DON'T LOOK DOWN

by Barbara Scott Emmett

  ‘Pack his bags,’ the woman said, pushing the door open. ‘Tell him not to come back. Screams through the walls, indeed.’

  Cold at these words, but glad to get away from the woman, Lauren ventured into Sammy’s flat. It was dank and silent and her stomach was knotted tight.

  Wolf followed, closing the door behind him to shut out the old witch. He squeezed Lauren’s hand as they stood in the hallway deciding which room to look in first. One of the three doors was open and Lauren made for it. The bedroom. She took it in in a glance and jerked back.

  Oh God. Oh Jesus God.

  Sixty-two

  It was the leather straps around the bedposts that most bothered Lauren. She hadn’t thought she was a prude but the evidence of bondage took her breath away. It didn’t seem like Katti was such an innocent after all. Unless she hadn’t been a willing party to it. The room had an odd sweet smell as well. Smoky but not like grass or hash.

  Wolf prowled the room, his scowl firmly in place. Lauren worried it might be in danger of becoming a permanent fixture.

  ‘It’s... it’s not that I have anything against sex games per se,’ Lauren said. ‘I mean, you know, each to his own, and all that. In fact, occasional dressing up is quite... quite... God I need a drink.’ She watched Wolf’s fists clenching and unclenching as he paced the floor. ‘Do you think they’ll come back?’

  He flung his hands up. ‘How the hell do I know? I don’t know what to think.’ He kicked the end of the bed. ‘She would not have agreed to this.’

  ‘You don’t know that, Wolf.’

  ‘No. Something is not right. I am not saying she wouldn’t play games like this if it suited her. But not here. Not like this.’ He flung his arm out to indicate the room. It was bare of furniture other than the bed and a chair by the window.

  The other two rooms were the same. A living room and a bathroom. The living room cum kitchen was equipped with a cooker, fridge, sink and so on, but no furniture other than a mattress on the floor. There was no food anywhere and no evidence of there ever having been any, apart from the take-away cartons in the bin.

  The bathroom contained a part-used roll of loo paper, a sliver of soap and one threadbare towel. The loo seat was up; the bowl stained and rank with the smell of urine. A disposable razor lay at the bottom of a waste basket.

  Wolf shook his head. ‘This place is so sordid. So depressing.’

  ‘Maybe that was part of the game.’

  Wolf rounded on Lauren. ‘No! No. No. No.’

  ‘No,’ Lauren admitted. ‘You’re right. It isn’t very likely.’ Katti liked her comforts. Her glass of wine, her music, her sketch pad. She loved her candles, her cushions, her velvet and satin and silk. She favoured clutter not minimalism. She’d have hated this place. It was hollow and echoing. Loneliness seeped from the walls.

  Lauren spotted something lying on the bare boards and bent down to pick it up. An auburn curl. Only a few strands but unmistakeably auburn, unmistakeably curled. ‘This is where he cut her hair.’ She held the strands out on the palm of her hand. ‘Clippings.’

  Wolf froze.

  ‘And,’ Lauren went on,. ‘there’s blood. On the pillow. Just a little.’

  He groaned. ‘What has he done to her? What has the bastard done?’

  ‘Looks like a slight nosebleed. Or a cut lip, maybe.’ Lauren touched her own mouth. Her split lip was healing but still tender. ‘It’s not a lot of blood, Wolf. Don’t worry. It might not even be hers.’

  ‘If he has hurt her – He must have hurt her to get her to stay here.’

  ‘I think she’s been drugged. That smell. It’s opium, isn’t it? He’s probably got her stoned out of her head so she doesn’t know what’s going on. And God knows what else he’s slipped her to keep her out of it.’

  ‘Where is she, Lauren? Where has he taken her? What sort of condition can she be in?’ Wolf’s voice was pleading, as though he believed Lauren could supply the answers.

  ‘Maybe... maybe Katti’s father’s paid up. Maybe he’s gone to take Katti home. Call your mother, Wolf. See if she’s heard anything yet.’ Was she clutching at straws? Was there a real possibility Sammy had gone to collect the ransom money and hand Katti back? Why else would he leave and take her with him?‘Doesn’t look like they’ve been gone long.’

  Wolf flipped his phone open and keyed up Clara’s number as Lauren watched by his side. She raised her eyes to his face as he spoke. ‘Ja. Ja. Ja. Okay.’

  ‘What?’ she said. ‘What’s happening?’

