Authors: Paul Southern
Rashelle was still staring at me. ‘Well, I’m not sure what that makes me. I haven’t a clue what’s going on.’
‘Watch,’ I said.
I walked into the lift.
‘Now you see me.’ The lift doors started to close. ‘Now you don’t.’
I waited a moment, then pressed them open. My daughter clapped and I took a bow.
‘And now for my final trick!’
The lift doors closed of their own volition. The curtain had come down and the lift headed under the stage.
My daughter was mesmerised, as other audiences have been by my performances. For a second there, I heard the thunder of their applause and felt my knees buckle.
‘Well, what was that about, Daddy?’
Rashelle looked at me with a strange look on her face. I think she dreaded what I was about to say and knew something was up. She couldn’t share my daughter’s innocent joy. It’s one of the curses of being an adult. You question everything. You want to know why something happens and what it all means rather than accepting things for what they are. I’d done the same thing with the zoetrope, trying to figure out what did what, rather than letting myself be amazed. I’m not sure a complete understanding would have increased my wonder; indeed, rather the opposite. It’s just the way I am. I wish I had my daughter’s sense of wonder. I wish others did.
I held my daughter’s hand and she grinned up at me. I knew what Rashelle was going to say before she even said it.
‘You’re crazy.’
My daughter had gone back to my wife. Her face had victory parade all over it.
Thanks for letting her go
.
‘Maybe.’
‘Someone will find out. You’ll never see her again.’
‘I won’t anyway. I’m not asking much. Just a few days. Please.’
‘There’s no place to hide her.’
‘They won’t be looking inside.’
‘I can’t. Really I can’t.’
I put my head in my hands.
‘Please.’
We were in her living room. It was night and the chessboard of shadows had given way to the beige of moonlight. The blinds were drawn and the neon of the city looked as phantasmagorical as the zoetrope night-light. Red, yellow, green and purple signs blinked like peacock eyes over white lines of traffic. I looked out of the window and inhaled the sultry night air. Kamikaze lunatics fought bluebottle cops; mad preachers rode crumbling statues like Lady Godiva; girls in cellophane wrapping paraded earthenware jugs and amphoras of lust to bric-a-brac heavies, high on testosterone. You wonder why I feel I’ve fallen out of the world? You wonder why the lines on the ground seem like a giant jigsaw puzzle I can’t put back together? You wonder what I’m talking about?
At points in my life, I would have died for this moment. I would have seen the divine syzygy - our bodies aligned across the room, no longer orbiting uselessly, but communicating, consciously and unconsciously, in Gnostic union. I would have sensed the moment and begged. Shall we have, or shall we not, shall we do this or that? It’s no wonder the passion wanes. I wish I was one of those men who could seize the moment, the kind of men that women admire, strong and powerful and good to look at, but I am nothing. I am nothing of the sort.
She came to stand beside me and I sensed a ‘Dover Beach’ moment, if only I could find the words to say. The moonlight bleached her face to porcelain perfection.
‘I can’t live without her.’
‘I wish there was something I could do.’
‘No one will blame you. Afterwards, you can say what you want.’
‘Do you think I’m thinking of me? I’m thinking of her.’
‘I’m doing it for her.’
‘Are you?’
I paused. ‘Yes.’
‘You’ll kill her.’
‘I thought, if anyone, you’d understand that.’
I’ve been hit by a woman, not counting my mother, three times in my life. One was by a girl at school who rounded on me for not giving her my dinner money; the second was a girl I tried it on with at university - although trying it on would be slightly overstating the mark - I was only ogling her tits; and the last was my ex-wife, who on hearing I had desecrated my end of the marriage vows some years after she had, arguing that we were starting again and hers were all in the past - whacked me across the side of the head with the force of a club and knocked me over. In this instance, the first cut was not the deepest. Now, I’m not saying I didn’t deserve any of these, although the first was a little unfair, but if Rashelle had hit me, I think she would have been the most justified of all; and I was fully expecting to have to turn my other cheek.
Things didn’t go quite to plan, however. She apologised. I haven’t come across that kind of woman very often; if my wife had been as accommodating, maybe we wouldn’t even be discussing this. She looked out of the window, down at the street lights, and lost herself in thought.
‘I’m sorry.’
I don’t think it even registered. My fingers drummed on the window ledge.
‘Her mum will die without her.’
‘It’s her or me.’
‘I won’t let you hurt her. If it gets out of hand, I’ll tell someone.’
‘If it gets out of hand, I’ll kill myself.’
I put a hand on her breast and stroked the nipple through the fine material. She put her hand on mine and closed her eyes. Very slowly, we moved to kiss. I could feel her body against me. Her breasts swelled under my hands, her hair fell about my chest, and her mouth clamped to mine.
