DON'T LOOK DOWN

by Barbara Scott Emmett

  ‘I’m sorry Sy, something unexpected came up,’ Wolf started.

  Simon bobbed his head from side to side. ‘Sumptin hunexpected,’ he mimicked in a high-pitched voice. ‘Big deal. We lose this one, Wolf, we may as well go back to helpin kids with their homework computers.’

  He picked up a pair of sharp-nosed pliers from the bench and snipped the air with them. ‘Hundred workstations we gotta set up here. And I can do that myself in the time, can I? Huh?’ He snipped the pliers in Wolf’s direction. ‘You gotta help, Wolf. That’s the deal, right? We’re partners, right? Means you gotta help.’

  ‘Sy, listen a minute.’ Wolf batted the pliers aside with the back of his hand. ‘I know you’re pissed off and I’m sorry. But this is serious. This situation... it’s life or death... of someone close...’ He trailed off, unwilling to reveal more than he had to.

  ‘Yeah. Life or death. Course it is.’ Simon scowled into his coffee cup, swirling day-old dregs. ‘Thing is, Wolf, this job’s make or break. So. Life or death? Make or break? Which is it to be, huh?’

  Wolf took off his jacket and pulled up the other chair. ‘Okay, I’ll stay an hour. But you’d better start looking around for some help. We’re going to need extra people to do the installations anyway.’

  ~

  At twenty to one, Wolf realised he was going to be late picking his mother up for the meeting with Hartmann. He leapt up. ‘Got to go, Sy. Keep phoning round. We need a dozen good people to help us out with this. Tell them there’s likely to be more work in it for them in future.’

  ‘That’s if there is a future, Wolf,’ Simon grumbled. ‘We mess this up, they won’t use us again. World wide company we’re dealing with here, you know.’

  Wolf raised his eyes to the ceiling and headed for the door. Right now he had to face his mother and she was much harder to pacify than any disgruntled multi-national.

  Seventy-one

  Darkness and a chill at the back of her neck. Lauren stiffened in her chair. Something had woken her. She sat unmoving. Damn it. Why had she let herself fall asleep in the armchair? Why hadn’t she splashed her face with cold water when she felt her eyelids drooping?

  She took stock of herself. Felt like she’d been asleep a while. Was it dark outside? – maybe, though the closed shutters made it hard to tell. A faint light seeped in from the hallway. Wolf had left the kitchen lights on. Where was he? He and Clara were taking a long time over the meeting with Herr Hartmann.

  Without moving her head, she slid her eyes from side to side as she examined every part of the room she could see. The faint light cast shadows across the floor, emphasising the carvings on the old sideboard, making gargoyles of the knobs. Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound.

  Lauren shook herself awake. She was getting spooked, sitting here alone in the dark. A floorboard creaked somewhere behind her. She jerked as far down into the chair as she could, hunching her shoulders, expecting a blow.

  Nothing. Maybe it was just the old place settling. Or someone moving about upstairs. Rationally, Lauren knew these were likely options but her heart still pounded and her throat was as tight and aching as if she’d come down with the‘flu. Then again, that gunman was still after her. If that Kristo guy upstairs had got it out of Alina that she was back here...

  Commandeering all her courage, she slowly stretched herself up in the chair and turned stiffly, as though wearing a neckbrace. She held her breath as she edged her head around the wing of the high-backed armchair – and almost yelped with shock.

  Someone was standing in the doorway.

  Seventy-two

  ‘Come on H, what do they want, these kidnappers?’ Klaus swivelled from side to side in Hartmann’s revolving chair, his smile irritating, his demeanour amused.

  Hartmann paced the office carpet. ‘Keep still, man. For fuck’s sake.’ He glowered at his old friend, who ignored him and kept up his rhythmic twist left, twist right, twist left again.

  Finally, Klaus put his feet flat on the floor and brought the Eames chair to a halt.

  ‘Tell me what they want, H. How can I help you unless I know?’

  ‘All you need to know is that the cunts are trying to shaft me. Your job is to stop them.’

  ‘You think I don’t already know all your secrets, H? I know all your secrets. I’ve known them from the start. Every last one.’

  ‘Then you don’t need to know any more.’

  ‘Was me sorted the Fleischman deal. Was me got rid of the Russians. Was me dealt with Binsbergen. Now that was a nasty job. Even for you, H.’

