For Richer, For Poorer

by Kerry Wilkinson

  On the other side of the road there was an alley that led behind a row of shops towards the main road. Jessica stood in the middle of the street staring at it, exhilarated by the darkness. She felt slightly scared of what the alley might hold. There were no lights, no one to protect her, no stupid Archie wanting to fucking cuddle. In her pocket was another pepper spray, a replacement for what she’d emptied into Ana’s eyes.

  Somewhere in the murk, she heard a squeak. Given the area and the amount of rubbish most likely overflowing in the alley behind the shops, it was probably a rat. Jessica took a step away, ready to stick to the pavement where the street lights were, when she heard another noise – definitely a female voice. At first it drifted on the breeze but then there was a sharp squeal and a bang. Jessica crept towards the alley, trying not to make any sound. Now she could hear two voices: one female, one male. The woman’s was high and had an edge of terror to it.

  Jessica slipped into the gap between two houses, an overhang blocking out the light from behind as she edged into the shadows. Holding her breath, she moved around a large metal wheelie bin. She could hear the voices more clearly now.

  There was a definite sense of . . . something . . . in the woman’s voice. At first Jessica thought it was fright but now she wasn’t entirely sure.

  ‘I don’t have any money on me, honestly,’ the woman said.

  The man’s reply was low, almost a growl. ‘I don’t believe you – empty your bag.’

  ‘Please . . .’

  Jessica kept her back to the wall, staying in the shadows as she approached the end.

  ‘That’s all I’ve got . . .’

  She glanced quickly around the corner into a short connecting walkthrough between two shops on the main street. In the fraction of a second she had to peep around the corner, Jessica saw two figures: a woman kneeling on the floor, the contents of her bag on the pavement; and a man largely in shadow standing over her.

  ‘If that’s all you’ve got then I’ll have to find another way to get what I want.’

  The woman squealed slightly: ‘No, you can’t . . .’

  Jessica risked another look around the wall. The woman was now closer to the shadows, on her front, bottom in the air as the man yanked at her underwear.

  ‘Please . . .’

  29

  Without thinking, Jessica barrelled forward, largely staying in the shadows before launching herself at the man just as he got onto his knees. She caught him across the cheek with her knee, sending him spinning sideways, and her leg crunching off at an angle. Behind, the woman screamed loudly but Jessica ignored her, scrambling after the man who had landed next to a bin in an alcove of the wall. He was still on his front, struggling to roll over with his dark trousers around his ankles. When Jessica reached him, she arched her knee up a second time, feeling the crunch between his legs. He slumped to the floor with a groan as Jessica drew back and elbowed him under the ribs for good measure, not wanting to risk him swinging around and catching her.

  Jessica unclipped the handcuffs from her pocket, wrenching his left wrist backwards and snapping them on, before twisting and pulling his right one too, clicking the cuff into place. The moon was illuminating his naked hairy arse, leaving her wondering whether to give him a kick for good measure. She doubted that ‘police brutality’ would go down too well with the ‘institutionally corrupt’ crowd, so controlled herself. Apart from a slight pain in her knee, she’d done surprisingly well, not even having to bring out her pepper spray.

  Using the wall to pull herself up, Jessica turned to where the woman was still on the floor, wide-eyed in the light, staring towards her.

  ‘Everything’s going to be fine now,’ Jessica said, trying to sound reassuring.

  The woman slid her knickers up, still staring. Her slim bare legs were like sticks, her top crumpled and possibly ripped. Behind Jessica there was a low groan as the man rolled onto his back.

  ‘Are you okay?’ the woman asked softly.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Jessica replied. ‘I think I twisted my knee a bit but I caught him good. Don’t worry – he can’t harm you now.’

  Jessica suddenly realised the fright in the woman’s face wasn’t because she was worried about the man, it was because of her. She held her hands up to show she was no threat.

  ‘It’s not you I’m asking,’ the woman said, her eyes flicking to the man crawling on his knees. ‘It’s my boyfriend – what the hell did you do that for?’

