Atmosphere

by Robert Innes

  He stood up from his desk and turned to the rest of the officers.

  “As you all know, what we now appear to be dealing with is a ransom situation,” Blake said. “You’ve all watched the second video, you know the amount of money asked for.”

  “Five thousand pounds,” Fox said, reading through her notes. “I take it he’s refusing to pay it?”

  Blake shrugged. “According to Sebastian, he has the money in savings, which begs the question, to me anyway, why he claimed to Benjamin Lakes that he couldn’t afford to keep him on the payroll anymore.”

  “Are you still having doubts about the girl’s father?” Gardiner asked disdainfully. “I mean, for God’s sake, surely the fact that she’s being held to ransom now would be enough for you to realise that she’s genuinely in danger?”

  “Oh, I believe she’s in danger,” Blake said. “Just perhaps not the sort of danger that’s immediately obvious.”

  “Meaning?” Angel said.

  Blake sighed and clicked the video that Sebastian had been sent on again. For a few seconds they watched as Amelia looked up at the camera, looking scared and tied to the chair.

  “This girl has allegedly been involved in prostitution, we don’t know how long for. But she’s seventeen years old, according to her father, which in this scenario makes her a child in the eyes of the law. According to Jemma, the girl me and Matti spoke to at the club that she was seen coming out of on the morning of her disappearance, she has been asking for money. If Sebastian has enough in his savings to apparently want to pay a five-thousand-pound ransom, then why is she asking a girl at the local strip club for money? How did they meet? When we asked Jemma that, she said she couldn’t remember. And when we asked her about Sebastian, she basically cut off the interview and told us to leave.”

  “She did,” Mattison agreed. “But how is it all connected though, Sir? And surely, if we’re talking about child prostitution here, we need to find out who she was with that supposedly lives in Harmschapel that apparently was rough with her to the point that she ran to Jemma.”

  “Oh, yeah we will, Matti. Don’t you worry about that,” Blake replied grimly. “But what I’m leading up to is this.” He sat down at his desk and watched the screen as Amelia’s captor stormed in, wearing his mask and thrusting the note into Amelia’s hands to demand the ransom.

  “Five thousand pounds is all our kidnapper apparently wants for Amelia. Five grand. How far is that going to get you in life these days? A few months luxury but it’s not that much. He’s just pulled off an incredible illusion by stealing a girl from a suspended cabinet. Don’t you think he’d be after more? I don’t think that whoever is under that mask is a random psycho who saw an opportunity. I think it’s someone with a personal axe to grind with Sebastian Klein.”

  “Well, of course it’s personal against Klein,” Gardiner huffed. “Whoever this is has kidnapped the man’s daughter for God’s sake.”

  But Blake did not hear him. Something in the video had caught his eye.

  “Her shoes,” he murmured. “Look at her shoes.”

  “What about them?” Patil asked, frowning at the video.

  “She’s wearing black plimsols . She was wearing them on the first day I met her.”

  “What’s your point, DS Harte?” Angel asked.

  Blake shot up from his seat as something clicked into place in his brain. “Oh my God, look! We’ve been staring at the answer for the entire time! Look! Look at the video!”

  They all stared at the paused screen.

  “I see a kidnapper and his captive,” Angel said flatly. “What relevance do her shoes have?”

  “Harrison found the shoes she was wearing during the performance at the bottom of the cabinet. They had high heels on them. I thought that it must just have been so that she could squeeze into the bottom of the box without having some cumbersome heels on, but what if it was for another reason? If, as we’re meant to believe, she was taken right out of that box in front of everybody, why would she change her shoes? Why isn’t she barefoot?”

  “And what does that mean?” Gardiner asked, frowning. “What possible difference could her shoes make?”

  Blake ignored him and put his head in his hands staring at the screen, his mind racing. “Oh, why? Why, why, why?”

  “Heels are louder than plimsols ,” Fox said. “On the stage, you’d hear heels clip-clopping. I’ve been in that village hall, it’s quite echoey. You wouldn’t hear plimsols .”

