one side.

  Lauren knew she must be white with shock. She was shivery again and her hair was practically standing on end. All the pleasure she’d gained from her meal dissipated. The hyperactive joy plummeted to despair. She stared into her mug, swirling the dregs round and round. ‘Who are they? These... these animals?’

  ‘People traffickers, Lauren. What used to be called White Slavers. They trick women from poorer countries into working in the sex industry. You must know about that.’

  ‘Shit.’ Lauren put her palms together as though about to pray. She tapped her lips with her steepled fingertips. ‘There’s been a lot about stuff like that in the news recently. But I never thought I’d ever come into contact…’ She paused. ‘How do they get away with it?’

  Gunther put his head on one side and raised an eyebrow. ‘You’ve experienced their violence.’

  ‘Okay, maybe I’m being naïve, but... can’t the women run away?’

  ‘Fear, Lauren. Fear and lack of resources keeps the women imprisoned. The traffickers take away their passports – if they ever had one in the first place. They don’t give them any money. You’ve seen for yourself tonight how difficult it can be, without your cash and credit cards and mobile phone.’

  Lauren hung her head. Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit. At least she had family and friends she could call on. And she could speak the language. ‘But why do the girls get involved with these bastards in the first place? Why on earth do they go along with it?’

  ‘Lauren. They think they’re going to get a good job overseas. The traffickers tell them they’ll be working legitimately and they’ll be able to send money home. Or they tell them they’ve got a place at a college so they can study, better themselves.’ He shook his head. ‘But most often the girls think they’re running away with their boyfriends. Going to a better life abroad. Then the boyfriends turn out to be part of the ring.’

  ‘Unbelievable.’

  ‘But sadly true.’ Gunther frowned. ‘And without passports or work permits, what else can the girls do but sell themselves? If they didn’t do it for the pimps they would have to do it on their own account just to survive. Usually they’re not given a choice. The traffickers make up debts they claim have to be paid – for transport, for false ID. Often the girl is sold on to someone else, and her new owner demands reimbursement for the cost of buying her in the first place. How else can they pay these debts back except by doing what the pimps want?’

  ‘What about the police? Don’t you lot offer protection?’

  ‘Most of the women are too terrified to go to the police. They’re afraid they’ll be treated like criminals themselves, if they do. And they often are. They’re illegal immigrants, after all. They’re usually sent back home. And you can be sure there’ll be gang members there who’ll either kill them, or grab them and bring them back again. The only way out of it is to get the girls to testify against the traffickers, so we can put them behind bars. But that means hauling the slimeballs in first.’

  ‘It’ll give me great satisfaction to see those goons who grabbed me go to gaol,’ Lauren said.

  ‘Getting a conviction isn’t that easy though,’ Gunther went on. ‘Not many of the women are brave enough to come forward. They have families back home who the gangs can target if they step out of line. It’s a lucrative business, Lauren. These people won’t hesitate to kill anyone standing in the way of profits. Thing is, if the women do agree to testify, to put the finger on the traffickers, they’ll be allowed to stay in the country. Well, for a few months anyway, while they give evidence. And sometimes they’ll be allowed to stay permanently. Unfortunately, not many of them realise that.’

  ‘Who are these traffickers? Who’s behind it? Do you know?’

  ‘We know a fair amount. But I can’t tell you too much. It’s better you don’t know who they are. Safer.’

  ‘Where do they get the women from?’

  ‘Bulgaria, Albania, Eastern Europe... anywhere that’s poorer than here. I’ve heard stories of parents selling their kids into the sex industry,’ Gunther said. ‘Heard of one boy who was exchanged for a television set.’

  ‘Jesus. What would make someone do that? What would make someone sell their child for a TV set?’

  ‘Desperation. Aspiration. Poverty – and the desire to get out of it. We have no idea what it’s like, you and I, Lauren, in our safe, comfortable worlds. We can’t begin to imagine.’ He glanced across at her. ‘If they can’t afford to feed their children maybe they see it as the perfect solution. The child won’t starve – or so they hope – and they get something out of it for themselves.’

  ‘No wonder the girls are eager to believe the lies they’re told. Their lives must be pretty awful back home.’ Lauren fiddled with her napkin, tearing it into strips. ‘But... but where does Katti fit into all this? My friend. Why have they targeted her?’

  ‘You said she’d been kidnapped, didn’t you? Presumably there was a ransom demand? Will someone pay it?’

  ‘Her father. I hope. But is it only the ransom money they want? Surely they won’t make her–’

  ‘Doesn’t sound like she fits the usual profile for women forced into the sex industry. It must be an opportunistic thing. You say her name is Hartmann?’

