‘I’ll wait until I know how Terry is,’ Sean said.
When he turned to walk up the corridor again, two policemen rounded the corner in front of him, accompanied by a theatre nurse.
‘Say nothing. We were taking a pee in the woods and got attacked,’ Clive whispered.
‘Why were we there?’ Sean asked.
‘Skiing, and got lost.’
Sean quickly nodded his agreement.
‘Excuse me. I believe you speak English? May we ask you some questions about your friend?’
‘Yes, okay,’ Sean said.
The policeman apologised for his poor English and took a brief statement from both Clive and Sean. When Sean mentioned where it had happened, the policeman stopped writing. ‘Near the Nazi house?’ he asked, pulling a look of disgust.
Sean shook his head and shrugged. ‘I saw a big factory, but nothing else.’
After about half an hour of questioning, they were told to wait with his colleague in the hospital, while he made a few enquiries. The second policeman stayed in the corridor with Sean and Clive, but indicated that he didn’t speak English, so they didn’t communicate further.
Two hours later, his colleague returned. ‘The Austrian police can’t find any blood, or dogs where you indicated, but they could have taken them back into the compound. And it’s snowing again, so any traces could have been covered,’ the policeman said.
‘Didn’t they go into the compound?’ Clive asked.
‘No, they didn’t have a warrant,’ the policeman replied.
‘So what? Surely if there’s reasonable suspicion they could enter?’ Clive said, his voice strained with frustration.
Eying Clive suspiciously, the policeman nodded his agreement. ‘If it was me, I’d have gone in, but we have no jurisdiction there and the Braunau police, are… well … ’
‘Well?’ Clive asked.
‘Respectful of these fringe groups.’ The policeman chose his words carefully.
Before Clive could speak, a doctor walked out of the theatre pulling a mask from his face. ‘Are you the people who brought him in?’ he asked in English.
‘Yes,’ Sean said, turning to face him.
‘He’s alive, but only just and if he makes it through the coming days, he’s going to need major plastic surgery. Unfortunately, he lost a large part of his face.’
An image shot into Sean’s mind of Terry’s ever smiling face.
‘We’re going to transfer him to intensive care in Munich this afternoon. The nurse will give you the details,’ the doctor said, before speaking to the policeman in German and walking away.
Before they were allowed to leave, their passports were photocopied and copies given to the police.
‘I hope he gets better,’ the policeman said, with a genuine expression of concern on his face.
‘Does he have a family?’ Sean asked, as he and Clive sat down again.
‘No, nobody. He’s had a tough life has Terry. He really doesn’t deserve this.’
‘I’ll ask Liz to meet us in Munich to look after him, while we get the bastards responsible,’ Sean said.
*
On the drive back to their hotel, Clive didn’t speak.
‘What’s wrong,’ Sean asked.
‘One of my friends died in Brussels; one is nearly dead here and the Austrian police won’t even go into a fucking property. Well if they won’t do their job, I’ll do it for them!’
They pulled up outside the front entrance of the hotel and saw that their bags had been packed and placed on the doorstep. Clive immediately stormed into the hotel, as Sean struggled to keep up.
‘What’s the meaning of this?’ Clive snarled at the portly manager.
The owner quickly appeared from the office. ‘Please Herr Miller, we don’t want any trouble. We ask that you leave our hotel quietly.’
‘Why?’ Clive shouted.
‘The police came here. I think it’s for the better,’ the owner said.
Jumping up, Clive leant over the desk to get as close as possible to the owner. ‘Tell your friends at the police station that I’ll make sure every last one of them loses their job before I’m finished. And as for you, you’re not worth the effort, you snivelling worm.’ He then spun around to Sean quickly. ‘Let’s get out of this shithole before I hurt somebody.’
Back in the car, they made their way over the bridge to the hospital.
‘I guess that means they know who we are?’ Sean said.
Clive nodded. ‘Yes, but we’re no closer to knowing who they are.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
Friday, 5th February. London, England.
