All that Glitters

by Les Cowan

  “Very sensible.” Mrs MacInnes approved of young women going into business for themselves. Made them independent. If it had only been more possible in her young day.

  “Though they’ll need some money for that,” she said. “I just hope they get some help to get back on their feet – specially if it helps prevent others falling into the same trap.”

  David was just about to step up onto the platform to get his computer plugged in and his notes organized when he sensed someone else at his elbow wanting a word. It was Sonia Benedetti.

  “Good morning,” she said hesitantly. “Do you remember me?”

  “I do indeed. Your welcome was the best thing about PGC. I remember you perfectly, Sonia.”

  She looked down and cleared her throat as if about to start a prepared speech.

  “We didn’t know,” she began. “We had no idea what was going on. We thought it was a church. A bit unusual, but just a church. There were good things too. We liked Max before we found out. I know Sandy was very stupid. He broke the law. But we had no idea where the money had come from. If we had known…”

  She tailed away, realizing she was beginning to repeat herself.

  “I know that,” David said calmly. “Sandy is in trouble for what he did but I don’t think anyone thinks he knew what sort of enterprise he was shielding. And of course we know you had no idea about the money at all. Nobody thinks the worse of you, Sonia. Honestly.”

  She pursed her lips – the nearest she could get to a smile.

  “So you don’t mind that we might come to church here… with you?” she asked, clearly not quite believing it possible.

  “Not at all. From what Sandy told me you had a genuine spiritual experience in PGC. It’s obvious that there was something good about it and we know where all good things come from. You’d be welcome.”

  Sonia beamed.

  “Thank you,” she said. “For myself, Sandy, and the children. I’ll call him. He didn’t want to come up in case there was a problem. He’ll be relieved.”

  So Sandy and Sonia were sitting in the middle of the congregation when David began to speak later on. He didn’t choose to speak on the wheat and the tares, to Gillian’s relief, as she sat listening. Instead he chose Psalm 40, verse 2: “He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.”

  Juan and Alicia found themselves next to David at the coffee hatch after the service.

  “You still keeping ok, guapa?” he asked Alicia as they waited in line.

  “Seguro que sí” she replied. “Of course – and you? ¿Qué tal?”

  “Adecuado,” he replied. “Adecuado.”

  “Ok.”

  “I hear you got a result,” Juan prompted him.

  “I think so,” David confirmed. “It’s been an exhausting few weeks but it’s worked out. At least for the girls. Now they have to do the mopping up. All the police who’ve turned a blind eye…”

  “Blind eye?” Juan asked with a frown.

  “La vista gorda,” David explained.

  “Oh.”

  “So the police who let it all happen – and those that were actively involved. Plus, any number of charges to do with Sexual Offences Acts. It turns out one of the girls wasn’t even sixteen.”

  Juan gave an intake of breath.

  “Oh,” he said. “That’s bad.”

  “And it wasn’t just police. Apparently there are lawyers, judges, politicians, you name it.”

  Jen MacInnes, on coffee rota that day, filled cups for each of them and handed them out. David backed off before saying any more given her recent history.

  “So a bit of a mess. Shocking what lies just below the surface, isn’t it?”

  “Jeremiah 17, verse 9,” Juan said, looking glum.

  “You’ve got me there,” David confessed.

  “Engañoso es el corazón, más que todas las cosas, y perverso; ¿quién lo conocerá?”

  “Of course. ‘The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked; who can know it?’ Who indeed.”