  Lauren bit her tongue. Shit and shit again. The police had to be kept out of it. And he was the police.

  She sank her head into her hands.

  ‘It’s late,’ Gunther went on, apparently taking pity on her. ‘You look exhausted. You should get some sleep.’

  ‘I do want to help with this, you know. I wa
nt to nail the bastards who grabbed me. And whoever’s got Katti. I’d like to nail their balls to the floor.’

  ‘And you will. But not tonight, eh?’ He leaned across the table and planted a kiss on her nose. ‘Mmm,’ he said. ‘Mayonnaise.’

  Lauren met his eyes. To be safe and warm, with someone’s arms around her, what wouldn’t she give for that? What wouldn’t Katti give? Talk about the kindness of strangers.

  Thirty

  Sammy turns his heavy eyes towards the bed. He’s not had much sleep the last couple of nights. Waiting is the hardest thing. But it will be hard for Hartmann too. Keep him in suspense. Is it time to squeeze him yet?

  He peers at the number scribbled on the crumpled notepaper. Should he call? Will the line be tapped? His voice recorded? He curses. He hasn’t thought it through.

  Getting up he moves to the window and stares out at the car park. He lights a spliff and sinks into the battered armchair. What will he do if Hartmann ignores the notes? Should he put the pressure on now? Make threats? Threats he knows he can’t carry out? Would that work? Would Hartmann know he was bluffing?

  Forget it for tonight. Send another message tomorrow. Send a lock of her hair perhaps. Or will that only show what an amateur he is? Viktor would know what to do. Viktor would slice off a toe or an earlobe. He lets out a long stream of smoke. He can’t do that to her.

  He glances across at the bed again. She’s sleeping. Sleeping and dreaming. He smiles, affection softening his face. So much for Viktor and Kristo and their evil plan. Will they know she’s disappeared by now?

  His chest swells. It makes him feel so good, thinking about Viktor and Kristo, about how he’s tricked them. Who is the half-wit now?

  He takes another deep drag on his spliff and nips the end. He’ll go out now while she’s asleep. Ask around. Find out what’s happening. Don’t want to risk them coming round here looking for him.

  Thirty-one

  The first thing Wolf saw when he got out of the van outside Clara’s apartment was Lauren’s bag. It lay by the kerb in a pool of melting snow, limp and soggy. Evidence! He could show it to the police to prove she hadn’t gone off with friends. They’d have to take him seriously now.

  He scooped it up and sat back in the van with it. Unzipping a side pocket, he found her mobile phone and keyed through her contacts list. Paul. He would be best. Lauren’s brother. Better than calling her parents. He thumbed the button and waited.

  Thirty-two

  Lauren woke late the next morning. Though the motel was merely functional with no frills and a sagging bed, it was as comfortable as a luxury hotel to her. She could easily have slept longer if a noise hadn’t woken her.

  She yawned and stretched but didn’t immediately get up. God, I ache all over, she thought. Her lip throbbed and she had a headache. Feels like I’m coming down with something. Snuggling back under the covers, she closed her eyes again.

  A moment later she sat bolt upright. It hadn’t all been a dream. She really had been abducted. She really had escaped and been helped by Gunther. The aches and pains were the result of yesterday’s trauma, not the beginnings of a head cold.

  Gunther! She smiled but it hurt her lip. Gunther had been the perfect gent. Two single rooms and not even a goodnight kiss. Well, not a proper one. Not a deep meaningful passionate one. Not that she wanted a kiss but still, she was a free agent...

  Insisting she get a good night’s sleep before he took her in to the police station, Gunther had strolled over to the cash desk at the café to enquire about somewhere to stay for what was left of the night. Lauren’s eyes had lingered on his slim figure – black leather jacket, neat jeans, blond hair.

  ‘I’ll call in soon and tell them you’re safe,’ he’d said. ‘In case anyone’s worrying about you.’ His eyes searched her face as he said this. ‘But you must get some sleep.’

  Lauren hadn’t put up much resistance to this suggestion. Almost asleep on her feet by the time they left the café, she accepted Gunther’s proposal of a night in the nearby motel, at his expense, separate rooms of course. By that time she couldn’t have cared less if they’d had to share a room with twelve other people and a herd of goats. She’d have slept on the floor if necessary, with or without straw.

  With his arm around her shoulder, Gunther guided her to his car. The wizened cleaner she’d spoken to earlier passed them in the café car park and gave them a wary look. Going off duty, thought Lauren, sleepily. She’ll go home and tell the family about the idiotic English woman who didn’t know where she was.