  “Yes!” Blake exclaimed. “If she’d got out of there, she’d have had to be out by the time the cabinet opened for the second time. I watched that trick twice, it gives her about thirty seconds to a minute, she wouldn’t have to be Mo Farah to get off the stage in that amount of time.”

  “No,” drawled Gardiner. “Just the invisible man, considering that she was in front of an audience as well as having a mirror showing that nothing happened at the back of the cabinet.”

  “The back of the cabinet opens,” Blake said, frantically pacing up and down. “Somehow, she climbed out of that box and escaped the stage. I’m sure of it.”

  “You do realise, DS Harte, that you are now implying that Amelia and her kidnapper are working together?” Angel said.

  “She hasn’t been kidnapped, Sir,” Blake told him firmly. “Look at her.”

  “I am,” Angel replied. “And I see a terrified looking girl tied to a chair.”

  “And I see a girl who’s used to performing on the stage,” Blake replied. “That first video, showing a paper and the time? How many police dramas has our kidnapper watched? Easy enough to grab the morning paper and adjust the time on your watch, film a video and then send it to Sebastian’s phone when the time is right.”

  “All very well, Sir,” Patil said, flicking through the papers that were all screaming headlines about Amelia’s disappearance. “But how does she get out of the cabinet without anybody seeing her? And if she is working with her kidnapper, then who is it? Who is underneath the mask?”

  Blake sighed and sat back down, his head starting to hurt with all the fruitless theories that all led back to that exact question.

  “God, these papers,” Patil murmured. “There’s one here that’s even got Amelia’s picture in. Someone must have given them access to this, I mean there’s no way…”

  Then she stopped, staring at the paper, her mouth falling open.

  Blake frowned, turning his head. “What?”

  But Patil did not answer. A single tear fell down her cheek as she gripped the newspaper she was holding tighter. Then, she threw it down on the desk, and stood up, kicking her chair out of the way, glaring furiously at Mattion.

  “Mini?” called Mattison. “What the hell is wrong with her?”

  “You!” Patil shouted, pointing her finger at him. “You promised me I was imagining things!”

  Blake, utterly bemused, grabbed the paper and stared at the contents.

  “What the hell are you on about?” Mattison exclaimed, staring cluelessly at her. “I have no idea what you’re on about.”

  “I do,” Blake said. He threw the paper down on the desk and slowly turned it around so that Mattison could see. “You idiot, Matti. You absolute bloody idiot.”

  In one of the reports, there was a picture of the exterior of the village hall, detailing where the disappearance had taken place. In the corner of the picture, were two people kissing against a wall at the end of the otherwise deserted street. Despite the distance, it could not have been more obvious that it was Mattison and Fox.

  “Oh, my,” Gardiner said as he peered over Mattison’s shoulder. “Well, well, well. What have you two been up to?”

  “Oh my God,” Fox said as she realised what was in the photos. “Mini, I’m so sorry, I didn’t…”

  Blake stepped in and grabbed Patil half a second before she attempted to fly across the room to grab Fox.

  “You bitch!” she screamed, tears rolling down her face. “You devious little bitch!”


  “That’s enough!” Blake shouted, pulling hard on Patil’s arms. He leant in and spoke sharply into her ear.

  “You are five seconds away from losing the upper hand here and getting yourself into much more trouble than you currently deserve, just calm down.”

  “Excuse me!”

  They all turned their heads to see Sergeant Mandy Darnwood standing in the doorway, looking both confused and intrigued by the sight before her. “DS Harte, there’s a woman in reception to see you about the Amelia Klein case. What’s going on here?”

  “Nothing,” Blake said firmly. “Mini, go into the office. Go on.”

  Patil took a few deep breaths and then furiously wiped the tears out of her eyes. Then, with a last furious glare at Mattison, she stormed across the room and into Angel’s office, slamming the door behind her.

  “And what do you expect me to do with her?” Angel asked wryly.

  “If you could just try and calm her down, Sir?”

  “DS Harte, this is a police station, not The Jerry Springer Show.”

  “I’m aware of that, Sir,” Blake replied, trying to keep his tone respectful. “But I’m sure you will agree that, right now, it would be sensible to take Mini out of the situation for a moment?”

