Prime Deception Page 22

  The impressive structure of Big Ben loomed up in the distance, signalling to Charles that he was almost at The 10 Stop, and also reminding him of the frightening rate at which time was slipping away.

  The streets were quieter now as the medley of people who came out at night thinned away. There were no nightclubs in this area, no theatres. Only dark shadows existed down the various side streets, and apparently people with guns. Charles tried to push the thought of the gunman to the back of his mind. He could deal with that later. Right now, he had to focus on getting Laurie to safety.

  His hands gripped the wheel tightly as he continued to turn and weave through the streets of London. The Mercedes slid effortlessly through the darkness like a black missile locked onto its destination.

  For reasons unbeknown to even himself, Charles’ mind decided to taunt him, reminding him of the excruciating pain he had felt when Lorna died, the way his heart had felt as though it had been ripped in two. His chest gave a dull ache, a reminder that the pain would never be truly gone, that he would carry it with him until the end of his days.

  He drove past the familiar entrance to Downing Street. The black gates were sealed shut, preventing access.

  The 10 Stop was not somewhere Charles had previously frequented, having only ever driven past. His heart felt as though it had surged upward and placed itself in his throat when he saw the small illuminated sign twinkle out at him from the dark. A neon sign on the glass door indicated that the café remained open all twenty-four hours of the day.

  Luckily, the road was quiet and Charles was able to park right in front of the café. The Mercedes looked awfully out of place; something so expensive and exotic parked up outside a modest little café. It suddenly occurred to Charles that his presence would attract unwanted attention. The car itself stood out like a diamond in a bowl of pebbles. He could only hope that it was quiet within the café and that he could enter and collect Laurie without being seen.

  Charles felt almost frozen with fear as he left the sanctuary of the Mercedes, the night air cooling his already ice-cold skin as it swept across his cheeks. He steeled himself for the sight of Laurie injured and pushed open the door to The 10 Stop Café.

  It was a nice enough little café. Modest by London standards but with a cheerful and welcoming ambiance no doubt attributed to the lack of excess which tainted most eateries within the city.

  Had Charles come in under other circumstances he would have quite liked The 10 Stop Café, and had he not been such a famous face in the country it would potentially be somewhere he could stop and enjoy a cup of tea whilst reading the paper. But as it was, he had no time to take in the quirks of the venue. Instead, he entered through the glass door to the gentle chime of the soft bell placed above it and desperately scoured the scattering of late-night patrons for Laurie.

  Due to the hour, the café was all but empty. Only two booths were occupied. At one, sat a young man in a cheap suit, furiously typing in to his laptop and neglecting the plate of sausages and mash beside him. He probably worked for one of the prestigious law firms nearby and was desperately trying to meet an important deadline before the sun rose the next day.

  At the other booth sat a woman who appeared to be in her late twenties. She was wearing a considerable amount of make-up and a low cut top which accentuated her heaving cleavage. She nursed a cup of tea and glanced up momentarily when Charles entered. He didn’t like to make assumptions about people or cast judgement but he guessed that she was a prostitute. A number of politicians had a real taste for whores, Charles had discovered during his time at Parliament, and it was not uncommon for late night rendezvous to be set up so close to Downing street at unassuming locations such as this.

  The Members of Parliament from more distant constituencies were the worst offenders, blaming loneliness for their indiscretions. Charles knew that he had no right to judge them, having broken his own marital vows a considerable number of times with Lorna, and so he turned the other cheek and let them carry on. The girl scrutinized him from beneath her false eyelashes, no doubt recognising his face but struggling to place it.

  The rest of the café was empty. There was no sign of Laurie. Panicked, Charles paced to the back and craned his neck into the kitchen area, considering that perhaps she had chosen to go and hide in there, away from plain sight.

  ‘Do you need a table?’ a tired-looking waitress came out and asked. She looked to be about forty, although the bags beneath her eyes perhaps belied her true youth. Her dark hair was scraped back into an untidy bun and the steam from the kitchens had made her skin glisten with sweat. She held a small notepad in one hand, pen poised in the other, ready to take Charles’ order.

