There it sat in the corner. Silent, yet dominating the whole room. Helen picked up the receiver to make sure it was still working. It was, yet the telephone remained stubbornly silent.
Red was the wrong colour, of course. Too harsh. Demanding to be noticed. Cream or beige would have been a better choice, fading into the background. The red telephone drew her eye whenever she entered the room, mocking her. She made a mental note to change it when this was all over.
Finally, the shrill bell rang, making Helen drop her cup in surprise. She took a deep breath before reaching out a shaking hand to answer it.
“Are you ready?” asked the voice in a harsh whisper.
“Yes,” replied Helen, her voice cracking. Clearing her throat, she continued, “What do you want me to do?”
“Take the money to the telephone box on the corner of Jackson Street. Leave now. The phone will be ringing when you get there.”
“But wait! My husband?” Helen cried into the now dead instrument.
Slamming down the handset, she grabbed the briefcase from the floor and rushed to the door. She pulled on her coat over her elegant suit and ran out of the house and down the wide stone steps. Her BMW was parked outside the house and started at the first turn of the key.
Helen concentrated on finding the quickest route to Jackson Street but as she drew up to the telephone box she could hear the ringing of the telephone. Leaving the car parked with two wheels on the pavement she lunged for the receiver. “Yes,” she panted, “what now?”
The same voice as before answered. “Drive to the top of the Ridges. Leave your car in the car park and walk down to the statue. Don’t look around and don’t talk to anyone. Do exactly as I say if you want to see your husband alive – and don’t forget the money.”
The money! Dashing back to her car, Helen was relieved to see the briefcase still on the front seat, despite the fact that she had left the car door open.
Driving to the rural area of the Ridges a few miles out of town, Helen thought over the past couple of days. It seemed incredible that she was the victim of kidnapping and blackmail. They, whoever they were, had demanded a ransom of £500,000 in used notes and had made her promise not to involve the police. Wary of using the police because of the subsequent publicity it would bring, Helen had readily agreed.
As she neared the rendezvous, a surge of adrenalin made her laugh out loud. She really was quite enjoying herself! As she had made her millions several years ago, nothing this exciting had happened since. She was a successful business woman with a chain of shops. She held the majority of the shares in the company and as such was untouchable on the Board of Directors. The cut and thrust of business she had once enjoyed had been singularly lacking these days. People now treated her with deference and were probably a bit afraid of her – at least she hoped so.
Just like her husband really. A former movie star, he had been quite a catch, but the man who courted her seemed to have disappeared. As his career waned and hers flourished he had turned out to be rather dull. Losing the allure he once held for her during the chase. Uncertain now as to her true feelings for him, she nevertheless wanted to keep him. It just wasn’t done to lose one’s husband. It would ruin her reputation and social standing if she was seen without her trophy husband on her arm. People would think that if she couldn’t keep a husband, perhaps she couldn’t keep her company.
No, the risk was too great. Better to pay up and shut up.
As she rounded a tight corner and began to position the car to turn into the car park, Helen was blinded by car headlights cutting through the gloom of the early winter evening. Pulling hard on the steering wheel and veering back into her own lane, she just managed to avoid the car coming straight at her. With the blare of car horns still ringing in her ears, she pulled over to the side of the road to compose herself. Helen finally managed to get into the car park without further incident a few minutes later.
As she expected the car park was deserted. Helen pulled her coat tightly around her and walked down the hill to the statue. Ankle deep in leaves, her feet made a faint swishing sound as she walked over to the statue and placed the briefcase on the ground.
“Don’t turn around,” ordered the voice and a hand quickly took the briefcase from its resting place on the ground.
“My husband – you promised!” called Helen resisting the urge to look at the blackmailer. “I’ve kept my side of the bargain.”
“It’s alright darling I’m here,” said a familiar voice and Helen turned to see her husband looking his usual immaculate self. She was just about to throw her arms around him, when she realised that in one hand he held the briefcase and in the other a gun, levelled at her head.
Her eyes widened with an unspoken question and in response he nodded and called, “Yes I’m free, finally free!” as he pulled the trigger.
As the sound of the gunshot echoed around the wood and finally faded, he pulled open the briefcase, unable to wait until he had made his getaway. His getaway from that bitch Helen. The bitch that had treated him like dirt since the day they were married. The bitch who was only interested in herself. The bitch who had tied her fortune up so tightly that he wouldn’t see a penny when she died.
“£500, 000” he whispered as he looked at the money packed inside. Taking a neatly wrapped bundle of notes in his hand, he flipped through it, just to see what it felt like. It felt like old newspapers. With a start he realised that was precisely what he was holding. Perfectly cut pieces of newspaper with real money on either side.
Frantically raking through the briefcase he found that each bundle was the same. At the bottom of the case was a note. Unfolding it, he stared at the words scrawled there:
“You didn’t seriously think he was worth that much, did you?”
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