DON'T LOOK DOWN

by Barbara Scott Emmett

  He frowned, annoyed with himself. He should have demanded more money. His vision would cost several million to realise. Well, he could always ask for more. He owned her forever now. She wasn’t going back. So he could ask for more whenever he wanted to. Trick them again. Convince them he would send her back next time.

  They would believe him – because they’d want to believe him. People were like that – anxious to believe any lies if it gave them hope. All those girls he’d fooled. Stupid bitches. As if someone like him would want ignorant little tarts like them.

  Headlights flashed in the distance, catching the branches of the dark trees. Here he comes. Sammy’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel. He held his breath, his attention focussed on the lights bouncing towards him over the rough ground.

  He wound down his window in readiness. The cold air jolted him fully awake. Five million euros. He licked his lips tasting salt and sweat, a metallic flavour, like money, mingling with the taste of her. Should have asked for ten million – twenty. Wasn’t thinking big enough.

  As he stiffened in anticipation, getting ready to grab the sack of money and drive away, he heard a tiny sound behind him – the crunch of a footstep on frosty grass perhaps. As he turned towards the noise, his jaw touched something cold. He froze, his gaze sliding down towards the barrel of the pistol that tucked itself under his chin. As the lights flared and the approaching vehicle slid to a halt, he felt his Adam’s apple jerk in his throat.

  ‘Slide over Zamir, there’s a good lad,’ a voice whispered. ‘I’ll take over from here.’

  Sixty-seven

  ‘Where is she?’ Lauren craned past Clara and Wolf, her eyes wide. The man in the doorway must be Katti’s father, Herr Hartmann, but where was Katti?

  Clara’s knees buckled and she sank onto the sofa. She seemed older, shrunken. Her silence, her appearance, told Lauren more than words ever could.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  Wolf put his arms around her and she felt the dampness of his cheek as it brushed against hers. He drew back immediately, glancing around the room for Ingrid.

  Hartmann stepped forward. ‘She wasn’t there.’ He too seemed deflated, as though he had no energy, as though he was limp. ‘Some bastard was there but he drove away.’

  ‘Drove away?’ Lauren looked from Hartmann to Clara then back to Wolf. ‘Why? Why?’

  Wolf shrugged and turned to Hartmann for an explanation. Hartmann stuck his hands in his jeans’ pockets. His face sagged. ‘Bastard drove away just as I got there. Was just getting out of the car and... and he drove off. Didn’t even take the money.’

  ‘Was Katti there? Did you see her?’

  Hartmann’s eyes were fixed on the floor. ‘It was dark. I couldn’t see anything.’

  ‘Were you alone?’ said Lauren. ‘You were supposed to be alone.’

  ‘I was alone.’ Hartmann shifted from one foot to the other. Lauren stared at his boots. Crocodile skin. ‘I hung around for a while,’ he went on. ‘Then we all went back together for another look later.’

  ‘We waited at the café at the service station,’ Wolf said. ‘Me and Mutti.’ He glanced around the room again. ‘Where is Ingrid?’

  Clara looked up, her eyes haunted. ‘We got coffee for Katti,’ she said. ‘And food... But...’ Her gaze slid away.

  Lauren could see she was in shock. The seriousness of the situation seemed only now to be hitting her. ‘Ingrid had to go,’ she said. She turned to the sideboard and picked up the bottle of Brandwein. ‘Glasses, Wolf?’

  Wolf opened the lower door of the sideboard and took some out. Lauren poured a generous measure into each.

  Hartmann backed away, his hands raised, palms out. ‘Not for me. Thanks, but it’s late. I better go.’

  ‘Hartmann?’ Clara’s voice was a croak. ‘What do we do now?’

  Hartmann’s gaze locked on hers. His shoulders slumped. ‘I don’t know, Clara. Wait, I suppose. I don’t know.’

  ‘You think they will call again?’

  ‘Hope so, babe. Sure hope so.’

  ~

  ‘Klaus? What happened, man? Where are you?’ Hartmann pressed the phone hard against his ear. He sat in the car outside Wolf’s place, looking up at the light blazing from the third floor windows. While he stared, someone – Wolfgang Hauer – probably, closed the shutters.

