by Karen Botha
I’d literally just clocked up a mental tally of everyone who I needed to see that I’d not yet had a chance to chat with when the commotion started. Nuala’s shocked face keeps replaying in my mind’s eye. Her hand over her gasping mouth, horror not only at my arrest, but at the nature in which it was conducted.
And the slow-motion way in which I took in their clothing, the way their unofficial uniforms of navy suits and white shirts scream police. One wears a burgundy tie, the other a navy one with scarlet diagonal stripes.
How will this play out? Will Hana come down here? I don’t expect so, and Judith will be here soon, so Hana will be best placed at the event batting down the rumour mongers. No Hana will definitely not turn up.
I don’t think I’ll be meeting Lucy now, let alone enjoying a romantic evening with a complicated girl with an even more complicated history. I’ll ask Judith to relay a message to Hana to pass on to Lucy. Oh, the Chinese whispers.
Will Judith even show up in person or will she send someone with more experience of criminal matters? Yes, she’s our retained lawyer, and she said she would, but I’m not sure she’s the best placed to deal with a charge for human trafficking. My brain swings from left to right. We review all our staffs permits. Unless one of them forged their documentation, I fail to see how anyone working for me is illegal. And surely they wouldn’t just arrest me for the odd one or two, anyway. There must be a warning. I don't have a criminal record, so that logic would be difficult to understand. With almost one thousand people beneath me, the odd violation on a clean record wouldn’t warrant this type of behaviour.
I wonder whether they’ve got me confused with someone else, another Adam Rutherford? I’ve not heard of anyone going by the same name as me? But you never know. But then, they arrested me at an event being run by my casino. How could that be if this were mistaken identity?
I sigh and a realisation hits me like walking into a brick wall face on. This is not a gaffe. The police came to an event at which I was a key member, and removed me from it. That is no mix up. Cold fear floods my veins, freezing all movement. I’m static on this chilly metal chair, only my rapid-fire breath moves my chest. I taste acid, and the roots of my hair are like needles puncturing my skull. What is going on?
The door opens, and a PC makes way for Judith. I want to hug her. Instead I sit, rooted in my position.
‘What’s happening, Judith?’
She pats my arm. ‘You’re freezing. Are you OK? You’re pale?’
‘No, I’m not OK.’ The words aren’t indignant, already I’m resigned to a long wait. ‘They’ve arrested me for trafficking. I don’t understand. What did they explain to you in your briefing?’
‘Not an awful lot. Just that they hold overwhelming evidence that the casino has been bringing in illegals and making them work and you’re at the head of the chain.’
‘That’s bullshit,’ I spit. ‘I’d never do that! These guys lose enough money, I don’t want to pay next to nothing for my staff. If anything, I overpay because I want a team with language and communication skills, not just dealers.’
‘I know. But what about the cleaners or the non-customer facing staff?’
‘No, I've implemented strict policies to ensure this doesn’t happen. We check all documentation, so I can only assume someone slipped through with forged papers,’ I repeat my earlier thought.
‘Seems a bit of a stretch…’ I have to at least be grateful to Judith for being honest. ‘Is there anything, anything at all you would like to tell me? This is the time to get everything out there, Adam. I can’t help you if I don’t know the truth.’
‘Judith, nothing has been going on. I am as much in the dark about this as you.’
The door creaks open a second time and in walk Rizzoli and Isles. They make a big show of switching on recording equipment and, nice as anything, enquire as to whether I would like a hot beverage. Whilst I’d love to say no, this is not the occasion for being bloody minded. So, I accept their offer of a coffee even though I know it’ll taste no better than a tramp’s sock.
‘Now, may we get down to business, gentlemen? Can you please explain your position in relation to my client?’ Judith is a strong woman not to be messed with.
I’m aware of their words, but I don’t hear their meaning. I try to listen, but my mind drifts in and out of conscious thought. It’s the strangest experience, like I’m there concentrating on the flow of the conversation, but my brain can’t process the information. They’re going back and forth with questions, and Judith is telling me to make no comment. I concentrate on the warmth from the coffee they provided. Rather than tasting good, its heat is delicious on my hands wrapped around the plastic cup. I’m freezing.