  He turned to Fox. “Lisa, I’d like you to go through every single witness statement accounting for Amelia’s disappearance and flag up anything that doesn’t match. Every single one. Is that understood?”

  “Sir,” Fox agreed quietly.

  “As for you,” Blake said tersely to Mattison. “I want you to go out and try and bring in Jemma. We need to ask her more questions. Clear?”

  Mattison nodded.

  “Good. Get out of my sight, the pair of you.”

  Without another word, Mattison and Fox went their separate ways.

  “Now then,” Blake said, once he had regained his composure. “Michael, come with me and we’ll talk to this witness together. Inspector Angel, I am very sorry to commandeer your office, but I think, for productivity’s sake, it is best to let Mini calm down and maybe offer her a few words of encouragement?”

  Angel raised a disdainful eyebrow. “Feel free once you have finished with the interview, DS Harte.”

  Harte bit his lip. It was clearly the most cooperative Angel was prepared to be.

  “Michael, with me.”

  Gardiner who had been watching everything from the vantage point of his desk, chuckled to himself as he followed Blake out of the room.

  “Sometimes,” he said, “I think I’m better off single.”

  When Blake and Gardiner arrived in reception, they found a middle-aged woman sitting in the waiting area, staring up at the posters on the wall. She was clutching an old, tatty-looking handbag, wearing scruffy looking clothes and looked like she had not washed her hair in several days.

  Blake frowned and whispered to Darnwood.

  “Who is she?”

  Darnwood looked up lazily from her paperwork. “Said she’s Amelia Klein’s mother.”

  Blake raised his eyebrows. “Her mother? But she’s dead.”

  “No, she just smells like it,” Darnwood murmured.

  Blake ignored her and approached the timid looking woman.

  “Hello?” he said. “I’m DS Harte, this is Sergeant Gardiner. We understand you have some information for us?”

  The woman jumped and looked up sharply at them. “Are you looking for Amelia?”

  Blake was immediately taken aback by how scared the woman looked. She looked to be trembling slightly, clutching her handbag for all she worth.

  “That’s right,” Blake said. “Do you know Amelia?”

  “Yeah, I’m her Mum,” replied the woman.

  Blake and Gardiner exchanged looks, though Gardiner’s was a lot more sceptical than Blake’s.

  “Would you like to go through to the interview room?” Blake said, gently leading the woman to the nearest room. “We’ll be in with you in a second.”

  The woman nodded and allowed Blake to walk her into the room. Once she was inside, Blake closed the door and stood against the wall, looking at Gardiner in confusion.

  “Sebastian said Amelia’s mother had died.”

  “She’s clearly a nutter,” Gardiner replied curtly. “She’s seen the news and wants a bit of the action. You watch, the first question she’ll ask is whether there’s a money reward. You mark my words, it’ll be a complete waste of time. Time that could be spent looking for that poor girl.”

  “Well, if we don’t ask, we won’t know, will we, my cynical little sergeant?” Blake replied lightly and then walked into the interview room, ignoring the tuts coming from behind him.

  The woman, who was now seated behind the interview table, looked up at them fearfully and watched them with her eyes wide as the two officers sat down opposite her.

  “Can we ask you your name?” Blake asked.

  “Abi,” replied the woman. “Abi Clarke.”

  “Okay, Abi,” Blake said. “You say that you’re Amelia’s mother?”

  “I am, yeah.”

  “It’s just that we were told that Amelia’s mother had died,” Blake said tentatively.

  “Died?” Abi repeated, looking confused. “How could I have died? I’m sat right here. Look, if you don’t believe me, I’ve got her birth certificate here, as well as my ID.”

  She put the handbag on the table and pulled a very crumpled sheet of paper out and placed it front of Blake, followed by a sellotaped driving licence.

  Blake frowned as he read the certificate.

  “‘Certified copy of birth record, Amelia Clarke,’” Blake read. “‘Mother: Abigail Clarke. Father: Martin Clarke.’”

  “Yeah, he’s in prison,” Abi added. “Drugs.”

  “No, really?” Gardiner muttered.