  ‘Sorry, H.’ Klaus sounded tired, defeated. ‘We lost them. We split up and followed them, the two cars, but we lost them.’

  ‘You couldn’t keep up with a fuckin Lada?’

  ‘I followed the Merc. Jürg went after the Lada. Bastards slipped through some bollards. Too narrow for Jürg to get through.’

  ‘Jesus Christ! Simple fuckin job!’

  ‘Yeah. Sorry, H.’

  ‘How d’you manage to lose the Merc then?’ Hartmann tapped his fingernails against the steering wheel. Want something done, do it yourfuckinself.

  ‘Lost them in traffic.’

  ‘Traffic? Traffic at this fuckin time of night?’

  There was a long silence on the other end. Eventually, Klaus sighed. ‘So what do we do now?’

  ~

  Lauren was sure her skin was grey with tiredness. Clara’s certainly was. Wolf, too, was paler than usual. Clara and he sat slumped together on the sofa. Lauren was curled up in the wing chair. She sipped her brandy.

  Clara lifted her head off Wolf’s shoulder. ‘What should we do, Wolfi?’ she said, with only a hint of her usual wail. ‘Should we tell the police now? Perhaps we will never get my Katti back.’

  Wolf said nothing. He turned his eyes to meet hers as though he barely knew what she was talking about. After a slug of brandy he spoke, his voice gruff.

  ‘Hartmann says he’s dealing with it. He has people out looking for her.’

  ‘He had people there. I’m sure he had people there. That’s why it went wrong.’ Clara lay her head back, seemingly too depleted of energy even to complain.

  ‘And the kidnapper – Zamir presumably – he didn’t take the money?’ said Lauren.

  ‘Hartmann says not,’ said Wolf. ‘You heard him.’

  ‘He must have seen Hartmann’s men. Was frightened off.’ Clara slapped the seat of the sofa. ‘Bastard Hartmann. This is his fault.’

  ‘He’s bound to call again – Zamir,’ Lauren said. ‘To arrange another pick-up.’ A thought struck her. ‘Do you think he’ll go back to his flat? Should we go back there to check?’

  Wolf contemplated his brandy, swirling it slowly around the glass. ‘He’d have to be very stupid,’ he said.

  ‘He is stupid,’ said Clara. ‘He must be, to think Katti will stay with him when she knows what he has done. Hartmann will go to his flat. He will take Klaus and some other men. Phone him now, Wolfi.’

  ~

  A short while later Hartmann rang back. The flat was empty, he told them. They’d started to break the door down but some old witch next door came out with a key and let them in. Half the neighbours were out complaining as well.

  ‘It is half past two in the morning,’ Lauren pointed out, when Wolf related what Hartmann had said.

  ‘No sign of Katti,’ Wolf said. ‘Apart from... what we saw.’ He glanced at Lauren then away again.

  Clara was weeping quietly, her shoulders rising and falling in jerks.

  ‘Go to bed, Mutti,’ Wolf said. ‘You’re over-tired. Sleep in my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.’ He turned to Lauren. ‘Do you want to go upstairs to Katti’s apartment?’

  ‘No way.’ Lauren sat up straight. ‘Not with that gunman still on the loose. I’d rather stay down here if you don’t mind.’

  She glared at Wolf for his thoughtlessness. The fact that one of the gang lived upstairs was scary enough without her having to sleep alone right next door to him. How stupid could this Kristo guy be, not to realise she was back here? Or was he biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment?

  In the end Clara took a taxi back to her hotel and Lauren slept on the lumpy sofa. Wolf offered h
er his bed but Lauren refused. Something about the way he wouldn’t meet her eyes made her shrink from further intimate contact, even if it was only with his bedsheets.

  Sixty-eight

  Sammy hit the floor before he even knew the punch was coming. He grunted and spat blood. Rolling over, he pushed himself up onto his knees.

  Viktor stood over him, hands on hips. ‘You have not been playing fair with us, Zamir.’

  Drooling, Sammy appealed to his brother. ‘Viktor, no. Listen –’

  Viktor kicked him down just as he was about to lever himself to his feet. ‘You thought you could play games with me, Zamir? You find this entertaining?’