The previous evening, after Praew had gone to bed, Liz watched the YouTube video she’d posted. The image was a little shaky but clear enough to see what was happening. It showed Praew standing in a featureless corridor putting things into her locker. Then, out of nowhere, Koryalov, Belov and Dementyev appeared in the shot behind her.
Belov pushed her against the locker, holding her there. ‘Hello, Thai whore. I’m ready for my sucky fucky time,’ he said.
Praew pushed back and elbowed him in the ribs. ‘Leave me alone,’ she said.
‘What’s wrong? You don’t like good white meat?’ Dementyev added.
‘Get lost!’ Praew shouted and moved to the side, trying to escape.
Then Koryalov stepped forward. He was at least two feet taller than Praew and he pushed her against the locker, pinning her with his hand on her throat. ‘I’m going to fuck your little Thai cunt, whether you like it or not,’ he said, as the other two jeered, egging him on.
In a swift movement, Praew raised her knee hard into his groin and his grip on her throat released. As he moved backwards, she pushed him onto the floor, before running in the opposite direction from the camera.
‘You’re dead, yellow cunt!’ Koryalov shouted after her.
When Liz closed the screen on her computer, she wept uncontrollably, her chest heaving up and down. ‘Why can’t this little girl just get a break in life?’ she said to herself. ‘It’s just not fair.’
*
That morning Praew came down early for breakfast, with a broad smile stretched across her face.
‘You look lovely today,’ Liz commented, trying to act happy for Praew’s sake.
When Praew reached for the toast, she was grinning from ear to ear.
‘What is it?’ Liz asked, surprised to see her so happy.
‘1.4 million hits,’ Praew said.
‘Sorry, I’m not with you. What do you mean?’ Liz shook her head.
‘Our YouTube Video went viral. It had 1.4 million hits last night.’
‘Shit! Sorry. What does that mean?’ Liz apologised for swearing.
‘Well, apparently, thousands of people have sent them hate mail.’
‘Good. They deserve it.’ Liz said.
During breakfast, Liz told Praew that she’d seen the video and was horrified, but thought she’d been very brave and that she was proud of her.
‘William must be very brave too. That was a special thing he did for you, and I’d like to thank him,’ Liz said.
‘You can. I said he can come over one day for dinner, if that’s okay?’
When she saw the glint in Praew’s eye, indicating that William might be more than just a friend, Liz smiled properly for the first time that day. ‘Of course it’s okay, darling. This is your house just as much as anybody else’s. Any time you want to have friends over, that’s fine.’
‘Thanks,’ Praew said, grabbing another piece of toast, before heading to her room to get ready for school.
‘Be really careful today, I don’t want those boys to retaliate against you. Are you still sure you want to go in?’ Liz said, as they rounded the corner of the street that the school was on.
‘I do. I think it’ll be better now,’ Praew replied, reaching into the back seat of the car for her schoolbag.
‘What the—?’ Liz exclaimed, as the school came into view.
Outside the school gates a large crowd had gathered and Liz could see two TV news crews, talking to people that were trying to enter the gates. She slowed the car and took in the view.
‘That’s her; the kid from the video,’ she heard somebody shout.
Immediately, both film crews turned their cameras towards Liz and Praew and the reporters started to run in their direction. Reacting quickly, Liz sped up as much as she dared, without risking running anybody over. Then when she was clear, she sped away and headed for home.
‘I’m guessing you’ve earned a day off,’ she said.
‘Wow! I didn’t expect that,’ Praew said.
When they were safely back in the flat, Liz turned onto the BBC News. The headline read: POLICE INVESTIGATE RACIAL AND SEXUAL HARASSMENT AT PRESTIGE LONDON SCHOOL.
‘A YouTube video of a girl being racially and sexually harassed at one of London’s best schools has attracted the attention of the police this morning,’ the anchor said, before the screen switched to a reporter at the school gates.
‘Yes, John. The video showed a thirteen-year-old girl of oriental origin being victimised by three fifteen-year-old boys, believed to be from Russia. After it was posted late yesterday afternoon, it soon went viral and, as we count, has received more than 2 million hits.’
