Shit!
I checked the flights back to the UK. The last flight on Tuesday was at 23.45 and landed at Gatwick at 1.30 in the morning. It was fully booked. There was a 6.30am flight on Wednesday morning with an ETA of 8.40. The trial started at nine and it would take at least half an hour to get from the airport to the court. I reserved two seats.
The remainder of Tuesday morning and the afternoon was one of nothingness. I couldn’t do anything and I didn’t know if Jeff would even talk to Ivonne, let alone testify.
I phoned Ivonne just before Jeff was due to return home. By that time she had shown the wife the prosecution file, the letter from Oscar and had told her how Jeff might be the only chance to save me from being imprisoned for a crime which I hadn’t committed.
At ten o’clock Ivonne called. Jeff Fletcher would testify. I confirmed the seats for the morning flight and arranged with Mike for him to meet the plane and bring them to the court.
I fell asleep that night relieved, exhilarated and exhausted.
47
Just before nine o’clock on Wednesday, Oscar told me the ABH case had been withdrawn; the accuser was not to be found.
At nine o’clock, I was led into the dock of the Crown Court and sat down. I had been instructed to turn off my phone; instead I had set it to vibrate. The plane from Malaga had been delayed leaving the airport by half an hour. When I had last been able to check, it had not made up the lost time. At best Jeff Fletcher would arrive at nine thirty.
Oscar, faced with no alternative was sitting at the desk reserved for the defence, ready to rebut the prosecution’s case.
The judge entered and everyone stood up. He was a tall, thin elderly man with an intelligent glint in his eyes.
The proceedings started and Dougal Alexander began to present the case for the prosecution.
I was clock watching whilst my right hand rested over the phone in my canvas jacket which I had decided to wear. At five past nine the phone vibrated once. Cautiously, so that no one could see what I was doing, I peaked at the phone. It was a text from Ivonne – the plane had landed.
I glanced at Oscar and mouthed; the plane has landed. He smiled at me and touched an envelope on the table.
Nine thirty came and went.
Dougal Alexander produced evidence placing me in the Merchant Building, he produced the evidence of my phone call to the Transport police at Crew Street station and just as he was starting to recount the testimonies of the bus drivers the court room door squeaked on its hinges.
I turned and saw Ivonne. She stepped into the room, running her fingers through her hair, her chest rising and falling as if she were out of breath.
The judge looked up; his eyes seemed to pop out of the sockets at the sight of Ivonne. She was still wearing skinny-cut jeans and her blouse was tied above her waist, emphasising her heaving breasts and exposing her tanned stomach.
Ivonne’s eyes widened and a tight-lipped smile settled on her face as she started off.
The judge – he was of the generation prone to let their hands wander under a dining room table – had his mouth parted as he watched Ivonne approach Oscar.
Alexander fell silent seeing the expression on the judge’s face, frowned and turned to seek the cause. The jury did the same. The court room went silent.
Ivonne reached Oscar. He stood up. ‘Excuse me, Your Honour.’
Oscar whispered something to Ivonne who turned and began to retrace her way to the doors of the court room.
Oscar lifted the envelope and waved it at the Clerk of the Court, who took it, approached the bench and coughed. The judge, without taking his eyes off Ivonne, reached over for the envelope. Only when Ivonne closed the doors behind her, did the judge distractedly open the envelope. As he read his faced turned serious. Finished, he looked up, the intelligent glint back in his eyes.
‘An issue of law has been brought to my attention. Counsel for the defence and the prosecution will see me in my chambers. The court will recess.’
Dougal Alexander stared at Oscar who avoided his gaze.
Half an hour later, I was led into the judge’s chambers. Alexander was flanked by a custody officer and a policeman.
The judge addressed me; ‘Miss Thompson, the prosecution has withdrawn its case. You are free to go.’
Oscar led me back out through the courtroom. The press stood waiting. Oscar made a short statement to the effect that the prosecution had withdrawn its case. The press hollered for more information. Oscar refused to be drawn.
The press turned to me baying; ‘Miss Thompson, Miss Thompson do you have anything to say?’
I looked at the faces staring at me with a feeling of revulsion. They had been the ones to put my name on the front of every newspaper in the country. Oscar, standing to my right grasped my elbow. I didn’t move.
‘I’m delighted the charges have been dropped,’ I said. ‘Human trafficking is evil and despicable. My heart goes out to the victims.’
48
In Mike’s car leaving the court, Oscar said, ‘It was very noble of you to say that your heart goes out to the victims, but you gave them tomorrow’s front page.’
‘Yes,’ I said with a sigh, ‘but it was my heart speaking.’
Oscar went on to explain how Mike had led Jeff Fletcher into the judge’s chambers and how Alexander had turned ashen at the sight of him. Alexander had admitted having paid for sex with a trafficked girl. The strict liability offence – paying for the services of a prostitute subjected to force – innocence of the girl’s subjection was no defence.
