Down in the Woods

by Gary Philpott

  “Thank you for the card.”

  “That’s okay dear. Have a nice holiday. I hope they catch whoever stole your handbag. And don’t worry, the police over here are quite civilised, they’ll take care of you.”

  At first, Anna just looked at him. A small feeling of relief followed when she realised he had totally misread the situation.

  As she set off in the direction of the police station, Anna had no real idea of why she was doing so, except that if Anton was locked up inside it, she wanted to be as close to him as she dared go.

  Once she saw the police station ahead of her, she crossed the busy road. The trees overhanging the pavement provided occasional patches of shelter from the rain. As she walked, Anna stared through a large, blue security gate across the vehicle entrance. Two police vans were parked up in the yard. She imagined Anton arriving in one of those vans and being escorted into the building. In her mind, his head was bowed and his face filled with anguish. The tears that crept down her face were quickly washed away by the relentless rain.

  Still she kept on slowly walking. Still she continued to stare at the police station on the other side of the road. She could now see straight into the main pedestrian entrance. A yellow coated police officer was talking to someone from behind a glass screen. A few more paces took Anna to the entrance of an old library building. She stepped under the arched entrance and stood there, staring at the relatively modern building opposite.

  “Es tevi m lu Antone,” she said, imagining Anton in an underground cell less than thirty yards from where she was standing.

  Anna spent the next twenty minutes staring at the police station, fighting back the strong urge to go over there and ask to see him. In between worrying about Anton, she also worried about her own situation. If Anton was deported back to Latvia, she would be alone in London, and without any income whatsoever. Those thoughts almost made her walk across the road to turn herself in. If Anton was going to be flown back to Riga, she wanted to go with him.

  Logic prevented Anna from doing so. There were too many unknowns. He might not be in there. He could be released and their situations would be reversed. They could both be held in different establishments for months without ever getting to see or talk to each other. She had to give it time.

  It was mid-afternoon when she arrived on Angie’s doorstep.

  “Hello Anna, how are you?” chirped Angie.

  “They have taken Anton,” said Anna, bursting into tears halfway through the sentence.

  “Oh, babe, come in.” Angie put her arm round Anna and took her through to the sitting room. “Let me take your coat.”

  Anna slipped out off the coat and sat down on the sofa. After hanging up the coat, Angie sat down next to Anna.

  “Talk to me Anna, tell me what’s happened.”

  “He did not come home last night. I went looking for him.”

  “Maybe he went to a party, he likes a party does Anton.”

  “No. I went to the restaurant. A man told me immigration had taken him away.”

  “Come on, try not to cry. Most of the time they get released on immigration bail.”

  Anna lifted her head. “They will not send him back to Latvia?”

  “Nine times out of ten they don’t.”

  “I don’t understand, they have arrested him, he is not allowed to live in England.”

  “That’s as maybe, but it’s complicated. Now you’re in no fit state to talk about it now.” She gave Anna’s thigh a comforting squeeze and stood up. “Put your feet up and I’ll go and make us both a cup of tea. Or I have coffee if you prefer?”

  “Tea, tea is good.” She swung her feet up onto the sofa and took up a foetal position with her elbow on the armrest.”

  A hundred and one scenarios played in her mind while she waited for Angie to come back with the tea.

  “There you go, you don’t take sugar, do you?”

  “No. Thank you.” She took her mug of tea. “You said…”

  “Just a moment, I’ve cut some cake. I don’t suppose you’ve eaten recently.”

  Anna shook her head slowly.

  “I thought not.”

  Anna’s mind carried on spinning.

  “Now what did you want to ask me?” Angie placed a plate on the sofa by Anna’s feet.

  “You said they might release him, on immigration…?”

  “It is called immigration bail. We’d have to come up with some money, but they will realise he hasn’t got two pennies to rub together, so it won’t be much. Do you know if they have hold of his passport?”

  “No, that is in the drawer at home.”

  “Well, we best go round there and get it once you’ve finished your tea.”

  “Why?” Anna looked bewildered.

  “I don’t understand all the ins-and-outs, but I know enough to know it puts a spanner in the works and slows them down. It is something along the lines of England having to prove to Latvia that he is one of their nationals. The thing is, if they get hold of your address they may well get a warrant to search it.”

  “Search our flat?”

  “Yes, they like to get hold of as much documentation as possible. I would also suggest we remove anything that connects you with the place.”

  Anna stared into her tea.

  “Don’t worry yourself to death, Anna. If we do as I say and give it time, you’ll be fucking Anton again before the end of the month.”

  “I only want to hold his hand.”

  “Well, holding his hand then. And then you can fuck him,” laughed Angie.

  Needless to say, Anna did not see the funny side.

  They had stopped to pick up a large take-away pizza on the way back

  “Take your bits up to the spare bedroom. Number six on the second floor.” Angie passed her the only key on a row of hooks by the front door. “By the time you’re back down, dinner will be on the table. “Kevin, are you back yet,” she shouted.

  “In the bedroom, come and get me.”

  “Not now Kevin, we have a visitor.”

