by Louise Wise
But neither the bath and music could soothe her. Her mind was in overdrive: Gentleman Abductor; red Audis; Sally Readman; Jan… she could almost feel the steam spurting from her ears. And she was so tired. Suddenly everything seemed to catch up with her, and she wearily sank into the bubbles as her mind trundled over the thoughts in her head.
She burst up from the bath with a start, and a cascade of water was sent over the side. ‘Why did he let me go?’ she asked herself. ‘I was in the car, already his prisoner. Yet, he let me go.’
She pulled out the plug, stood and reached for a towel. Carefully she stepped out of the bath into the puddles on the bathroom floor. She dried herself, folded her hair up into a turban, and pulled on a towelling robe. The bath hadn’t relaxed her as she hoped it would, and neither did it wash away her restless thoughts.
Moving towards the kitchen, she eyed her jacket, thrown casually over the back of a chair. She fumbled for the pocket and took out the discarded petrol receipt.
She turned it over. Was that an ‘S’ or a ‘J’? She couldn’t make out the scrawl. It could be initials of something or someone. The abductor’s? No, why would he have his own name written on a piece of paper?
A chill swept through her. Maybe it was his last victim, and her attempt to help herself? What was her name? Charlie thought hard and then it came to her, Samantha Jenkins! The woman went missing a month ago, about a month after Janice Parker vanished. Charlie screwed up her forehead. Samantha Jenkins disappeared in August, Janice in September and Sally in October. A prostitute a month.
No, no, Sally’s not missing. She’s probably visiting rellies or on holiday or something. Prostitutes can have holidays, of course they can! Charlie stood up and began to pace around her flat. She finished up at her large window, and rested her head against the cool pane. She felt she was involved and in too far to pull away. Her research into writing a book seemed small against the possibility she had been in the abductor’s car.
Turning from the window she stared at the scrawl still clutched in her hands and was certain the initials were S.J. She took in the long telephone number beneath. It was a lot easier to read than the letters. She picked up her mobile and before she could talk herself out of it pressed in the numbers 07798527801 – the number five she wasn’t so sure of, but she crossed her fingers and pressed the green key on her phone. After a brief lull the phone began to ring, and continued to ring until it went to the standard network voicemail. Charlie disconnected.
In the kitchen, she tiredly made herself a hot chocolate, then sat down with her dictation machine and forced her drained brain to remember all she had seen and heard in the car. He had appeared tall even though he was sitting down, and he was Scottish. She sighed and took a sip of her drink. Well, that ruled out the Audi owner as the Gentleman Abductor, she thought to herself. ‘The only reason he was called the Gentleman Abductor was because he spoke in a posh English accent… unless he was faking, of course,’ she murmured her thoughts aloud.
Hmm, he’d dark hair. She had seen the way his hair had curled around his ear as if he was in need of a good haircut, and his face was definitely clean-shaven – although the dark shadows could have been stubble. It was just too dark in the car to see. She had tried to look after she’d got out of the car, when the interior light should’ve come on, only it didn’t.
She rewound the tape again and listened. Nothing. There was nothing there the police didn’t already have. But why’d he let her go?
She couldn’t think of any single reason why.
TWENTY FOUR
In her lunch hour, Charlie headed towards the car park and her car. She had been waiting all day to telephone the number again, and now had her chance. Inside the Fiesta she took out her mobile and before she could lose courage she rang the number that was readily stored in her mobile’s memory.
She chewed on her bottom lip as it rang – what would she say if, unlike last time, it was answered?
‘Hello, Jane speaking.’
Charlie jumped. ‘Oh, er, hello,’ she said. Did she say Jane? She looked at the writing again on the receipt. The first ‘S’ could be a ‘J’, she supposed.
‘Hello?’ said Jane again, and Charlie noted faint annoyance in her voice.
‘Look, you might think I’m a complete loony but your life could be in danger,’ she said in a rush. So much for breaking it to her gently! There was silence on the other end and then,
‘Who is this?’
