by David Barry
‘How d’you mean?’ I asked.
He laughed, clearly pleased with his behaviour in the Chinese restaurant, and mimed throwing something small. ‘We bombarded the waiters with their pork balls.’
I kept my expression deadpan. I didn’t wanted to encourage the tosser, but at this stage didn’t want to upset a potential client either. But if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s the way the upper classes throw food around contemptuously, because they never have to worry about going without.
He giggled again while he relived the scene, and I suddenly wanted to reach across the desk and smack this arsehole. It took an enormous effort to restrain myself.
‘So there we were, chucking this disgusting pig-swill grub about. Clive told them not to mind; we’d pay for any mess we made. When we paid the bill, tipping them handsomely, I swear their slit eyes grew wider. Anyway, by now we were both legless, and we propositioned the filly - invited her back to Clive’s flat.’
Bill interrupted the story to ask, ‘Does this girl have a name? Or is she just an object?’
The obnoxious double-barrelled twat threw a look at my partner that was a mixture of confusion and irritation, as if he couldn’t quite work out if Bill was being critical or humorous in a deadpan style. After all, he was the man from a privileged background who could click his fingers and pay for any favour he liked.
‘Her name is Christine Smarden,’ he said. ‘Or is it Marden?’ He waved a dismissive hand. ‘Anyway, it’s not important. So we jumped in a cab to Clive’s flat in South Ealing, with the filly sitting between us in the back. We had a bit of a fumble, and she didn’t seem to mind, which was how we knew she was up for it.’
‘How old was this girl?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know. Does it matter?’
‘It could be important.’
He flushed, and his irritation surfaced. ‘Oh, she was old enough. Not under age, if that’s what you mean. She was at least eighteen-years-old.’
‘How can you be so sure? I’ve known loads of fifteen-year-olds who could pass for older.’
‘Look, she was working in a pub, for Christ’s sake,’ he bellowed, then glanced over his shoulder in case Nicky heard him and came in to see what was wrong. ‘She was at least sixteen. Perfectly legal. Her choice to come back to Clive’s place. OK?’
‘Go on.’
He paused for a second, while he composed himself. ‘Well, Clive’s flat is a first floor maisonette, and he lives above an elderly lady. We hadn’t long arrived, and we were really legless by now. Giggling and falling over. I suppose we were making a hell of a racket. In our cups, we thought we were up for a ménage a trois.’
He grinned, and when I didn’t respond, he explained, ‘That’s a threesome.’
Patronising bastard.
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I know perfectly well what it means. So what happened next?’
‘It’s all a bit hazy. I think Clive started to undress her. He was fumbling so much she helped him. She was lying on the floor, half naked. I remember her knickers and trousers were all tangled up round her ankles, and then all I could see was Clive’s hairy arse on top of her. He was swearing and saying things like, “Come on, you bastard, I know you can do it.” While I was watching, I fell over quite a few times. I remember crashing onto the floor. And then I think Clive said, “Oh this is no good. I can’t get it up, Piers. See if you can do it.” So he got off her and I got on. But even though I tried to get the dog into the kennel, it just didn’t want to go.’ He sniggered dirtily, preening himself at this turn of phrase.
I stifled a sigh, wanting to get rid of this unpleasant oaf but at the same time wanting to hear the entire story.
‘So how come you were arrested for this, especially if as you say she’s not under age and this was consensual?’
‘Well, that’s where the police come into it,’ he replied. ‘Because we were so drunk, we didn’t realise how long we must have been creating havoc and pissing about with the girl. And Clive had left his front door open. Because of all the noise, the woman downstairs called the police. Anyway, Clive’s standing at the window, stark naked, and he saw them pull up outside. He warned me the police were there but I thought it was a wind up, and I was still laughing and trying to get it up as the police barged in. Clive had hidden in the wardrobe. And that was when the girl started to struggle and push me off “These men have tried to rape me,” she said. But at the time I was too drunk to take it in. They made us get dressed, took us to the police station and I was arrested. Later, when the girl told her story, they arrested Clive.’
‘Why did she claim you tried to rape her?’ Bill asked.’
‘She was probably ashamed at being caught in flagrante with two fellahs.’
‘But she said “these men” when the police walked in. Did the police know your friend was hiding in the wardrobe?’
‘No, but making Sherlock Holmes deductions is beyond the ordinary plod.’
‘So what exactly do you want Weston and Turner to do?’ I asked.
‘Well, it’s clear the little cow lied about our attempts to rape her. So I thought you could investigate her. Find out if he she’s had many licentious assignations, one-night stands and such. We can afford a good barrister who will discredit her. You might also speak to her informally, and get her to admit she lied. No doubt you can record these conversations?’
From the corner of my eye I saw Bill shaking his head. He didn’t need to demonstrate to me his reluctance to represent this arsehole because I had already made up my mind. But I was glad we were of the same mind. I stood up.
‘Thank you for coming to see us. I regret we cannot represent you in this matter.’
Was it my imagination, but did his face lose its colour? This was not a man who was used to being turned down. He stood up, so that he was on the same level with me, and I could see a cat-like viciousness in his eyes.