  Diana Krall was still singing “’S Wonderful” that afternoon and it still was – maybe even more than just a few weeks previously. Gillian now had an engagement ring on as she pottered about in the kitchen, chopping apples for sauce while David had a quick look in the oven to see how the roast pork joint was getting on. Crispy crackling – that was the thing. With a bit of luck he was free from being shot at for a bit and he had once again been amazed by the resilience of the human spirit. As well as Tati, Elvira, and all the other girls – survivors every one – David was also beginning to be very impressed by James Dalrymple, a dogged specimen. He went through to the living room with the wine. His dining room table could barely accommodate six, and while they were waiting James, Sarah, Tati, and Elvira sat on the sofa or in armchairs, each with a glass in need of topping up. James had already been sharing some of his plans with him. The legislation was all in place in terms of the offences. What was needed now was a robust system of ensuring that girls taken advantage of in this way were not subject to what felt like double jeopardy – trafficked into the country, subjected to appalling abuse, then chucked out for lack of the right paperwork. Sadly, immigration was not a devolved matter so he wouldn’t be able to use his contacts in the Scottish Parliament, but he knew a few regular MPs as well and was going to try to get a private member’s bill worked up that would guarantee specially favourable conditions for cases of trafficked individuals applying for UK residence. It seemed to be only a matter of natural justice, though he was aware that somebody would immediately start splitting hairs over bogus claimants and abuse of the system. Well, that was the game and he had to play it; at least he already had a few legal, medical, and public figures lined up to start a campaign. He had considered Joanna Lumley as a possible figurehead but Sarah had put her foot down. “You are not having tea with Joanna Lumley and pretending it’s for a good cause,” she had declared. Anyway, James was turning into quite a formidable bloke and David was pleased to have made his acquaintance. They would work together on it and pull in Gordon, James’s minister, as well. Maybe they might bring something good for more than just the PGC girls out of it all.

  Tati and Elvira were chatting quietly – though Elvira didn’t do much quietly – in Belarusian but immediately switched to English when David came in.

  “I’m sorry; I’ve not got any vodka,” he said, circulating with the Rioja.

  “Ugh! Vodka! Horrible!” Elvira said with a shudder. “It takes ordinary men – not wonderful but you know, ok – and turns them into pigs. I hate. This much nicer.”

  “You are from Spain?” Tati asked shyly.

  “I was born here,” David explained, “in Edinburgh. But I’ve lived most of my adult life in Spain. My father was Spanish and my mother was Scottish.”

  “I want to travel to Spain,” Tati announced as if she had just made up her mind. “The country of David H: Pastor.”

  David had to refrain from groaning. Tati would have to get over that. He was just plain David Hidalgo, feet of clay just like anyone else. Gillian, however, seemed not to be perturbed as she came in with the starters – avocados with prawns in seafood sauce.

  “Of course; it’s a wonderful country. Come with us sometime. You’ll love it.”

  “I want to travel everywhere,” Elvira declared. “Everywhere – USA, Japan, Australia, Sri Lanka. Only place I don’t want go is Belarus. And Russia. And Bulgaria. And Romania. But everywhere else. I go.”

  “That looks fantastic,” Sarah Dalrymple said as they took their places.

  “Very simple,” Gillian whispered, “but we like it.”

  “James, would you care to give thanks?” David asked.

  “Be delighted,” Dalrymple replied and took almost five minutes to list all the things they as a group around the table had now to give thanks for.

  “Just as well it’s cold already,” Sarah said under her breath but with a smir
k when he’d finished.

  Finally, after a relaxing afternoon of beautiful food – the crackling was superlative – and just as good conversation, James, Sarah, Tati, and Elvira left. Tati stretched up and gave David a peck on the cheek on the way out the door.

  “We’ll have to keep an eye on that,” David remarked rather heavily as he closed the door.

  “Don’t worry, honey,” Gillian said, putting her arms around his neck. “It’s just a bit of hero worship. She’ll get over it once she finds out what you’re really like.”

  “Oh, thanks. That makes me feel a whole lot better.”

  He sauntered back into the living room and took another sip before sitting down, opening his laptop, and starting up his email client. It had been a busy day and he wondered if McIntosh might have been trying to get him. But it was an email from Spade he noticed.

