by Simone Leigh
“Having a shower, but I’d rather carry on with this, anyway.”
“I could order something from room service then?”
“Sure, whatever you like.”
Beth raps on the door of the bathroom. “Michael? You want to eat?” After a moment. “I don’t think he can hear me over the shower.” She orders a light meal for three, just sandwiches and a drink. “They said it shouldn’t be more than ten minutes. I ordered for Michael as well.”
“Fine.” I don’t look away, wearily watching face after face cross the screen.
Then, I see the familiar, and my stomach freezes. Jabbing at the pause button, I halt the slide-show, staring at the image in front of me.
And now I know who Will Stanton’s spy is.
“Beth….”
And at that moment, the door buzzes. “That’ll be the food.” she says. As she unclicks the lock, the door slams open, men burst in, and before she can make a sound, Beth is seized, a hand pushing something over her mouth. She tries to scream, to fight, but after a few moments, goes limp.
And one of the intruders, I know; Corby, the ‘police’ officer’ who bungled my first interview, and whose face now stares out of the screen of my laptop.
“Hello again, Jennifer.” he snarls.
I stand, trying to back away, but trapped between the table and my chair, my legs tangle and they are on me. Screaming, I try to call out for help; “Micha….” but before I can get the words out, a soft pad is pressed over my mouth and nose, with a sweetish chemical smell.
Struggling, I try to not to breathe, but my vision blackens at the edges and eventually, my body, gasping for air, betrays me, forcing me to draw breath. Everything wavers and….
_______________________
I wake in some small dark place, being jolted by movement….
A car boot?
I have a thick headache. Nausea churns my stomach. And I can’t move. My ankles are bound together, taped I think. My wrists too, behind my back. And my mouth is taped tight, I cannot scream or cry for help. Close by me is the heat and scent of another human body.… Beth?
Trying to speak through my taped mouth, I can only make inchoate sounds, no speech, but there is a reply, and, yes, even through the gag, it is Beth’s voice.
Bounced around in the dark, I can only lie helplessly, wondering what is to come.
_______________________
Michael
About to step into the lounge, just a towel around my waist, I remember that Beth is there with Charlotte, and take a minute to pull jeans instead. I’ve seen the looks she gives me….
No need to tempt fate….
Still towelling my hair, I step into the lounge, then stop….
Something’s wrong….
The apartment door is open, swinging wide. Chairs, and the table, are knocked to the floor, and there is a faint, sweetish, chemical scent of…. something…. in the air.
The women are nowhere in sight.
Thoroughly alarmed now. “Charlotte? Beth?” Then shouting…. “Charlotte? Beth? Where are you?”
Jeez!
Jabbing at my mobile. “James. Charlotte and Beth are gone! Are they with you?”
“No. They’re fucking not! I thought you were supposed to be keeping an eye on them?”
Pacing up and down the room. “I was in the shower. When I came out, about a minute ago, they were gone, and there’s signs of a struggle. Where’s Richard?”
“He’s here…. raising the alarm as we speak.”
“Oh Shit!” I freeze in mid-stride as I register the screen of Charlotte’s laptop. “James. We know who the police spy is. He’s among the faces Charlotte was looking through. It’s Corby.”
“Corby? Who.… Oh fuck! That police officer that interviewed her? The one that tried to go after me?”
“Yes, him.”
_______________________
And helpless, James and I, and Haswell, must wait for news; any news.
“Wonder why Corby’s first act was to try to attack you? Trying to get you prosecuted over the business with the auction?”
James shrugs. “Perhaps to take Charlotte’s defender out of the picture?”
“She has two defenders, and they knew that….”
He looks at me, pointedly. “They came after you with guns. Discredit one. Murder the other. Isolate her?”
“Why is she so important to them?”
“Her testimony at court is likely to put a lot of people in prison, quite likely for good.”
“Okay, so she’s an important witness. But, that being the case, why haven’t they simply murdered her? They’ve had plenty of opportunity.”
Richard sweeps in. “Will’s on his way. He says he has information for us.”
_______________________
Beth
Wheel crunch over gravel and a pause. There is the whine of…. Hinges? A gate? Large doors? Then a brief movement, and the hum of the car engine stops.
The clunk, clunk, of car doors opening and closing, then the scrape of keys right by us. The boot opens and light floods, blindingly over us. Charlotte’s eyes are calculating, her face white.
Roughly handled, we are lifted out, and carried through from a shed-cum-garage area into what looks like a private house. It’s rather old, with beamed ceilings, and cracked lime and horsehair plasterwork. But it is so ordinary. We could be anywhere. And it would all look perfectly normal, were is not for the reception awaiting us.
Still bound and gagged, wrists, ankles and mouths taped, we are carried through into a very large room, before being dumped down, sitting next to each other on a shabby couch. The room is huge, with a vast open roof-space, as though it has been a barn or shippon. Perhaps we are in some deserted farmstead?