‘Why the hell not?’ he demanded, his lower lip stretched taut as his face turned ugly from rejection.
I shrugged hugely, knowing it would wind him up even more. ‘Bad time,’ I said.
His eyes blazed with anger. ‘What’s that supposed to mean? Are you in the habit of turning down business? And it’s not as if I haven’t told you the truth. There was no attempt to rape the little cow. She was perfectly willing to be fucked by both of us and...’
I raised a hand to silence him. ‘I don’t give a monkey’s. It’s not a good case for us to start off with - not with everything that’s going on in the media right now.’
‘I don’t follow you.’
‘It kicked off with the Jimmy Savile disgrace, and it’s been escalating ever since. There’s not a day goes by without some celebrity being accused of sexual harassment, whether it’s with someone under age or not. So two drunken, public school wankers trying to have it off with a young barmaid -‘ I spread my arms in a gesture of resignation - ‘is not the sort of business we welcome right now.’
‘Oh, so that’s it,’ he sneered. ‘Inverted fucking snobbery. Well, let’s see if you’re as fussy about turning down business in six months’ time, when you’ll no doubt be ready to visit the Job Centre with the rest of the great unwashed.’
He turned sharply, threw open the door and exited through the reception area without so much as a glance at Nicky.
‘What a prick,’ Bill said with a wide grin.
I nodded agreement. ‘But we’ve just turned down our first client. We can’t do that too often.’
Nicky entered the office and handed me a sheet from a notebook. ‘I had a word with Ricky Lee Bishop and that’s his address in Finchley. It’s not half-eleven yet, so I said you’d be over to see him at twelve noon. It’s not that far away, so you’ll be back here well in time for the two-thirty appointment. I explained briefly what it’s about and he said he can’t
promise but he’ll do anything he can to help.’
‘That’s brilliant, Nicky. Thanks.’
‘What happened with client numero uno?’
‘We had a disagreement.’
‘Don’t tell me he wound you up the wrong way. Mind you, I thought that cut-glass accent was a bit OTT.’
Bill laughed. ‘Yeah, you should have heard the conversation between Freddie and him. It was like listening to Michael Caine talking to Prince Charles.’
Chapter 4
The computer programmer’s home was a large two-storey terrace house in a cul-de-sac in Finchley. The outside looked as if it could have done with a lick of paint; apart from that it looked as if it was homely and belonged to a family who hadn’t much time to worry about D-I-Y. In the porch stood a multi-coloured golf umbrella next to a kid’s tricycle. I rang the bell and waited, and after a moment I heard pounding feet coming downstairs. I saw his shape through the stained-glass of the front door dashing towards me, and then he threw the door open wide and thrust out his hand.
‘Hi!’ he said. ‘You must be Freddie.’
He was fresh-faced and good looking, with bright intelligent eyes, and dishevelled blond hair like Boris Johnson. Although he must have been in his early thirties, he dressed like a teenager: a T-shirt with some sort of weird fantasy image on it, and military camouflage long shorts and trainers.
I shook his hand and said, ‘Good to meet you Ricky Lee.’
‘Please. Call me Rick. Deep down I think my parents were rednecks giving me two Christian names like that. Come on in, and we’ll go to my office upstairs. Watch the toys as you go. It’s sometimes like walking through a minefield. I nearly broke my neck coming downstairs last week.’
As I followed him up to the first floor, I asked him how many children he had.
‘Just the one so far. Matthew who’s four, and he’s at a pre-school nursery at the moment. My wife Sarah works part time as a speech therapist.
He ushered me into a spacious room, which was a clutter of shelves, manuals, gadgets and an enormous desk with a flat screen monitor, then took a folding director chair from the side of his desk, opened it up for me, got another one for himself, and sat in front of the desk facing me. I thanked him for seeing me at short notice.
‘Funny we never met,’ he said. ‘Seeing as I organised your system and designed your website.’
‘It’s Nicky who’s dealing with that side of things,’ I explained. ‘I’m OK on computers, but just OK if you know what I mean. And I have another business to run, so I was out a great deal during the first week or so the office was being organised. But you met my partner Bill.’
‘I did. Seems a nice guy.’
He frowned and leant forward, a serious look on his face. ‘Sorry to hear about the problem you’re having with this troll upsetting your daughter. All these sorts of intrusions are worrying and I don’t blame you for being concerned. So these emails have been sent with a Poland suffix?’
I nodded. ‘That’s right. The name of the sender is Eclipse. And prior to the dot.com the provider is given as hacking republic. One word.’
Rick stared into the distance thoughtfully. ‘Hmm. The name of Eclipse suggests his host is masked, and may be almost impenetrable. Some hosts now are what they call “bulletproof”, and not many people know how to infiltrate them.’
‘So if they’re impenetrable,’ I said, my hopes spiralling out of control, ‘is there nothing anyone can do about it?’
‘I said “almost impenetrable.” No system has a one-hundred percent guarantee of freedom from being penetrated. Look at the way Gary McKinnon invaded the Pentagon’s security system. But out in this vast internet world there are thousands of blackhats who far outnumber the whitehats.’