  ‘Forget that fuckin Dutchman.’ Hartmann’s fingers twitched. ‘What you bringing him into it for?’

  ‘And I know it was profits from drug-smuggling let you lease your first friggin Boeing 747. I know everything, H. Don’t forget that.’

  ‘Is this fuckin memory lane or what? I just want them sorted. I want them off my back.’

  ‘I’m guessing it’s not just about the money, then?’ Klaus slid his tongue into his cheek, raised his eyebrows.

  Hartmann resisted the urge to smash his fist into the knowing face. Should have dumped this bastard years ago, he thought. Round about the time I showed Binsbergen the toe of my boot. Fuckin Binsbergen. Wouldn’t be in this mess now if...

  He snuck a glance at Klaus. Too fuckin late to do anything about him now. Bastard knows too much. Which was fine, as long as he remembered whose side he was on. ‘My daughter’s life is in danger,’ he said. ‘I’m worried, man.’

  ‘Yeah, sure you are.’ Klaus resumed his swivelling. ‘This is me, H. Save the pious shit for your adoring public.’ The Eames glided from side to side without a squeak.

  Hartmann paused by the glass wall that separated his office from the drifting snowflakes outside. The lights of Nuremberg twinkled below. He sighed. He adopted a concerned stance. He nibbled a fingernail. He shot a sideways glance at Klaus. Klaus was grinning, the chair stilled, his huge feet on Hartmann’s desk.

  ‘No good, H, baby. No good, old pal. I’ve seen your concerned philanthropist face too often.’ He swung his feet down. ‘Anyway, I’ve got a pretty good idea of what you’re up against. Who you’re up against. And frankly, I want all the details before I make a move. Call it risk assessment.’

  ‘Call it what you fuckin like, Klaus.’ Hartmann sank into one of the Mies van der Rohe chairs and put his feet up on the matching footstool. He stroked the black leather, ran his palm over the smooth chrome.

  ‘Okay. Okay, I’ll tell you. There’s something weird going on. That first demand, man – for the five mil – that wasn’t them. What they want – the Albanians – is a hell of a lot more. The stakes are a hell of a lot higher as well.’

  ‘Higher than your daughter’s life?’ Klaus looked like he was aiming for an expression of shocked innocence but his face didn’t know how to achieve it.

  Hartmann averted his eyes. ‘Below the belt, Klaus. I’m not totally lacking in feeling.’

  ‘So what do they want, then? The Albanians?’ Klaus shook his head. ‘You know H, you should never have got involved with them. Bad move, old son. Bad move.’ He made a tch-tch-tch sound through his teeth.

  Hartmann looked up at Klaus from under his brows but caught sight of his reflection in the glass. He didn’t do threatening too well. Didn’t have the brooding menace Klaus produced so easily. That was why he needed the bastard, fuck him.

  ‘Yeah I know. I should have stayed well away from them. Think I don’t know that?’ He rammed his fist into the seat of the chair.

  ‘But I was tricked into it, man. By agent provoca-fuckin-teurs. They want the company. Everything I’ve spent my life building up. They want to take over, man. Take the profits. Oh, they’ve been very nice about it. I can still be the figurehead. Still be the face of the company. I can even keep what I’ve stashed away so far. But no more than that. Retainer, they said. They’ll give me a fuckin retainer, man. To do occasional appearances.’

  Klaus’s grin slipped. ‘Jeez,’ he said. ‘T
hey must have some friggin white hot shit on you H. Stakes-wise, that’s got be worth a hundred daughters’ lives.’

  Seventy-three

  Someone was cutting up her spine with pinking shears. Lauren sat frozen in the armchair, transfixed by the shadow flickering in the doorway. Her eyes were wide and staring but she still couldn’t believe what she saw.

  She’d been scared before, but not like this. Men with guns were nothing to her now, at least they were solid, visible. Being thrown into cars and vans, having a blanket stuffed into her mouth – at least those things were tangible, real. Frightening, yes, but somehow manageable. They happened fast – too fast for her to have any time to worry – and were things she could resist, put up a fight against.

  This was something else altogether. A ghostly figure? Silent and half-seen? The hair at the nape of her neck was as spiky as a frightened cat. Then the figure stepped into the room, tripped over one of Wolf’s piles of books and crashed to the floor.

  Lauren took off vertically out of her chair. Her screech was involuntary. She leapt to the lamp and fumbled with the switch, hysteria building into shuddering sobs.

