by D J Harrison
The result is that the residential element continues to break even while O’Brian’s money, ostensibly from holiday lets, passes through unscathed to end up as legitimate profit. My problem is that it only works if the amounts of money being laundered are proportionate to the size of the business. As soon as these become unbalanced, HMRC will be on to us like a shot. I didn’t much like prison the first time and I expect a much longer sentence if they ever get me again.
‘It’s too much,’ I say. ‘We did five hundred last year, that was stretching it almost to breaking point. Now you’ve brought me two fifty in less than three months. I can’t do it.’
O’Brian prods the bag with his foot, sliding it barely an inch in my direction. ‘You’ll think of something.’ He flashes a smile then leaves.
Truth is I need O’Brian’s money. Jim Almond is right when he says that margins are down. Without the contribution I’m able to channel back in from the caravan business, Mick and all the lads would be out of work. Worse, Gary’s family would lose their home. I won’t let that happen because of my failings.
We do all the security for O’Brian’s companies, that’s how he gets his money back. Instead of charging him, I invoice the caravan company. This way, we both get what we want. O’Brian’s work accounts for almost half our turnover and it’s very profitable. That’s O’Brian’s contribution to the wellbeing of all at GOD Security. Now he’s getting greedy. He thinks I can absorb unlimited amounts of cash and he’s wrong.
6
Stephen Bailey meets me at the entrance to the police station. ‘I’ve been making a few enquiries, I’m afraid it doesn’t look all that good.’
‘What do you mean?’ My heart starts to race. I begin to wonder if they brought me here because of laundering O’Brian’s money.
‘Well, that family you reported have hired a prominent Human Rights lawyer. The two girls you said were being abused were taken away by Social Services and given a medical examination. No evidence of sexual or any other abuse was found. Now the family are screaming blue murder, saying their poor innocent daughters have been subjected to a degrading invasion of their privacy, that it will affect their marriage prospects, all sorts of things.’
‘How does that involve me? I only told the truth, reported what I saw.’
‘A complaint has been made about you. They say that you assaulted the father and tried to abduct his daughters. They’re accusing you of running a protection racket.’
‘Listen, those bastards occupied Mrs Mather’s flat. That’s got to be a crime.’
‘It’s not as simple as that. They have Bulgarian passports, as EU citizens they have every right to live in this country. Apparently they showed the police a lease they say was given to them by Mrs Mather. They’re accusing you of demanding additional rent, of extortion.’
My frustration at hearing all these lies is almost too much to bear. I breathe slowly, holding onto the handrail on the police station steps.
‘It’s important that you compose yourself,’ Stephen says.
He’s right. God only knows how I would react if I got all this directly from the police during a PACE interview. I have to admit my temper sometimes gets the better of me and has been known to land me deep in trouble.
It takes a full five minutes of breathing and standing before I can speak reasonably again. ‘These smartarse lawyers, who’s paying for them? They can’t really be a poor Bulgarian family, can they?’
‘Legal Aid,’ Stephen says. ‘The British taxpayer is footing the bill.’
Inside, we’re kept waiting for almost half an hour before being taken to an interview room. A young earnest policeman and an older plain-clothed policewoman begin the familiar ritual; saying the words, starting the tape, recording who is present. In reply I give them my name, address and date of birth.
Stephen leans forward. ‘Are you making any charges against my client?’ he asks.
‘No,’ the woman answers. ‘She’s here of her own free will, any charges will depend on the outcome of this interview and our further enquiries.’
‘So no charges have been formulated against my client?’
‘Not as yet.’
‘In that case, we will point out for the record that my client reported an incident of serious sexual abuse to the authorities. She acted in good faith, as an honest citizen. She made a statement at the time and stands by that statement in its entirety.’
‘Why did you go to 614 Rutherford Towers?’ the policewoman asks.
‘Mrs Mather told me her flat had been occupied by squatters. I went to look at the situation.’
‘Why did she ask you to go?’
‘She didn’t ask me to go. She only asked for help.’
‘What is your occupation, Mrs Parker?’
‘I’m an accountant. I work for GOD Security.’
‘Does your work include debt collection?’
‘Yes, sometimes. We do offer a debt recovery service to our clients.’
‘Thank you. When you went to the flat, what were your intentions?’
‘Only to look at the situation.’
‘When you saw the situation, did you feel angry?’
‘Wouldn’t you? Those poor girls and those disgusting men.’
‘So you were angry?’
‘More upset than angry.’
‘But still angry?’
‘Yes.’ I don’t like the way this is going, I look sideways at Stephen who is calmly making notes. The policewoman, DC Whitehouse, continues her questioning, glancing down at her own notes.
‘Your record shows that you get violent when you are angry. You assaulted your room-mate in prison and left her badly injured. You attacked a doctor at Hope Hospital, and even struck a barrister in court. Your anger’s got you into trouble before, hasn’t it?’
‘Are you implying I went alone to the flat and attacked someone because I was angry?’
‘We are not implying anything, only asking questions, Mrs Parker. You confirmed that you were angry, your record states that you have a history of violence.’
