Bitter Sweet

by Mason N. Forbes

  ‘The same goes for the ABH charge?’

  ‘Yes it does.’

  ‘I want to know who that scumbag is from the train station.’

  ‘I like it,’ Oscar said, and laughed. ‘You collect all the dirt and I’ll discredit him in front of the jury.’

  28

  On Friday, Mike had informed me that in total six men had been arrested at the warehouse, detained and subsequently charged by the police. The charges had included trafficking.

  I had spent the weekend holed up in my bedsit. Whilst studying, I ran everything over in my mind, thinking and making notes. I had also followed the news in detail. A police press release had stated that following an anonymous tip-off, a warehouse in the north of the city had been raided. Details of what exactly had been discovered at the warehouse had not been divulged. Six men had been arrested and detained at the scene and were assisting investigations pertaining to human trafficking.

  Not surprisingly three massage parlours had been raided, one in the city and two in London. Following the discovery and rescue of two trafficked girls, arrests for trafficking and running a brothel were pending. Pending – ha, ha, they already knew who the culprits were.

  The official story and the press coverage made me uneasy. The connection between the warehouse and the massage parlours was, to me, obvious. The press sensed the connection, but were holding back. They continued to keep both stories alive with snippets of information about human trafficking and the massage parlours as if they were anticipating a development.

  On Monday morning I met up with Ivonne and told her the shocking possibilities as outlined by Oscar. Ivonne was appalled that our actions to save the girls could be so outrageously twisted against me. She immediately offered her help and support, and volunteered to act as a witness.

  That posed a major dilemma. There was no evidence placing Ivonne at the warehouse, nor connecting her to the bomb threat, or to transporting the girls. If she came forward as a witness, in all probability, Driscoll would turn the tables on her and arrest her as an accomplice.

  With Erjon free to conduct business as usual, he would find a way to threaten the girls – having one of his thugs parked outside the refuge would be enough. I saw the girls’ refusal to testify as a certainty. If Ivonne stepped forward to corroborate my version of events, it would be two escorts against one of the pillars of the law; the police, and their supporting evidence.

  I explained to her the dilemma of being a witness and then asked; ‘What are your plans work wise?’

  ‘I’m not advertising – took the weekend off.’

  ‘You haven’t been in your apartment?’

  ‘No way,’ she said, looking at me as if I had a screw loose.

  ‘Just checking. I’ve cancelled my lease and Mike’s taking me over this afternoon to clear the place out.’

  ‘What about the police?’

  ‘No one has told me I can’t, and I’m not going to pay anymore than I have to.’

  Ivonne stared at her coffee cup and then looked at me. ‘I’d best do the same,’ she said, ‘cancel the lease.’

  ‘Do you want me to collect your things?’

  ‘That would be great.’ She lifted her handbag and brought out a bunch of keys. ‘If I don’t go near the place, no one can find me,’ she said, pulling a key off the ring.

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Officially I live with a cousin in the north of the city. Another cousin rented the place where I live, in his name. I’ve told both cousins, in case someone asks, that I’ve gone home.’

  ‘But what if you start working again?’

  ‘After what you’ve told me, I don’t think that is a good idea. Okay, Erjon will get our apartments, what he’s been after anyway. Still,’ she sucked her lower lip, ‘that git might want his revenge.’

  ‘It’s possible,’ I said, ‘but at the moment it won’t be at the top of his list of priorities. And if he can’t find you, he can’t find you.’

  ‘But Erjon can find you.’

  ‘Yeah, but that would be stupid—’

  ‘Not if you went missing, for good.’

  ‘No,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘A police suspect, charged with ABH – too much trouble would come of it.’

  ‘See what you mean.’ Suddenly, Ivonne reached across and gripped my hand. ‘You’re forgetting one thing; if you went missing now the thug wouldn’t have to testify. And what happened at the warehouse could be blamed on you.’

