Girl in the Cellar by Allan Hall

the numerous alarms on his house and went out into the wet, dark morning. He started his white Mercedes van and drove off for the rendezvous with the little girl who, on this day, would cross over the line from his special dream to his special possession. Nothing could stop him now: nothing could save Natascha now.
    Both were drawn inexorably to the time and the place where worlds would meld, change and shatter.
    At flat 18 in block 38 on the Rennbahnweg estate Frau Sirny was up extraordinarily early, reading through complex paperwork regarding the bankruptcy of two grocery shops she once owned. She recalled making several cups of coffee as she ploughed through the weighty documents, going to the bathroom and calling Natascha to get up at around 6.40 a.m. to be on her way to school. Natascha was due to have a special lesson in German and was supposed to be there early. Frau Sirny had quickly prepared her daughter’s clothes and a row developed that ended when she slapped her on the ear. In fact, the argument was a continuation of a squabble between them the evening before. On the previous Friday her father had collected her for one of their trips to Hungary. He was supposed to drop her off back at home no later than 6.00 p.m. on the Sunday but, as usual, to the constant irritation of his former partner, he failed to be on time. It was 7.45 p.m on Sunday 1 March when he deposited her outside the tower block. One of the last things she did before kissing her ‘papi’ goodbye was to reach into the glove compartment of his car for herpassport in the left-hand pocket of her jacket. She then trudged into the gloom of block 38 and hoped the lifts were working.
    She let herself in but found she was home alone. On her bedroom door there was a note from her mother: ‘Gone to the cinema. Back later. Mutti. X.’ This was a common occurrence: Natascha was something of a latch-key kid whose mother did not run her life around her. She was used to arriving home to an empty flat.
    Natsacha changed into a tracksuit and went to a neighbour who knew her well. Frau Glaser, who would later make claims that began to warp the public perception of Natascha as an accidental victim, once worked for Frau Sirny. She has assumed, in the media whirlpool that continues to swirl in Vienna, the mantle of older sister, the woman who was ready to step in and help ‘poor Natascha’ when her mother wasn’t there. Frau Glaser, who lived one floor below Natascha and her mother, claimed that on this night, after welcoming the child inside, she sent her back upstairs to leave a note for her mother in case she came home early and panicked if Natascha wasn’t home.
    Ludwig Koch brought Natascha back from a weekend trip to Hungary sometime between 7 and 7.30 p.m., a bit later than it was agreed with the mother, who was by then already gone. I remember that day so clearly, as if it happened yesterday. I will never forget it.
    Natascha came to my flat and told me her mother was not at home, so we tried to call her on the mobile, but it was off. I then told her to leave a message for Frau Sirny to say that she was at my place. Natascha was in a good mood, she told us about how she had had a great time in Hungary and about all the things they did there with her dad, Herr Koch. We had a nice conversation, small talk—she was such a bright kid and very nice to talk to.
    We than had some dinner, but it was hard to persuade her to eat anything because she had already eaten some hours earlier. Afterwards we watched Columbo on TV—she liked that series. It was fun watching it with her, she made funny remarks, much like an adult.
    But then her mother came, sometime around 9.45 p.m., and started shouting at her right from the door, she did not even say hi to us. She told her that it was wrong to come to my place and that she was supposed to stay at home, alone.
    Then she sat down and the two of us, Frau Sirny and I, had Baileys to drink.