  The idiotic English woman who still doesn’t quite know where she is, she thought, as she reached for her watch. Eleven o’clock. Nearly eight hours sleep, not bad. Wonder why Gunther didn’t wake me earlier, though. Surely, he can’t still be sleeping himself.

  There was a tap on the door. Ah, that’s him now.

  ‘Hang on,’ she called, casting about for something to wrap herself in, before realising she was still fully dressed. Must have crashed out the minute she got to the room. She hauled her reluctant body out of the warm bed and opened the door.

  ‘Excuse please,’ said the cleaner, before her mouth fell open in surprise.

  ‘Oh hello again.’ Lauren was surprised too. The poor little woman must have several jobs. She must be exhausted. ‘Have you been out working all night?’

  ‘I clean room now,’ said the woman.

  ‘Could you give me five minutes while I have a quick shower?’ Lauren felt sticky and grubby. Not only had she been in her clothes for over twenty four hours, she’d slept in them as well.

  ‘I do next room first,’ said the woman, her German was strongly accented.

  Similar accent to the goons, Lauren thought. ‘Where are you from?’ she said.

  The woman glanced over her shoulder then looked back at Lauren. She peered into the room, her bird eyes darting around. ‘Shqipëri,’ she said at last. ‘Albania. I look for my daughter. You seen her?’ She tussled with her pocket and brought out a crumpled photograph. ‘You seen her?’

  Lauren gave the photo a cursory glance and shook her head. ‘Don’t think so. Sorry. Where do you think she is?’

  ‘Last time I hear from her was from this place. I get postcard with picture. Then I hear no more.’

  Lauren squinted again at the out of focus print then handed it back. ‘I can’t really make her face out very well. How long has she been missing?’

  ‘Three month. After two month I come here. Was lot of money for me to come. Now I work to pay it back. But I must find daughter. Was always good girl. Would not leave me wondering what happen to her.’

  ‘Have you been to the police?’

  The woman glanced over her shoulder again. ‘At first. But they say they not found her. Now I cannot go to police. They send me home. I cannot go home. I frightened for her now. Very frightened.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. I hope you find her.’

  The woman nodded and turned to go. ‘I come back after ten minutes. Clean room.’

  Lauren shut the door. Another missing person. Poor woman, with no one to help her. Working illegally obviously. God, I hope her daughter hasn’t fallen foul of those traffickers. She shook her head and went to have her shower.

  She took off her watch, rings and earrings and left them on the shelf above the sink. Stripping quickly, she hopped into the cubicle. It was small and chilly but the water was blissfully hot. She scrubbed herself with a sliver of soap she found on the hand-basin but as there was no shampoo, resisted the urge to stand under the shower and let the water run through her hair. She’d never get it dry anyway and it would freeze and snap off.

  She grinned at the thought. Though still tired and achy, she felt strangely elated. This is what living on the edge is all about, she told herself. Adventure, excitement, adrenalin. She was buzzing with the peculiar joy of capture and escape.

  She sobered as she remembered Katti. What was Katz going through now? Maybe she’d managed to escape too. If whoever kidnapped h
er was as incompetent as Muscle and Brains, it was highly likely. She shuddered in disgust when she thought about the goons. There was nothing to be happy about really. Wolf would have something to say if he knew she was making a joke of things.

  Wolf! Shit, she’d better try ringing him again. What was wrong with her? Her head was all over the place – and her emotions. I’m definitely not myself, she thought. This has been a profoundly shocking experience. No wonder people needed trauma counselling.

  Well, the police would have made contact with Wolf by now anyway. Gunther said he’d make the phone call last night. Maybe he could do something to help that poor Albanian woman. She’d mention it to him later.

  After drying herself on the skimpy towel the motel provided, she pulled on her clothes. It wasn’t pleasant having to wear the same stinking things again but, hey, she was alive so what did it matter? In fact, she was more alive than usual – wild and vibrant and saying a giant YES to life. Now the worst was over, she felt proud of herself. Acquitted myself well, all in all, she thought.

  She was combing her hair at the bathroom mirror – Must remember to give Gunther his comb back – when the cleaner tapped on the door again. ‘Come on in,’ she called. ‘I’m just about ready.’ I’ll have another word with her, she thought. Have another look at that photo. Must be dreadful for her –

  As she turned on hearing a step behind her, the smile faded from her face and the world went dark.

  Muffled inside the blanket flung over her head, Lauren yelled and fought. A stabbing finger poked the coarse woollen cloth into her open mouth, then tightened it around her, pinning her arms to her sides. She felt herself lifted and slung over someone’s shoulder.

  ‘Nnnngggugug!’ she gargled, as she was carried outside and tossed onto a hard surface. The smell of diesel, the ribbed floor, the clang of the door, told her she was in the back of a van.