A phrase cuts through the chatter in my mind, ‘We hold a substantial amount of evidence.’
Without further thought, I pipe up. ‘You have no evidence whatsoever because I have never knowingly employed an illegal immigrant, let alone trafficked multiple illegals into the country for cheap labour. What incentive is there for me to do this? Have you seen how much the casino makes? I assume you’ve looked at our books.’
‘Yes, we have certainly seen your accounting figures Mister Rutherford, everything was taken into consideration before we decided to bring you in today.’
‘What does that mean?’ I ask.
‘Shh,’ Judith places a hand on my thigh, ‘you’ve said enough.’
A glance passes between Schmidt and Jenko at the other side of the desk. They absolutely believe I’m guilty.
‘I may well have asked my client to quieten down, but please do explain what you meant by your last comment.’ Judith isn’t asking.
‘May I remind you that you are here as advisory counsel, not to conduct an interrogation of your own.’ That’s the skinny one on the left.
She sighs and leans forward, ‘Indeed I am, but my client doesn’t have any idea why you are restricting his liberty. If I may be as blunt as to say so, you shed no further light on this matter. It’s impossible to help you with your enquiries if we don’t actually understand the nature of such enquiries.’
I resist the urge to catcall a ‘here, here,’ as if this were a university debate, realising with swift note that it is indeed not a debate of any kind, let alone the raucous banter enjoyed as a student.
‘So, could you please be more specific about the exact description of the charge? A broad brush human trafficking headline is not sufficient.’ Judith continues.
Another look crosses between Scooby and Shaggy. The fat one nods and the thin one speaks, ‘This is not a matter of trafficking cheap labour to work in your business Mister Rutherford. You’ve got a sideline bringing young, defenceless refugee children into the UK, giving them hope of a new life. That new life, however is as far from what they had imagined as possible. Do you give your high rollers perks, Mister Rutherford?’
I look at Judith, she nods her consent. ‘Yes, of course I do. All casinos do.’
‘And what do those fringe benefits entail Mister Rutherford?’ That’s skinny asking the questions again.
‘Well, it depends. Theatre tickets, gifts for loved ones at home, hotel suites all the standard enticements that every casino provides.’
‘Prostitutes?’ That’s fatty. I notice a drop of soup on his navy tie, right around his midline when seated.
‘My client cannot be held responsible for any private transactions that are conducted between two consenting adults,’ Judith interjects. Judith is no fool; she knows that if someone is spending upwards of one hundred thousand pounds in a weekend, and they ask for a little light relief, we’ll point them in the right direction. These are all women who acquiesce, no underage or illegals. It’s just not our style.
‘Prostitutes, Mister Rutherford. Do you provide prostitutes for those who spend enough?’ Skinny again.
‘No, we do not. We know where our clients may find professional women who are often happy to oblige the whims of rich and powerful men. But, if this i
s a transaction we are not involved.’
‘Hmm, you expect me to believe that?’ Skinny raises his eyebrows. Fatty is scribbling notes.
A silence hangs over the room. I let it, leaving it untouched to thicken the air.
My breath reverberates in my ears. A nasal drum.
My heavy chest struggles to sustain the energy demanded by my static body.
And still, there is silence.
Starsky and Hutch stop and stare at me. I will not be intimidated. They want me to expand my explanation. I have no further information to provide, so I remain quiet.
There’s a metallic smell in the air mixed with sweat. I wonder if it’s mine. It’s cold, but who’s saying it couldn’t be me?
‘OK, gentleman, I’m assuming from your silence you have no further questions and so, if you would please proceed with the necessary paperwork to release my client, I would be most obliged.’ Good old Judith, reversing their power on them.
They rustle papers, and skinny pipes up. ‘OK, Mister Rutherford, we’ll allow you to leave tonight. Please don’t think of heading off anywhere, though. We will more than likely want to resume this conversation at a later date. We will need you to be available.’