  Jessica spun around to see the man struggling to get to his feet, black PVC cowl over his head, small triangle ears pointing into the air.

  Oh no.

  30

  Jessica sat in her office, pint glass full of water in front of her.

  ‘It really could have happened to anyone,’ Izzy said. The sergeant was sitting in the spare office chair, spinning herself back and forth, which was only making Jessica dizzier.

  Jessica took a sip of her drink and then closed her eyes. ‘Topper threw a fit. There’s this vein above his eyebrow that looked as if it was going to burst.’

  ‘Talk me through it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because . . . er . . . all right, I’m not even going to try to dress it up. Sorry, er, wrong choice of words. Basically, because it sounds bloody hilarious.’

  ‘As long as someone’s finding my tatters of a career funny.’

  ‘In fairness, it’s not just me. Franks practically skipped into his office this morning and Pat couldn’t get his words out quickly enough. I thought he was going to have a coronary.’

  ‘How was I supposed to know it was some kinky sex game?’

  ‘Wasn’t he dressed up as Batman?’

  ‘He was in the shadows! I could only see his bottom half. I thought he was attacking her. Anyway, why would Batman be attacking someone – isn’t he a good guy?’

  ‘I’m guessing that wasn’t at the front of their minds.’

  ‘It was after three in the sodding morning – who’s horny at that time?’

  ‘Superheroes?’

  ‘Har-dee-bastarding-har.’

  ‘What’s going to happen now?’

  Jessica took a drink of her water and leant back into her seat, reclosing her eyes. The office lights were hurting. ‘Topper says nothing. Apart a bruise on his face and a pair of firmly kneed bollocks, the bloke’s absolutely fine. His girlfriend’s all right too. Topper says they’re a bit embarrassed by it all and don’t want to make any other complaints in case it ends up in the paper.’

  Izzy giggled girlishly. ‘Sorry, it’s just hilarious. I’ve got this picture in my mind of this bloke, dark trousers around his ankles, Batman mask on, about to, ahem, save his damsel in distress – and then you come steaming in and knee him in the balls. I hope there’s CCTV.’

  ‘There’d better not be.’

  ‘The poor sod.’

  ‘What about me?! Just because they’re a pair of perverts, now I’ve got Topper talking about disciplinary action again. He should be giving me a medal.’

  ‘What for? Best knees in the business?’

  ‘I’d take that.’

  Izzy was still laughing: ‘Do you want to know what they’re calling you around the station?’

  ‘For God’s sake . . .’

  ‘Ball-breaker. Someone started the rumour that you perforated one of Batman’s bollocks and now Franks has got someone Photoshopping a picture of you. It looked quite good actually.’

  ‘If I knew how, I’d Photoshop a picture of him skulking around public toilets – except I could probably just follow him and take a real one.’

  ‘Look on the bright side – no one’s taking action and now all of the constables are terrified of you. They’ll do whatever you tell them just in case you put those knees to work again.’

  ‘Thanks a lot – what a legacy to have.’

  ‘Why were you out in Stretford at that time of the morning anyway?’

  Izzy was fishing for an answer she already knew but Jessica wasn�
��t ready to tell her. ‘I’d been at a mate’s house.’

  ‘Archie lives close to there.’

  ‘Does he?’

  ‘Less than five minutes’ walk . . .’

  Jessica opened her eyes as her desk phone began to ring. In her hurry to answer it, she sent the glass of water hurtling to the floor. Izzy jumped out of the way as the liquid drenched a stack of folders.

  With an irritated sigh, Jessica listened to the voice on the other end of the phone and then reached for her jacket.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Izzy asked.

  ‘Something’s finally happening at Ana’s.’