Alexander explained how Driscoll had used him on a couple of occasions since then to prosecute cases which did not meet the Code for Crown Prosecutors. The judge had asked Alexander if Miss Thompson was a case in point. Alexander had said yes and had explained that Driscoll had forced the case upon him, even reminding him of his strict liability offence. He had added that he was sure Driscoll was using Miss Thompson to divert attention away from the real culprits.
49
The next morning curiosity drove me out to the local newsagents. This time the front-page photographs did not show me leaping out of the courthouse. In fact, for once in my life the photos pleased me. The title, as predicted, reflected the media’s need for sensationalism.
Tart with a Heart.
However, the main thrust of all the articles was the arrest of Dougal Alexander and Detective Sergeant Driscoll. The press had obviously worked hard; their stories were well researched and hit all the key points. It was also clear that further developments were expected.
Whilst cooperating fully with the police, I followed the unfolding repercussions. Two days after Driscoll’s arrest, Erjon was arrested, only to be moved to a hospital. The head injury received as a child had become life threatening. I never asked, but wondered if the injury’s deterioration was caused by my slamming his head against the door of the VW bus as we fought outside the warehouse.
Two weeks later arrests were made all the way from Bulgaria to the UK. The Greek-registered ship, the Zyros, was boarded. Six girls were freed and a substantial haul of drugs seized. A complete trafficking ring had been snuffed out.
Ivonne and I were permitted to visit Maria, Yana and Olga which we did. With Erjon in hospital and close to death and with the trafficking ring arrested, they had decided to testify. I also visited Liz, Dian, Zora and Jake, the bus drivers, and thanked them for their help. After his testifying, I had of course thanked Jeff Fletcher for coming to my rescue.
I continued to live in the penthouse apartment which Mike had arranged. I had no home to go to; the relationship with my mother remained frosty. Job prospects were not good; who was going to employ an ex-escort who’d gained front page notoriety? I had booked a holiday to Spain, to relax and to practice my Spanish. After that? I didn’t know.
50
At the end of June my graduation ceremony took place. At first I had decided not to go. The thought of everyone knowing that I had been an escort still made
my stomach churn. The reactions of my fellow students were behind me. However, their parents would be in attendance and I imagined the pointing, the glances and the whispered conversations.
In the end I decided to brave it out and attend the ceremony. I was one of the few in the faculty to have attained a first-class honours degree.
I received my degree from the Vice-Chancellor and as I turned to leave the podium, I saw Mike, Ivonne and Oscar at the back of the hall. They hadn’t told me they were coming and I hadn’t told them I was going.
After the presentation ceremony and the mutual congratulations, I saw Oscar talking to the Vice-Chancellor. Oscar waved me over – I had no choice. I shook hands with the Vice-Chancellor, again. Luckily, I was able to step back into the company of Mike and Ivonne.
Ivonne looked spectacular in a royal blue cocktail dress which highlighted her blond hair. I had let my hair cascade down my back in all its glory and the summer sun had quickly given me a tan. Ivonne and I were glamorous and drew envious glances.
Somehow both my worlds were on display as I stood in the presence of Mike, Ivonne and Oscar. It made me uncomfortable and I decided to leave. I said goodbye to Ivonne and Oscar, and asked Mike to walk me to my car.
On the way, a cabrio’s roof retracted; the first beats of a song poured out of the speakers and flooded my senses, forcing me to break my stride. Sting’s voice surged through me: Roxanne. You don’t have to put on the red light.
I stopped. The double life as an escort welled up. An immense feeling of being ruptured slewed through me.
I turned to Mike; the first tears rolling. ‘Hold me!’
‘Oh Christ, Tina,’ Mike said, taking me in his arms. ‘It’s all over.’
I buried my head in his shoulder and allowed my emotions free rein. And did they well up; I couldn’t stop crying as the sobs racked my body. All the barriers, all the inhibitions dropped. I plummeted. In that moment life was not a horizontal progression with a terminus – everything fell off a cliff face; vertical, straight down.
The song ended.
Slowly, the pain and the sobbing receded to be replaced by a feeling of freedom.
I lifted my head from Mike’s shoulders and took hold of his hands. ‘Thank you, Mike.’ I gave him a big hug.
He cupped my face in his hands and looked into my eyes. ‘Promise me you’ll keep in touch?’
I gave him another hug. ‘I will’
Would I? Maybe.
No. I would – no more deflections.
Human Trafficking
The extent of human trafficking for the purposes of sexual exploitation in the UK is difficult to quantify. According to evidence presented by Dr. Brooke Magnanti in The Sex Myth, chapter 7, the occurrence is not widespread.
Further information can be found on SCOT PEP. http://www.scot-pep.org.uk/useful-reading/migration-trafficking
And lastly when you turn the page, Kindle will give you the opportunity to rate Bitter Sweet http://www.amazon.co.uk/Bitter-Sweet-ebook/dp/B00F53T9D6and share your thoughts on Facebook and Twitter. If you believe the book is worth sharing, would you take a few seconds to let your friends know about it? I would be grateful if you share, or review on Amazon, and maybe as a result someone out there might be able to help alleviate the misery of human trafficking.
Bitter Sweet Page 29