Please refresh the page and retry. F rida Farrell was walking towards Oxford Circus one evening when she was approached by a photographer. The photographer was well-dressed and had a nice smile, Farrell remembered. She took his business card and later looked him up online. His story appeared to check out and his website looked professional. So the next day Farrell went to his apartment near Harley Street to have some trial photos taken, including head shots, and some full length ones.
And she was pleased when, the next day he called her and said the job was hers if she wanted it. B ut when Farrell arrived at the same apartment the following day at noon, things turned sinister. No sooner than she had entered the hall, the nice-looking photographer slammed the door behind her and locked it three times.
Then, he pulled out a knife. Farrell felt sick, but knew she had to try and stay calm. What do I need to get through this? She asked to go to the bathroom and he told her to leave her bag and phone behind. Despite urgently hoping for a way out, the bathroom only had a tiny window that was five storeys above the ground.
Instead she opened the door and decided to play along. He offered her a glass of milk. F arrell capitulated when the photographer demanded that she put on some underwear and followed his commands to pose for the camera. But she was unable to smile, as he asked, due to the tears that were streaming down her cheeks. It wasn't long before Farrell blacked out. After being fed part of a sandwich, Farrell blacked out again and this time woke up in a different apartment.
All of the furniture had been stripped from the flat, including the light bulbs and toilet seat. The only item that remained was a wooden-framed bed.