‘Look, I was acting in self-defence. Dawn nearly killed me.’
‘Dawn?’
‘My cellmate.’
‘And the doctor, did she attack you first?’
‘No, that was a misunderstanding, I never touched her.’
‘And the barrister, did he attack you in open court?’
‘No, again a misunderstanding.’
‘A misunderstanding that left him needing stitches and a head wound.’
‘He stumbled and fell when I pushed him, that’s all.’
Stephen remains silent. I wish he would do his job and start looking after me.
‘Do I have to put up with these insinuations?’ I ask him.
He looks up and doesn’t answer me directly but addresses DC Whitehouse instead.
‘My client is trying to do her civic duty here. She has seen offences being committed and reported them.’
‘We are investigating allegations of assault against your client.’ The young policeman speaks for the first time. ‘We need to establish the facts.’
‘I already told you the facts.’ I half rise, a result of the seething resentment building up in me. In time I see Stephen’s arm move across to restrain me. I slump back into my seat.
‘He assaulted me,’ I finish, feeling weak and desperate.
‘What were your intentions with regard to the two daughters?’
‘What two daughters?’
‘The two females in the flat.’
‘They were children being used for sex, one of them was wanking one of the men off, it was disgusting.’
‘So what were your intentions?’
‘To get them away, to take them out of there.’
‘So you grabbed them and dragged them out?’
‘I held their hands and led them away.’
‘And the father prevented you?’
‘The father? It was a man in grubby underwear, he hit me
and I let go of the girls. Then I managed to get past him and escape.’
‘Did you strike him?’
‘He was blocking my way.’
‘Did you hit him?’
‘Yes, I kicked his leg and maybe hit him once or twice with my fists. I was in fear for my life.’
Whitehouse looks at her colleague, raises her eyebrows and then says, ‘We’ll leave it at that, Mrs Parker. Unless you want to say anything else?’
I shake my head.
‘For the benefit of the tape Mrs Parker has shaken her head in reply.’ She leans over and stops the tape.
‘Clausewitz.’ Stephen speaks as we exit the police station.
‘Who?’
‘Some Prussian general, I think. He came up with the tactic that the best form of defence is attack. That’s what your brothel-keeping Bulgarians are doing, probably not for the first time either.’
‘They’ve accused me of assault and kidnap! With my record I could be in trouble.’
‘I doubt it.’ Stephen stops walking and faces me. ‘Judging by the junior team we faced in there all the police are doing is going through the motions. Don’t worry, you’ve probably heard the last of this.’
I let out a breath in relief then anger begins to grip me again. ‘What about those poor girls, who’s looking after them?’
‘Well, Social Services will be scared stiff of going near them now. Getting them off their backs is the Bulgarians’ main concern. That’s if they are Bulgarians.’
‘Someone needs to do something then.’
‘Not you. I strongly advise you to keep well away. If you turn up there again the least you could expect is serious trouble with the police. These are dangerous gangs of organised criminals, you might not get out alive. I’m serious. Leave it alone. Let the authorities deal with it.’
‘How? The police aren’t interested. Social Services are running scared and the council can’t even give Mrs Mather her flat back. How will they deal with it?’
Stephen shrugs and bids me a good day.
7
Emma is showing me the results of her hard work. ‘Look.’ She points to the printout of a large spread-sheet thickly populated with numbers which are too small to read easily. ‘I’ve been through the tender information, these are all the jobs, itemised with numbers of men and hours of cover.’
A pang of guilt hits me as I look at the effort she’s put in. The information I bought from Stewart Donaldson arrived several days ago. What with the police interview and everything else, I’ve not been through it in any detail. Now, Emma has come up with her own estimates.
Emma doesn’t know about my little arrangement. The last thing I want to do is disillusion her. As far as she’s concerned, everything I do is squeaky clean and it’s best to keep it like that, especially for her sake. If there’s a problem I want it to be my problem and not involve her in any blame.
‘So what’s the overall cost?’ I ask.
‘Altogether nearly two million pounds. That’s not including overheads and management. We have to take on more admin staff so they need to be added in. When I factor in office costs and profit margin, it all comes to two point four million.’
‘Good job, Emma. That looks great. Leave it with me.’ Right now I need to leave early to attend Toby’s birthday party. My ex-husband, Tim, has been even more difficult lately when it comes to me having time with Toby. I am amazed that he has invited me to the party. I presume his new wife is preoccupied with the new baby.
*
The party is in a pub, an odd place for a fifth birthday at first glance, but it’s one of those appalling establishments that caters for families by having a ball pool and adventure playground tacked on. Toby is glad to see me, Tim less happy. She is sitting morose and sullen in a corner, nursing the baby. She must have decided to come after all, keep an eye on Tim, make sure he’s not being in any way pleasant to me. I almost feel sorry for the man, but not quite; he’s made his bed and she is lying in it. Not that I was a good wife to him, he’s better off enduring her kind of pain than mine.