  ‘No.’ Sammy twisted away from the boot that thudded into his thigh. He drew his legs up and wrapped his arms around them like a kindergartner listening to a story. ‘Stop it, Vik! Please.’ He scuttled backwards into the corner. ‘I love her. I didn’t want you to hurt her. I love her.’

  He shot a glance at Katti. She sprawled across the settee, one arm dangling over the edge, the back of her hand resting on the carpeted floor.

  ‘I wasn’t going to hurt her.’ Viktor threw another kick at Sammy’s clenched thigh. ‘Not unless it became necessary.’

  ‘But Viktor... you said if he didn’t pay up you would... I couldn’t let you do that.’

  ‘Why am I surrounded by halfwits?’ Viktor aimed his boot at Sammy again but missed.

  Sammy scrambled to his feet and backed away, his hands raised for protection. ‘She won’t say anything. When she comes round. She won’t say anything.’

  ‘You’re right there, pretty boy.’

  ‘Call her father again. Get whatever you want from him.’ Sammy felt blood trickle from his lip and touched it tenderly. ‘I’ll take her away,’ he said. ‘Just gimme my share and I’ll take her away. I’ll go back home. Take her with me. That’s the best thing.’

  Viktor stuck his face right up close to Sammy’s and grabbed him by the throat. ‘Not your decision, Zamir.’ Viktor’s fingers tightened. ‘Not your decision, my man.’

  Sixty-nine

  Sleep was a long time coming. Lauren tossed and turned but the day’s events went over and over in her mind. When Wolf brought her coffee the next morning she was bleary-eyed and headachy.

  ‘I have to go in to work briefly,’ Wolf said. ‘I don’t want to, but I was supposed to be working over the weekend, and Simon is going frantic. We have a big job on right now so I will have to pacify him somehow. Come with me if you don’t want to be alone.’

  Lauren sat up and took the coffee from him. ‘No, it’s okay. I could do with staying horizontal for a bit longer. Just make sure the door’s double locked behind you.’

  ‘I’ll only stay at the workshop half an hour to keep Simon happy, then I will pick my mother up,’ Wolf went on. ‘We’ll go and see Hartmann. And try to come up with some kind of plan. I won’t be too long.’ He leant down as though to kiss her forehead, but apparently thought better of it and straightened up.

  ‘Wolf?’ Lauren said. ‘How did you meet Ingrid?’

  He studied her for a moment before answering. ‘She bought some hardware from us. PCs and printers and so on. For her company. She is in recruitment like you – I told you, didn’t I?’

  ‘And you asked her out?’

  He lowered his head and Lauren saw a small smile curve around his lips. ‘No. She asked me.’

  ‘Really?’ Lauren found Wolf’s coyness annoying but couldn’t have said why.

  ‘You don’t believe me?’ The scowl was back.

  ‘Oh, sure, it’s just... you seem an odd pair. I wouldn’t have thought you were her type.’

  ‘Why?’ Wolf wound his scarf around his neck and jerked it as though tightening a noose. ‘What is wrong with me?’

  ‘I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with you. It’s her, she’s –’

  ‘Drop it, Lauren. Before you dig yourself in any deeper.’ He yanked the door open. ‘Did you say something to her last night, to make her leave?’

  ‘Me?’ said Lauren. ‘No, I did not!’

  ‘Well, forget about Ingrid for the moment. We must concentrate on getting Katti back safely. I will have a serious talk with Hartmann, today. Put him straight on a few things. And work out a strategy.’

  ~

  Lauren slouched on the sofa sipping her coffee with the duvet tucked up under her chin. She flicked on the television as a distraction and watched part of an old Jerry Lewis film overdubbed in German. It didn’t improve by being in a different language. When the news came on she wondered if there might be any word of Katti’s kidnap. Hartmann was well known. The press would surely sniff the story out eventually.

  When photofit pictures of two familiar faces flashed onto the screen she sat bolt upright. My God, that’s –

  ‘Police have released the name of the woman found dead in a motel room near Annenburg,’ the female newsreader said. ‘Odeta Dobroshi, 52, from Northern Albania was discovered in the en suite bathroom of Room Twenty-one at midnight on Fourteenth December. Mrs Dobroshi, a cleaner contracted to work at the motel and believed to be an illegal immigrant, is suspected to have died of knife wounds. A weapon found in the motel room has been taken for analysis.