  Wolf strode to the door. ‘Good thinking, Lauren. Mutti is at my place waiting for Hartmann. They are going to hand over the ransom tonight.’

  Sixty-three

  Lauren held back, staring at her feet as Wolf greeted Ingrid. She glanced up in time to see the kiss that passed between them. Somewhat formal, she thought. But perhaps that had something to do with the fact she and Clara were there and the atmosphere was tense. How Wolf and his fiancée kissed in private was no doubt a very different matter.

  She cast about for something else to look at, something she could occupy herself with so as to feel less awkward. Why was it her limbs seemed so gangling and her hands felt so huge? She was occupying too much space in their private world, that’s why.

  ‘And this is Lauren,’ Wolf said.

  Fixing a smile on her face Lauren stuck her hand out. Ingrid was tall – only an inch or two shorter than Wolf and that must put her around 5’10 or 11. She was well-built without being fat. Voluptuous? thought Lauren. No. Statuesque. She didn’t exude enough warmth to be voluptuous. She was probably a few years older than Wolf, too – thirty five, thirty six? So much for him objecting to Katti going out with someone younger.

  ‘How do you do.’ Ingrid said, touching Lauren’s hand briefly with cool fingertips.

  Her eyes were a cold blue, her gaze unwavering, unlike Lauren’s own which darted about the room seeking a refuge from guilt. Only this morning she’d woken up in the same warm bed as Wolf, wrapped in his arms. It was totally innocent but still…

  ‘So this kidnapper is called Zamir, you think?’ Ingrid went on.

  ‘Yes.’ Lauren hunched her shoulders and stuck her hands in her pockets. Sheesh, she’d start swaying from side to side like a shy schoolgirl in a minute. Get a grip, Keane. She straightened. ‘Looks like Katti’s been having some kind of relationship with him. Though whether it’s entirely voluntary or not, remains to be seen. It may have started out that way but –’

  The pale blonde eyebrows shot up. ‘A relationship?’ Ingrid glanced at Wolf. ‘I didn’t realise she was seeing someone.’

  ‘She was very secretive about it,’ Wolf said.

  ‘And you think he has given her drugs?’ Ingrid went on.

  ‘Yes,’ Lauren said. ‘Dope maybe. Opium. Possibly other things as well. Rohypnol even – who knows what he’s capable of.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘Where is Hartmann?’ said Clara. ‘He should be here by now.’ She fluttered to the window. ‘Wolfi, you will come with me to get my Katti, yes? Lauren, you will stay here with Ingrid.’

  ‘Shouldn’t Herr Hartmann go alone?’ Wolf said. ‘We don’t want to frighten the kidnapper off. We cannot take any chances with Katti’s safety.’

  ‘But I must go!’ Clara flung herself into the high-backed chair. ‘I can’t let my poor Katti be all alone with Hartmann. She will need me.’

  ‘Herr Hartmann said your mother would have to wait somewhere nearby,’ said Ingrid. ‘You’re right. He must go alone.’

  ‘Did you speak to him?’ Lauren asked.

  Ingrid regarded her coolly. Lauren half expected her to say it was none of her business.

  ‘No,’ she said at last. ‘Clara has just told me.’

  ‘Where is that bastard Hartmann?’ Clara wailed again. ‘Why doesn’t he come?’

  ‘Calm down, Mutti. He’s bound to be here soon.’

  ‘I cannot calm down, Wolfi. I am so afraid! What if something goes wrong?’ Clara
hugged herself. ‘Something is eating me inside. I am sick with worry.’

  Wolf went over to the window. ‘A car is pulling up,’ he said. ‘This could be Herr Hartmann now.’

  Sixty-four

  As the silver-grey Mercedes limo slid up to the kerb, Helmut Hartmann wound down the back window and peered up at the sandstone tower. Frowning, he slid his phone open and pressed some keys. ‘Hartmann here,’ he said. ‘I’m outside. Come down.’ He snapped the phone closed and sank back into the leather upholstery.

  After a few minutes he saw the two figures appear from the old building, and rapped on the glass panel separating him from the driver. Klaus got out and opened the door. A draught of icy wind swept into the car along with Clara’s shrill voice.

  ‘What took you so long, Hartmann? It is so late now. Why didn’t you – ?’

  ‘Get in Clara and shut your mouth.’ Hartmann pressed back into his corner so as not to touch her. He nodded curtly at her son.

