The Perfect Couple

by Lexi Landsman

  Emily hadn’t even noticed it herself when she posted the photo but now she could clearly see the outline of a man on the edge of frame. She had foolishly added a blur and shading to the edges of the photo so there was no way to identify his features, but it was him! She felt a cold chill run through her body and she shuddered. How long had he been following her?

  When the report ended, Emily flicked the channels, hoping the story would be covered on another news channel.

  The San Gennaro necklace – so that was why she was still being held, because her parents couldn’t deliver what the kidnappers wanted. An unnerving thought ran through her mind – what if her mother’s car accident hadn’t been an accident at all and had been committed by the same men behind her abduction? What lengths would they go to get what they wanted?

  By now Emily was sobbing loudly, unable to stifle her tears. Suddenly, she heard the stairs creaking. One by one, the sound got closer and closer, until she heard the click of the lock and saw the knob turn. The door slid open and the man walked in. He was wearing the same jeans and shoes as yesterday except with a red T-shirt. He had tightened a bandana around his mouth loosely, as if he had put it on hastily as he ascended the stairs. She knew she should stop crying, that her loud cries might anger him, but she couldn’t stop.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he said in Italian, surprising her by speaking aloud for the first time. He had a younger voice than she had expected.

  ‘I just want to go home. Please let me go. I promise I won’t tell the police anything. Please,’ she begged.

  His voice was firm but his eyes seemed soft. ‘I can’t do that.

  I’m under orders to keep you here until your parents deliver.’

  ‘But they don’t have what you want. It was stolen. I saw it on the news.’

  He said nothing but instead shifted uncomfortably. He seemed nervous.

  She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. ‘What about if they gave you money instead?’

  ‘Money is not what we want. It’s the necklace or nothing.’

  Emily shuddered. From what her parents had told her and what she had read in the papers, it was a one-of-a-kind priceless antiquity. And it was gone. ‘But they don’t know where it is. What will you do to me if you don’t get it?’

  ‘We won’t hurt you,’ he said quickly, registering her growing panic.

  ‘How do I know that? How can I trust you?’

  ‘You have my word.’ He spoke gently, and she couldn’t understand why he was being so kind.

  ‘But what about the others?’ she asked.

  He undid his bandana and revealed his face. The movement was slow and deliberate, as if a symbolic gesture, a white flag. He wanted her to trust him, so he was being brazen enough to reveal his face and risk her being able to identify him. She took in his features, knowing she would need to remember details. He had dark, thick eyebrows, olive skin and a light beard. He had a square jawline and a scar on his right cheek. ‘No one will hurt you,’ he said, and held her gaze.

  He seemed hardened but he didn’t look tough or menacing like she had imagined. There was a sort of futility in his expression. He turned to leave.

  ‘Wait!’ she called out. ‘How much longer will I be here?’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

  He’d said he was ‘under orders’ earlier, so clearly he wasn’t the one calling the shots, which meant that even though he had given his word that he wouldn’t harm her, she knew that the others might not be so forgiving. And now she’d seen the man’s face and that meant she was a liability. She had to escape. It was her only option.

  ‘I’ll get you some breakfast,’ he said finally.

  ‘Thank you.’ She would be polite from now on and play the game. If she pretended to be compliant, he wouldn’t suspect that she was planning anything. Maybe he would become more lax around her. She would use each mealtime to study how he came and went so she could plan her escape.

  She watched him closely as he left, studying his movements. He took keys from his right jeans pocket, unlocked the door, slid it open and then shut it so quickly she couldn’t even see what lay on the other side.

  She’d have to be smart and somehow grab his attention the second after the door unlocked. She’d have to lure him to the farthest side of the room, and then jump over the bed and run out. She had to hope that there weren’t more locked doors beyond this one and that he wouldn’t try to shoot her as she ran.

  Once he was gone, Emily stared at the closed, locked door. She knew that she had to pick her moment perfectly, because if she failed, she might never see the other side.