  I cringed. Suspect flees the country. International arrest warrant issued, flashed through my mind. I stared at Ivonne, trying to quell my anxiety. I shook my head. Maybe I should take up Mike’s offer of renting a place for me in his name.

  ‘No, Ivonne, that doesn’t add up. Or does it? If I’m arrested for the bomb threat and trafficking, then if I disappeared, the media would go looking for me. The police would be forced to launch a full-scale search.’

  ‘The logic cuts both ways,’ Ivonne said. ‘The police still have false evidence and can pin the whole thing on you without risking a trial.’

  I stared at Ivonne.

  ‘If Erjon gets you,’ Ivonne said, struggling to keep her gaze steady, ‘you’ll be out of the country in the back of a van before anyone knows you’re missing.’

  ‘Mike said he’d rent an apartment for me in his name.’

  ‘Phone him, get him to do it.’

  I did immediately. Mike tried to calm me down, hinting that I was thinking too much about what might happen. However, that didn’t stop him from agreeing to my request.

  Ending the call, I looked at Ivonne who smiled at me.

  ‘I think I will need your help,’ I said.

  ‘Anything, I already told you I’ll help.’

  ‘Oscar said I’ve got a lot of legwork to do, and to start thinking like a detective and a lawyer. And high on the list is tracking down Martha.’

  ‘You got her number?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve phoned, spoken on her voicemail, sent texts – nothing.’

  ‘Damn it,’ Ivonne said. ‘Her work phone, she might’ve thrown the SIM card away.’

  ‘Oh bollocks, if she’s done that it might be days before we can track her down.’

  Ivonne raised her hand, index finger pointed upwards. ‘Excuse me, Miss,’ she said, feigning a school-girl voice. ‘We’re looking for a Martha, with no surname, who’s not even called Martha.’

  ‘Ha, ha,’ I said, and curled my lip. ‘Very funny.’

  Ivonne stuck her tongue out.

  ‘But it sums it up,’ I said. ‘It’s been busting my head all weekend. The net has nothing. I can’t even find out if her apartment was let by the same agents who let mine.’

  ‘Who is your agent?’

  ‘Brooker and Ross.’

  ‘Same,’ Ivonne said.

  ‘So, what do you think?’

  ‘There’s a good chance they also handled Martha’s’

  ‘I hope so. Oscar told me that most businesses won’t give out information over the phone, or to Joe Public. He told me to contact Eileen, one of the secretaries in his chambers.’

  ‘Chambers?’

  ‘Barristers don’t have offices; they have chambers – a grand name for a building in which dose of lawyers hang out.’

  ‘What did Eileen say?’

  ‘Didn’t get to talk to her. She’s in court with another barrister and not expected back until midday.’ Reminded of the frustration, I nibbled at the skin around my thumb. ‘Even if it’s the same letting agent, and even with a letter going out first class today, it’ll take three or four days for an answer.’

  ‘Great,’ Ivonne said, ‘what about phoning the agent?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about it.’

  ‘Brooker and Ross might at least tell us if they are the agents.’

  ‘And if they’re not,’ I said, ‘then I don’t know. Maybe Eileen might have an idea how to trace a person with no name.’

  ‘Why are you so set on finding Martha?’
>
  ‘Because if anyone knows anything about Driscoll, she will.’

  ‘I’ll ask around, maybe . . .’

  ‘Try it,’ I said, ‘anything is better than nothing. I also want to trace the owners of the two black BMWs.’

  ‘That might get you nowhere.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Could be like the apartment where I live. The registered keeper of a car may not be the owner.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The keeper and the insured might be a relative who knows zip.’

  ‘Oh bollocks, soon I’ll have nothing to go on.’

  ‘Hey,’ Ivonne said with a big smile, ‘tell you what, I’ll phone Brooker and Ross, see if they’ve dealt with Martha’s place.’

  Ivonne placed the call. They didn’t deal with the apartment. It was like chasing a ghost.

  I pulled my laptop out of my bag, updated the prepared email I had done to Eileen and sent it to her.