When the passion had spent itself and she lay on me, I thought about my little girl with Cupid arrows, firing them across the sky. She didn’t know the wonders she’d done or the lives she’d touched. She didn’t know how she’d rescued two people from a watery grave. I don’t know what finally made Rashelle relent. I just know she was lonely and she was good, and that’s what made her vulnerable; and somewhere, deep down, she may also have loved me, and maybe that made all the difference.
My little girl never went down the lift. She got in like I said, but the rest was made up. It had to be. I couldn’t leave anything to chance - except one. I had to trust she’d do as she was told, and not be distracted by the button which said Minus One. That was a big ask.
‘Which button are you going to press?’
She looked at the rows of odds and evens.
‘This one.’
‘What does it do?’
‘It closes the doors.’
‘How long are you going to hold it for?’
‘Five seconds.’
‘Then what are you going to do?’
‘Let go.’
I hugged her.
‘Good girl.’
‘Do you want to try now?’
She nodded, counted her fairies. On five, the doors opened.
‘Auntie is going to be waiting for you. She’ll take you to the playroom.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m going to get you an ice cream.’
Her eyes went wide as cones.
‘Chocolate?’
‘Whatever you want.’ I paused. ‘Whatever you do, darling, don’t open the door. Even if Daddy calls out at you and shouts at you, don’t take your finger off. Okay?’
‘Okay, Daddy.’
The problem with the button came to light the week before she went missing, which didn’t give me too much time to change things. I was going through the whole sequence again, pressing buttons and opening the doors, when I felt the lift jolt and begin to descend. At first it didn’t really register, then it hit me like a wave. If someone called the lift when she was in there, she’d be trapped.
That night, Rashelle and I went down the lift to the basement. I could tell she didn’t want to be there. To her, the crime had already been committed.
‘What are we doing down here?’
‘I’m throwing my bottles away.’
They don’t like you throwing them down the chutes, and in this day and age, I do my best to recycle.
‘Call the lift.’
‘Why?’
‘I need to check something.’
I held the lift doors, then heard the ring outside. The doors stayed closed. After a minute, I let them open.
‘I think we’re sorted.’
‘You think so?’
We made love again that night. I’m not saying there were fireworks but there was something in the air. She was hot and passionate and wanted me and I did my best to oblige. I think it helped her forget about things. There is a strange moment before a woman comes, when her cunt expands from inside; you feel like you’re inflating a hot air balloon. You hang on for grim life and pump. I’m not sure it has any further effect - I’ve never had the nerve to ask - but from then on, you know they’re not going to stop. Their body tenses, shakes, and their thighs begin to shudder. I swear there has been nothing as gratifying as hearing them scream in my ear when they come. It’s the ultimate validation. No wank has ever come close. Rashelle screamed a lot that night. I’ve always thought I was no lover but that night I thought again.
When something bad is happening, the best thing to do is pretend to be someone else. On the day my daughter disappeared, I did just that. Years of failure on the stage had prepared me for the part. Rashelle ceased to be Rashelle and I ceased to be me. I was a conman, a kidnapper, a seducer, a professional. Some bits weren’t scripted: my daughter dancing and running into Rashelle and spilling her handbag - so many things can go wrong when you work with children - and the bit when she rang the bell. I was really cross with her then. She was threatening to upstage me. The only thing I could think of was remember your fucking lines.
Inside, I could hear her giggling.
‘Are you the giant?’
‘No, darling. Open the door.’
My fingers pressed the button. I found myself counting in my head, hoping she was doing the same. Keep your finger on the button, darling.
‘Darling, open the door!’
‘Daddy?’
It wasn’t she that left me; it was me that left her. I looked at Rashelle and dashed for the stairs.
‘Stay here,’ I said. ‘Please.’
Now it was their part of the bargain. As I broke my feet running down the stairs, I imagined the lift door opening and my little girl walking out. Rashelle would send the lift down to Minus One, drop the lipstick I told her, and I would do the rest. I hadn’t figured on the Japanese couple but, if anything, they only added credibility. The only thing that could go wrong was if someone got in the lift. Luckily, they didn’t. I knew the lift would reach the basement before me. I hit the button on the ground floor and waited.
The lift doors opened and I saw my face in the mirror. My daughter had done what she was told. She’d listened. You can’t imagine how proud that made me. I took the lift down to Minus One to finish what I’d started. I went to the bin room and walked across to the double doors at the back. There was no one around. The strip lights had gone off completely in the corridor. I glimpsed a splinter of light underneath the emergency exit. I picked up an oily rag, put my hands on the bar, and pushed. The sounds of the outside world grew suddenly loud. I said goodbye to my daughter and let the doors shut to. It was almost time to say goodbye to myself. As I went back up to ground level, I knew that I was reaching that moment when I was inflating like a hot air balloon and things weren’t going to stop.
Ever.
