JAMESMy 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 au
JAMESKlempner scowls, his head jerking back. "How do you mean?""If he knows you value the women, could one of your men have taken them? Perhaps to ransom them to you?"Klempner stiffens. "If he has, he'll wish he'd traded places with Hartwell."He snatches up his own phone then, jabbing a finger at mine, "Keep him on the line. Keep him listening." He taps into his own mobile. "Marco? Where are you? And where's Guttman? What's going on down there?"A voice rises above a background sound of traffic. "I'm on the corner of Port Square, sir. It gives me a view of both the taxi rank and the entrance to the bus station. Guttman's working the restaurants. I think he's along Main Street somewhere."Klempner pokes at his screen, scissors something open and zooms in. He peers close, then repeats it. "That's fine, Marco. The women haven't been found yet, so stay alert." He disconnects. "Marco's exactly where he said he was and so's Guttman... And that description doesn't fit eithe
Michael doesn't react well. "James are you kidding me? You want Klempner to have both of us prisoner?""I'm not a prisoner. And he's as interested in finding the women as we are. Where are you?"He yells over the line. "Fuck you, Klempner. If you think I'm playing along with this charade, you're crazy. You've got a gun at his head or something for him to be talking like this."And the line cuts.I slam my mobile down. "Fuck!"Klempner's voice remains bland, his eyes fixed on the road as he drives. "Any suggestions?"But before I can reply, my phone goes into overdrive, flashing and vibrating, crawling over the dash.Klempner looks askance. "That supposed to be the latest ring-tone?""No." I snatch up the phone, peering in at the display. "That's Kirstie raising the alarm. And if I'm getting this, then so's everyone else."Klempner looks alarmed. "Who's 'everyone else'?"Do I tell him?The truth but not the whole truth..."Haswell, Michael, Ryan...""Who's Ryan
CHARLOTTEIt was such a great day. I don't normally enjoy shopping, but with my mother and Kirstie for company it was completely different.Bookshops. My mother loves books; not the same ones as me, but books about places, adventures, exotic locations. It was such fun...And Kirstie, with her smart mouth and shameless innuendo at every little thing....In the tearoom: crisp white linen, silver tongs to lift jam-and-cream scones and tiny cakes from a three-layer stand, porcelain cups and saucers...Then, Ben's sudden appearance, striding across the floor to us, brushing past waitresses and customers. Stooping close to me to deliver his hastily muttered message... "Charlotte, Mike called me. You've got trouble. That man, Klempner. He's escaped from prison. He's out..."My mother: her whimper of fear...Kirstie: her eyes widening..."I've got the car downstairs in the parking lot. It's right by the door at the bottom of the stairs." Ben wears a helpless expression. "Cha
CHARLOTTEMy head bangs and with every movement, every vibration, every swerve, the throbbing pulses through from some epicentre, I think where I banged my skull as I fell. My knees too, feel stiff and heated. As I try to shift into a more comfortable position, pain stabs up from one ankle.I can barely move. I'm lying on my side, one cheek flat down.My baby...Something soft, maybe a towel, sandy and hairy, presses against my face, smelling of seaweed and wet dog. I keep having to blink as with every jog of the car, grains of sand dislodge against my eyes.From somewhere, I hear classic small-dog yapping. Excitement?Or worry?Scruffy...My mouth is taped, very securely, the adhesive pulling and tearing at the softer skin of my lips as I try to work my jaw. My feet are bound; my wrists too, behind my back and too tightly. My hands went numb long ago and my fingers feel bloated.My Master ties, binds or restrains me regularly, but it never feels like this.If I don
MICHAELWe find ourselves in what ought to be the interior of a house but with the general collapse, has become a kind of open courtyard, strewn with rubble, broken tiles and rotted timbers. The space is so large, perhaps it was once a ballroom. I cast my mind back for some memory, but it's a long time since I was here, and the house was occupied then. Old McAlister didn't let apple-scrumping boys inside."Doesn't look very promising," comments Klempner. "When were you last here?""Thirty years ago.""It seems a lot of damage for thirty years.""Probably had the lead stripped from the roof. Once that's gone, the rest..."James interrupts. "The cellars. A place like this would have had all the staff activity below ground and as often as not, the basement can be in good condition even when the house itself it in ruins."Klempner pulls a face. "You think?""Once the roof has gone, outer walls become unstable." He gestures around to the collapsed grandeur about us. "They fa
Hunkering down by us, he says, "It's good to see you again, Mitch." She's trembling violently and I'm watching both the blade in his hand and Klempner himself; his movements, his tone, his body-language. But there's no threat there, no sense of ill-intent.He crouches close by her, offers the blade to the tape binding her hands, then hesitates. "I'm doing this now," he says, "because I know you won't let me after you're freed."Leaning over, he kisses her forehead, cups a swollen cheek with his free hand. He holds the position for a second, then squats back, raises the blade again and saws through the layers of tape; first her wrists, then her ankles.He reaches for the tape over her face, but she recoils as his hand comes close. He blinks then backs off. "You do it," he says, passing me the knife, handle first. He rises, takes out the gun again and returns to watching the doors.It takes only seconds to ungag Mitch and, one eye on Klempner, she shakes blood into her fingers an
JAMESCharlotte, freed now, stands silent, her eyes narrowed, watching it all.Klempner, gun in hand, nods to her. "Jenny."She nods back. "Father."His mouth works.Acknowledgement from her?For the first time...But he's earning it..."How are you, Jenny? Did he hurt you?" His tone is odd, hesitant.He's nervous?He faces down a man with a gun without blinking, but he's nervous of Charlotte?She snorts. "I can't believe you have the nerve to ask that. I'm sorry about your mother, but you're still a maniac."Something like humour skips across his face. "The point is, that I'm the maniac on your side. And I'm probably a lot better equipped than you are to deal with the maniac who isn't."She's weaving a little. Her nose-bleed has stopped but with the blood down her face and clothing, she's not a pretty picture.How badly hurt is she?And not admitting it?I hook my arm around hers, as though casually, but trying to gauge if she needs support. "Astonishin