  31

  Jessica let one of the uniformed officers drive as they zipped across the city to Sam’s apartment, blue lights flashing but with the sirens turned off long before they got within hearing distance. He parked around the corner, following Jessica through a side alley and then quickly around the front of the converted house. Through the slightly open door, Andy Whatshisface and Joy Bag Jane were waiting for them. They’d been on the main street for under ten seconds and hopefully hadn’t been spotted.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Jessica asked.

  Jane nodded at the monitor. ‘Ana’s phone started going off first thing this morning. It sounded like she was organising meetings but we didn’t want to call the station in case it was nothing. We heard you had a busy night too.’

  ‘Yeah, sod off. What’s going on now?’

  Andy answered, handing Jessica the remote. ‘We didn’t feel comfortable watching but it’s on channel six. He paid her as soon as he arrived and then she took him into the bedroom.’

  ‘Didn’t you stop it?’

  ‘We were told not to intervene unless Pavel arrived or we were told specifically to act.’

  ‘Do you always do what you’re told?’

  Jessica gave Andy an accusing stare, wishing she could remember his last name. As the room went silent, she didn’t have to change channels because she could hear the ‘Eh-eh-eh-eh’ and a faint sound of probably fake moaning. She turned to the biggest of the uniformed officers. ‘Fancy coming upstairs with me?’

  ‘You’re not going to knee anyone, are you?’

  ‘Of course I’m not. Just stop the bloke before he runs and don’t hit anyone unless you get a thumbs-up from me.’

  ‘An actual thumbs-up?’

  ‘Or a nod – any sort of positive gesture means you can wallop someone.’

  Jessica led the way out of the house, ringing Ana’s doorbell over and over as she had done previously. A minute or so later and there was a rush of feet followed by a bang. Jessica stood to one side as a large man bustled out of the door. His jeans were undone and his shoes untied. As he looked both ways, the uniformed officer clamped a hand on his shoulder.

  Jessica headed past the pair of them, up the stairs and through Ana’s recently opened flat door.

  Ana was halfway across the living-room floor, naked from the waist down, when she spotted Jessica, eyes widening. ‘You?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She struggled with her English, eventually settling for the word ‘why?’

  ‘Because I know that you know something about Pavel and unless you help us, we’ll keep coming here every day until you tell us what it is.’

  Ana scowled at Jessica, picking up a thong from the floor and putting it on. She sat on her sofa and lit a cigarette. Jessica sat at the far end of the sofa, trying not to breathe in the smoke.

  ‘You don’t know Pavel,’ Ana said.

  ‘I thought you said you didn’t know him . . .’

  Ana shrugged, her English a lot better than she had previously let on. ‘You must go.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘People watch. They go past and report back.’

  In all of their discussions about surveillance, it hadn’t occurred to Jessica or anyone else that Ana could be watched so surreptitiously. They had jumped to the conclusion that if Pavel or one of his men wanted to contact Ana then they would do so directly.

  ‘The Spar?’ Jessica asked. The reason for Ana’s frequent trips to the shops had finally dawned on her.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The shop around the corner – that’s where you drop your money off.’

  Ana shrugged a blasé acknowledgement.

  Jessica dashed down the stairs and told the officer to get Mr Pants-Round-His-Ankles firmly out of sight. She closed the door and then ran back up the stairs. Ana was stubbing out her cigarette onto a saucer, having apparently smoked it in record time. She was spraying the room with lemon air freshener which, if anything, smelled far worse.

  ‘If you stop me going out, or having men around, he will take it out on me or someone else.’

  ‘Who’s “he”?’

  Ana shook her head, unwilling to give a name. Jessica assumed Pavel. She dug into her pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper with the letters ‘C&A’ written on. The meeting time was at eleven the following day – if that meant the morning, they had barely twenty-four hours to figure out what the text message to Pavel referred to. If it was the evening, they still had only thirty-six.

  ‘Do you have any idea what those letters mean?’ Jessica asked.

  Ana turned the paper around in a full circle and then turned it over before returning it to the original position. ‘C and A,’ she said slowly, as if the letters were foreign which, of course, they were.

