by Tania Carver
‘But they were my trainers.’
Glen Looker put his head in his hands and shook it slowly. Eventually he looked up. Nope, he thought. His problem hadn’t gone away. He was still sitting there, larger than life and twice as stupid.
‘Yes, Leon, I know they were your trainers. You know they were your trainers. And you know how the blood got on them.’
Leon smiled. ‘’Cause I kicked Milton in the side when he was bleeding.’
Glen sighed. ‘Leon, if you mention that outside the confines of this room…’ He paused. Confines was probably too complex a word for his client. ‘… outside of this room – which I might remind you is a special room in that you can say what you like in it and it doesn’t matter at all – if you tell anyone else that then they will put you in prison, Leon. Do you understand?’
Leon frowned.
No, thought Glen. He doesn’t understand.
Glen sighed. ‘Let’s go through it from the top, shall we? You were out one night going to your favourite chicken take-away, is that right?’
Leon’s face lit up. ‘Yeah. Chicken Cottage. Love it. Do fries an’ all.’
‘Right. You were going to buy a meal for your family because you like to support your family and provide for them when you can.’
Leon frowned again. ‘’Snot right, Mr Looker. No.’
‘What d’you mean it’s not right? This is what we agreed on.’
Leon shook his head. ‘No, Mr Looker. I went there ’cause I had beef with Milton. Went lookin’ for Milton. He’d been dissin’ me. Heard that. Can’t have that. Was gonna shank him.’ He smiled. ‘Got him good, didn’ I?’
Glen sighed, closed his eyes. This wasn’t the way I thought my life would go, he thought. Why me? I thought I’d be in one of those swanky law firms with gorgeous secretaries and lines of coke for lunch. Instead, I end up representing the dregs. Why do I bother? I should just let him take the stand, spout his gibberish, get sent down. He nodded to himself. Yeah, he thought. Do that.
‘So can I go now?’ asked Leon.
‘Where would you go, Leon? Back to your cell? Are you in a hurry to go back there?’
‘Won’t be for long, though, will it, Mr Looker? You’ll do your magic. You always do. You’ll find something. You’ll get me out.’
Glen Looker sighed once more. ‘Leon, let me explain. If you don’t work with me here, if you don’t see things the way I see them, if you don’t think the way I’m telling you to think, do the things I’m telling you to do, then you won’t be getting out. Do you understand?’
Leon looked hurt, as if he was about to cry.
‘Let’s try it again, Leon. You went to Chicken Cottage to get a meal for your family. On the way back someone ran into you. It was Milton. He was bleeding. You ran away from him. You didn’t want to get involved with whatever had happened. People knew you and Milton didn’t get on. You didn’t want to be blamed for what had happened to him. You just wanted to get home and give your family the meal you had bought for them.’
‘Don’t get my mum nothin’. She’s a skank.’
Glen sighed. Continued. ‘And you slipped in the blood. And that’s why your trainers ended up with Milton’s blood on them. Right?’
Leon shook his head. ‘Lot to remember.’
‘Yes it is, Leon. Yes it is.’
He scrutinised the oversized child in front of him, sitting there in his prison-issue jogging suit. According to the local media, Leon was one of the city’s most feared and dangerous gang members. Maybe I could plead diminished responsibility, Glen thought. As in he’s too fucking thick to understand what he was doing. Trouble was, he wasn’t too thick. Leon had been tested and found to be fully cognitive. Glen couldn’t use that defence this time. He had tried.
‘I don’t know if I can do it, Mr Looker.’
‘Practise, Leon. Practise. You can do it. Come on. Give it a go.’
Leon stared at him.
‘Come on, Leon.’
‘What, you mean now?’
Glen sat back, arms folded, stared at the ceiling. ‘I wonder if it’s not too late to be a fireman…’
‘What, Mr Looker? You leaving?’
He sat forward once more. ‘No, Leon, I’m not. Come on. You’ve heard me say it, you try now.’
Leon screwed his eyes up in concentration. ‘I went to Chicken Cottage to get a meal for my family.’ He looked at Glen, beaming. ‘I’m doing well, aren’t I, Mr Looker?’