  ‘Police are appealing for any persons who stayed at the Annenburg motel on the nights of Thirteenth and Fourteenth December to come forward. They are particularly interested in interviewing a woman who occupied the room where the body was found. The woman sought is between Twenty-five and Thirty-five years of age, approximately 1.65m tall, of medium build, with long auburn hair.’

  Lauren stood up, still gripping the duvet.

  The camera settled on a policeman. ‘We think she is British,’ he said. ‘She spoke German well but with an accent.’ His name and rank, Polizeirat Schmidt, appeared on the lower right of the screen.

  ‘We believe the name entered in the motel register – Lotte Kneiper – is false,’ he went on. ‘She is thought to have been travelling with a blond man who stayed in the next room – Room Twenty-two. He is aged between Thirty and Forty, is around 1.8m tall, of slim build and was wearing a black leather jacket. He is believed to be German but the name he gave – Gerd Schneider – is also probably false.’

  ‘According to staff at the motel,’ the newsreader continued,. ‘the woman sought returned the next afternoon and asked for the key to the room she had occupied. This was missing and has not yet been found. Mrs Dobroshi’s body was discovered later that night. She had been dead approximately twelve hours.’

  ‘Anyone who has any information as to the identity or whereabouts of the couple should call the incident room on the number now on the screen or contact their local police station.’

  ‘Shit,’ said Lauren, sinking into the wing chair. The duvet trailed on the floor. ‘Shit shit shit shit shit.’

  The two identikit faces appeared again: Herself and Gunther. Neither was a very good likeness. She stared at them for the full thirty seconds they were on the screen. ‘Terrific. Now I’m wanted for murder on top of everything else.’ If it wasn’t so ghastly it would be funny.

  Hysteria threatened to overwhelm her. It wasn’t so much laughter – more a series of humourless sobs. It wasn’t funny. That poor woman. Why was she killed? Did someone mistake her for me? No, they couldn’t possibly. And she was only 52 –

  As the newsreader turned to other matters, Lauren clicked off the TV and threw down the remote control. Bloody Gunther. If he was who he said he was he could have got her out of this.

  She jerked upright. If he was who he said he was, how come he was wanted for questioning as well? She groaned and wrapped her arms around herself, rocking from side to side. Please someone, make this go away.

  After a moment, she pulled herself together. No one else could make this go away. It was up to her. She had to find out what was going on and put a stop to it.

  She showered and pulled on fresh jeans and a sweater, still sluggish and aching from her various adventures. She had to t
hink. Think what to do. Maybe Herr Hartmann could help. He was well thought of in this town, wasn’t he? He could speak to the police.

  But would he? Could he without letting the details of the kidnapping come out? She groaned again. Wasn’t it time they enlisted the help of the authorities anyway? The pay-off hadn’t gone to plan. Surely it was time they got some professional assistance.

  Lauren sat down in the wing chair again. She now had the gunman and the police looking for her. How long would it be before they all came knocking on the door? Maybe she should hightail it back home and lie low.

  ‘Stop that,’ she said out loud, when she caught herself thinking this. ‘What am I? An international criminal?’ The best thing was for her to go to the police and have done with it.

  She leaned her head against the wing of the chair. God she was exhausted. Battered, bruised and bewildered. She closed her eyes. I’ll call Wolf in a minute and tell him I’m going to the cops. No arguments. It’s my decision.

  Just give me five minutes to gather my wits...

  Seventy

  Work took longer than Wolf thought. His partner, Simon, greeted him with a grunt then reminded him of the big order they’d had in last week from a multi-national.

  ‘What you thinking, Wolf?’ he grumbled, pushing his shaggy hair out of his eyes. ‘This one could make us. This one could put us up there with the big boys. You wanna lose that chance, do you? Huh?’

  He tossed a cable onto the workbench and pulled out a wheeled typist’s chair. When he squatted on it he looked like a crouching spider, with his legs, and the chair’s, splayed in all directions, . ‘I sure’s hell don’t wanna lose it. Taken us all our time to get this far. Wanna drop back now, izzat it? Scared of the work it’ll mean?’