  SARAH

  Every time my phone rings, my heart feels like it has been dropped off a high-rise building. And it’s been ringing nonstop from my parents, friends and colleagues. I know they all mean well and they’re just calling to offer their help and support, but I really don’t have time for pleasantries. My phone is next to me constantly in case the kidnappers make contact or Emily finds a way to reach me. So, these endless calls are a distraction I don’t need.

  My phone is ringing now for the third time from Sofia, one of the students on our team. She’s in her late twenties and new to archaeology, so she still carries an unflappable enthusiasm. I admire her work ethic but she’s also a distraction to the men on the team. In fact, I hate to admit it but when she first stepped onto the excavation site, I judged her purely on her appearance. She was far too pretty for the kind of labour we did. But she turned out to be smart and an exceptionally hard worker.

  I assume Sofia’s calling, like everyone else, to ask if there is anything she can do and to let us know how sorry she is. I put my phone on the coffee table, which is when I see a text message from her pop up. It’s unlike her to be so persistent. Three missed calls in a row and now a message. I find myself navigating to my message inbox, interested to see what she has to say that is so urgent.

  My throat tightens as I read it.

  Sarah, it’s Sofia. Please call me urgently from somewhere private. It’s important that you don’t say a word to anyone about this. Not even Marco.

  I immediately close the message and look around to see if any of the police have been watching me. If they were, they would surely have seen my body stiffen, the colour drain from my cheeks, my jaw lock.

  I try to process what I’ve just read. Sofia knows something or, worse, did something. Maybe she has fooled us all and was only ever after the necklace. Snippets of observations come over me. Marco bragging about Sofia reading his entire thesis on the Saint Januarius necklace and begging him for a job. Catching Sofia watching Marco looking at the 3D scans. Her uncanny knowledge of the San Gennaro treasure. And then all the hours on weekends she spent alone with Emily at the excavation site. Maybe she wasn’t befriending my daughter; maybe it was all a ploy, an attempt to extract information from her so she could plan the abduction.

  Sofia has never mentioned a boyfriend or her personal life to me. She could be the girlfriend of a thug or the unsuspecting face of a criminal gang. Maybe she didn’t believe the necklace had been stolen and abducting Emily was the only way she saw of getting her hands on it. She knew Marco was away at a conference and that I was going to Lake Como with the kids, so perhaps she had seized the opportunity to make her move.

  I re-read her message and wonder why she specifically said not to mention anything to Marco. Being forced into silence makes me feel desperately alone and afraid. I feel like my daughter’s life is now resting solely in my hands. And without my memory of the night of the necklace’s disappearance, I feel as though I have already failed Emily.

  I duck out the back door of the villa and pass two carabinieri. I muster a faint smile.

  ‘I’m just going to grab a coffee from the piazza,’ I say as if I need to explain myself.

  ‘We’ll escort you,’ they offer.

  ‘I’d prefer to go alone.’ I try to look as normal as I can.

  ‘Signora Moretti, we really should esco
rt you for your own safety.’

  I bring on the tears with ease. ‘Please,’ I cry. ‘I’m desperate for a moment to myself. I just need some fresh air, alone.’

  They exchange a look. ‘We could get in a lot of trouble for this,’ the younger officer says, running a hand nervously through his light brown hair. ‘But go. Be quick, though.’

  ‘I’ll be five minutes, tops,’ I lie. ‘Thank you.’

  I wear my sunglasses and put my blazing red hair in a bun under my wide-brimmed straw hat in an attempt to hide my face in case the media is watching. There’s a back gate to the villa, so I quickly pass through it and onto one of the cobbled streets. When I find a secluded spot, I take out my phone. My heart is pounding so heavily it feels like it will crack a rib.

  I want this ordeal to be over. I just want my daughter back.

  I dial and hold my breath.

  ‘Sarah, thank you for calling,’ Sofia says when she answers on the first ring.

  Her voice is soft and gentle, delicate even. It catches me off guard. I was expecting cruelty, ice in her tone. I assume that is to come.