  Blake jabbed him in the side with his elbow and continued reading. “City of birth, Leeds. Date of birth 21st July 2003’? That would make her fifteen, Abi.”

  “There you go,” Gardiner said triumphantly. “Listen, madam, the girl we’re looking for is seventeen. You’re two years out I’m afraid.”

  “What more proof do you need?” Abi exclaimed crossly. “What, just because I don’t talk all proper like you, it must mean I’m a liar? I suppose you just thought I was here to try and get a few quid, didn’t you?”

  Gardiner shuffled in his seat and cleared his throat. “I’m sure I would never make those sorts of assumptions.”

  Blake reread the birth certificate and then examined the driving licence. “This all tallies,” he said.

  “I’ve got pictures of her of when she was a baby,” Abi said, pulling the handbag open again. She produced two old photographs of a smiling baby in a pink onesie.

  Gardiner raised a suspicious eyebrow. “That could be any baby,” he muttered to Blake.

  “Why though?” Blake murmured back. “What would she get out of it?” He turned to Abi and clasped his hands together. “If we’re going with the idea that you’re Amelia’s mum, Abi, where have you been?”

  Abi slouched down in her seat and looked down at the ground. Blake could not help feeling that, no matter what Amelia’s true age was, Abi would have been the most childlike.

  “I’m not saying I was a good mother,” Abi mumbled. “I had my problems. I’m getting clean now though, honestly.”

  “Clean?” Blake asked gently. “You mean, you’ve had addiction problems?”

  Abi shrugged. “Like I say, my fella is in prison right now. That sort of thing doesn’t work if both of you aren’t into it, as you probably know.”

  Blake nodded. “So, Amelia is fifteen?”

  “I swear to God,” Abi pressed. “She was born on the fifth anniversary of my Mum’s death. 21st July, 2003. Where have you got the idea that she’s seventeen?”

  “Does the name Sebastian Klein mean anything to you?”

  Abi glared up at him. “Course it does. I might have been off my head when it happened, but you don’t forget the name of the guy who t
akes your daughter away from you.”

  Blake and Gardiner exchange looks of surprise.

  “Took your daughter?” Gardiner repeated.

  “Look, I’m not proud of this,” Abi said. “It was two years ago. Mel was thirteen. I was at my worst then, I can barely remember anything from those years. I had social services at my door every other day and I was just trying to block it all out. It was tough on Amelia. She started acting up at school, every day, to the point where she got herself expelled. Then she went to another school and got kicked out of that one. The social worker said that it was a knee jerk reaction to an unsteady home life. I guess finding me out cold on the sofa can do that to a kid. Then finally, she sort of settled at this school for troubled kids.”

  “So, how did Sebastian Klein come onto the scene?” asked Blake.

  “Mel had started going to this drama club,” Abi explained. “And she started getting well into the theatre with her plays and that. So, then one day this magic show comes to the city and Mel wants to go. I didn’t have any money for her, but she said that the guy who did it, Sebastian, had gone to her school and chosen for some of the girls to go, sort of audition to be part of some of the tricks. Mel got the part.”

  Blake’s heart sank.

  “Sebastian Klein went to a school for troubled kids to audition them to be part of his show?”

  Abi nodded. “Mel came home really excited, she’d got this part as his new assistant and got to go on tour with him doing this magic show all over the place.”

  “And I take it Sebastian knew all about the trouble Mel was having at home.”

  Abi looked down at the floor again. “Yeah. He came ‘round the house. Took one look at me and the state of the place and told me that if Mel went with him, he could look after her till I got myself sorted out. Mel would be better with him, I wouldn’t have to worry about paying him anything, he’d take her on as his assistant. He said he’d ‘teach her the tricks of the trade.’”

  Blake’s blood ran cold. “Tricks of the trade,” he murmured.

  “And what, you’re saying he simply fostered your daughter?” Gardiner asked.

  “I dunno if you’d call it fostering,” Abi said with a shrug. “We didn’t fill out any paperwork or anything. I just told the social she’d gone to live with her uncle and that was it. I think they were glad to get me off their books to be honest.”