  ‘Oh, goodness,’ she said suddenly when her fatigue faded away and she realised who she was addressing.

  ‘Forgive me being so abrupt,’ she apologised hastily, her eyes now wide with awe. ‘It’s been a long shift.’

  ‘It’s quite all right,’ Charles replied, managing to smile.

  ‘Can I get you something?’ the waitress asked uneasily as if she were unsure of the protocol for the situation. Should she courtesy, or was that just for the Queen? Would he be offended if she showed her back to him?

  ‘Actually, I’m looking for someone,’ Charles explained. He no longer cared about his station, or that his motives might be questioned and anyone inside the café could run to the nearest tabloid and sell their story. All he cared about was Laurie.

  ‘Oh?’ the waitress asked, her eyes briefly glancing at the hooker as though she was familiar with the usual requests from politicians.

  ‘Did a young girl come in here? She is very petite, with blonde hair. She might have been hurt.’

  ‘Hurt? Goodness me,’ the waitress sounded genuinely worried by this part of the description.

  ‘No, sorry,’ she said slowly, scraping back through her memory of the night. ‘Ain’t no-one like that been in here. It’s been a really slow night, only had one or two customers in.’

  ‘Are you certain?’ The question sounded sharper than Charles had intended.

  ‘Yeah, pretty sure.’

  ‘Is there any chance you missed her? She should have come in about twenty minutes ago.’

  The waitress chewed on her bottom lip as she pondered on the question.

  ‘I guess she could have come in whilst I was out back dropping off an order, but in that case she must have left right away. They’ve been here for the past hour or so,’ she nodded towards the two occupied booths. ‘If she was here, they would have seen her.’

  ‘Thank you for your help,’ Charles told the woman sincerely before heading over the nearest booth which was where the suited man sat working.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Charles addressed him. The man looked up from his laptop, clearing annoyed to have been distracted, but as soon as he realised it was the Deputy Prime Minister speaking to him, his frowns immediately dissolved and he blushed profusely, his eyes reflecting a mixture of awe and bemusement.

  ‘I’m looking for a girl who might have come in here. Small, blonde, possibly injured.’

  The man ran a hand through his hair as he considered his time in the café, which reminded him just how tired he was. He made a mental note to order yet another coffee in his attempt to work through the night.

  ‘I … erm,’ he began before shaking his head apologetically. ‘If she came in I wouldn’t have noticed,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve been pretty consumed with my work.’

  ‘Dedication is admirable,’ Charles smiled, unable to switch off the politician within him even at such a crucial time.

  ‘You should know more than anyone what a slog it is to get to the top,’ the man answered respectfully. ‘Is it worth it?’

  The question caught Charles off guard. Normally, he would give a standard answer which would strengthen his public image, but preoccupied as he was, he found himself doing something he rarely did; giving an honest answer.

  ‘No, not at all.’

  Having le
ft that bombshell of disillusionment with the young man. Charles walked over to the girl with the painted face. She smiled as he approached her and extended her limbs slightly, like a cat presenting itself to a potential mate.

  ‘Hey there,’ her words were soft and alluring which made Charles flinch with discomfort.

  ‘Did you see a girl come in here? Small, blonde.’

  ‘No, I’m the only girl working here tonight.’

  ‘No, she’s not …’ Charles managed to stop himself before saying the word ‘hooker’ which he sensed would not be well-received.

  ‘If you are after some company I’m sure we could work something out.’ Her eyes grew wide as she spoke, like a predator closing in on its prey.

  ‘I’m fine, thanks,’ Charles answered abruptly.

  He strode over to the entrance of the café and sighed in despair. Laurie was not there and by all accounts had never been there that night. Which meant that she was still outside on the streets alone and injured. Charles felt fear seize at his chest when he considered the possibility that she had collapsed somewhere, her body overwhelmed by the extent of the damage caused by the gunshot. Or worse, whoever had shot at her had returned and delivered a secondly, deadly blow.