  ‘What is it that you want?’ I snap. If Sofia is behind this, she’s put me through hell and I’m not going to make pleasantries.

  ‘Are you alone?’

  I look around again to make sure no one has followed me. ‘Yes, I’m alone.’

  ‘Does anyone know you’ve called me?’

  I brace myself. ‘No. No one.’

  She’s talking almost in a whisper, as if someone near her might overhear our conversation. ‘What about Marco?’

  ‘I haven’t seen him since I got your message.’

  She exhales. ‘Okay, good.’

  My heart is still racing. I can barely hold the phone steady. I just wish she would get on with it. Make her demands so I know what I’m up against.

  ‘You know, Sofia, I never in my wildest dreams would have thought you were capable of something like this.’

  I can hear her inhale. She sounds nervous and certainly doesn’t come across like a seasoned criminal. ‘You know?’

  ‘I do now. I always thought you genuinely liked my daughter.’ I pause. ‘She trusted you.’

  I hear her gasp. ‘Oh, you think I had something to do with Emily’s abduction?’ she says with a tone of disbelief.

  ‘Well, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ she says emphatically. ‘I would never wish harm upon your daughter. Ever.’

  I’m confused. If she’s not part of her abduction, what does she want?

  ‘Sarah, the reason I’m calling is because I want to help.’

  I laugh, a bitter, hopeless laugh. ‘Really? That’s why you called? That’s why you said it was urgent and to call you privately? Come on, Sofia, I’m no fool. Let’s not play games. Just say what you have to.’

  Her voice hardens. ‘I think I know who took Emily.’

  I place a hand on my heart and take in a sharp breath. ‘What?’

  She speaks quickly now. ‘I saw a message, Sarah, from the person who abducted her.’

  My legs suddenly feel like jelly and I collapse onto the cobbled stones. I hold the phone so close to my ear that I can feel the heat of the screen against my skin. ‘What did it say?’

  I’m terrified to hear the answer. What if her abductors have been spooked by all the media attention and have decided to abandon their plans and need to make sure Emily can’t identify them? What if the only way to ensure that is by – I can’t even finish the thought. I feel dizzy as panic begins to grip my body. ‘What did it say?’ I press, my anxiety rising.

  She exhales. ‘It said, “Emily is very scared. I’ve told her I won’t harm her but she is still afraid. How much longer?”’

  Hearing the words written by the man who is holding my innocent daughter captive makes this painfully, hauntingly real. It grips me like pliers to the chest, levers up my throat, makes my eyes burn and my breath come out in hot, uneven bursts.

  Trembling, I hold the phone to my ear. ‘Did the message say anything about where she’s being held?’

  ‘No, that’s all.’

  ‘I’m confused. Where did you see the message?’

  She pauses, as if choosing her words carefully. ‘On a phone,’ she says, economically.

  ‘A phone?’ I ask, growing increasingly impatient that I have to fish the information out of her.

  ‘Yes. A text message.’

  My mind starts to swim with possibilities. Nothing is adding up. ‘Sofia, whose phone?’

  Her breathing becomes heavier. ‘I don’t know how to tell you this.’

  I’m trying not to scream. Every minute I’m on the phone to her is a minute my daughter is being held captive. ‘Come on, just spit it out.’

  ‘I saw it,’ she swallows, ‘on Marco’s phone.’

  I feel like the earth has just given way beneath me. I can’t even process what she’s just said. ‘On Marco’s phone?’ I repeat, to be sure I haven’t misheard.

  ‘Yes,’ she says softly.

  If that message was on my husband’s phone, it means he was communicating with her abductor and he was the one issuing instructions. The realisation that he could be the one behind this tightens my throat to the point that I feel like I’m choking. My temples start to pulse and my heart races at an impossible speed.

  ‘Are you saying that my husband organised her abduction?’ Fire rises in my cheeks. My hands are shaking so much now that I can barely hold the phone steady. ‘But he was away in Naples when she was taken. He would never dream of harming our daughter,’ I say, wishing those words to be true.

