by Robert Innes
“Sorry,” she said, walking back towards them with the glass. “I’m assuming you aren’t allowed to drink on duty.”
“No,” Blake replied, eyeing the now half-empty glass of neat vodka. “So, how do you know Amelia?”
Jemma paused as she swirled the glass around in her hand. “I’ve helped her out a bit the past couple of years. Y’know, just with money and stuff.”
“Oh, I see. Have you known each other for very long?”
“Couple of years,” Jemma said, taking another sip of vodka.
“How did you meet?”
Blake noticed that Jemma was clearly trying to avoid all eye contact with him. “I can’t remember to be honest. You know those people you kind of get into your life and you’ve got no memory of how they got there?”
“I do,” Blake replied, nodding. “Though I haven’t got any like that who I would regularly help out with money.”
Jemma shrugged and took another sip of vodka. “Well, that’s you.”
Blake and Mattison exchanged glances.
“So, what was she doing here on the morning in question?” Mattison asked her. “Was she borrowing money then?”
“Yeah,” Jemma replied. “I didn’t have any for her though. I don’t get paid till tomorrow.”
“I hope your manager doesn’t mind giving you vodka on tap then,” Blake replied.
Jemma shrugged. “He’s cool. He’s not bothered.”
Blake had had enough of her cagey responses. “Jemma, you do realise that we’re investigating a possible kidnapping here? The kidnapping of someone I presume is your friend. And yet, for some reason, I can’t help but feel you’re hiding something from us.”
Jemma sighed and then downed the rest of the vodka.
“Can you tell us exactly what you and Amelia discussed when she came here on the morning of her disappearance?” Blake said slowly.
“She’ll kill me for telling you this,” Jemma murmured. “You do realise that?”
“If we can’t find her, she won’t have a chance,” Blake replied curtly. “Assuming you’re talking figuratively, and not that she’s actually any threat to you.”
Jemma chuckled. “Mel? No, she’s not a threat to anyone, more’s the pity. I’m always telling her she could do with threatening a few people, but she hasn’t got it in her. If you must know, she came to clear her head a bit after her latest client.”
“Client?”
“Yeah, you know, punter. Apparently, he was a bit rough with her and she was feeling all vulnerable and stuff. And you could see it in her as well, I’ve told her she needs to at least pretend that she’s not feeling like that, because some punters just prey on that and it makes them worse.”
Again, Blake and Mattison exchanged looks, this time more stunned.
“Punters?” Blake repeated. “Are you trying to tell us that Amelia Klein is a prostitute?”
Jemma’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh, God. You mean you didn’t know? No offence, but I’d have thought that would be the first thing you found out about her.”
“No,” Blake replied. “We didn’t know that. Does her father know about it?”
Jemma slammed the empty glass down on the table that she had been swirling around in her hand. “Probably. I dunno. Anyway, is this one of those informal interviews that I can cut off at any time? I’ve got to get ready for work tonight.”
“Alright,” Blake said. “Though, PC Mattison will need to take your details as we’ll be in touch to speak to you again. I just have one more question if that’s alright.”
“What?”
“Do you know who this client was of hers? The one that she had to come to you for support for after she’d been with him?”
“No,” Jemma replied curtly. “Can’t say I do. Though, I do know that he probably lived in that village, Harmschapel, where they were doing the magic show. I don’t know anything else though, sorry.”
Jemma led them out the way they had come and with a very brief “see ya,” she slammed the door shut behind them, leaving them standing in the street.
“Feels weird leaving a nightclub during the daytime,” Mattison said.
“So you have been here before then?”
“Where next, Sir?”
Blake raised his eyebrow at his younger officer and then checked his notepad.
“Come in the car.”
Mattison frowned but followed Blake towards the police car that they had parked across the road. Blake did not speak till they were both sitting inside it and the doors were closed.
“So,” he said. “Our missing girl is up to more than just helping her father do card tricks.”
“She’s a prostitute,” Mattison murmured, looking shocked. “At seventeen? That’s so young.”
“Not to mention illegal,” Blake said, staring ahead, his head whirring. “The legal age for prostitution is eighteen.”
“She doesn’t look seventeen,” Mattison pondered. “You think she’s been telling her clients that she’s eighteen?”
Blake shuddered. “God, I hope so. In any case, we need to find out who in Harmschapel was responsible for her needing to come running to Jemma on the morning of her disappearance.”
“There’s something about that Jemma girl,” Mattison said, looking over his shoulder at the club. “She’s obviously hiding something.”
“Mmm,” Blake said thoughtfully. “Something about Amelia Klein. I’m sure there’s a few people holding secrets about that girl. I’ve just got a horrible feeling, Matti. I don’t know why. But we need to find her.”
“Where now?” Mattison asked as he started the car. “Back to the station?”
“Sebastian Klein,” Blake replied, snapping out of his train of thought and pulling his seatbelt on. “He and Amelia live around here, and I want to speak to him. I want to know exactly what is going on with him and his daughter.”
The address in Blake’s notebook that he had taken from Sebastian on the night of Amelia’s disappearance led them to a side street about a five-minute drive away from Crystals.