  Kevin stepped out into the hallway wearing nothing but a Chelsea football shirt.

  “Was it a good game?”

  “Blew the bastards away; four goals to nil. Oh, hi…”

  “Anna, you remember Anna?”

  “Of course, you know me; I never forget a nice bit of…”

  Angie quickly interrupted him. “Her boyfriend’s been arrested. I’ve said she can stay with us for a few days at least.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “As it happens, I was rather hoping you would explain a few things to her after we’ve eaten.”

  “What are we having?”

  “Pizza, I picked up an extra large Quattro.”

  “They’re overrated those Audis.” He laughed and stepped back into the bedroom.

  “This will be on the table in less than ten minutes, so settle yourself in later.” Angie directed her eyes upwards.

  Anna nodded and carried the holdall Angie had lent her up the stairs. On the way she briefly questioned the fact that she had agreed to stay with Kevin and Angie, they were nice people, but somehow she could no longer see them becoming real friends. However, there were other more important things tormenting her mind, and in truth, her only other option was to go back to the flat and run the risk of being arrested.

  Following instructions issued by Angie, Anna did not talk about Anton over dinner. She cut thin slithers of pizza and struggled to swallow every single one of them. Sipping her glass of Shiraz helped each mouthful down.

  “Thank you Angie,” said Anna, relieved she had managed to eat two whole slices, just enough to avoid causing offence.

  “Sofia. If you are going to stay you might as well refer to me by my real name.”

  “Your name is Sofia, not Angie?”

  “Kevin calls me Angie, and it rather caught on.”

  “The first time I saw her beautiful arse and blonde hair,” injected Kevin. “I thought she looked like an angel. So when
we got down to business, I called her Angie. God, that was an amazing shag, I can tell you.”

  “Ask Anna, I can see you want the details.”

  The question was not the one Sofia was anticipating. “Is Anton definitely still in England?”

  “When was he arrested?” asked Kevin

  “Last night. I don’t know what time.”

  “Crikey! What do you think they do, bundle them in the back of a van and drive them to the airport? Due process Anna, due process, they fart around for weeks, if not months. Besides, there’s a thing called the 72 hour rule. Even if they have transportation arranged, they have to give the deportee at least 72 hours notice. Something to do with reducing incidents of suicide I think. I guess they keep them on suicide watch while they get used to the idea of going back to where they came from. Does anyone want that last slice?”

  Sofia slid the box his way.

  “Do you know where they are detaining him?”

  “No. I was told the police in Hammersmith would know.”

  “Where did he work?”

  “Shepherd’s Bush,” said Sofia. “At La Farola, where Besarta and Jehona work.”

  “Well, if they supported the raid, I assume it was a raid was it?”

  “Yes,” answered Anna.

  “Well, if they supported the raid, it could be there. On the other hand it could have been a unit with support from another station. Still, it’s all a bit irrelevant. He will be where ever they happened to have an empty cell after completing the initial interview.”

  “How do you know this?”

  He swallowed a mouthful of pizza before answering. “To be honest, I make it up as I go along.”

  Sofia gave him a gentle slap on the back. “Don’t tease her Kevin, tell her the truth.”

  “Well, it is the truth. I don’t really know much, just what I’ve picked up along the way. Most of it was gleaned from Tilda.”

  “Tilda was a friend of mine,” explained Sofia. “Once I got here, she joined me, but not legally. We tried arranging a sham marriage for her but the authorities got wind of it.”

  “What happened to her?”

  Kevin took over again. “They came here and took her away, just like your boy. They moved her around a lot, kept telling her they would get her into a proper detention centre like, but they never did. I think that is why they gave her bail. I coughed the money up on the understanding that she would not grass on any of the other girls here at the time.”

  “Is she still in England?”

  “Yep, still an illegal immigrant, but I ain’t telling you where.”

  “They never arrested her again?”

  “No, it’s a stupid system really. They spend a fortune on surveillance and arresting people and then they let them out again. They must know half of them will abscond. I get the impression they know the bottom tier of the country’s economy would collapse if they sent everyone packing. I hear they’re tightening up mind, so don’t get your hopes up too much.”

  Anna shook her head and looked down at the crumbs on her plate. Nonetheless, she was feeling a lot better than she was an hour ago. She had somewhere to sleep, and more importantly, she had hope.

  “Have some more wine.” Sofia was already topping up her glass. “It will help you relax.”

  “Thank you.” Anna took a sip. The wine was starting to taste a lot nicer. “Can I visit him?”

  “First we need to find out where he is. That’s something Angie and I will need to think about.”

  “I’ll start investigating that tomorrow.” Sofia picked up her glass.

  “How? What will you do?”

  “I will walk into Hammersmith police station and ask where he is.”

  “They will arrest you.”

  “On what charge?” asked Kevin loudly. “Angie is legal and a good friend of your chap, she is perfectly entitled to know where he is. Once we track him down, she’ll be able to visit him. They may lock suspected illegal immigrants up, but the UK border guys make more mistakes than England football managers, so they have to assume the detainee is in fact legal at the early stages.”