  The light wouldn’t go on. Her fingers were awkward, the switch was stiff. She opened her mouth to speak but only managed a croak, a guttural rattle as the intruder groped about on the floor.

  ‘Jesus God,’ Lauren managed at last. The words froze in her throat as a hand, pale in the moonlight, grasped the back of the armchair she’d just shot out of. The figure hauled itself up, rising slowly into full view.

  ‘Alina!’ Lauren gasped as the girl found the light switch and flicked the overhead light on. ‘Jesus Christ! What are you doing creeping about in the dark? How the hell did you get in here?’

  ‘I saw news,’ Alina said, a hiccup in her voice. ‘They have killed her. I have no one left now.’ Her knees seemed to give way and she collapsed onto the couch. Her short skirt rode up her bare legs and she hugged her grey cardigan around her. The over-washed faux fur collar and cuffs made her look like a stray cat.

  ‘Killed who?’ Lauren leaned over her, puzzled. The girl bent forward until her upper body touched her knees. She cradled her head in her arms, all the time emitting a high keening wail.

  ‘Who Alina? For God’s sake. Who?’ Lauren sat next to her and took hold of her shoulders. ‘Alina? Sit back. What are you talking about?’ She pulled the girl up, lifting her thin body easily.

  Alina let herself be moved as if she was a rag doll. Her face, red with weeping, wet with tears and mucus, was twisted with pain. Her eyes were swollen closed, her mouth open and wet like a suppurating wound. As she sprawled against the back of the settee her whine changed to rhythmic sobs. ‘A-ha a-ha a-ha.’ And again:‘A-ha a-ha a-ha.’

  Lauren was cold with knowledge. The woman, what was her name? Odeta? Dub-something? That poor cleaner. ‘Who was she, Alina?’ she said, hardly daring to ask. ‘Was she – ?’

  But of course she was. She’d said as much when she thrust that crumpled, faded photograph under Lauren’s nose. I look for my daughter. You seen her? If I’d looked more closely, thought Lauren. If I’d taken more time. If I hadn’t been so caught up in my own concerns. But would it have made any difference? Would they not have come for the woman anyway – for whatever reason – in the end?

  ‘You know who it was? Who killed her?’

  ‘Vi-Viktor. Or Zamir. Maybe she see him. Tell police maybe. She know Zamir. She know I went with him.’

  ‘Did you know she was looking for you?’

  ‘No. But I think she would come. I think they don’t send no money to her. And if she don’t get no money, she would think bad things. But why she go that place?’

  ‘She got a postcard from you. From Annenburg.’

  Alina stared at Lauren. ‘She get that? Donika write it for me.’ Her puffy eyes grew suspicious. ‘How you know this?’

  ‘I saw her, Alina. I met her.’ Lauren put her hand on the girl’s arm. ‘At the motel. She showed me a photo of you but it was blurred. I didn’t recognise you, or I would have –’

  ‘You!’ Alina leapt up. ‘Was you! In the picture! On the tee-vee.’

  Lauren shot to her feet. ‘I didn’t hurt her. Why would I? Viktor was going to kill me too.’ Presumably Viktor was the yellow-eyed gunman, the brother.

  ‘You,’ said Alina, crumpling. ‘You saw her.’

  ‘Yes. And I’m sorry, so sorry, that I wasn’t able to... to stop what happened.’ She balked at telling the girl exactly what she’d seen, though the image of the dead woman flashed crimson in her mind’s eye. ‘They dragged me out of the motel,’ she said. ‘Viktor – I assume it was him – he had a gun. An old Luger, I think.’

  Gently pulling Alina with her, Lauren sank into the settee. ‘You’ve got to go to the police. You have to. You know these men. You know what they do. You can put them in prison.’

  The girl squirmed out of Lauren’s grasp. ‘I can’t. I’m frightened.’ She elongated the word: friiigh-tenned. ‘They kill me too.’

  ‘No. No, listen, Alina. Look at me. Listen.’ Lauren grasped Alina’s chin and pulled her to face her. ‘You can find a safe place. Get away from Kristo and... and Viktor. I’ll help you. But you have to go to the police. I’ll come with you. If you help them, they’ll help you. You’ll get a visa to stay in Germany officially. In another town maybe.’

  ‘No. No.’ Alina swung her head from side to side. ‘They find me. They kill me.’