  29

  Ivonne dropped me off at Mike’s offices and Mike and I went round to the Merchant Building in his car. He removed the surveillance equipment whilst I emptied both apartments and gave the floors a quick swipe with a mop. Two black bin bags went into the bins and six – containing enough goods to open a delivery service to the sex trade – went into the back of Mike’s car.

  Mike turned into Northwood Road.

  ‘Oh shit,’ I said, seeing a police car double parked outside my place.

  Mike groaned and slowed the car to a stop. ‘You know what that means,’ he said.

  ‘I do, but I don’t want to.’ Adrenalin, or something like that fizzed through my body, it was as if every muscle and organ had gone on high alert. My brain went very still – it knew. Slowly, my mind unfroze and began to catch up, struggling to confirm the sequence of actions which my brain had already established.

  ‘Mike,’ I said, taking both the tracking phone and my new smartphone out of my bag, ‘hold on to these.’ Next came the laptop. I laid it in the back footwell. ‘I don’t want them pawing over that and I’ll need it for my studies.’ Finally, I popped on a pair of oversized sunglasses and lifted a baseball cap which was in the door panel. ‘Do you mind?’ I asked, putting it on my head.

  ‘No, go ahead,’ Mike said, laying a hand on mine. ‘Do you want me to drive round the block?’

  ‘No, let me sit here a moment.’

  The moment passed. I exhaled a big long whoosh.

  ‘I’ll go with you,’ Mike said, ‘and then phone Oscar.’

  Mike found a parking spot. We got out together and walked towards my bedsit.

  ‘Are you going to invite me in for a coffee, this time?’

  ‘Ha, ha.’

  At the door, a six-feet-four uniformed bobby moved to block our path. He looked at me and asked; ‘Are you Miss Thompson?’

  I reckoned I’d be dealing with quite a few more of them today and decided to start out confidently. I raised my head and looked into the bobby’s eyes. ‘I am,’ I said innocently, and gave him a smile. ‘What’s the problem?’

  The bobby gave Mike a look of appraisal – he looked real smart in a dark blue suit.

  ‘Please wait here,’ the bobby said. He turned his head and without waiting for a response spoke into the radio clipped to his uniform.

  Moments later the front door opened. Detective Crawford opened his mouth to say something, saw Mike and closed his mouth.

  ‘Detective Crawford,’ I said, ‘my accountant Mike Marshall.’

  Mike didn’t hesitate, he stretched out his hand and Crawford was forced to take it.

  Looking somewhat peeved, Crawford faced me again. ‘Miss Thompson you are under arrest.’

  Again, I was tempted to say.

  ‘We have a search warrant,’ Crawford continued, ‘and are searching your apartment.’

  It flashed through my mind; were they also searching the apartment in the Merchant Building? If so, it was a good job Mike had removed the surveillance equipment, although they hadn’t discovered the stuff first time around.

  ‘Detective,’ Mike said, ‘we’ll wait in the apartment.’ He turned to me and spoke in full earshot of Crawford; ‘I’ll phone counsel and let him know.’

  Crawford’s eyes widened at the mention of counsel.

  Two detectives, wearing gloves, were busy sifting through the drawers and cupboards. In an evidence bag were my bank statements – they’d have fun with those as they didn’t correspond with the lifestyle of someone living off a big cash income. One bank account was Tina Thompson – the student – and the other was Nina with her expenses and outgoings as an escort. Cold hard cash did not exist under the floorboards or stuffed into a cushion. It did exist, well hidden under a flagstone of my mum’s patio, in the form of Krugerrands.

  The search continued. I kept a close watch on my study books; if they were carried off it would be a major inconvenience. The two detectives looked around the room, conferred and told Crawford they were finished.

  Mike took my hand and squeezed. I squeezed back. ‘Tell Oscar to be damned sure to get me out on bail.’

  ‘I will,’ Mike said, ‘and don’t answer any questions or make any statements until he has talked to you.’ He leaned over and whispered into my ear; ‘I have a client who owns a lot of property, he’ll let you have a flat for as long as you need one.’