  ‘Don’t speak to me in that way,’ Clara said. ‘I am not your bitch for you to slap around.’

  ‘No? Whose bitch are you then?’ Hartmann flicked her a glance. ‘I pity the poor bastard, whoever he is.’

  ‘I am all alone in the world. You know this. Not that you care.’

  The son slid onto the seat after his mother. ‘Let’s all try to be civilised, please,’ he said. ‘For Katti’s sake.’

  Hartmann eyed him. Wolfgang Hauer. Hadn’t he done him a favour letting him rent the flat below Katti’s? He smiled grimly as his ex-wife pointedly turned her back on him. Stupid bitch. Wrapped up in her leopardskin furs and muffs. Mutton dressed as lamb as usual.

  Clara swivelled her head to glare at him over her shoulder. ‘Where is it then? The money?’

  Hartmann spoke through the intercom and Klaus released the clutch. The limo eased away from the kerbside, the indicator blinking orange through the darkened glass.

  ‘Hartmann? Why don’t you answer me? Where is the –’

  He grabbed her by her fur collar and dragged her around to face him. ‘The only reason you’re here is to comfort Katti when they release her,’ he said, his teeth clenched. ‘I’ll deal with the rest. We’ve got other cars waiting. I’ll go on alone in one of them. The money is safe. Now shut the fuck up.’ He pushed her away from him.

  ‘How dare you speak to my mother like that.’ Wolfgang glared across at him. ‘Can’t you see she’s upset? And afraid?’

  ‘And you think I’m not?’

  ‘You are afraid only for your money, Hartmann. You don’t care about my Katti. Or me.’

  Hartmann reached out to Clara again but Wolfgang batted his hand away. ‘Keep your hands off my mother.’

  Hartmann slumped back. Mummy’s boy. ‘With the greatest of pleasure,’ he said, wiping his palms on his jeans as if they were contaminated by the contact with Clara. ‘Wish I’d never ever touched the bitch in the first place. Wouldn’t be in this mess now.’

  Sixty-five

  Lauren eyed Ingrid surreptitiously. Ramrod stiff, she stood by the window her back to the room. Lauren sat in the high-backed chair and fiddled with the strap of her bag. She was looking at the lumpy settee with a certain wistfulness. If only she could stretch out and sleep for half an hour. Either that or have another drink. It had been a long day. Coffee might be the best idea actually, she thought, since it was probably going to be a long night as well.

  Ingrid hadn’t had much to say since Wolf and Clara left. Her smile was forced when she bothered to put one on at all. Well, she was bound to be a bit put out that Wolf hadn’t been here to welcome her back from her business trip. And his staying over night in Schondorf with an ex-girlfriend wouldn’t have pleased her. She was probably imagining all sorts going on. She seemed edgy, but it could hardly be for worrying about Katti. Lauren found it difficult to believe Ingrid had any great love for her future sister-in-law.

  She herself, meanwhile, couldn’t stop worrying. Though tired, her mind whirled. Would Sammy hand Katti over? Would Katti allow herself to be handed over? If she loved him, would they not just take the money and run? And then there was the other lot. Brains and Muscle, the yellow-eyed gunman. Where did they fit in? What would they do if they caught up with Sammy?

  And what about Kristo upstairs? What would he do to her if he realised she was back here. How come he hadn’t figured that out already? Presumably Alina hadn’t said anything yet about the questions they’d asked her. But it couldn’t be long before he realised she was here. Lauren rubbed her temples. God, it was too much to think about. She needed either sleep or stimulation.

  She considered going to the kitchen to see if Wolf had any booze tucked away but as she glanced around the room she spotted a bottle of Brandwein on the sideboard. Clara’s no doubt. Suppose I ought to let Ingrid suggest a drink, she thought, since she’s Number One Woman here now. Didn’t seem like she was going to though.

  So far, Lauren had drunk Weissbier at lunchtime, wine upstairs at Katti’s place this evening and brandy at the Meisengeige – but the alcohol had been so quickly burned up by adrenalin, she might as well have been teetotal all day.

  Ingrid’s phone rang and she spun around to grab her bag. She shot Lauren a sideways glance as she flipped her mobile open and went out of the room murmuring into it. Lauren made a face at the closed door. A look from Ingrid could freeze a bonfire. Odd choice as a girlfriend, a potential wife. What was Wolf thinking of?