‘Brilliant, Leon. Worthy of an Oscar. Now keep going.’
Leon screwed his eyes tight once more, reaching back in his mind for the words, trying to assemble them in the correct order. ‘I like to provide for my family. Even my mother. ’Cause she doesn’t. Skank.’
‘You’re going off the script now, Leon.’
‘Sorry. Sorry.’ He refocused. ‘I like to provide for my family. Give them somethin’ healthy an’ nutritious.’ He beamed once more. ‘You like that, Mr Looker?’
‘Brilliant, Leon. You’re a marvel. Keep going.’
Pleased with himself, Leon kept talking. ‘And then I saw Milton who I had a beef with.’
‘No, Leon, don’t say that.’
‘Why not? I did. Everyone on my end knows I did.’
‘Yes, but you have to persuade the jury that even though you and Milton didn’t get on —’
‘We had serious beef.’
‘Indeed. But you have to forget that and persuade the jury that you had nothing to do with his death. Right? That it was all an accident. Right? You have to stick to the story that I just told you. That’s the one you have to tell. The only one you can tell. Do you understand?’
Leon closed his eyes and frowned for such a long time that Glen thought he had drifted off to sleep.
‘Yes, Mr Looker,’ he said eventually, snapping open his eyes. ‘It’s like we’re tellin’ a story, innit? An’ we have to make the story sound true so they believe us. Yeah?’
Glen smiled. ‘That’s exactly it, Leon.’ He swallowed a yawn. ‘Shall we give it one more try?’
Once outside Birmingham Prison, on the way to the car, and with Leon’s woeful attempt at his testimony still ringing in his ears, Glen Looker checked his messages. What he heard on voicemail made him stop walking. He replayed it.
‘Aw shit,’ he said out loud, and headed for his car.
As if his day hadn’t been bad enough already.
15
‘I
’m very happy here.’ Fiona Welch sat back. Like she was reclining in her favourite seat at her favourite bar.
‘Good,’ said Marina. ‘That’s good. And is that why you’re here? Because it makes you feel happy?’
A smile played across Fiona Welch’s face. The kind that concealed secrets. Not altogether pleasant ones. ‘Let’s just say it suits my purposes at present.’
Marina waited for something more. Nothing came. ‘That’s it? That’s why you wanted to come here?’
‘I’m here of my own free will,’ Fiona Welch said.
‘While you’re being investigated,’ said Mickey. ‘While your testimony is being checked out and we wait to charge you properly.’
Fiona Welch looked at Marina, her eyes mocking. ‘How do you put up with him? Hmm? I mean not just him personally, but the whole police mindset? Especially the male police mindset. Intractable. Prosaic. Boring. Dull and predictable. Don’t you think?’
Again, Marina didn’t rise to it, although she was aware of Mickey’s position stiffening. She hoped he would manage to rein in what he wanted to say too. Not give her the ammunition.
‘This is the perfect place for me to continue my work,’ said Fiona Welch.
‘The perfect place?’ said Marina. ‘But you’re a patient here.’
‘Willingly,’ she said. ‘But it gives me ample opportunity to work. This place is alive with potential case studies. I have full, unfettered access to some of the most damaged, deviant psychopathologies in the country. And they’re all female. The work that
has been done in this area is sparse and, if I may say so, rather ill-informed. Ignorant. And I do know what I’m talking about. I’ve read it all. No. This is my opportunity, my chance, to contribute something truly groundbreaking to the body of work that exists about deviant female pathology. In fact, by the time I’m ready to leave, my work, I feel sure of this, will be hailed as the standard reference on the subject.’
‘Right,’ said Marina. ‘I see.’
Fiona Welch’s face darkened. Her eyes locked on Marina. ‘Don’t mock me.’ Her voice was low, dangerous. ‘Please don’t make the mistake of doing that.’
Marina felt herself reddening. The sudden change in tone from the woman was unnerving. ‘I wasn’t mocking you. I just think it’s a… lot to take in. That’s all. Lot of work.’