He saw the confused look on my face and went on to explain: ‘Blackhats are the criminal hackers. Whitehats are the ones who try to solve security issues. But it’s a minefield out there, and often whitehats have to resort to illegal methods to resolve certain issues.’
‘And presumably you’re a whitehat, Rick, and might be able to reveal who it is that’s doing this to my daughter.’
Rick frowned deeply and shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Freddie. I’m a programmer and web designer. I set up systems for companies such as yourself, designing bespoke operations for what suits a company best. But the sophisticated hacking is - well, it’s beyond me. Most of these hackers are really bright geeks who have played computer games since they came out of the womb and know exactly what they’re doing. It might seem odd to someone who doesn’t have a huge knowledge of IT, but these kids learn their skills from fantasy games. Stuff like Grand Theft Auto. But I got my IT skills through more conventional methods and much later in life. So, by comparison, I’m limited in my knowledge.’
I wondered why I was wasting my time coming to see Nicky’s so-called expert, and I felt irritated by the way she had raised my hopes.
‘However,’ Rick added with a smile, and patted my knee, ‘I do know someone who knows someone who might be able to help. I’m not certain where he lives, but I know how and where you can contact him. His name’s Trevor Reagan, but everyone knows him as “Trev the Rev”.’
‘Rev?’ I questioned. ‘Rev as in vicar?’
Rick grinned. ‘Exactly. He was a genuine vicar years ago, in a suburb of Colchester. Which is where I know him from. Perhaps I should explain: I was a committed Christian. I still am.’
Following this statement, he looked at me as if he expected an objection of some sort.
‘I’m not religious myself,’ I said. ‘But my motto is live and let live. So tell me about Trev the Rev.’
‘Well, Trev was a really trendy vicar, a genuine person, kind hearted, generous, and heavily involved in supporting youngsters in the community. He ran the youth club at the church hall, and some of the youngsters smoked dope. While he didn’t encourage it, he didn’t try to ban it either, and considered it a better option than alcohol. And just to prove how non-judgemental he was, on a few occasions he joined in and smoked the odd joint, which was passed around in true fashion. To cut a long story short, an outraged parent shopped him, he lost his job and was sentenced to nine months in an open prison on the Isle of Sheppey in Kent.’
‘Nine months prison!’ I exclaimed, thinking of my occasional snorts of the white powder. ‘Nine months, just for smoking a joint. How come?’
‘It was a little more complicated. He actually bought some puff in bulk and sold it on to the kids.’
‘Ah! So he was dealing.’
‘Yes and no. He didn’t make a profit. He did it to keep the kids off the streets, stop them from mixing with dealers and gravitating towards Class A drugs. But the judiciary didn’t see it that way, so they gave him a custodial sentence.
Anyway, he served just over four months of his sentence. I intended to pay him a visit, but somehow the time flew by and I never got around to it. Though I did write to him while he was in prison, and he wrote back. He enjoyed writing, and I’m ashamed to admit he wrote far, far longer letters than the ones I sent him.’
‘Well, he would have had more time on his hands,’ I said. ‘Sorry. Go on with the story.’
‘In one of his letters, he told me about this interesting American chap he met in prison. The man had almost served his time, and intended staying on the island after his release. This man - I can’t remember his name - was sentenced to eighteen months for computer fraud. Hacking. He was something of a genius, Trev said, as far as computers were concerned. So if he can’t help you out, no one can.’
‘So where can I get in touch with this American bloke?’
Rick tugged at his lower lip with a thumb and forefinger before answering. ‘Ah, that’s just it. It will involve a bit of legwork. You’ll need to find him via Trevor.’
‘And how do I find Trevor?’
Rick half rose, leant across the desk, grabbed a scrap of paper and pen, and scribbled down some instructions which he handed me.
‘“The Oasis Hostel, Tottenham”,’ I read. ‘Is that it?’
‘Yes. Sorry I can’t be more specific. That’s as much as I know. I always intended going to visit him, but what with starting a family -’
‘I know how it is,’ I said, and got up. ‘Well, thanks for your help, Rick.’
‘I’ll see you to the door. Sorry I couldn’t be more help.’
‘No, that’s been very helpful.’
I must have sounded negative because when we got to the front door he put a hand on my shoulder and said, ‘Perhaps I can really help, Freddie. Sarah’s got loads of evening therapy sessions coming up, so once Matthew’s asleep, maybe I’ll try and improve my hacking skills. If I identify this evil troll, I’ll be in touch.’
‘Yeah, thanks.,’ I said. ‘Much appreciated.’
As I walked to the car, I felt a peculiar sense of unreality, as if I was passing through a portal into a strange and alien world of myth and sorcery.
Chapter 5
At two-thirty, on hearing voices from Nicky’s office, I glanced at my watch. The small hand was on the two, the large hand on the six, as you would expect for a two-thirty appointment, but what I found extraordinary was that just at the very moment the potential client entered our premises, the second hand hit the twelve. It was punctual perfection, and I guessed this client would expect some exacting standards. Her name was Mrs Alice Egerton, and she had explained to Nicky on the phone that she sought solutions about her family - solutions the police had been unable to resolve.