  ‘You can change your name. Go to a different country, even. Ask for asylum. Something. Anything. You’ll get protection if you give evidence.’ She hoped she was right. That she was not condemning the girl to the same fate as her mother. ‘Do you have other family in Albania? Brothers or sisters? That they would hurt if you give evidence?’

  ‘I have no one left. They all gone now.’

  ‘Then there’s no reason to keep quiet any longer.’ Lauren stood up. ‘I’ll make us some tea.’

  Glancing at the clock, she saw it was quarter past four. Where on earth were Wolf and Clara? She’d call Wolf once she had Alina settled. Jesus, what else was going to happen? As she headed for the kitchen she turned. ‘How did you get in here, anyway? Shit, the door’s not open is it?’

  ‘I have key,’ Alina sniffed, fumbling in her cardigan pocket and bringing it out.

  ‘A key?’ Lauren stared at her. ‘A key? How come you have a key?’

  ‘Someone give to Kristo.’

  Lauren’s mouth fell open. ‘Who would give Wolf’s key to Kristo?’

  ‘Dunno.’ The girl gave her usual shrug. ‘But he tell others you are here. He tell them to come for you. I come to tell you.’

  ‘Others?’ Lauren felt dazed. She couldn’t take in what Alina was saying. It was nonsensical. How would Kristo get Wolf’s key? It wasn’t possible. ‘Is there a... a building manager or something? Does someone have skeleton keys?’

  The girl shrugged again, her sobs quieter now and intermittent.

  ‘Did you shut the door behind you?’ Lauren made a move towards the hallway. Panic rose in her throat.

  ‘I shut door, yes,’ Alina said dully

  ‘So who’s coming? What others?’ The gunman’s yellow eyes flashed into Lauren’s mind, the smirk on his face, the silky timbre of his voice. Now he had a name: Viktor. Or maybe the goons from the chalet would turn up. Brains and Muscle.

  She ran to the front door, pushed the heavy bolt across and put the chain on. ‘How come this Kristo guy hasn’t used the key before now?’

  ‘He not there, Kristo. He say he got other business.’

  ‘What should I do? Think.’ Lauren took some deep breaths, forcing herself to calm down. She grabbed her phone from her bag, brought up Wolf’s number and pressed the call button. Hopping from foot to foot she stared at the display as the call was beamed across the ether. His mobile was off. She left a message.

  ‘Wolf. Where the hell are you? What’s happening? Listen, those thugs are after me again. They know I’m here –’


  She jumped as a thud came from the hallway. Alina’s eyes widened and she leapt up with a shriek.

  ‘Wolf, get back here fast,’ Lauren went on. ‘Jesus –’

  The thud came again. Someone was kicking the front door in. Lauren made a decision. She had to call the police. It wasn’t only her life at stake, there was Alina to think of. The girl’s life would be worth nothing if they found her here and realised what she knew. She flicked through her contacts. She was sure she had the German emergency number stored somewhere. God, what was it?

  Seventy-four

  Hartmann twirled a gold fountain pen through his fingers. He stretched back in his Eames chair with his feet on his desk. ‘We can’t go to the police,’ he said. ‘I’m dealing with it myself.’

  ‘I want my Katti back.’ Clara stubbed her cigarette out with vicious jabbing motions. ‘This has gone too far, Hartmann. They have broken their word. You must do something.’

  ‘I am doing something, dammit. I’ve been doing something all along.’

  ‘Hah! You broke your word also, didn’t you? You had men there, last night. They frightened the kidnappers away. It’s true, isn’t it?’

  ‘They took off of their own accord. There were two cars there. Two sets of the bastards.’

  ‘Why did you not follow them, Hartmann? Why did you not chase them?’

  ‘Klaus chased them. And another guy. He –’

  ‘Aha! So you did have people there! I knew it! How can you do such a thing?’ Clara leapt up and thumped his chest with her fists. ‘You put my Katti in danger.’

  ‘I did what I thought was best, Clara.’ Hartmann batted her hands away and shoved her back onto the Mies van der Rohe.

  Wolf stepped forward. ‘What would have been best, Herr Hartmann,’ he said,. ‘would have been for you to comply with the instructions.’

  ‘Always contrary,’ Clara said, grabbing another cigarette. ‘You are always the same. Why can’t you think of me for once? Why can’t you think of Katti?’