  30

  Once I was formally arrested at the bedsit, I clammed up and remained that way whilst being questioned. I don’t know what Driscoll had been expecting – a confession to crimes I hadn’t committed. Crawford’s questioning about why I had been at the warehouse and why my car had been found there, was perfunctory. He did, however, make a more determined effort to illicit answers about my exploits on the buses and the call to the Transport Police. The phone call I had made to them had been traced to my mobile, which was damning in itself. Jake, the bus driver, had confirmed hearing the call – he couldn’t do otherwise but tell the truth. Crawford explained that they had CCTV footage of me exiting the lifts of the Merchant building in the company of a woman dressed as a nun and three girls. The girls, he explained, were in a refuge and were obviously human trafficking victims, but that they were refusing to talk. Crawford made repeated efforts to get me to open up as to who and where the girls had come from and why I was leading them out of the building. He also pressed me for the identity of the woman, dressed as a nun.

  The charge of being a public nuisance could not in itself be exonerated, only the mitigating circumstances could get me off the hook. The bus drivers had told the truth, seen through their eyes, which included the apparent pursuit by two black BMWs. Only the girls would able to provide the testimony needed to prove that I had made the call, in desperation, whilst attempting to rescue trafficking victims.

  After being questioned I was taken to the police cells and began to wonder if Oscar would show up. The first time around he’d left me dangling in ignorance, would he do it again, only to explain his motives as if he were some chess grandmaster.

  With nothing to do – I suppose that’s one of the reasons why people are kept in cells – my mind gnawed at the problems it could not solve. Was I being charged for being a public nuisance? What was with the trafficking? Crawford’s questioning seemed to point towards me being charged for moving them within the UK with the intent to sell them for sexual exploitation. What did that mean, legally? What evidence did they have? And what sort of a sentence did that carry?

  By the time Oscar did show up, just before six, I had massacred the skin around my fingernails, and was sitting upright in a semi-foetal position unsure as to whether I was facing a life sentence or if I would walk away free.

  I was brought back up to the interview room, where Oscar was waiting. I sat down and pointed towards the surveillance camera.

  Oscar glanced at it and waved a hand in dismissal. ‘I’ve spoken to Detective Crawford, he is not happy—’

  ‘Neither am I.’

  ‘Nor do you look it.’

 
; ‘I’ve been kept in a cell all afternoon with nothing to but—’

  Oscar held up a hand. ‘There will be no more questioning. You don’t have to answer their questions, although the police and the courts expect it.’

  ‘Innocent until proven guilty,’ I snapped.

  Oscar grinned. ‘Ah . . . with you in the witness stand, the two of us could sway any jury.’

  ‘Oscar?’

  ‘Back to business,’ he said, running a finger across his chin. ‘You will be charged with being a public nuisance – the bomb threat. And trafficking within the UK for sexual exploitation is an offence under the Sexual Offences Act of 2003.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Not very much, Tina. You have no record and as to trafficking, they’ll only be able to throw intent at you.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘No, not now. No further comments until I have seen the basis of the charges.’

  I let it go, although I was sure that Oscar was playing it down for my benefit.

  ‘In the morning,’ he continued, ‘you will be brought to the Magistrates’ Court. There is a good chance it will be Harkins again. Same as last time, I’ll do the talking.’

  ‘What about bail?’

  ‘That will not be a problem, however, a surety, a curfew or most likely you will have to surrender your passport, something like that will be attached. Tomorrow is purely a formality. Afterwards,’ Oscar leaned back in his chair, ‘you go home and study like hell. I’ll make sure a trial date is set for after the exams. It will look good if you get a first-class honours degree.’

  ‘I might.’ I said with a smile. ‘I’m on the borderline.’

  ‘Good for you. After the exams we will sit down together and look at the prosecutions’ evidence.’ Oscar stood up. ‘Oh and that was good legwork. You kept Eileen busy this afternoon.’