  ‘We think it’s somewhere in Manchester,’ Jessica added. ‘Have you ever heard Pavel or anyone else talking about a place like that?’

  Ana’s eyes darted towards the door. ‘You must go.’

  ‘You know, don’t you?’

  ‘You go.’

  Jessica shook her head, gripping Ana’s wrist firmly but trying not to hurt her. ‘You have to tell us if you know.’

  Ana snatched her arm back, eyes still peering over Jessica’s shoulder towards the exit. ‘My sister . . .’

  ‘Is she over here?’

  Ana shook her head. ‘At home. There are men.’

  ‘They’re threatening your family at home?’

  A reluctant nod.

  ‘We can protect you from Pavel and anyone else while you’re here, plus arrange with police in Ukraine to look after your family.’

  ‘No passport.’

  ‘We can take you to your embassy to sort that and then arrange for you to go home. We have agencies to organise everything. We’ll put you in a flat somewhere and you’ll be safe.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Ana . . .’

  ‘No. You go.’

  It was Jessica’s turn to shake her head. ‘We’re not going to leave you alone if we think you know where Pavel is. We’ll put someone in a uniform outside your door if that’s what it takes.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘So tell me what C and A means.’

  Ana was flailing her arm around, scowling at Jessica but knowing she wasn’t going to get her own way. ‘It’s a, how you say . . . a bar.’

  ‘A pub?’

  ‘Crown and Anchor.’

  How a group of police officers had managed to miss the name of a pub, no one seemed quite sure. It was like someone being knocked over in front of a solicitors’ office and none of them realising, or a celebrity being shagged in the reception area of a newspaper and journalists walking past. Frankly, it was embarrassing. No wonder Topper thought they were all useless. Still, with a day to spare, they had a time and a place for where Pavel was supposed to be.

  The Crown and Anchor was in Cheetham Hill, north of the city centre, close to a community of Eastern European immigrants, who lived in houses that – according to Katerina – few Brits wanted to go anywhere near. After checking the call-out records, it became clear that the pub was something of a battleground. In the past fifteen months, they’d had seven separate reports of violent incidents close by and the council had even applied for a closing order that had been denied after the brewery brought in a new manager.

  The assaults seemed to be part
of an ongoing battle between immigrants who were living there and locals who didn’t seem too pleased about it. It was always the way as the demographic of an area began to change – the newcomers would fight, sometimes literally, to protect their wives and children from the daily abuse they took, while the people who’d lived there for years objected to those they saw as not knowing the language coming in, taking their jobs and claiming their benefits. Of course, the majority simply wanted a quiet life: to go to work and come home again in peace, but if a minority wanted to have a ruck then everyone was drawn into it.

  Which side was right? Perhaps both, perhaps neither – but it wasn’t a new problem and it was something that affected all of the bigger towns and cities around the country.

  After checking their facts ready for the next day, Jessica turned her attention to the man who had been arrested at Ana’s house.

  Mr Pants-Round-His-Ankles turned out to be called Leon Middlebrook. He sat in the interview room squirming, eyes darting from the camera, to Jessica, to the door, to the floor and then the duty solicitor. He looked bigger under the bright white lights than he had in daylight. He tugged his T-shirt down until it was covering all but the lowest part of his stomach. He had slightly Mediterranean looks, olive skin, black short hair and sideburns around his sticky-out ears. Quite the catch . . . if you had a thing about ears.

  ‘I’ve got to get to work,’ he said.

  ‘Where do you work?’

  He shuffled in the seat. ‘I, er . . .’

  ‘You’re not going to be leaving here any time soon, so you may as well say.’

  ‘I don’t understand what I’ve done wrong.’

  Jessica glanced across to the duty solicitor, who leant in and whispered in his client’s ear. Leon shrugged him away, raising his voice: ‘I know but . . .’ He lowered it again, speaking through unmoving lips, even though Jessica could hear him clearly. ‘. . . it’s not illegal, is it?’