Klempner is there, waiting and watching, arms folded. He is well dressed, in a suit, polished shoes and a clean white shirt. A cold smile playing over his lips, he is certainly pleased with himself.
There is a domineering edge to his stance; the man in charge, with a hard-wired arrogance that nothing is going to quench.
I can’t put my finger on it, but something about him is familiar.
Who does he reminds me of?
It’s irrelevant. I dismiss the thought.
“Hello, again.” he says. “Nice to see you both. I was getting really quite annoyed at the trouble you’ve been causing me, but now you’re back, we can all be friends again.”
He nods to one of our captors. “Un-gag that one.” He points at Charlotte.
With deliberate roughness, the tape is torn from her mouth, leaving her lips bleeding. She licks over her mouth, but says nothing, simply staring at Klempner.
He arches brows. “Nothing to say?”
“Like what?” She almost spits the words. “Am I supposed to plead with you? I still don’t know why I’m here.”
“You’re here because you’ve made my life difficult, and now you’re going to…. compensate me, for it.”
“I don’t think that’s it.” Her voice is strident, insistent.
How can she be like this? She should be terrified. Instead, she’s just angry….
“Is that right?”
They’re playing some sort of…. game?
“You said you knew my mother.” she says.
He doesn’t move, except to tilt his head a little. His eyes are flat, lids hooded. After a pause, “So?”
“How did you know her?”
“I told you. She worked for me, with the other whores.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He shrugs, saying nothing.
“What became of her?”
“She died….” His eyes stay cold, but there is… what? An eagerness for her to believe? “…. Heroin overdose.”
“And what do you know about my father, Frank Conners?”
He laughs. “Conners? Your father? Don’t fool yourself. You might have his name, but that’s all. You’re a whore’s brat. Your father could have been anyone�
��.” He pauses. “Could have been me…” he drawls.
She looks as though she has bitten into rotten meat. “Why do you hate me so much?”
“Hate you? Why should I hate you? I don’t know you. You’re nothing.”
She tilts her head. “That’s what I’m asking. You don’t know me. So why do you hate me? If I was just a nuisance, for being a police witness against you, I think you would have simply had me murdered. So, there’s more to it, and I think it’s to do with my mother.”
His lips curl into a sneer. “Really? Well, you’re over-thinking it. You’re simply goods, with a value. And so’s she…” He points at me. “And despite what you told me about her husband and ransoming her, I’ve decided against it. You’re being sold as a pair. Quite the exotic mix, two lookers like you. There’s quite a market for that kind of.… novelty item…. in some parts of the world you know.”
There is a ring-tone, and he glances down before plucking a phone from his pocket. “Yeah…. they’re here. You did a good job. You joining us for the fun? Sure, we’ll wait, there’s no hurry. See you later.” He nods at the men in the room. “Lock them up.”
“Like that, Boss?”
“I need to pee.” says Charlotte. “Are you going to take this tape off?” Klempner hesitates. “If you don’t,” she continues, “It’s going to get pretty smelly around here, pretty quickly.”
He sniffs, nodding at one of the men. “Take it off her. And the other one.”
The tape is stripped away from the both of us and we are thrust into a small bare room, where I collapse onto the floor in an agony of pins and needles. Even Charlotte dances around the floor, flapping her hands as blood pumps back into her fingers. Then she paces up and down, shaking arms and legs, stretching limbs and straining her neck backwards. “God, but that feels good.” she says. “Thought I was going to seize up entirely like that.”
She grins down at me. “Come on. Cheer up. Could be worse.”
I struggle to sit up from my spot on the floor. “Worse?” I ask, unbelieving. “How?”
“We could still be tied up.”
_______________________
Michael
We sit around the table, James and I, Richard and Will.
Will, sighing, says “As you know, since it is clear that something in Charlotte’s family history, relates to Lawrence Klempner and this current situation, I’ve had good reason to be able to investigate old records which might otherwise not be deemed relevant, that I could not otherwise justify assigning resources to. You know about the first part, when, at Michael’s request, I had her birth certificate located, along with her parents’ marriage certificate. And now, with Corby identified, I have more of a free hand. It was difficult before, simply not knowing who could be trusted….”
“What makes you think he was their only informer?” asks Richard.
“Because, having identified him, with the benefit of hindsight, all the information we know to have leaked out, including how they knew you were here, can be traced back to some connection with him….”
“How did he know we here?” demands Richard.
“He was there in the aftermath of the attack on the building. It was probably no more complicated than listening in to you giving instructions to your helicopter pilot.”
Richard rubs the back of his neck, distress on his face.
“Of course,” continues will, “We can never be one hundred per-cent sure, but we are ninety-nine per-cent sure, that, in terms of police infiltration, Corby was acting alone. Remember, he even maneuvered himself into being the officer to interview Charlotte about Blessingmoors, then tried to use that, to attack James.”
“So, you know who he is, or was?” asks James.
