by J. D. Weston
To avoid Sharon’s excuses, Frankie directed his next questions at Adrian.
“Where is she, Adrian?”
“Where’s who?”
“Emma. Where’s Emma?”
“I don't know what you’re talking about. I don’t know where she is.”
“So why are you here?”
“He’s here to see me. I asked him to come.”
“Save it, Sharon. I’ve been all over Varkiza for the past two days looking for your daughter, and you’re shacked up with the only guy who can’t account for his whereabouts.”
Keeping the bed between them, Sharon pulled a hotel robe over the small dress she had slid into, to cover her less than glamorous appearance.
“Let him go, Mr Black. Please.”
“Do you know where he was, Sharon, on the night Emma was taken?”
Sighing, as if reluctant to state the obvious, Sharon looked away then stared back at Frankie like he was the enemy and not the man who was hired to find her daughter.
“He was with me. Isn't it obvious?”
“But I thought you were with Angela, Mrs Fletcher. In fact, you told me in no uncertain terms that you spent the night at Angela’s. But you didn’t, did you? You were with him that night. That’s why he lied to me when I approached him outside his apartment.”
And then it dawned on him.
“And it was you, Sharon, who was with him when I was there. That’s why he was so keen to get rid of me. It all makes so much sense now.”
“I covered for her.”
The voice came from behind Frankie. He turned to find Angela Simmons standing in the doorway.
“I heard the commotion.”
“You lied to the police, Miss Simmons?”
“It’s what friends do. You might have known that if you had any. But if you go around kicking doors in all the time, I imagine you probably don't have any at all.”
“Come in and close the door.”
“I’m sorry, Mr Black, but I do not take kindly to being ordered around by a hooligan.”
Seeing red for the first time, Frankie raised his voice and dropped Adrian to the floor.
“I said close the door now.”
Alarmed at the sudden shouting, Angela closed the door and stepped over Adrian, keeping Frankie at a safe distance.
“So if Sharon was with Adrian playing their dirty little games on the night Emma went missing, Angela, where were you?”
“None of your business.”
“Well, I’m making it my business. If you can’t tell me where you were that night, perhaps you can tell me why Emma’s diary is in your apartment.”
“So it was you who broke in. It’s becoming quite the habit.”
“Don’t avoid my question, Angela. It seems really strange to me, almost a coincidence, that you both knew where Sharon would be that night. None of the neighbours heard anything, which tells me that either Emma was drugged or walked out of her own accord with someone she knew. Emma’s diary was found in your apartment. Plus, when I got here yesterday, you just happened to be doing a photoshoot with three girls who were all young with long, blonde hair. And Adrian here happens to own a transport company that has a record of being investigated for human trafficking offenses.”
“You’re barking up the wrong tree, Mr Black, and you’re about to make a very powerful enemy.”
“Do you honestly think I care about enemies, Angela? Let me tell you something about me. I’ve been up against truckloads of men armed with assault rifles and rocket-propelled grenades. Do you really think anything you can do will scare me? Why don't we start from the beginning? How did the diary end up at your apartment?”
“Because I took it there.” Speaking up for the first time, Sharon crossed her arms and stepped over to stand beside her friend. “I took it there. I didn’t want anyone to find it.”
Surprised by her sudden honesty, Frankie looked at Sharon. With her dishevelled hair, her appearance was a far cry from the manicured look she had every time Frankie had seen her.
“You took it to Angela’s apartment?”
“Yes.”
“Let me guess. Because you betrayed Emma’s trust and read it?”
No response was needed following the look of shame on Sharon’s face. She turned away and stared at the floor.
“And what did you find in your daughter’s private journal, Sharon? Did you read anything that made you think she was anything but the perfect little girl you wrapped up in cotton wool? And you were afraid the police would find it? Or that it would be publicised and the whole world would know that beneath the layers of protection Emma was just a normal girl?”
“She was special. How would you know? You never even met her.”
“Because I read her diary too, Sharon.” Pulling his phone from his pocket, Frankie waved it at her. “Because I’ve spent the past two days trying to piece all this together and find her, Sharon. Because you know what? If I don't find Emma, I lose my son.”
Three people looked up at Frankie, confused, but they said nothing.
“That’s right. It’s part of the deal. If I don't find Emma, I lose my son. But the difference is, I actually don't want to lose him. I’m not going to sit on my backside while somebody pays for somebody else to protect him. I’m going to do everything I can to make sure I keep him. He’s all I’ve damn well got.”
Still Sharon chose not to respond. Climbing to his feet, Adrian pulled a towel around his waist and stood beside her, taking her hand in his to offer comfort.
“She knew, didn't she?” said Frankie. “Emma knew about you two. Or at least she had an idea you where cheating. And you couldn't let that secret get out, could you?”
Stepping in front of her friend, Angela waved her hands to calm things down.
“Just leave it. She’s been through a lot.”
“What were you hiding, Sharon?”
Although she didn’t speak, the truth revealed itself in Sharon’s eyes.
“Your secret. You were afraid people would find out about your secret.”