  To: David Hidalgo

  From: SPADE

  Subject: La Bamba

  Hey Pastor – how’s it going? My source – the virus maker of Minsk – tells me that the PGC are officially history. Better off the planet. I have an enormous pit in Minecraft I could drop them in. Who do I send my bill to for services rendered that put you on the right track? I was watching the whole thing out the window last night. Sooooo cooooooool. I was expecting to see you in full body armour toting a bazooka. Well, maybe next time.

  Anyway, just a little loose end to tie up. You may remember a certain matter of some missing cash. PGC’s ill-gotten-gains. Well, a certain birdie – the hacker of Minsk again – seems to have amazing influence over money and conjures it from nowhere. And he has shared his secret with me. So I too am now richer than Croesus. And guess what. I have decided to share my good fortune with those in need. I believe there are 29 ladies in need. Click this link to see what lies in store for each of them. I can do this because “no soy marinero, soy capitán”.

  Cheers amigo

  SPADE

  Just keep digging, just keep digging

  http://www.nestegg.com/default.aspx?refererident=ET758D993KA35364MN20NDH4758837

  David had a phobia about clicking on links he didn’t trust but he accepted that Spade had proved his bona fides many times over. He clicked. It looked like a bank statement. The account held a credit balance of £689,655.17. He did the maths – £689,655.17 is almost exactly £20 million divided by 29.

  Chapter 27

  EDINBURGH EVENING

  The following day and the week after that were the first David had felt to be anything like “normal” for a long time. It was a process, and he had good days and not so good. But whenever he was feeling a bit low and vulnerable he just had to think about Tati and Elvira. It seemed nothing short of miraculous. James and Sarah Dalrymple seemed to have more or less adopted Elvira, and since Tati was to all intents and purposes as good as her sister, she became a part of the family too. His son Paul found it all a bit bemusing but Sarah loved it. These were the daughters she had always wanted but never had. Of course they were not unscathed and Tati in particular had nightmares, but at least during the hours of daylight they seemed happy, well-adjusted girls. The police had provided a counselling service for all the girls, though it did tax the resources of the victims of crime support team. At least for Tati and Elvira, though, it was the love and domesticity of a normal family that had the most healing power. Sarah had rearranged the spare room to make it into a proper double and bought extra wardrobes, mirrors, bedside tables, and so on and fully involved the girls in the processes. Elvira could hardly contain herself when they went to Ikea and she was told to pick what she wanted.

  David hadn’t quite known what to make of Spade’s final communication and thought even if it were to be taken at face value there were going to be difficulties in getting such bank accounts set up. He wasn’t at all comfortable going behind McIntosh’s back, but Gillian said to him, “For goodness’ sake, just for once bend the rules a bit.” So he thought he’d try it out with the two girls as a test case and spoke to Sandy Benedetti. Although he was still suspended by Salamanca Bank, Sandy had contacts and was able to make it happen. And lo and behold the cash did mysteriously appear. The Dalrymples understood and wholeheartedly approved, but after the initial conversation it was never mentioned again. However, when McIntosh suggested lunch one day David wondered if he had been rumbled and was for the high jump. He opted not for curry after the last time and they simply met in Henderson’s on Hanover Street, loaded up their trays with veggie lasagna, moussaka, or something equally tempting and healthy, side dishes of salads, and some fruit juice, and found a vacant alcove deep at the back of the restaurant.

  “All the paperwork done then?” David asked as they unloaded everything.

  “Not entirely, but we’re getting there. The evidence isn’t hard to put together but the bulk of the burden falls on the Fiscal’s office now. As I’m sure you know they prosecute in Scotland, not the police. For your ears only we’ve got seven currently serving police officers and a few retirees, a dose of other public and professional figures, plus the gang members themselves and various hangers on. It’s a pretty big deal – unfortunately beyond the scope of my PhD or I could have had a field day.”

  “But…”

  “Yes, the big but. We’re still missing the major player.”

  “No leads?”