‘Is the girl okay?’ the anchor asked.
‘We can’t name her, but she arrived at school this morning with her mother and then left when she saw the cameras,’ the reporter responded.
‘What about the three boys?’ the anchor asked.
‘We spoke to the headmaster. All three have been suspended from school until further notice, but that’s the least of their worries. The police are conducting an investigation into their behaviour as well. We spoke to the investigating officer this morning and this is what she had to say.’ The screen switched over to a woman, making a statement to the camera.
‘The Metropolitan Police take this kind of abuse very seriously indeed, and given the obvious evidence in this case, it’s more than likely that criminal charges will follow.’ The camera switched back to the anchor, who moved onto another piece.
‘Wow!’ Liz said. ‘You did cause a stir. Well done. I’m proud of you.’
*
Throughout the morning they watched updates on the news and Liz ignored the doorbell to the flat, as it rang constantly. When she looked out of the window, the pavement was lined with journalists. ‘I wish Sean was here,’ Liz said. When the Police arrived to interview Praew, she invited them in, but still refused the press an interview.
It was at around 1 p.m. that Praew was mentioned by name for the first time and an association made to Sean and Liz. The video had received over 10 million hits and had spawned a whole group of YouTube videos categorised as ‘Shame your Bullies’. BBC News was now calling it a ‘movement’.
At 2 p.m., following the announcement by the police that the three boys would be charged for common assault, sexual assault and racial harassment, a journalist mentioned Praew’s immigration situation. He’d obviously made the link back to Sean’s speech at the award ceremony and put two and two together.
A chill ran down Liz’s spine as they explained the little information they had been able to gather on Praew’s background.
*
When the call came through from Sean asking her to go to Munich to look after Terry, she jumped at the opportunity to get away.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Saturday, 6th February. Munich, Germany.
‘Bloody hell! I’m going to need to give you three permanent security,’ Clive blew out after Liz explained the situation in the UK. ‘You got Vladimir Koryalov’s son expelled from school and charged with assault?’ he added laughing. ‘Well done, Praew. That was really brave,’ he added.
‘I’m really proud of you for standing up to them. How did you come up with the idea?’ Sean said, seating Praew on his knee.
‘I just thought about what you’d do in the same situation,’ she said, looking up at Sean. ‘I knew I couldn’t fight them, so I needed another way.’
‘Beautiful and a genius,’ Sean said, kissing her on the forehead.
‘The police said that, if found guilty, they’re going to ask the Home Office to deport the three boys from the UK and issue permanent banning orders for them,’ Liz said.
‘Maybe it’ll help with our case,’ Sean replied.
‘Maybe,’ Liz responded in a non-committal way. ‘How’s Terry?’ she changed the subject.
‘He’s stable, but still on life support,’ Clive said, looking out from the small bakery by the fountain in the Karlsplatz. The area was busy with shoppers, traipsing through the melting snow.
‘I’ll take Praew to see some of the museums and then go in to see him this afternoon,’ Liz suggested.
‘Thanks, it’s really appreciated,’ Clive said.
‘Ich möchte Deutsche lernen,’ Praew said, smiling broadly. ‘That means, I’d like to learn German,’ she added.
A bright smile broke across Sean’s face and he kissed her gently on the forehead again. ‘Such a clever girl,’ he said. ‘Did you tell Uncle Clive about your A in maths?’
‘He doesn’t want to know about that now. He has more important things to think about,’ Praew beamed.
‘Terry is safe in there, isn’t he?’ Liz asked.
‘Yes, I think so. We may only be sixty miles away from Braunau physically, but we’re eighty years away mentally,’ Clive said.
‘Do you really need to go back there?’ she asked.
‘Yes. We need to find a link to Glas and then work out why he was trying to kill Anna, when he killed Phil in the process,’ Sean said.
‘I understand, but be careful,’ Liz replied, looking at Clive.