  Charles dashed out of the café, the bell signalling his exit, and began racing along the darkened path, heading towards Downing Street, determined to locate Laurie wherever she was.

  The streetlamps cast an eerie glow over the darkened pavements of London. In the distance shone the neon lights of the theatre district, but their sparkle did not extend down to Downing Street.

  The Deputy Prime Minister traversed the city, previously oblivious to the nocturnal activities which went on in the capital. Charles’ anxious footsteps thundered along the pavement as he picked up speed, desperate to reach Laurie, aware that he was possibly racing against the Grim Reaper himself to find her.

  Each alleyway presented no further clue to where the young girl could be. Every street was the same – dark and empty. There wasn’t even the usual spattering of the homeless nestled in shop doors, as the foot traffic in this part of town wasn’t great enough to warrant their presence there.

  Charles’ tension grew as he felt as though he were on the verge of something truly awful transpiring. It was as if he was standing upon the edge of a great cliff and the next footstep he took would plummet him into oblivion.

  ‘Laurie, where are you?’ he asked the night, hoping against hope that some heavenly intervention would offer him an answer but there was nothing. He retraced her steps as best as he could, venturing all the way back to the offices at Downing Street and questioning the surprised night guard.

  ‘There hasn’t been anyone here,’ the guard assured the Deputy Prime Minister, silently curious as to why he was there. Charles kept his questions vague to avoid any unwanted repercussions from their exchange.

  ‘So, no-one has returned to the offices this evening?’

  ‘No, not a soul. Why, should they have?’

  ‘I’m just trying to locate some important documents,’ Charles lied whilst searching his mind for another location where Laurie could possibly be.

  ‘I can check who the last person to sign out was,’ the guard offered, desperate to be helpful. Charles didn’t respond which the guard took to be a positive indication and so he consulted the sign-out sheet from the table within his station.

  ‘It was …’ he guided his eyes down the sheet of names with his index finger, ‘Laurie Thomas, intern. She left at 10.25.’

  ‘Right thanks.’ Charles felt his heart turn to ice at the mention of Laurie’s name.

  He left the guard and began making his way back to the Mercedes, aware that he may need to widen the net of his search and therefore would be in need of his vehicle.

  He failed to notice the man lurking in the shadows near Downing Street who had heard every word of his exchange with the guard and was now hailing a black cab.

  As soon as Charles was within his car with the doors locked, sealing him in, he removed his mobile phone from his pocket and dialled Laurie’s number. It rang out until her answer machine intervened.

  ‘You’ve reached Laurie, lucky you. Leave a message and I’ll consider getting back to you. Au revoir.’

  Hearing the soft intonations of her voice and the mockery in the cheeky message felt like a knife stabbing its way through Charles’ chest. He immediately dialled again only to receive the same automated message. His hand was now trembling as he held the phone from fear.

  ‘Please be safe,’ he pleaded. He could feel tears threatening to erupt from his eyes but he had to fight to overcome them. His thoughts had to remain focused if he had any hope of finding Laurie.

  Holding a hand to his temple, Charles tried to formulate some semblance of a plan. He calculated all the logical explanations for Laurie’s disappearance and concluded that perhaps she had already gone to hospital. Charles dialled a telephone service and asked to be directed to the nearest hospital. After four rings a woman answered.

  ‘Royal London Hospital.’ Her voice was sharp.

  ‘Can I have your A and E department, please.’ Charles requested.

  ‘Are you in need of medical assistance?’ the woman queried.

  ‘No, but …’

  ‘Then I must ask you to clear the line,’ the voice interrupted with prompt efficiency. Her automated response indicated that she spent the majority of her evening assessing emergency calls.

  ‘It’s my daughter,’ Charles blurted out in a panic, immediately recoiling at labelling Laurie as such, but knowing that it might help him gain more swift access to vital information.