  ‘I don’t know the answers,’ she says softly. ‘I can only tell you what I read.’

  I try to hold myself together so I can think clearly. Things are still not adding up. ‘But wait, how do you know it was Marco’s phone?’

  Sofia takes a deep, strained breath. ‘Because,’ she pauses nervously, ‘because he left it with me.’

  The truth finally dawns on me. My husband is having an affair.

  I feel like a fool for not putting the pieces together sooner. Anger and hurt make a cocktail of hate burn in my chest. He has not only betrayed me by having an affair but also in the worst way imaginable – by putting our daughter’s life in danger. I can’t believe I am married to a man capable of such evil. What kind of a father can be so heartless? The reality of his deceit hits me so deeply it’s as if I can feel it in every fibre of my body, right through to the marrow of my bones.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Sarah,’ she says with sincerity. ‘I didn’t want you to find out like this. But as soon as I came across the message, I knew I had to let you know, regardless of the repercussions.’

  I feel like punching the wall. I agreed to make her a part of our team despite her inexperience and she goes off and sleeps with my husband. And now she has the nerve to say she’s sorry. But I don’t have time to wallow in self-pity at their betrayal. I need to free my daughter and end this charade.

  I muster any strength I have left to keep my voice firm. ‘Sofia, are you telling me everything? Is there anything else I need to know?’

  ‘The phone I found the message on is a secret phone Marco used to communicate with me only. Or so I thought.’

  It occurs to me that she has gone behind his back to let me know about the message, which means she must have some moral code. ‘What will you do now?’ she asks.

  It’s a question I can’t answer yet. Obviously I don’t want Marco to know I’m onto him until my daughter has been safely returned. I need to decide whether to take matters into my own hands or to let the police take over. I ask her for the number the message was sent from and memorise it. ‘Give me some time to think and I’ll call you back with a plan.’

  As much as I hate to admit it, I’m now weirdly allied to my husband’s mistress. I need her in order to catch him. ‘Thank you, Sofia,’ I say.

  After I hang up, I lean against a wall to steady myself. Shock rises in my throat and I’m su
ddenly bent over vomiting on the side of the street. When I regain my composure, I still cannot believe what Marco has done. It seems unfathomable that the man I loved and thought I knew could be so callous and fame-hungry that he would put our daughter through the torment of a staged abduction in an attempt to get his hands on the necklace.

  I can only assume that he planned her abduction because either he didn’t believe I had memory loss or because he thought doing something as brutal as this might trigger my memories to return.

  For a moment, I feel some level of relief knowing that if my husband is behind her abduction, he will have at least ensured that she is fed, treated well and kept in good conditions. Although, how can I give the man any benefit of the doubt after what he’s done? He could have hired dangerous thugs to carry out his dirty work and not considered her wellbeing at all.

  Just as I’m about to call Sofia back, I look up to see a team of plain-clothes officers headed towards me. Clearly I’ve been gone too long and they’re coming to escort me back to the villa.

  I need to call her back quickly or I’ll never get a private moment to myself. I dial her number and see them pick up their pace. They look like they’re running. ‘Hang up the phone!’ one of them yells.

  I do as I’m told. ‘We’ve heard everything,’ Lieutenant Fallaci says when he reaches me. And then I remember: all our phones are tapped.

  ‘We’re going to get your daughter back,’ he says with conviction. ‘You just have to do exactly what we tell you.’

  They escort me to a secret office the carabinieri have set up in a nearby hotel. I gather that they’ve had it all along so they can monitor us discreetly as potential suspects.

  As we walk, I picture Marco and Sofia together with a knot in my stomach, when suddenly fragmented images rise in my mind.

  Washing hanging from an old apartment block.

  Blue chipped paint on a car.

  A man’s hand cupping the hollow of a woman’s back.

  A street lamp.

  Then the fragments come together like pieces of a puzzle until I can see the scene as a whole.

  Him holding her at the dip of her back.