‘I’m a, er, reporter, and I’ve been –’
‘A reporter?’ Charlie could have sworn there was a trace of hope in the woman’s voice this time.
‘Yes, and I’ve been investigating the Gentleman Abductions. Last night I thought I had him, but instead I found a piece of paper on the floor of his car with your name, or rather initials, and this number on.’
‘I see.’ There was that annoyance again.
‘Of course I don’t know they were your initials, I was just ringing the number I found on some old petrol receipt I found in his car.’
‘You’re mad.’
The voice was young, but well spoken, and Charlie imagined her to be in her late teens to early twenties, with neatly styled hair, immaculate makeup and nails and styled in Burberry. The voice also sounded suspicious, as if the anonymous person was expecting to get caught out, and Charlie’s heart sunk. She didn’t want to terrify the woman, just make her aware of possible dangers.
‘If you’re trying to frighten me…’
‘No, of course not.’ The last thing she wanted was for Jane to believe she was a nuisance caller and hang up. ‘I could have it all wrong. They might not be your initials at all. In fact, the writing is so bad they could be anything.’
There was silence.
‘Hello?’
‘What newspaper are you from?’ the woman asked.
‘London Core.’
‘I think you should leave me alone!’ The words were said in a sob, and then the connection went dead as Jane ended the call.
TWENTY FIVE
Charlie had joined the women in the red-light area again last night hoping she’d spot Jan and apologise for stealing her ‘trick’. But the teen hadn’t shown. She didn’t stay out for long. For one, she had finally acknowledged its dangers and secondly she was worried Fanny, like Melvin, would notice her tired face in the mornings – or worse Mr Middleton!
She had been ambitious thinking she could pretend to be a prostitute in the evenings, achieve suitable research for her book, and continue with her ordinary work during the day.
She stood under a cold shower squealing as the icy water ran down her back and woke her up. Fanny wasn’t around to see her jaunty walk into the office. Clair Michel was at Mr Fanton’s desk instead and too engrossed in paperwork to notice.
She glanced behind Clair into Fanny’s office. Mr Middleton was on the telephone, spinning one way and then the other on his chair like a small boy. As he spun he caught Charlie looking and stopped abruptly. Charlie lowered her gaze, but continued watching from beneath her eyelashes. He jiggled the top of his tie, placed one elbow on the desk and continued to talk on the phone while his other hand rested on his hip. After a moment he changed this hand to a fist on his hip. Charlie could imagine him putting on a stern, no-nonsense voice as he continued his charade of tough business man making a corporate call, and smiled in genuine affection.
Charlie looked up as he put down the phone, and watched as he got up and strode out of his office.
‘Clair,’ he called.
For a moment…
Charlie’s heart was racing. She had a silly notion that he was going to come over and wish her a good morning or make a joke about being caught spinning on the chair.
‘Silly,’ she muttered but couldn’t help feeling disappointed. She bent her head, and didn’t see Ben’s lingering look on her as he held the door open for his PA to go through.
*
It was nearly her finish time and she was looking forward
to the weekend where she could spend longer on the streets looking for Jan and explain to her why she couldn’t let her get into the Audi. Maybe they’d have coffee or something as they discussed both of their near misses with the abductor?
‘Going to Sarah’s Anne Summers’ party tomorrow night, Charlie?’ Faye called as she was shrugging into her jacket.
‘Is that this Saturday?’
‘Yup! Dress up, because we’re all going to Cargo’s after.’
Charlie mentally groaned. ‘I’ll only come to the party. I’m not keen on Cargo’s.’
‘Since when,’ Faye scoffed.
‘Gallies for you Faye,’ Sarah said, and placed a pile of reports on her desk.
Faye turned to them with a sigh. ‘Talk to Ginger Minger would you Sar, she’s backing out of Saturday night.’
‘Oh, no!’ Sarah turned to Charlie.
‘Since when were you two best friends?’ asked Charlie as she reached for her bag. ‘One moment you’re at each other’s throats, the next –’
‘We’ve always been mates,’ said Sarah. Charlie rolled her eyes remembering when Sarah was shedding tears over Faye’s sarcastic remarks.