  Anna repeated her earlier question. “Will I be able to visit Anton?”

  “Umm… no. Angie has a passport, and a UK driving license come to that. To be honest, I don’t know what police stations expect, but I will be surprised if it is not the same as a detention centre.”

  “Right, that’s enough of that.” Sofia got up from her seat and picked up her glass. “Tomorrow you come with me, but you keep well out of the way. Tonight, we finish at least one more bottle of wine off in the comfy chairs. Kevin, would you mind fetching another bottle of wine?”

  “Yes Mistress Angie.”

  “I thought you liked being told what to do?” she grinned.

  “Only in the bedroom.”

  “Explain last Wednesday afternoon to me then.”

  “Ah, guilty as charged, one bottle of wine coming up.”

  Chapter 11

  DS Harrington pulled into the car park of Durham’s Travelodge at fifteen minutes past midnight. It was his second choice, but the website indicated he may have trouble parking if he arrived late at the one in Sunderland.

  He was driving back out of the same car park six hours later. He had arranged to see Peter Schofield in his home at eight.

  The number of turnings for Sunderland that his sat-nav guided him past as he drove up the A19 was starting to worry Harrington. The signposts indicated he was getting closer to the Tyne Tunnel than he felt he should be. Finally the sultry woman’s voice told him to take the third exit at the next roundabout.

  “Thank you darling,” he replied, “about bloody time.”

  The next road sign confirmed that he was indeed on the correct route to Boldon.

  A few minutes later the machine on his dashboard announced, “You have arrived at your destination.”

  “You bastard,” said Harrington, stooping to look at the house out of the passenger’s side window. It was the largest one he had seen as he drove through the old mining village. He contemplated pulling onto the drive beside the Lexus, but thought better of it. He no longer needed to worry about getting wet as the heavy rain had turned into a light drizzle.

  The front door opened before he reached it. The man standing in the doorway was comfortably over six foot tall, and built like someone who still played rugby.

  “Come in,” he said sharply.

  Schofield shut the door as soon as Harrington was across the threshold.

  “I’m so glad you didn’t turn up in a marked police car.”

  “And why is that Dr Schofield?”

  “Mr Schofield. Or better still, Peter. A degree was more than enough for me I’m afraid. I couldn’t have taken any more of that academic crap.”

  “But still, why…”

  “Youths, bloody youths from the local school. If they see a police car parked outside my house, they will get totally the wrong end of the bloody stick. Sorry, are you okay to come through to the conservatory, I’ve put out a pot of tea and a few croissants.”

  The two words, tea and croissants, put a glint in Harrington’s eye. His belly was rumbling and he had thought it would have to wait until he got back to the Asda supermarket towards the A19.

  As he walked down the hallway, Harrington passed a dresser with three photo-frames sitting on it. The larger one in the middle was of a dark haired woman posing in a bikini by a swimming pool. There was a small crown on her head and a pink sash running diagonally across her torso.

  Either side of it were two photos of teenage girls in school uniform. Harrington struggled to tell them apart.

  “Do sit down.” Schofield gestured to one of four wicker chairs set out around a glass-topped wicker coffee table. He started to pour tea into two bone-china cups.

  “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”

  “Well, I have to say, I am intrigued, and also slightly nervous.”

  “Why should you be nervous?”

/>   “I don’t know, you tell me. Maybe someone from the past has complained about my accounting or something.”

  “As I said on the phone, I’m just trying to fill in a few gaps here and there. You are not under investigation.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  Harrington took a mouthful of his tea. It did not taste as he expected it to.

  “I hope you like Earl Grey.”

  “Mmm, I do.” But not with milk, he thought. “Can I pick up on your comment about not wanting a police car outside your house?”

  “They hold you to ransom, don’t they?”

  “Who holds you to ransom?”

  “Teenage boys. Don’t get me wrong, I can deal with them, but can do without the hassle. I grew up just up the road, I used to play in the fields where the golf course is now. What I am saying is that I am quite well regarded around these parts, even by the riff-raff. I always say good morning, or good evening when I see them. I spend a small fortune on sweets when Halloween is looming. And I guess my size helps. But it doesn’t help poor old Brian next door. He moans at them you see, and he pays the price.”

  “Are we talking vandalism Mr Schofield?”

  “Vandalism, pranks, you know how it is.”

  “And if they saw a police car outside your house, they might think…”

  “I was dobbing them in for the other night. I was walking back from the Traveller’s Rest you see, and I saw them letting some car tyres down. What gets me is; why are they allowed out so late? I’m dreading the day the twins start dating, I’ll be out walking the streets every bloody night.”

  “Why do you stay here then?”

  “Would it be any better somewhere else? I doubt it. I know you southerners think we’re all a bit working class up here, but the whole of the country is going down the pan as far as I can see. Besides, this place has got a lot going for it, a supermarket and cinema just around the corner, a half decent football team in town, and a railway station up the road. But most of all, I bloody missed it when I was down south. I certainly don’t envy you the rat-race you call life down there.”

  “I assume you didn’t report these lads who let the tyres down?”