I knew there was trouble the moment I heard the sirens. I looked out of the living room windows and saw squad cars pulling up outside the building. I knocked on Rashelle’s bedroom door to see if she was up. We’d talked late that night, maybe too late, and I’d slept on the sofa. We didn’t think it was a good idea me leaving. If my daughter woke in the middle of the night, she’d want to see me again; she would want to know where I was.
‘They’re here.’
‘Who?’
‘The police.’
She raised her head.
‘Outside?’
‘Yes.’
‘For us?’
‘We have to be prepared.’
I think it started to sink in how much this would take.
‘What shall we do?’
‘I don’t think we should be seen together.’
‘What about her?’
‘We’ll have to hide her.’
She knew what that meant. There’s a curious anomaly in Rashelle’s flat in that she has a storage cupboard right behind the water tank in the boiler room. No other corner flats seem to have it - I’ve seen the plans of the building - although there are some idiosyncrasies in the penthouse apartments and those that adjoin the fire escape. It’s surrounded by the walls of her own flat and therefore very quiet. I could have done with a cupboard like that; I would have hidden valuables in there. I didn’t even see it the first time Rashelle showed me; I was looking at all the pipes and fittings on the wall. You couldn’t get much in there - maybe towels and shoes - but a small child would fit, if they didn’t mind the dark.
‘Don’t be long.’
I went to the playroom and listened. I could hear my daughter reading the giant caterpillar pop-up book. I put my head round and she was on the floor in her fairy nightie, with the two Beefeater bears in front of her.
She looked up at me.
‘Jack and Sally were fighting so I’m reading them a story.’
‘What were they fighting about?’
‘Jack wasn’t sharing his money.’
‘Maybe he doesn’t have much.’
‘He does. He keeps it in his purse.’
‘Here,’ I said, taking out a two-pound coin. ‘This is for all of you. I want you to buy some ice creams. Daddy has got to go out.’
‘Are you going away again?’
‘Just for a bit, darling. Auntie’s going to look after you. You must listen to her.’
She stuck out her lower lip and nodded. I gave her a hug. It wasn’t getting any easier.
I didn’t go back to my flat. I didn’t have time. There were uniformed officers and others in blue overalls, carrying what looked like mining equipment: ropes, torches and hard hats. Riser cupboards were being opened and officers were checking doors. I made for the lift but Sherlock was there before me. He nodded when he saw me.
‘We’ve been trying to get in touch all morning.’
‘Sorry, I left my phone in the flat.’
‘Can we talk?’
‘Of course.’
I put my hands in my pockets and felt for my keys. I rummaged around and brought out loose change and a bank card. I tried to stop my fingers fidgeting and my face going red. I knew I was getting flustered. I had to pretend to be someone else, some other fool. But what bigger fool was there than I? I was playing Watson to a tee.
‘I must have left my keys at my neighbour’s. Shall I get them?’
He nodded. I went to her door and heard him behind me. He was breathing down my neck. If my daughter so much as made a noise, that was it. I’d even led them there.
‘Hello?’
Don’t say Daddy, don’t say Daddy
.
I could hear a door closing in the hall.
‘Who is it?’
‘It’s me. I’ve left my keys.’
The front door opened. Rashelle had thrown some clothes on and didn’t bat an eyelid. That really was magic.
‘Do you want to look yourself? I’m just getting ready.’
‘Thanks.’
She held the door open for me while Sherlock waited in the entrance. I went into the living room, checked the sofa and the floor but couldn’t see anything. My panic levels were rising. I felt the seconds become minutes and still I couldn’t find them. Had I left them in the bedroom or the playroom? I saw my phone on the window ledge. I looked at the screen and saw the missed calls. I put it in my pocket and went back into the hall. Where were they? Where was my little girl?
‘I can’t find them.’
Sherlock looked at Rashelle.
‘You mind if we come in?’
‘Not at all.’
She didn’t even look at me. It was a masterful performance. What she was thinking I wasn’t sure, but I was reminded of her words: if it gets out of hand, she’ll tell someone. As Sherlock sat down on the L-shaped sofa, I realised I was quite at her mercy. Another officer had accompanied him. He was tall and sober and slightly grey, more pedestrian looking.
‘Had you thought any more about what we spoke about?’
‘About people having grudges?’
‘Yes.’
‘I can’t think of anyone who’d want to take my daughter away.’
‘What about your wife?’
I paused. ‘How do you mean?’
‘She said she was planning to take her to America. Did you know that?’
‘Yes. She did mention it.’
‘Is there anyone she knew there?’
‘I’m not sure. You’d have to ask her. I think she was going with a friend.’
I put my head down. I could hear Rashelle coming in and out, banging doors, making a noise. I knew why she was doing it.