‘So why aren’t you coming to my party?’ Sarah asked Charlie.
‘I never said that! I’ll come to your party, but I doubt I’ll go to the club after, that’s all.’
Sarah waved a hand airily. ‘Oh, you’ll so change your mind once you get into the party spirit at mine. Seven o’clock, right?’
‘Jesus!’ Faye said, and Charlie and Sarah both looked over at her. She was studying the galley proofs and not listening to their conversation.
‘What’s up?’ asked Sarah.
‘Another prozzie has vanished. When did you get these Sar?’
‘News gave them to me just now. I was told to get them over to you ASAP.’
Charlie’s heart was banging in her chest. ‘The Abductor?’ she asked.
‘Yep,’ said Faye absently as she studied the proofs. She looked up, and over towards the news desk; a large table manned by a team of eight close to Mr Fanton’s office. ‘We’ll struggle to get this in for tomorrow.’ No work seemed ever to be done on News; the people there always appeared to be arguing and phones were constantly ringing. ‘Cheers, guys!’ Faye called sarcastically, but no one looked up.
Trying to act nonchalant, Charlie sat back at her desk.
Melvin came in backwards, opening the door with his back while he was engrossed in reading something from a thick ledger.
‘Mel,’ said Charlie.
He turned with the ledger, his eyes still scanning the print, ‘Hmm?’
‘Mel.’
He finally looked up. ‘Sorry, doll, miles away. The Gentleman Abductor struck again Tuesday night,’ he said, before she could ask. ‘Tuesday evening, or the early hours of Wednesday according to police. It’s going to be our headline tomorrow, which’s why it’s going to be a late night. Be a doll, and let Dean know, eh?’
She nodded absently. ‘Why wasn’t I told?’
Melvin laughed. ‘It hadn’t been made official until now. We can’t release something like that without permission.’
‘But you knew.’ It wasn’t a question, it was an accusation that she couldn’t hold back. Fearing Melvin’s inquisitive nature she added, ‘Didn’t you?’
‘Well, sure I knew. Our guys were down there getting the goss.’
‘How’d they know it’s him?’
He closed the book with a thump. ‘Apparently, there have been several eyewitnesses reporting a red sports car carrying off a young girl.’
Charlie closed her eyes feeling ill. She had been in that very car!
‘You all right, doll?’
Charlie was glad she was seated; her legs had suddenly become filled with liquid instead of bone. ‘Er, yes. Just a little indigestion.’ She patted her stomach. ‘This, er, sports car, do they know the make?’
‘Not yet. A red convertible,’ Melvin said. His attention was on the ledger again. ‘Paul!’ he called, making Charlie jump. ‘Is the Collins’ proof ready for me yet? I really need it if it’s to be in for tomorrow.’
‘All here, Mel.’ The proof was handed over as Charlie relayed events in her brain.
Melvin turned to her. ‘She was well known to the police apparently; been soliciting since twelve. It’s a sad case really. Abused as a kid, family breakdown ... no wonder she turned to drugs –’
‘And that’s why she turned to prostitution to pay for the drugs,’ Charlie said. It wasn’t a question, but Melvin answered it anyway.
‘In this case, yes. Her pimp reported her missing. Not because he was worried about her, but because he thought she’d run off with his money.’
Cold fingers iced Charlie’s back, and circled her throat. Her heart began to bolt in her chest, as if set free by invisible fingers. Then the tight, icy band lowered and pressed around her chest. Recognising the symptoms, Charlie forced herself to relax, and breathe as a kind nurse once taught her after her first panic attack when a boyfriend had dumped her. The boyfriend had called an ambulance because he feared she was having a heart attack. That was years ago now, but the horrible feeling of being unable to breathe had never left her.
‘Charlie?’ Melvin had circled her desk, and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. ‘Sure it’s just indigestion?’
‘What was the girl’s name?’ She knew the answer, although felt the need for confirmation.