‘Which I am more than equal to, I assure you.’ She stopped talking, stared at Marina. Head to one side, scrutinising her. ‘You know,’ she said eventually, ‘I thought you’d be younger.’
Marina tried not to let her startled expression show. ‘What d’you… what d’you mean?’
‘Just that. Younger. I mean, knowing Phil as I do I thought the woman he married wouldn’t be as… old as you. I thought he’d gone for someone younger, that’s all.’
Marina regained her composure. ‘Did you? Right. Well, what can I say? He didn’t. He went for me.’
Fiona Welch nodded. ‘He did. Yes. But…’ She shook her head. ‘I’m sure sometimes when he looks at you, when he notices that your hair is no longer the natural colour it once was, even though it’s a good match I’ll admit, and your make-up has become slightly heavier, and you take longer in the gym, put in more effort for less results, I’m sure he must look at you and… well, not want someone else. That’s not his style, is it? He’s big on loyalty, Phil. No. But there must be flashes, don’t you think? Just for a few seconds. Nothing more. Ripples of unease. When he thinks… she’s old. She’s getting older. And he’ll still feel young inside himself, like he’s staying still and you’re not… and —’
‘Is this leading anywhere?’ said Marina, slightly louder and less controlled than she had intended.
Fiona Welch smiled. ‘Just something to think about. That’s all.’
Anni stood up. ‘Was there anything else? If not, we should be on our way.’
Fiona Welch made a mock gesture of surrender. ‘Don’t let me hold you up.’
The other two made ready to leave. Fiona Welch got up, crossed to Marina. Took her hand. ‘I’m glad I finally got the chance to meet you. Face to face.’
Marina said nothing.
‘Please give my love to Phil, won’t you?’
Marin took her hand away.
The three of them made for the door. Fiona Welch laughed. ‘Yes, Marina, I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other soon.’
Marina turned, puzzled and, if she was honest, slightly unnerved. ‘What d’you mean by that? How do you think we’ll be seeing more of each other?’
‘I think we will. Wait and see what happens. Then you will think the same too.’ She made as if to turn away then turned back, struck by a sudden thought. ‘How’s your daughter? She must be… what, four now?’
Marina could feel herself shaking. ‘That’s none of your business.’
‘Send her my love too. If you like.’
‘Come on,’ said Mickey. ‘Let’s go.’
The three of them reached the door.
‘Oh, Marina,’ said Fiona Welch, ‘one last thing.’
Marina, despite herself, turned.
‘Just tell Phil…’ She paused, moved her mouth silently as if auditioning the right word. The perfect word. ‘Tell Phil… Justice. It’s all about justice.’
Marina frowned. ‘What’s all about justice?’
She turned away, looked out of the window. ‘He’ll know.’
They didn’t speak until they were walking away from the hospital, out in the crisp autumn sunshine.
‘Well, she wasn’t creepy, was she?’ said Mickey.
‘I feel like I want a bath now,’ said Anni. ‘Jesus.’
Marina said nothing.
‘What was all that about?’ asked Anni. ‘All that stuff aimed at you?’
‘Oh, just crazy talk, I should think. The usual stuff that her kind of nutter spouts.’ Marina was trying to brush it off, but there had been something in Fiona Welch’s words that had unnerved her. Hit her. She knew that was the idea and she was cross with herself for letting her do that, but nevertheless, the feeling was there.
‘I’m going home,’ said Marina.
‘Oh,’ said Anni, unable to keep the disappointment out of her voice. ‘We were hoping you’d come back to ours. Make a night of it.’
Marina looked around. Felt a chill in the air. Felt unseen eyes watching her.
‘I’d better go home,’ she said.
16
B
ank restaurant in Brindleyplace, Birmingham. All glass and steel and fine dining, it looked out over the canal and a host of other chain restaurants and businesses. It had had a busy lunch-time. In fact, it was now well after lunch-time but some of the diners didn’t seem to know when to stop, when to leave.
And, being one the worst offenders, that was just the way John Wright liked it. After all, what was the point of being in charge if you couldn’t award yourself a few perks now and then?