  ‘Oh?’ If the woman felt any empathy her voice did not show it.

  ‘She hasn’t come home this evening and isn’t answering her phone which isn’t like her. I fear the worst and just wanted to check if anyone of her description had been admitted.’

  ‘Age?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Age. Of your daughter,’ the woman asked coldly.

  ‘Erm …’ Charles was suddenly startled, struggling to remember Laurie’s exact age.

  ‘Twenty … twenty-two.’

  ‘Height?’

  ‘Five foot … one, perhaps two.’

  ‘Hair?’

  ‘Blonde.’

  ‘One moment.’ Charles could hear the woman typing, her fingers smacking against the keyboard as she consulted the hospital’s database.

  ‘No-one of that description has been admitted this evening.’

  Charles went to thank the woman for her assistance but the line had already gone dead. For a moment, he felt relieved that Laurie was not in the hospital, but then the sense of panic swiftly returned as he realised that it left him clueless to her whereabouts.

  Lost for inspiration of where to look, Charles called her phone again to be met by the same message. Defeated, he leant back in his seat and regarded the night beyond his windscreen, resenting the fact that Laurie was out there somewhere, in need of help and he did not have the capacity to find her.

  On the brink of despair, Charles leant his head against the steering wheel as he tried to calculate what he should do next. In his mind danced an image of Laurie smiling up at him warmly, her head titled slightly to the right which was the stance she often had when she was processing a new piece of information. Then the image giggled girlishly and Charles realised that it was Lorna, not Laurie. Or was it? It was as if the two twins were merging into one.

  ‘Dammit.’ Charles sat back up and raked a hand through his hair but the Laurie/Lorna hybrid refused to disperse. She taunted him with her coy looks and knowing smile. Then suddenly, the smile fell away and was replaced by a look of terror.

  ‘No!’ Charles shouted loudly to his own imagination. ‘I will find you! I swear!’

  The silence was unbearable as Charles had only his own thoughts for company. He ran over the conversation he’d had less than an hour ago with Laurie, searching her words for any potential clue, but i
t was in vain. Everything she had said had led him to the small café near Downing Street, but something must have occurred whilst he drove over and now Laurie had vanished.

  Charles went to call her yet again, anticipating only to hear her answerphone message, when his own phone suddenly vibrated within his grasp, signalling an incoming message. Intrigued, Charles read the screen and felt his heart stop. The message was from Laurie.

  I’m back at my apartment. I’m fine, don’t worry. Just go home.

  The abrupt tone of the message caught Charles by surprise. When they had spoken on the phone Laurie had sounded desperate. How could her mood have changed so severely in such a short space of time?

  The words shone out from the display screen of the mobile device, taunting Charles. He questioned whether he should even believe them. Laurie had claimed that she’d been shot, how could she possibly return home? Surely she required medical assistance?

  Perhaps her wounds were not as severe as she had feared, and fatigued from her distress she wanted only to return home and rest. Charles concluded that it was a plausible enough explanation but he still doubted its credibility.

  Another ten minutes passed as Charles sat and contemplated the message. His heart continued to smack against his chest with a frightening ferocity indicating that he was still very much shaken by the night’s events.

  After toying with his doubts, Charles decided to call Laurie, but as before, the number merely rang out before her voicemail cut in.

  ‘Is she sleeping?’ Charles pondered aloud as a new fear crept in to his mind; that Laurie, in a panic from her afflictions, had downed too many painkillers and now lay on her bed in a stupor, hours away from forever losing her mortality.

  The last three words of her message were the cruellest. Just go home. The subtext was obvious; return to your wife and your marriage. Charles groaned in desperation. Had he played things so wrong? Did Laurie now resent him? His own mind raged with a thousand questions, questions which had been dormant since Laurie had entered his life. Now it was as though Lorna had died all over again and Charles was overwhelmed with the torrent of doubt which was flooding his thoughts.