The confirmation came as silently as the truth and through eyes that were reddening faster than the setting sun.
“It’s Emma, isn’t it? Were you underage, Sharon? Is that it? Is that what all this is about?”
“Stop it, Mr Black.”
Silencing Angela with a wave of his hand, Frankie lowered his eyes to catch Sharon’s and bring her back from where she was gazing at the wall, lost somewhere distant and long ago.
“Tell me, Sharon. It could make all the difference.”
“It’ll make no difference at all, Frankie.”
Sharon spoke with the soft voice of a woman who had lost it all, a soulless ghoul with sunken eyes who had been caught in the act of infidelity.
Frankie matched her tone with kindness.
“Is that why you and Alan are having trouble?”
She shook her head then shrugged.
“It might have been frowned upon back then, Sharon,” said Frankie. “But there are a lot of women who have children underage. There’s no shame in it.”
“I was raped.”
Three words.
Three words that opened a void in the ground to swallow Frankie whole. He was unprepared. He’d spoken without thinking. But he’d been so close.
“Is there shame in that, Frankie?”
No one replied. Sharon stared at him with tears running down her face and her lower lip shaking as if the words wanted to burst from her mouth.
“Is there shame in being raped by your own father, Frankie? Is there? Tell me. You seem to have all the answers.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t-”
“No. You wouldn’t know. How could you? You’ve been here three days and all you’ve done is stir up the past and we’re no closer to finding Emma than before you arrived. Do you know how long it’s taken me to get through it? Do you know how it feels to see your father when you look at your own daughter?”
“Emma is
your father’s child?”
“No, Frankie. No. She’s not. Thank God. But there isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t wonder what that child might have looked like if I hadn’t…”
She stopped.
But Frankie didn’t urge her on. He knew how the sentence would end.
Her strength regained but her composure remained unsettled as Sharon prepared to hammer in the final nail.
“So don’t you dare make assumptions about people you don’t know. Don’t you dare think you can judge me by my actions. Yes, Alan and I have our troubles. But that’s nothing to do with you.”
“I think you’d better leave, Mr Black.” It was the first thing Angela had said that Frankie agreed with.
“Okay. Okay, I’ll leave. But I’m still going to find Emma. I have to.”
“We won’t stop you.”
“But before I go, Angela, tell me. What was the photoshoot about? How come, when I came here yesterday, you had three blonde girls on the bed all wearing pyjamas?”
Embittered by Frankie’s accusing tone, Angela stormed to the little table beside the window and the armchair to pick up a letter-sized envelope from which she withdrew a pack of photographs. Frankie recognised them as proofs.
“Take a look, Sherlock.”
She tossed them onto the bed then stood back to watch as Frankie opened the brown envelope and pulled out the contents. He flicked through the images, all of which showed a blonde girl in pyjamas made up to look as if she’d been crying and beaten.
He looked up at Angela, questioning her and seeking an explanation.
“It’s a campaign, Mr Black. Just because we’re not all able to run around kicking doors in, it doesn't mean we’re sitting on our backsides waiting for Emma to turn up. Your time ran out yesterday. Mr Saint won’t fund any more days. It’s all we can do to have these put up and get social media working for us. I had my team come in and create them. We hoped the public might recognise something. Or, if they were too afraid to speak up, that they would invoke some kind of humanity. We’re appealing to the public, Mr Black. Somebody had to have seen something.”
Dropping the images onto the bed, Frankie stepped back and considered the three people in front of him, stopping on Adrian Lockwood.
“And the transport company? The human trafficking allegations?”
“I sold it two years ago when my business partner let me down. His idea of ethics differed from my own.” Producing his wallet from his trousers hanging on the chair, Adrian pulled out an old business card that he passed to Frankie.
The card stated the company name as Coast to Coast Transport with Adrian’s name printed above the title of Managing Partner.
“Two years ago?”
Adrian nodded with an expression of utter resent and distaste on his face.
“And you operated here in Athens?”
“From the port. The office is still there, I believe.”
“Is that all, Mr Black?” said Angela. “I think you should leave now. You’ve done enough damage.”
“You haven't answered my question, Angela. The diary was brought to you by Sharon. The transport company was sold. The photoshoot was a campaign for Emma.”
“Yes?”
“So it would seem that I was wrong about you both.”
“It would appear so. But I won’t hold my breath for an apology, Mr Black.”
“Except for one thing.”
Angela cocked her head waiting for Frankie to follow up with another accusation that she could fend off with her usual ease.
“You still haven't told me where you were all the nights Sharon said she was with you when she was really with Adrian.”
Turning her back on the small group, Angela stepped over to the window. She peeled back the curtain to allow the morning light to flood into the room.
Six eyes followed her.
“I was in Varkiza with a friend.”
“Do you care to elaborate on that, Angela?”
“There is a bar there opposite the boat yard. The Red Omega Bar.”
Remembering the symbols among the graffiti, Frankie urged her to continue.
“It’s down an alleyway,” he said. “It’s owned by Constantine. I’ve been there. I’ve seen the bar.”