‘You’re looking pale, baby doll.’
Feeling stronger and her breathing calmed, she stared at Melvin unable to comprehend his words. ‘Her name?’
He shrugged. ‘Sally Readman,’ he said, unaware of the turmoil going on inside her head. Sally Readman. It was such an ordinary name, yet the woman it conjured up wasn’t ordinary at all. She had been a young girl lost to addiction.
‘And are the police still calling it abduction o-or murder?’ Charlie felt the panic attack coming on again and battled against it. Visions of the red Audi and Sally climbing into it played in her mind. Why hadn’t she ran out and stopped her? Why didn’t she call the police before anything happened? The anguished thoughts flew around her head. She felt so responsible for the poor woman’s disappearance, almost as if she had urged her into the car herself.
‘Baby doll?’ said Melvin. ‘You’re looking, like, really sick.’ He squatted beside her chair and peered up into her face.
Charlie shook her head. ‘I’m all right. It’s passing.’
‘I’d forgotten you used to have panic attacks,’ Mel said. ‘How often do you have them now?’
‘Not very often. I don’t know why this one happened,’ she lied. She began to stand. ‘But I need to know Mel, are the disappearances classed as murder?’
‘They are looking for bodies, babe,’ he said gently, rising with her. ‘I’ll take you home. Did you come in your car?’
‘Yes, but don’t be daft, you’re much too busy. It must be something I ate. I’ll be fine in a bit,’ she added, reaching for her handbag.
‘I’m not letting you leave on your own in this state.’
She managed a laugh. ‘What state? I’m fine! You’re fussing as usual.’
‘If you’re sure,’ Melvin said, looking doubtful.
‘I’m sure.’ His telephone rang, and taking advantage of the distraction she left the office.
She waited patiently for the lift, not trusting her legs with the three flights of stairs.
She wanted to tell someone about her pretence as a prostitute and how she had known Sally Readman, but there was nobody to tell. Melvin would immediately forbid any further involvement when now it was all the more important. Sarah would tell Faye, and Faye would tell Melvin, and none of them would understand her need to uncover the mystery.
‘Baby doll.’
Charlie turned to face Melvin standing in the doorway to the office.
‘Melvin!’ someone shouted behind him.
‘I’ll be fine,’ she said and smiled. ‘I’m fe
eling better already.’
‘Call me as soon as you get home.’
‘I’m going to pop to the chemist first. Motilium,’ she added, rubbing her stomach. ‘But as soon as I get in I’ll call you.’
‘Mel!’ another voice shouted.
‘I’m coming already,’ he yelled over his shoulder.
The lift doors slid open. Melvin made a ‘call me’ gesture with his hands.
‘I will,’ she said and slipped inside.
The lift took her down. Outside at last, she sat on a bench and watched the traffic. She took out her notebook and flipped it open. There was the registration of the Audi she had written down from the café. It seemed a lifetime ago.
She rang the local police station on her mobile and gave them her account of the sightings of the Audi, but obviously could not describe the man driving, other than he had been wearing a dark coloured beanie hat the second time round.
The police asked her to go down to the station, which she obliged and where she repeated her story. She had to describe the car again, describe the woman the man had spoken to on the first occasion, and Sally on the second. She had to state times, and describe the way the driver seemed to be acting.
They kept on at her about the red car. How was she sure it was an Audi and not say, a BMW? Was she sure she’d seen the Audi logo on the front of the vehicle? How was she certain the man was Scottish? Did she know her accents?
Finally, she handed over the envelope with the petrol receipt. The police had acted as if she had brought out the crown jewels. She explained that she had found it in the back of the red Audi and they looked at her in a new kind of awe.
Then she lied and pretended she was a freelance journalist. Whether they believed her or not, Charlie didn’t really care.
Once home she cleared away her uneaten soggy breakfast and finally washed up last night’s meal. She emptied the washing machine, and set about doing her ironing, hoping normality would make things OK again, but it didn’t. Her thoughts were never far from Sally and her disappearance, and her first early night, turned into a restless one.
