Danger's Edge

3 Hours

The elevator door opens opposite to the building’s reception area. I breathe deeply, welcoming the gust of fresh air coming in from the street as people pass through the front entrance. “I’m going to take a seat for a couple of minutes,” I say, pointing to the sofa in the main lobby. “Let me see what else I can check,” I hold up my phone, “and while I do, can you speak to the man at the security desk to see if there’s any record of when I left this building on Friday?”

“Good idea. I’ll get right onto it.”

The last three texts are social messages from acquaintances and are of no further relevance. I switch onto my voicemail. Of the four messages, the first one is electronic spam seeking to know if I need help resulting from an accident I had that wasn’t my fault. I’m so sick of these calls. I wonder if I should reply to them and ask them to sort out my current dilemma? I feel myself grimace, thinking I’ve not totally lost my sense of irony.

I find the second message rather concerning. It’s from the letting agent I rented my flat through and it’s asking why the rent payment due on Monday hasn’t been received. That’s odd, I think; I pay by standing order and there ought to have been more than adequate funds to cover the payment. I must investigate this. I’ll call my bank at the first opportunity, but there are a few priorities I need to attend to first.

The third message is from Jenny, asking if I’ve cooled down enough to talk to her and finishes by asking me to call her back.

The fourth message is from Mum and Dad, calling from Palermo in Sicily, while on another excursion from their cruise. Hearing their voices, I wish they were here. At this moment, I’d love nothing more than to be enveloped in a family hug, to feel safe and protected in their care. Their voices are joyous; they’re clearly enjoying their holiday. They’ve raised me to be strong and independent and this thought confirms my determination not to say anything to them until after they return home. As it happens, I only hear the start of their call before the phone falls silent, its battery dead.

Alesha returns, having confirmed that I left the building at 7.23 on Friday evening. “You ready to go?” she asks.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

She clicks a few buttons on her phone, then looks up to tell me the taxi will be at the front door in five minutes.

“Let’s go straight to the police. The nearest station is at Baird Street,” she suggests.

“I’d prefer to go home, so I can get my battery charger. I need to phone Jenny and I’d like to change into other clothes.”

“I think the sooner you get the ordeal over with, the better. You can call your friend now using my phone, if you like. Everything else can wait,” Alesha replies.

Much as I want to go home, I can see the logic. Once I’m back at my house, I won’t want to go out again. I nod my agreement

Alesha hands me her phone just as the cab arrives. We get in and I dial Jenny’s number. Only when I hear it ring, does it occur to me how easily I recollected her number, despite rarely using it because it’s on autodial on my mobile. My memory is working so my thinking can’t be too muddled

Before the fourth ring, I hear her voice announce, “Jenny Douglas.” She sounds cautious, obviously not recognising the number.

“Jenny, it’s me, Briony.”

“Briony, really. You’ve finally come down off your high horse and consider I’m worthy to speak to again.”

“Jenny, stop; it’s not like that. I wasn’t pissed, and I wasn’t avoiding you. It’s… it’s… it’s just that…” I struggle to think what to say.

“It’s just what?”

“Jenny, I’m in trouble. I can’t remember a thing that’s happened to me since Friday.”

“Is this some sort of joke, Briony? What are you on about?”

“It’s no joke, Jenny. I wish it was. It’s more of a nightmare. I think I might have been abducted.”

“Are you serious?”

“Totally serious.”

“Oh my God! What’s happened? Where are you? Where are you calling from? I don’t recognise the number.”

“I don’t know what happened – that’s the problem. I’m in a taxi, along with Alesha from my office. I’m calling on her phone as I’ve no charge in mine. We’re on our way to the police station to see if they can help.”

“You don’t remember seeing anyone?”

“No. I remember nothing between Friday evening and this morning.”

“My god. That’s nearly a week! I don’t know what to say. Do your mum and dad know?”

“Listen, Jenny, I need your help. The only thing I know is that I left work about half past seven on Friday and I was meant to meet you at eight at Alfredo’s. I’ve seen your texts. I read them before my phone’s battery died. I need to know what else you can tell me.”

“Of course. I’ll help you any way I can, but I don’t know if there’s anything I can add. I got delayed and didn’t arrive until, I don’t know, maybe half eight, going on nine o’clock and you weren’t there. I thought you must have got fed up with waiting and left.”

“That’s it? You didn’t see me, or speak to anyone who knew when I’d left, or if I was with anyone?”

“I’m sorry, Briony, I didn’t. I just made the assumption. It was already late, and I was famished so I headed home and picked up a kebab on the way. If only I’d known.”

I take a deep breath. I’m disappointed and exasperated, realising I won"t learn any more from her.

“What police station are you going to? I’ll come and keep you company. I just need to tell the boss I’m taking some time out.”

“You don’t need to. Alesha’s here with me.”

“I want to help. I’ll do anything I can. Tell me where you’re going and I’ll meet you there as soon as I can get across.”

I think for a second. “There is something you can do. We’re on our way to Baird Street. Could you find me there and collect my keys, then go to my flat and pick me up a change of clothing? Could you also get the charger for my phone?”

“No problem. I’m happy to help. I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”

I feel reassured knowing I’ll see Jenny soon. Although Alesha has been great, a tower of strength in fact, it’s not the same. I’ve been close to Jenny for so long, she’s almost like family.

The journey passes in a blur. I can hear the driver prattling on about something, a news item, but I can’t take it in. Arriving outside the police station, Alesha settles the bill, then takes my arm and guides me through the entrance into a cavernous room.

A young-looking civilian assistant approaches us. “Hello, my name’s Cynthia. How can I help you?” she asks.

I get flustered and don’t know what to say. Alesha sees my hesitancy and once again comes to my aid. “My friend needs your help,” she starts. “She has no recollection whatsoever of anything that’s happened to her between Friday and today and we think she’s been abducted, probably drugged…” She looks at me before continuing, “and it’s very likely she’s been raped.”

“I see,” Cynthia says calmly. “Please come with me and take a seat over here.” She guides us to a seated area in the corner. “The first thing I need to do is get some basic information from you.” She lifts a tablet and takes details from me: my full name, address, date of birth, nationality, telephone number, email address and employment details. “I’ll arrange for an officer to speak to you.”

She moves away a few paces and then makes a call. I can’t quite make out what she’s saying but I think I pick out words… code six two… solo. She looks at me and nods. Then she asks, “Do you have a preference? Would you like to speak to a male or a female officer?”

My first thought is that it doesn’t matter, but then it occurs to me that I’m likely to undergo some intimate questioning and I don’t think I would be comfortable talking to a man. I won’t be comfortable talking to anyone, but the idea of a male stranger seems so much more daunting. “A female officer, please,” I reply.