“Yes. But he doesn't have a license. The signs are hidden and access is by invitation only.”
“And it just so happens that you have an invite?”
“It’s a small town, Mr Black. We tend to help each other where we can. You never know when you might need help so it pays to help others when you can.”
“I don't see how a man like Constantine would need the help of someone like you, Angela. From what I’ve seen, you’re a respectable business person.”
“I know people. I have clients fly in every month, clients who like to be entertained off the beaten track, as it were.”
“And the Red Omega is off the beaten track?”
“It’s about as far from the track as you can possibly imagine.”
“I don't understand. What does Constantine offer that your clients can’t get in the city?” asked Sharon.
She looked between them all, naive to the real world outside her little bubble.
Turning away again to hide her shame, Angela glanced at Frankie as if giving him permission to fill in the gaps.
“If you’ve read Emma’s diary, Mr Black, then you will know that the island boat trips are a front for Constantine’s real business.”
“He’s using Christos and his father to smuggle drugs in and out of Varkiza.” It wasn't a question, just Frankie’s mind working out loud. “But the clients you bring to him want more than drugs and booze, don’t they? That’s why you were there on those evenings when Sharon and Adrian were playing happy families. I’m right, aren’t I?”
“So what if you’re right? My clients want a good time. If they want a few lines while they drink, that’s up to them. If they want to gamble their earnings away, that’s also up to them.”
“And if they want pretty, little, blonde girls?” said Frankie.
“I don't know what you mean.”
“The girl on the beach. She worked for him, didn't she? She saw too much and somebody, somebody with a keen sense of business and misdirection, saw an opportunity to send me in the wrong direction. So I’ll ask you one more time, Angela. Who was it you were with on those long, sweaty evenings in the Red Omega Bar?”
“It wasn’t every night. Not the night Emma was missing.”
“But all the other nights?”
“Yes. I was there.”
As if in response, a police siren came to a stop outside the hotel.
“We’re running out of time, Angela,” said Frankie. “You can tell me now. Or you can tell me from inside a police cell. But either way, you’ll tell me who you were with.”
“I was with a friend.”
From the corner of her eye, Angela glanced up at Sharon, and then at the floor in defeat. She sighed, licked her lips, and stared at Frankie.
“I was supposed to meet my friend at the club. But…”
“But? Hurry up, Angela. The police will be kicking the door down any second now.”
“But he was getting out of control. He owed too much money and each time we went there, his debt doubled.”
“And you couldn't bear to watch, could you?”
Shaking her head, Angela stared once more at the floor.
“It was out of control. Constantine was making threats. I told him not to go back. But he kept going and each time he would leave with more debt.”
“What kind of threats?”
“Violence. Constantine isn’t afraid of getting his hands dirty. In the end, I told my friend that I would not go with him. I begged him to stop. I even offered to pay. But he wouldn't let me.”
“He was too proud, wasn't he?” Lowering his voice, Frankie urged the final part of the conundrum from Angela’s lips. “Who is your friend, Angela? Your time is running out.”
&n
bsp; Angela and Sharon exchanged glances. One was a look of sorrow and shame. The other was of realisation and betrayal.
But it was Sharon who spoke first, her face contorting into a grimace of pure hatred as she took a step back and doubled over as if she’d been punched in the gut.
“No.”
“Sharon, I’m sorry.”
“You bitch.”
“Save it, ladies.”
Raising his voice before the screaming began, Frankie silenced the room. Then, when he was sure he had everyone’s attention and as the muted ping of the elevator sounded through the doglegged hallway, he aimed his last question at Sharon.
“When did you last see your husband, Mrs Fletcher?”
Chapter Forty-Six
Footsteps clicked on the quiet road and a murmur of voices hummed and harmonised with the shrill whine in Emma’s ear. Dizzied by her own hopes and memories of the past days, Emma fell to her side. She raised her hand to gain the attention of passers-by who hurried to her side as two silhouettes against the bright morning sunshine.
“She’s hurt. Get her up.”
The woman’s voice preceded the strong arms of her male friend whose hands reached under Emma’s arms. But Emma’s body became rigid at the touch of the man. She rolled away to one side, striving to cover herself with her long dress.
“I can’t see.”
“It’s okay. You’re safe.” The woman turned to her friend. “We need to get her to a hospital. Bring the car around.”
The touch of the woman on Emma’s shoulder was soft, gentle, and reassuring. The man’s footsteps faded into the distance as he ran to get their car. The woman squeezed once as if to confirm her words then helped Emma up to lean against the building.
But it wasn’t far enough away. The fire escape was just metres away.
“He’s coming.”
Trying to point at the fire escape to her right, Emma raised her hand, but the thought of being so close to the room, the man, and the unknown was too much. In her semi-blinded state, she scrambled away, her breathing laboured and hoarse.
“It’s okay. You’re safe. What happened? Who’s coming?”
The woman’s voice was calming and the strength of her grip surprised Emma into calming herself. She stared up at the dark shape, feeling the stinging tears rolling across her cheeks as police sirens screamed past.