It was a respectable looking street, with all of the houses having perfectly trimmed hedges in their front gardens. Blake could imagine it was the sort of street where they were all in a silent war with each other for the most presentable front garden, having lived in a very similar sort of area in Manchester.
“It’s number eight,” Blake told Mattison as they drove slowly down the street. “Oh, as if we couldn’t tell.”
The front windows of number eight were festooned with posters from the magic show. As they got out the car, Blake looked up at the house as Sebastian’s face stared back at him from three different windows. “Let’s see if the great magician is in.”
“With all due respect, Sir,” Mattison said as they made their way towards the front door, “you don’t sound all that sympathetic considering the guy has just had his daughter kidnapped.”
“I’m reserving judgment for now,” Blake replied. “But there’s a lot we need to discuss with Mr Klein.”
He rang the doorbell and then spoke in a quieter voice. “If he doesn’t know anything about his daughter’s other activities then fair enough. He wouldn’t be the first parent to be shocked by what his kid is up to.”
“He can’t know,” Mattison replied. “No father is going to allow their daughter to do that. Surely?”
Blake did not reply. Instead, when there was no answer from the front door, he knocked loudly on the glass of the window and then peered through the letterbox. All was quiet.
“Just because there’s nobody answering doesn’t mean there’s nobody home, Matti,” Blake said with a small smile. “Come on.”
The two officers made their way around the side of the house and towards a large wooden gate leading into the back garden. Blake pushed it open and they found themselves in a large yard with what looked like an enormous wooden shed at the back of it. Blake stared at the structure as they glanced around the yard.
“God, it
’s the size of a barn,” he exclaimed.
“It’s probably a workshop,” Mattison suggested. “Maybe this is where all the magic really happens.”
The door to the shed was ajar so Blake ventured forwards and knocked sharply on the door before pushing it open.
Mattison’s idea about the shed seemed to be right. It was large enough to house a number of different sized cabinets and props that were unmistakably for a magic show. The air smelled distinctly of fresh sawdust and standing in the centre of the room were Sebastian Klein and, to Blake’s surprise, Arthur Stanbury.
Both men turned in surprise at Blake and Mattison’s arrival and for a few moments neither of them said anything.
“Mr Harte,” exclaimed Sebastian at last. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“No, we were in Clackton and thought we’d come and speak to you,” Blake replied, eying Arthur with suspicion. “Are we interrupting something?”
“No, no, not at all,” Arthur said, looking rather nervous. “Nothing that would be prioritised over what you’ve come to speak to Sebastian about, I shouldn’t think. Just a bit of business.”
“Have you found my daughter?” Sebastian asked, looking intently at Blake.
“Not yet,” Blake replied. “But I promise you, we’re doing everything we can.”
“I’ll leave you to it,” Arthur said. “Sebastian, I’m sure we can pick this up at a more appropriate time.”
“Indeed, Arthur,” Sebastian replied, leading him to the door of the shed. “Take care.”
Blake waited a few moments so that Arthur would be out of ear shot and then turned to Sebastian. For the first time since Blake had met the man, he was dressed fairly normally, opting for blue jeans and an old looking green shirt.
“How are you holding up?” Blake asked at last.
“Not well,” Sebastian replied curtly as he returned to the large worktable in the centre of the room. “As I’m sure you can imagine. I’ve been distracting myself with work.”
“Sebastian, have you received any more messages?” Blake asked, over the sound of Sebastian hammering a nail into a prop. “Whoever it was did say they’d be in contact again.”
“No,” Sebastian said. “And I’ve done all I can to try and speak to this person. I’ve rang the number, I’ve messaged, nothing. I don’t understand. I’m trying to reassure myself with the idea that while I’m not hearing from whoever it is, then Amelia is safe. She must be.”
“That’s logical,” Blake conceded. “Sebastian, we’ve just come from speaking to a friend of Amelia.”
“A friend?” Sebastian repeated.
“Yeah. Her name was Jemma. Do you know her?”
Sebastian’s eyes seemed to dart to Blake briefly before returning to hammering.
“No. No, I don’t think so. I don’t think Amelia has ever mentioned a Jemma before.”
“She’s told us some rather disturbing information about your daughter, Sebastian,” Blake said seriously. “Jemma is a dancer at Crystals nightclub in town.”
“Crystals?”
“It’s a strip club,” Mattison told him.
“I know what it is,” Sebastian replied curtly, throwing the hammer down. “What I don’t know is why you’re talking to some stripper about my daughter.”
“She seems to know Amelia very well,” Blake continued. “Apparently, on the morning of her disappearance, Amelia came to see Jemma at the club. She was very upset.”
“Why?”
“This might be difficult to hear, Sebastian,” Blake told him. “We do have CCTV of Amelia going to and coming out of Crystals on the morning in question, so she was definitely there.”
“Are you trying to accuse my daughter of being a stripper?”
“No,” Blake replied quietly. “Actually, I almost wish I was. According to Jemma, the reason Amelia came to her so upset was because she had just finished with a client. And he didn’t treat her very well.”
“A client?” Sebastian repeated, staring at Blake with a bewildered expression. “Mr Harte, what are you talking about?”