‘You know, all I want is my daughter back. If I could think of anything, I’d let you know. I’m not in a great place right now. I can’t sleep, I can’t do anything. My life has stopped. I wake up and think I’m going to have a heart attack. All I can think of is where she is and if she’s okay. You put yourself in my place. Then ask the questions you’re asking and see how you feel.’
‘I’m afraid the questions are all we have to go on at the moment. We’re renewing the search of the inside of the building. Children can get anywhere. We’re searching the risers, lift shafts, stairwells, just in case. And the flats.’
Rashelle came in right on cue. She was completely unfazed. I don’t know what she’d done while I was in the lobby, but her calmness steadied me. There’s a curious thing I’ve learned from a lifetime of doing bad things. If you volunteer information, if you put yourself up for scrutiny, more often than not, you get away with it. People don’t expect it. I mean, who would be stupid enough to come forward if they were guilty?
The sober officer got up and accompanied her round. I heard doors closing and cupboards shutting. The flats aren’t that big. It seemed inconceivable it could take that long, but I suppose he was leaving nothing to chance. It wasn’t the kind of case where you could do that. All the while, Sherlock paced up and down the chessboard. I heard Sober and Rashelle in the playroom.
‘You have children of your own?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Are they around?’
‘They visit from time to time.’
There were more doors opening. I imagined him looking at the costumes in the wardrobe and wondering, just like I did, if he wasn’t about to see a Victorian lamppost and a fawn.
‘You have some lovely stuff in here.’
‘I couldn’t bear to throw it out.’
He finished his questioning and came back into the hallway. I heard him shuffling around and opening another door. It could only be the boiler room. I held my breath. My daughter must be in there. Would his eyes take in the outline of the cupboard? Sherlock looked out of the window. I heard the door close. I heard him say thank you, then they came back in.
Sherlock looked over; Sober shook his head.
‘It’s all routine, I’m afraid. Did you find your keys?’
I shook my head. ‘They have to be here somewhere.’
‘Did you check the kitchen?’ Rashelle asked.
Now, there’s a thing with people who know each other very well that they can read each other’s minds. I’m not a great believer in it, though I know people who swear they’ve had messages from loved ones or dead ones in their dreams, and have thought things at exactly the same time as someone else and called it something more than coincidence. But when Rashelle said that, I was struck with just such a synchronicity. I knew I’d checked the kitchen - it was an alcove just off the living room - but I got up and had another look. There, on the worktop by the kettle, was the set of keys. She must have left them there, coming in and out. I dangled them and looked sheepishly at Sherlock. I tried to work out if he’d noticed anything but was still happy to play the fool.
‘Shall we go?’
We went into the hallway and he told her someone would be back so not to leave the building. She took it well; very well, in fact, for someone who had so much to hide. I think both of us expected my daughter to come out and start crying.
There were other officers in the corridor when we left: stormtrooper ones in blue uniforms and the rank and file. The sober officer joined them. Sherlock came into the flat with me. He seemed less officious on his own. Maybe he realised what a strain this was for me. He checked all the rooms as a matter of course, but didn’t look under the bed or in my cupboards. Perhaps he already sensed there was nothing there.
‘How well do you know her?’
‘Who?’
‘The woman next door.’
‘We get on.’
‘Well?’
‘I think so.’
‘Anyone else?’
‘Not really. Everyone pretty much keeps themselves to themselves.’
‘Not like the old days, eh?’
‘No, I suppose not.’
‘You could be living next door to a serial killer and you’d never know.’
I paused. ‘Something like that.’
‘Well, we’ve got a few leads. Not much.’
‘Right.’
‘Everyone has skeletons in their closet. The trick is not to get distracted by them.’
I sat down and waited for him to go on.
‘We’d like to hold a press conference with you and your ex-wife as soon as possible.’
‘Right.’
‘Are you okay with that?’
‘If it helps.’
‘It will. We need as much help as we can get. When things are in the papers, when they’re out in the open, people tend to feel rushed and make mistakes. If someone out there knows something, if the kidnapper is watching, I want them to know we’re after them. I want them to make that mistake.’
‘What if it’s too late?’
He sat down next to me.
‘There’s always that chance. But I don’t think we are.’
I couldn’t help liking Sherlock. I looked up to him the way I did at school with the older boys and prefects. There was something admirable and heroic about them. It wasn’t worship or schoolboy crushes; it wasn’t wanting to be them; it was wanting to be around them so that some of their sheen would rub off on me. I suppose it was the same with my little girl. Maybe I’ve always needed someone else to keep me going and never realised.
I took him to the door. He asked me to keep my phone by me; he was going to get back about the conference. I went down to the lobby with him. We passed the fat Greek on the corridor and others I’d never seen in the lift. They were all being quizzed by the police. They looked at me like it was my fault. Their lives were being turned upside down by my selfishness. But it wasn’t till a few days later that I realised how selfish. That’s when the arrests began.