‘We should be back by midnight,’ Clive said.
*
The drive back to Braunau took just over an hour and when they arrived, Clive drove through the main square, where the skinhead gang were in their usual place by the statue, congregated around the leader, who was holding onto a teenage girl in a mini-skirt.
Without stopping, they drove straight through Braunau and turned right for Ranshofen. ‘It’s Saturday night. They’ll all be out causing trouble,’ Clive said.
They soon pulled in to the same layby as they had the day before and parked the car discreetly out of view from the road. Clive took some tools from the boot and they scurried though the woods again towards the farmhouse. When they reached the fence, there were no lights on in the house and the densely wooded area was very dark.
‘They won’t have had time to replace the dogs yet… I hope,’ Clive grinned.
Within two minutes, he’d cut a hole in the fence big enough for them to crawl through, and Sean scrambled quickly through the soft snow, across the yard to the front of the house, where he was joined by Clive just a minute later.
‘I’ve had a look through the windows. I can’t see anybody,’ Clive said, pulling a set of locksmith’s tools from his bag and playing with the lock on the door. A few moments later, they were in.
A rotten stench filled Sean’s nostrils as he entered the kitchen: empty beer and schnapps bottles littered the bare floorboards, while half-eaten takeaway was just thrown into a corner.
Grimacing at the filth, they crept through the kitchen and into the lounge, where two threadbare couches sat at right angles facing an old TV, above which a black-and-white poster of the Nuremberg rally clung to the wall. It was the only part of the room that wasn’t covered in fascist graffiti. The letters ‘BR18’ were painted in large black letters above the poster.
‘I saw that tattooed onto the leader’s neck,’ Sean whispered.
Clive examined the writing. ‘Probably the name of the gang,’ he said, then pointed to the stairs in the corner of the room, indicating that they should head that way. When they reached the top, it was pitch-black and Sean reached into his pocket for the torch Clive had given him.
The first bedroom along t
he corridor was taken by Clive, so Sean automatically took the next. Waving his torch around the room, he took in the disgusting sight. Like downstairs, the floor was covered with empty alcohol bottles. A filthy foam mattress was pressed into one of the corners, with three dirty sleeping bags thrown onto it and the walls were covered with the same type of graffiti as downstairs. Backing out of the door, Sean quickly moved onto the landing and pulled the handle down on the next door… it was locked.
Moving back down the dark corridor, he found Clive in another bedroom, which was much the same as the first he’d seen. ‘There’s a locked room back there,’ Sean whispered.
Clive quickly came out and used his tools to open the lock, before gently pushing the door open. When Sean shone his torch into the space, it wasn’t like any of the other rooms; it was clean, tidy, and had a new carpet. A double bed was pushed against the far wall, with a picture of Adolf Hitler riding in an open-topped car over the bridge linking Simbach to Braunau, during the Anschluss; Hitler’s annexation of Austria into Germany. The other walls had more pictures of people wearing Nazi uniforms. Taking his phone out, Sean quickly took photos of the space and moved on.
When he looked inside the traditional wooden wardrobe, he found a Nazi SS uniform hanging in a laundry bag. The black uniform was clean and well-pressed, with polished silver buttons. It was very different from the scruffy skinhead uniform the leader was wearing now.
Moving quickly around the room, he opened a drawer in the wardrobe and scanned the contents. There was a collection of Nazi war medals and some other bits of Nazi memorabilia, but nothing of much interest. Noticing that the base of the drawer was lined with paper, Sean wondered whether the leader was some kind of schizophrenic; portraying an external image of filth and disorder, yet carefully arranging his private life.
As he was closing the drawer, he noticed that the paper was slightly uneven, so he carefully pulled out the memorabilia and placed it on the top of the drawers. It took a little fiddling to get his nail under the edge of the lining paper, but when he lifted it, he found an A4 envelope and opened it carefully, revealing three sheets of paper. ‘Clive,’ he whispered, ‘you need to see this.’
sThe Quiet Wart Page 14