All I care about is Toby. His excitement at having all his school friends sitting around the pub table, wearing hats and blowing things that unroll and hoot, shows in his laughing face and shining eyes. I can see he’s proud to see his mother here as well. As he voraciously devours the proffered parcels, ripping them apart to spill out their contents onto the floor, I suddenly feel a pang of pain. The vision inside Mrs Mather’s flat haunts me. The toys that her children loved lying mutilated on her floor.
‘Hi Tim.’
‘Hello Jenny.’
‘You’ve put on a good do for him, he looks happy.’
‘Yes, he likes coming here. We sometimes bring him on a Sunday.’
‘Can I have him next weekend?’
Tim looks suddenly uncomfortable. Getting time with Toby is not easy after my custody application failed so disastrously. He darts a glance over to the glum-faced woman in the corner.
‘I’ll have to check what we’re doing.’
‘Whatever you’re doing surely I can have Toby? It’ll give you a bit of time together with the baby.’
‘I’ll have to check.’ This is very frustrating.
‘He’s your son, Tim. You decide what’s best for him. He needs to see his mother. She’s not his mother; you should have the balls to stand up to her.’
I regret my outburst as soon as I make it. I just can’t help myself when it comes to dealing with Tim. The idea that she controls when and if I get to see my own son is almost too much to bear.
‘She might not be his biological mother but she’s the only real mother he has. She’s there for him every day, looks after him.’ Tim is red in the face. It doesn’t help that he’s been guzzling beer, it’s a five-year-old’s party and he’s drinking as if he was out with his mates.
‘You shouldn’t drink so much,’ I add automatically. This triggers another adverse reaction and Tim huffs off and sits next to her, pint glass in hand looking like a whipped dog.
A man in a threadbare clown costume and badly drawn make-up begins to perform less than magic tricks and blows up long balloons which he fashions into impossible dogs. The children are held spellbound. Toby glows with pride as he is chosen to assist in the performance, holding on to props, waving the magic wand, having money extracted from behind his ears. The fake clown retires to the sound of genuine appreciation and rapturous applause. The children break ranks to clamber and swing and run and jump. Parents begin to arrive, extracting unwilling offspring from the tumult. Tim sidles over.
‘We’ve decided it’s best for Toby that he has a bit more of a settled life now he has a sister. We feel he needs to be at home for the sake of stability. It’ll only confuse him if he spends time away and there’s his sister to think of. How will she feel if Toby keeps going away and she doesn’t?’
Undigested bitterness rises up my throat. This is her talking. Tim is only the messenger. Nevertheless, shooting is too kind for him, he needs to be punished.
‘He’s my son,’ I splutter weakly, ashamed at the sound of my own pathetic voice.
‘We are a family, a proper family, that’s what’s best for Toby. You can keep in touch, but we’re not letting him spend weekends with you from now on.’
I’m devastated. What Tim is saying is so unfair, so cruel. How can it be better for a child not to see his own mother?
‘You can’t do this to me, Tim, to me and to Toby, it’s not right.’
‘I’m sorry, the decision is made, it’s what we know is best. Anyway, you’re the one who abandoned him in the first place.’
It’s true, I did, but not willingly. I was cruelly imprisoned, kept away from Toby when he needed me most. I stomp across and stand in front of her. She holds the baby protectively as if worried I might tear her away.
‘The court decided Toby belongs to us,’ she says. ‘If you hadn’t tried to take him away things might have been different.’
‘You c
an’t deny me access to my own son.’
‘Oh yes we can and the courts say we can. We got sole custody; all you have is visitation rights when we decide it’s convenient. No more weekends away for him, it’s confusing and upsetting. He’s happier here with us.’
Before I can reply Toby runs towards us, shouting, ‘Mum, Mum, I’ve hurt my knee.’ I turn to console him, but he’s with her, showing her the graze, receiving her comforting hug. She looks over his shoulder in triumph and my blood turns to iced water.
8
‘We can make an application to the courts.’ Stephen’s voice is tinny over the hands-free loudspeaker. ‘Other than that, there’s nothing you can do except try to be nice to them – butter them up, that sort of thing.’
‘I just called her an evil bitch, does that count?’ I laugh at myself despite the anguish I am feeling. Not a good start.
‘Look, things like this have a habit of working themselves out. Your ex probably just wants to make a point. Leave it a few weeks then try again. They might be more receptive.’
‘Meanwhile I don’t get to see Toby.’
‘Look, I understand it’s tough, but you need to play this for the long game, slow and cautious, don’t keep reacting like you do. It doesn’t help matters.’
‘How long before we can go to court?’
‘Oh, the application can be done quite quickly, a week or two. The hearing might take six months to arrange.’
‘I want you to do it, then.’
‘I have to advise you that it’s unlikely to succeed, particularly as there’s been no material change in circumstances since the previous one. Look, Jenny, before we do anything, pop in for a proper chat.’
I arrange a meeting and then hang up. He’s not much help, but at least he’s telling me what he thinks is the truth. His predecessor seduced me with promises that I would be awarded joint custody, then failed to deliver. This is bad, but that was worse.
As I drive, I think about taking Toby and a big chunk of O’Brian’s money and leaving the country.