  Then again, maybe she wasn’t that odd a choice. The pair of them had a set of matching pokers up their arses. They were well-suited. She scowled. No. This ice-cold blonde piece would make Wolf worse. He needed someone to loosen him up. To warm him into allowing his own warmth out.

  She allowed herself a sad smile as she thought of him cuddling her in the big bed at Clara’s chalet. The way they walked arm in arm by the lake. The way they’d got closer in these last few desperate hours. Was it all for nothing? To see him retreat back into his igloo with Princess Frosty-Knickers for company?

  She couldn’t bear to think what he’d be like if he married Ingrid. After a few years he’d turn into one of those cold-eyed types who treats life as a serious business, with nothing at all to be smiled at. The playful boy was still inside him somewhere – he’d peeped out a few times lately even through the worries over Katti. Once Ingrid got a wedding ring on her frigid finger it would be bye-bye to sweet sexy Wolfi, hello Herr Poker-stiff Hauer.

  Lauren let out a deep deep sigh. If only… Oh fuck it, she thought. There’s no point in if-onlies. She’d let him go once and she was going to have to continue to live with the consequences. She’d got over him once and she could do it again. It’s funny, she thought. Time goes by and you think things are over. That a certain thing is done with, finished, never to be revisited. But then all of a sudden it comes back around again. When enough time has passed, it seems like the unchangeable can after all be changed.

  A meaningless flirtation. A jealous guy. Put the two together and it spelled disaster. The flirtation was with a gangly French boy at a New Year’s Eve party. A bit of fun, both of them tipsy, drunk on a celebratory high. They’d kissed in a quiet corner – a meaningless kiss, a fun kiss, a flirtatious kiss. It wasn’t meant seriously. It wasn’t meant to break up her relationship with Wolfi.

  But Wolf was the jealous guy and he’d seen them. He’d left in a storm of thrown jackets and flurried scarves. She ran after him, trying to reason with him, to tell him it was just a bit of harmless fun. It was New Year’s Eve, for Christ’s sake! But Wolf had been vulnerable. He’d never fully believed in his own attractiveness, had always been shy of women. Unsure of his ground with her, he’d felt threatened and humiliated.

  Lauren sighed. He’d been over-sensitive. Over-sensitive and untrusting. And so he’d thrown away the thing he most wanted to preserve. She could understand it, she supposed. If you throw what’s precious away, then it can never be taken from you.

  Perhaps if they’d lived in the same country they could
have patched things up but distance got between them – distance and time.

  Ingrid came back into the room. ‘I must go now,’ she said. ‘Please tell Wolfgang... never mind, I’ll tell him myself.’ She picked up her coat.

  ‘Oh. Aren’t you going to wait until Katti gets back?’ Lauren couldn’t even fool herself that her question wasn’t barbed.

  ‘I’m afraid not. Something has come up.’

  ‘At half past midnight?’

  Ingrid dropped her mobile into her bag and snapped it shut. ‘Goodbye Lauren. It’s been so pleasant meeting you.’

  Sarky bitch, thought Lauren. But then, so am I. She snatched up Clara’s Brandwein and poured a hefty shot into a dirty coffee cup. Then she settled back in the wing chair to await her friend’s return.

  Sixty-six

  Sammy tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and scanned the darkness. He was parked in the shadow of the Zeppelin Stadium, between a high concrete wall and a clump of leafless Linden trees. His view of the broad path through the Dutzendteich park was clear but so far the path remained empty.

  Where was Hartmann? Where was the money? He glanced at his watch. Relax, he told himself. Two minutes to deadline. He’s not late. Not yet. What he would do if Hartmann was late, or didn’t come at all, he didn’t know. He hadn’t thought that far ahead.

  He’ll come, he muttered, looking at the sleeping figure in the back seat. His heart liquefied. How was it possible to feel this way about another human being?

  He reached back and stroked her tangled hair, felt the longing rise within him. He wanted her. Wanted to possess her. To own her. To be her. He groaned and closed his eyes. He wanted to be inside her now; to have her, impossibly, inside him. He wanted to encompass her, subsume her into himself, become her. She murmured in her sleep. Her sleep of opiate dreams.

  ‘Shhh, Pussycat,’ he whispered. ‘Not long now.’

  He would take her to the mountains, build her a house, a palace. Fill it with the fabrics she loved, the silks and satins and velvets. He ran his palm over himself, over his jeans where he strained against the denim. The thought of her naked in a silk-draped bed aroused him. She would have the best of everything. Only the very best.