“He was essentially Klempner’s right hand man. Certainly, that was his role in the days of the original investigation. This was known at the time, according to the records, but was never provable, because witnesses either clammed up, or vanished entirely. In time, Corby himself, or as he was then known, Elliot Bech, also vanished, and in truth, it was assumed he’d probably been murdered himself in some form of gang dispute. They’re a violent bunch, and occasionally, what was left of them, would be found floating face down.”
“So, Corby… what? Had a change of identity and joined the police force?”
“So far as we can tell, yes. He seems to have been there as a sleeper for years, positioning himself to be in the right place, if there were movement on the Blessingmoors investigation, or any of the other inquiries which we now know to be linked to it….”
“How did you establish those links?” asks Richard.
“Through Charlotte’s identification of individuals known to her from Blessingmoors, but also known to us through other activities. It’s a huge network, working internationally, and all on the general theme of trafficking vulnerable individuals; children, migrants, the dispossessed. The movement is typically from one country to another, where the victims don’t speak the language, don’t know the local laws and have no way of requesting help. However, large as the network is, Klempner is the king-pin, the common link. Take him out of the system, and a lot of it simply falls apart.”
Will chews his lip, hesitates, then continues, “On the subject of Blessingmoors itself, I have say that I am pleased that Charlotte is not present to hear this, although I suspect I am not going to say anything that she didn’t actually know already…. The cellar that she led us to on the site: forensics have now had the opportunity to re-excavate, from where the site had been demolished over it, and investigate….
…. What they found is not good. The examination of the site is still by no means complete. Suffice it to say, that a number of shallow graves have been identified. The human remains within have been recovered, and there is an on-going effort to identify the individuals concerned….”
There is an appalled silence around the table. “Under the circumstances, “says Will, “I’m not going to dwell on this too much. All I am going to say, is that there is all the motive in the world, for the culprits to try to remove Charlotte, as a witness to much of this, from the picture, and to prevent her giving testimony at court. All aside from the considerable monies made from the trafficking, she is effectively witness to institutionalised murder.”
“So why…” I interrupt, “… have they not simply murdered her?”
Will raises a hand, forestalling me. “I’m coming to that.” He glances around the table. “I have to say, that we are missing certain records. Corby may be responsible for that, or it may be that over twenty years or so, they have been misplaced or misfiled, and we have simply not yet located them. However, some things have come out, about which we are clear…. and there’s no easy way to deliver this…. Charlotte’s father, Frank Conners, was murdered, either by, or at the instruction of, Lawrence Klempner.”
There is stunned silence, then, “Is it known why?” asks James. “He was involved with their trafficking trade?”
“We don’t know the motive. Perhaps that was it. What is also unknown, as yet, is how Charlotte herself, or as she then was, Jennifer Conners, came to be in Blessingmoors at all….”
“That file you had on her, said she was placed there as a ward of the court; that her mother was unfit….” I point out.
“Yes, that’s so.” agrees Will. “However, here we have a discrepancy, because what has also emerged, is that Michelle Conners was not, in fact, deemed unfit as a carer, as the mother of a young baby. When we cross-referenced to the court records, there is nothing there to support the content of the Blessingmoors file….”
I am about to interrupt again, but Will raises a finger, silencing me. “And, what we now know is that in fact, Michelle Conners was, at that time, given a new identity for her own protection. Her child should have been with her at that point.”
“So, Charlotte’s mother is alive? She has a family?” demands James.
“We don’t know. We can’t find her. We have had officers visit her las
t known address, but that is from over twenty years ago. She’s dropped off our radar.”
He is about to say more, when his phone rings. He glances at the scene. “Excuse me a moment. I need to take this call.”
He listens in silence then, “Yes? Good… and… Yes? I’m on my way.” He taps off the mobile. “The attacker they dragged from the building has woken up. He wants to plea-bargain. He’s ready to talk.”
“Does he know where Beth and Charlotte have been taken?”
“I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”
_______________________
Ill at ease, barely speaking, we wait. And we wait.
James paces the room. Richard sits, drumming the table top with his fingers. I fight down the nausea that rises every time I think about what Will has told us.
And Charlotte is in the hands of these people.
Richard’s phone rings. “Yes?” He covers the set for a moment. “It’s Will. Yes? Yes…. What!” He jots something down. “We’re on our way. How long before you can get there? Is that with back-up? Right!”
He clicks off. “Come on. We’re going. We know where they were taken, and it’s not far away. Can you believe it? We’re almost on top of them. It’s an old abandoned farm. I’ll tell you on the way.”
_______________________
Charlotte
I try to alternate between sitting and resting, and standing and walking about. When my opportunity comes, I need to be able to go.
Beth doesn’t look so good. She’s not handling this well. Will I be able to take her with me again? I’m not sure. How can I judge, when I have no idea where we are, and what I will find outside?
There is a click of keys and the door opens, and a man brandishing a gun enters, followed by Klempner. He smiles brightly at us.
“Good evening ladies. I just thought I’d bring you up to date on the news. My colleague, Mr Corby, will be arriving in due course, and we’ll be starting our entertainments then….”