“It seems that Amelia has been working in prostitution,” Blake replied.
He paused so he could gauge Sebastian’s reaction.
The magician said nothing. He appeared to be both dumbfounded and furious.
“Were you aware that Amelia was doing this?”
“No! Of course not! And I don’t believe it now!” Sebastian snapped. “Whoever this Jemma girl is, she’s clearly mistaken. My Amelia would never do anything like that. She’s only seventeen!”
“Exactly,” replied Blake. “And because Amelia is under the age of eighteen, even by one year, that means whoever has hired her is, in the eyes of the law, hiring a child.”
Sebastian had gone quite pale. When he spoke, it was in a quiet, shaky voice.
“Have you got any proof whatsoever, apart from the word of some floozy at a strip club, that my Amelia is partaking in anything like this?”
“Jemma has told us that she has been helping Amelia out with money for a while now,” Blake told him. “Apparently, it’s been a fairly regular occurrence.”
“Well, now I know she’s lying,” Sebastian said firmly. “Amelia has never wanted for anything living with me. She has no need to be asking anybody else for money.”
“Do you mind if I ask where Amelia’s mother is?” Blake asked. “I don’t think I’ve heard you speak about her.”
“She died,” Sebastian replied. “Now, would you care to explain to me why you’re coming here accusing my daughter of all manner of sordid things when you should be out there looking for her? She could be going through anything at this moment and you’re just wasting time! I need her found!”
“We’re just giving you the information that we’ve been given,” Blake told him levelly. “We’re not here making accusations about anyone. But according to our witness…”
“A trashy stripper.”
“…she was upset because her client was too rough with her. Whatever she was needing money for, Sebastian, if we take what we’ve been told as true, then clearly she didn’t want to come to you for it.”
“Amelia and I are incredibly close!” Sebastian snapped furiously.
Blake raised his eyebrows. “Is that why Benjamin walked in on you stroking her thigh?”
Sebastian stopped speaking and stared at Blake, looking more furious that ever. “I beg your pardon?”
Even Mattison looked surprised by this new information.
“Sir?”
“When we spoke to Benjamin, he told us that when I caught the pair of you arguing at the village hall, the morning you asked me to try and work out how the floating cabinet trick was done, he walked backstage to find you and Amelia. She was sat on a chair and you had your hand quite high up on her leg.”
“I explained what that was to Benjamin, she had merely pulled something in her thigh! She’s a performer who has to squeeze into tight spaces, she just needed it massaging! That’s what he walked in on and that’s why he was going on at me, trying to accuse me of these things when he knew that I was letting him go! That’s all that was!”
Sebastian stepped forwards, his beady black eyes narrowed angrily at Blake.
“I must say, Mr Harte, when I was told what a brilliant detective you were, I really expected far far better things than this. Is this your secret? The way your tricks are done? You just pull out a load of random accusations and throw them at the wall to see what sticks? My daughter is missing. Kidnapped by God only knows what sort of psychopath and you, the officer in charge of the investigation, are stood there accusing that missing girl’s father of what? Some sort of perverted sexual impropriety?”
Blake just stared back at him, calmly. “You’re telling me that there’s absolutely nothing that you’re hiding from us?”
“Of course not!” snarled Sebastian.
Blake leant in so that his face was merely inches away from Sebastian’s.
“Then why don’t I be
lieve you?”
There was a long, tense, pause as the two men continued glaring at each other. Then, the sound of Sebastian’s phone broke the silence. With his eyes still fixed on Blake, Sebastian wrenched his mobile out of his pocket and then stared at the screen. His mouth fell open.
“It’s him.”
“Who?” Blake asked quickly. “The kidnapper?”
Sebastian nodded. “He’s sent another video.”
As he pressed play on the screen, Blake and Mattison peered over his shoulder as the image of Amelia still tied up began to play on the phone.
She appeared to still be in the same place she had been when the first video had been taken, still in the same chair and looking even more frightened than she had before.
“Oh, my poor baby,” murmured Sebastian.
Blake narrowed his eyes as he watched the masked man appear on the screen. This time, he simply walked up to Amelia, forcibly pulled the gag from around her mouth and thrust a piece of paper into her hand. He then disappeared from view leaving Amelia to stare wide eyed at what he had given her to read.
“‘T-t-ten thousand pounds,’” she stammered. She looked up at her captor imploringly. “Please, you can’t…” she began sobbing as she continued to read the note. “‘Five thousand pounds to be delivered to a location I will give you. You have two days to get the money together. Do not try and get the police involved, because I’ll know. This is between me and you. Then, and only then, will Amelia survive. See you soon.’”
9
Harrison handed Blake a cold beer from out of the fridge and then looked down at his boyfriend with sympathy.
“You look like you need that.”
Blake opened his eyes and smiled weakly. He was sprawled out on the sofa, limp and looking very sorry for himself.
“Thanks,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t really. I’m up early tomorrow.”
“Yeah, well you need to do something that isn’t work, even if it’s just for five minutes,” Harrison replied, pushing Blake’s legs aside so that he could squeeze in next to him. “I’ve never seen you looking this exhausted. Dare I ask how the case is going?”