  “A few, but nothing productive as yet. We’ve been on to European colleagues, however, and I think we’re well on the way to rolling up the whole train of connections back to Minsk. Tati and Elvira and many of the others have been incredibly helpful in trying to nail it all down. They only ever heard first names, of course, but it’s all served to confirm some previous suspicions and we are gradually sweeping them up.”

  “That must be very satisfying.”

  “It is. But I’m frustrated that a man obviously as clever and devious as Maxim Blatov is still on the loose.”

  “I’m sure. Well, at least we might hope that his particular guise of pastor and prophet won’t be tried again. He’s done it at least twice now and I would hope we’re wise to it. At least in Britain.”

  “You’d like to think so, but unfortunately people can be naive and far too trusting. And sometime weak and vulnerable people are looking for someone strong to trust.”

  “I’m aware of that. Actually, I see a major part of what I do as encouraging people to think for themselves and work it all out in their own lives, not just depend on someone else’s spiritual insights. We honestly do try to help people make progress for themselves, not depend on the pastor.”

  “Speaking of which – progress I mean – are you still in touch with Sam Hunter?”

  “Not daily but yes, from time to time.”

  “Well, I hope you don’t mind, but that was one of the things I wanted to see you about. Douglas Forsyth – you remember, the big boss – wants to meet her and personally apologize for how she was treated. Particularly as it turns out the detectives on the case were all tied up with those responsible and had a vested interest in not taking the murder idea seriously. How do you think that would go down?”

  “Ok, I think. I can’t speak for Sam but I can ask.”

  “He wants something low key, of course. He’ll come out to her house – morning coffee or something, I suppose. But he’d like to make it personal. There might be a matter of criminal injuries compensation as well.”

  When David broached the idea Sam seemed caught off guard. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m just getting over things.” But on reflection she let it happen and it turned out to be ok. Forsyth was very personable. McIntosh and David showed up just to get over the introductions, then left the two of them alone.

  “How did it go, if I can ask?” David ventured hesitantly when it was just the two of them left.

  “Surprisingly well, I think,” Sam said slowly. “He seemed genuine in what he said. He accepts that it wasn’t dealt with correctly and of course there’s no debate about the fate of the officers involved. He seems like a decent guy
who really regrets what happened and is mortified over corruption like that in his own force. I’ll not be joining his online Scrabble group, but it was ok.”

  David was relieved. One more loose end tied up, not just in a perfunctory way but leaving Sam feeling just a little less bad and that was worth something. As he was getting up to go he couldn’t help but look around the living room and imagine the little group that had met there not that long ago. It had been a worthwhile venture to share good practice; however, he didn’t have the heart for it any more. The group hadn’t met since and he guessed it would now just quietly fade away.

  It was as he was walking from Sam’s to the bus stop that he got the first text message. His phone beeped just as he saw a number 16 coming round the bend and wondered if he could make it in time. He ignored the beep and dropped a gear for the last fifty yards. Phew. On board, settling down, taking in his fellow travellers, he remembered the text and fished out his phone. It was only a reference. Odd. He didn’t remember subscribing to a Bible reading text alert programme. Mark 13:36–37. He had recently installed Bible Gateway so he looked it up: “Therefore keep watch because you do not know when the owner of the house will come back – whether in the evening, or at midnight, or when the cock crows, or at dawn. If he comes suddenly, do not let him find you sleeping. What I say to you, I say to everyone: ‘Watch!’” It didn’t take long for the penny to drop. Maxim Blatov: he was still at large, not in Belarus but here. Coming.

  David immediately called McIntosh and they met at St Leonard’s police station.

  “They say it’s not over till the fat lady sings,” David remarked grimly, placing his phone on the table between them. “Not fat, not a lady, and not singing, but you get my drift.”

  McIntosh didn’t even manage a smile.

  “Thanks for letting me know right away,” he said. “We have a team still on it and I’ll pass them this information. In the meantime, what can I say? I don’t suppose you want to go into purdah in a safe house all over again for goodness knows how long?”