Their meal was all but finished, the dessert plates cleared away. Coffees and liqueurs were now the order of the day. A supposed strategy meeting-cum-self-congratulatory lunch. He did it every time they were awarded bonuses. The staff looked forward to it and he always obliged. Liked to feel that he was still one of the workers. One of them. Up to a point, of course. Now their after-dinner drinks were being accompanied by them all trading war stories, the louder and cruder the better. Each one trying to outdo the previous one. Even lunch was competitive.
He looked around at the others in his party. He’d been in banking so long he could spot the types straight away. There were the young, eager sharks, the tyro princes who thought they were on the way to the top and didn’t care who they sold out or what they sold to do it. Laughing raucously at all his jokes, angling with each other to be the one to sit nearest to him. He couldn’t complain. He had been like them once.
Then there were the time servers, the loyal beta males and yes men, the court eunuchs. Just there to do their boss’s bidding. Punch in, punch out. Usually older, they did their time, kept their heads down. He used to despise that sort until he moved higher up the ladder. Then he realised just how useful they were. Diary keepers. Gate keepers. Shit deflectors. Human shields. Worth their weight in – well, not gold exactly, they were too interchangeable, but something semi precious, perhaps.
And then there were the women. Always the women. A lot of his peers thought that banking was no place for a woman. The cut and thrust of such an intense, testosterone-driven environment, the sheer adrenalin rush, they thought it was all too much for them. Plus they were all too bloody fecund. That was the unspoken truth, of course, the one no one dare utter aloud for fear of a court case. But it was the truth, nonetheless. You couldn’t trust them. Let them get into the organisation, start climbing the ladder, invest time and expend energy on them and then they ran off to start popping out babies. And you had to start again. But still, he didn’t mind them. Especially when they were as attractive as Denise sitting opposite him. A shapely brunette, her figure-hugging skirt showed off not only her curves but also the outline of her suspenders and stockings. Just for him. He knew that.
He smiled at her over the general raucousness of the rest of them. She returned it. Put her glass provocatively to her lips, swallowed. He watched the liquid make its way down her throat. He knew she was doing it for him and felt himself getting hard at the sight.
God bless those little blue pills, he thought.
She replaced her glass on the table. The cue, he knew, for them to leave. He had been pacing himself all lunch-time. Not overeat
ing, keeping a fairly clear head. All for Denise. He didn’t want the experience to be wasted.
He was sure the rest of them knew what was going on. He didn’t care. He knew that most of the Young Turks would be jealous, seeing her as one of the perks of the job, a bonus they hadn’t yet earned but would always aspire to. The others, the beta males, would just turn a blind eye. It was what they were best at. Banking needed a steady supply of those sorts.
John Wright stood up. ‘Gentlemen…’ His voice cut through the latest anecdote, stopping the speaker in his tracks. Silence fell. ‘As always, it’s been a pleasure. Don will take care of the bill. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon.’
They all toasted him and, feeling like a king, he walked away from the table. Denise at his side.
They walked along by the canal.
‘Same place as usual?’ he said, knowing the answer.
‘Of course.’
The Malmaison hotel was just opposite Harvey Nichols at the front of The Mailbox, an upmarket shopping centre that, John Wright thought, had never quite lived up to its potential. Denise threw covetous looks at the items in the Harvey Nicks window displays.
‘Looks like you’d rather be shopping in there than spending the afternoon with me,’ he said, smiling.
She grinned and grabbed his arm. ‘Not at all.’
Liar, he thought, cheerfully.
‘They have some beautiful things in there,’ he said.
‘Then perhaps I could spend my bonus there later.’
‘Or perhaps you’d like me to treat you to something, hmm?’
She didn’t reply immediately. He knew she wanted to say yes but she knew that perks like that had to be earned.
‘You’ve already treated me to something,’ she said eventually, almost whispering into his ear. ‘I’m wearing it under my clothes.’
‘Good girl,’ he said.
He smiled. He loved it when they knew how to play the game.
She stood to one side while he went up to the reception desk and sorted out the room, then accompanied him up to the top floor in the lift. A suite all to themselves. The same suite they always had.