Chapter 30: Chapter 30

James My phone rings. Richard’s avatar flashes up. Klempner glances at it then passes it to me. “Answer it.

Put it on loudspeaker.”

I talk quickly. “Richard, before you say anything, Klempner’s here.”

There’s a silence, then. “James, are you being held hostage? Has he…?”

“I'm not hurt if that's what you're asking, but no, I'm not exactly on top of the situation. He’s listening to what we say.” I cast a glance to Klempner, but he simply raises brows, folding his arms and sitting back.

“Have you spoken to Charlotte?” I ask.

Richard pauses. “No, I've not spoken to her. I got hold of Michael, some while ago, but I couldn’t get through to her. She wasn’t answering her phone.”

So, who…?

“Someone’s warned her. Or so it seems. She’s vanished, along with her mother and Kirstie. Is Beth okay?”

Another short silence. “Yes, Elizabeth is safely out of the way.”

Klempner snorts, then speaking loudly, “I'm not interested in your cringing wife, Haswell.”

Richard’s voice is austere. “You'll forgive me if I err on the side of caution.”

Klempner shrugs and looks away. “Your call.”

“Richard,” I say. “Look for the women. Now ring off.”

And the phone goes dead.

From the front, Baxter says, “Sir, we’re here.” The car crunches onto the parking lot of a closed-down motel.

“Round the back,” says Klempner. The car glides quietly to an area away from the road…

Dark…

Isolated…

No witnesses…

*Breathe*

Baxter parks up, indicating a door. “It’s in there, sir. It’s not overlooked. You can make yourself comfortable.” Pulling a key from his pocket he unlocks it and leads the way in to a small suite of the kind you would find in any motel: somewhere to sleep and wash and eat.

Klempner sits then lays my phone and his on a small table, within easy reach. “Sit down, James, while we wait.”

“There’s beer in the fridge, sir, if you want one.”

“Is there any coffee?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll have that. James?”

“Coffee for me too.”

The coffee arrives in a cheap mug and it’s not so strong as I like it, but I gulp it back. Klempner cocks a brow. “Another?”

“Please.”

He sits back, watching me, eyes half lowered. “James, please try to relax. Perhaps you would like something to eat? I imagine you missed dinner?”

Dinner…

It’s odd how the mind protects itself, distracts us with irrelevancies at stressful moments.

Klempner inclines his head. “What?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“What?” His eyes drill into me.

“Before I came out of the house, I’d just put something in the oven. I can’t remember if I switched off the stove or not.” I shrug, feeling a fool. “Hardly seemed the moment to mention it.”

Baxter interrupts. “I turned off the oven. The roast was done to a turn. Very good too. Great potatoes.

Crunchy outside. Nice and squishy inside. And there was just the right amount of thyme on the roast…”

Klempner stares at it him as he rambles on.

So do I. “You stole my dinner?”

He sniffs, shrugs. “No point letting it go to waste. Too much garlic for my taste though.”

“You break into my home, threaten me, abduct me and to crown it, you stole my fucking dinner?”

Muttering something under his breath, Klempner raises eyes to heaven, muttering. “So much for professionalism. Is this relevant?”

Part of me is indignant. Part of me is still scared shitless But a part of me is doubled over laughing, my fear dissolving.

I settle for keeping face and voice dead-pan. “Absolutely it’s relevant. I make very good roast potatoes.

Besides, it wasn’t thyme. It was rosemary. And I always use a lot of garlic on a Friday when none of us is working the following day.”

“Twenty fucking years of waiting and looking for the woman, and another year inside, and this is what I have to deal with…”

“Never underestimate the value of a good meal. Your daughter knows that.”

*****

Michael I follow Jack up the stairway. As we rise above basement level, my phone rings; Richard.

“Michael, I’ve been trying to call you.”

“Sorry, I was below ground. Have you spoken to Charlotte?”

“No, I still can’t get an answer from her. But I’ve spoken with James.”

“When? Is he okay?”

“About five minutes ago. And yes, he seems alright, insofar as you can ever tell with James.

Klempner’s got him so I’d hate to guess at his state of mind. And I could hear a car engine in the background. Where are you?”

“Francesca’s. Kirstie’s car is here and a security guard is helping me search, but so far I can’t find anything.”

“I’ll keep trying to contact them. I’ve got Ross out searching too, circling the streets. Keep in touch.”

“Will do.”

*****

The tea-room feels strange; dark, empty of staff and clients. Jack aims his torch at the swing-doors.

There’ll be a roster in the kitchen with who was serving today. I’ll see if we can contact the waiter for you.”

He scans around, points with the beam. “There it is.” A clip-board hanging on a nail, with a daily calendar filled in with names and table numbers. “Let’s see… Denise was the day manager. She’s okay. She won’t mind me calling. Gimme a mo.”

He taps into his phone. “Denise? It’s Jack. Sorry to call you so late. Listen, I’ve got someone here who’d like to talk to you. Name of Michael. He’s looking for three women. He’s pretty worried… That’s great. Thanks.” He passes me the phone.

“Denise is it? My wife, her mother and a friend were supposed to be here today. Did you see them?

They’d be easy to spot. Two red-heads and a brunette. All very good-looking.”

Her voice sounds as though it might be sprightly, were it not yawning. “Oh, yes. I remember them. Such nice ladies and they were having such a good time, right up until…”

She keeps rattling on. I cut in. “Did anything unusual happen while they were here? Was there anyone suspicious or out of place?”

“Well, they did leave in a hurry. First the young red-headed girl, then the other two. They left with that man.”

“Man? What man?”

“He came in, talked to them. Then they all looked worried and they went. They took the back staircase.

I thought that was a bit odd.”

“What did he look like?”

“Um, I can’t really remember. I didn’t…”

“Tall? Short? Dark? Fair?

“He was tall, but not too tall. And he had sort of brownish hair. Um…”

“Thanks, Denise. You’ve been very helpful.” I pass the phone back to Jack. “They were here, but they left with someone; a man. And she says they took the back staircase out.”

“The back? That’s number three stairwell then. It’s this way.” He leads me through the plush ‘client end’

of the tearoom and through to the rear. Thick carpet is replaced with bare concrete, and chandeliers with fluorescent strips. One strobes over us as we descend. “I’ll get Maintenance on that tomorrow.”

The staircase drops floor by floor in a series of right angles, a small landing at the base of each flight housing lockers and fire extinguishers in the under-stairs gap. But as we arrive once more at the car park level, now on the opposite side to Kirstie’s car, we’ve seen nothing out of the ordinary.

Hands on hips, I stand, staring out into the gloomy space.

They came down with a man…

Apparently voluntarily…

Who?

Kirstie’s car is here…

They left in his car?

"Hey, Michael." Jack waves me over, looking unhappy. "These look familiar?" He points to the nook under the staircase where a locker stands open, housing overalls and raincoats.

Kicked underneath, out of casual sight… Shopping bags, Designer wear. Three ladies' purses.

And one, I recognise as Charlotte’s…

Oh, Christ.

The surface, plain functional black leather, glistens with something. Even before I run a finger through it, I know what it is.

Blood.

*****