I nod, not trusting myself to say the right thing. Pompous ass. Who does he think he is?
‘I haven’t done anything,’ I scream silently instead.
Graham
The electric light creates a glowing strip under the solid door to Adam’s office when I arrive. I push it open, step over the threshold and click it closed with both hands. My heart beats lightly in my chest, a little more rapid than normal, but I’m more used to this now. It was worse at the beginning. Back then my heart would hammer all kinds of chemicals into my limbs, rendering them near impossible to use without shaking.
I pass Nuala’s workstation, which remains unlit and creep through the darkness. The trickle of his waterfall is deafening against the silence. Seriously, who has a waterfall in their office? My dress shoes sink into the plush rug, softening my stride before relaxing into the sofa opposite his desk. I outstretch both arms on the back of the seating, feigning confidence.
I cross my legs, and my right suit trouser climbs above the top of my sock. It is uncomfortable. I force it down, straightening my leg before replacing it over my knee.
My breathing is level now. I’m making a conscious effort, controlling how I appear. My mouth is dry though, I’d love to take a sip of water. I should have planned for this, brought a bottle with me. I’ll remember for the future.
Nuala, sitting behind Adam’s desktop, speaks first. ‘Can we get on with this please? It’s late and I don’t want to be here as it is.’ Her back is ramrod straight, her bottle blonde shoulder length hair clipped away from her face allowing any camera to detect her features without confusion. I’d expected more from her. Her tone is stern despite her thin smile.
‘Where does your husband think you are?’
‘Where my husband thinks I am is irrelevant, Graham. I'm only interested in us getting this finished and then out of here. I don’t understand why we have to meet so late at night, I have access to Adam’s computer every day. This behaviour breeds suspicion, and increases the risk of us being caught.’
I ignore her whining. Who is she to tell me how to run proceedings? I pass around Adam’s desk to stand behind her. His desktop is live, she’s already logged in. I lean over, rest one hand on the desk to the side of her arm which works the mouse close enough to brush her sleeve. She jumps, moves her arm, but doesn’t say anything, continues working on the screen.
‘Which folder is it?’
‘It’s called hospitality,’ I whisper in her ear close enough for her to feel my breath touch the skin on her face.
She rolls her chair an inch to the right, I sit on the desk, my foot on inch from her thigh. She types ‘hospitality,’ into the search bar and we wait whilst the computer scans its hard drive and retrieves the folder. Her mouse hovers, ready to pounce when the file appears. The scan stalls at 57%. I hold my breath. The timer continues moving, but the wait is eternally slow. Someone passes by in the corridor outside Adams' office. I twist towards the sound. The click of heels pauses outside the door, then moves on. Sweat builds a reservoir of tension under my armpits. I stand.
‘You should have put the proper light on, this looks fishy if anyone comes in,’ I hiss. ‘Why would we be here working in the dark at Adams’ desk?’
‘Someone is more likely to come in if the light is on!’ She whispers, but her volume has raised.
I run my nails over the papers to the side of his desk, straightening messy piles into orderly blocks.
‘There!’ Nuala says. My heart leaps.
We both spot what we’ve been waiting for at the same time and Nuala clicks into the yellow icon. The page swims with document after document regarding every aspect of Bright Knights and Adam’s involvement.
‘That’s a lot of documents, Graham. Do we need to take the time to find the specific ones to delete? Why don't we remove the whole folder?’
She has a point. I'd prefer to get out of here, as does she. ‘Select the lot and copy them onto this drive.’
I pass her the USB. Her hand is steady, but her fingers are damp with sweat. Good to know she’s under pressure too.
The timer starts to tick over, my leg shakes.
I repeatedly walk around to the sofas, using up some of my nervous energy. Conscious to remain looking calm and in control, I resume my initial comfortable seat on the sofa whilst we wait. I survey Adam’s office. It’s double the size of mine and it’s not merited.
He was popular in school, but he was never clever. I was the one who did my homework, got the grades. He swanned around as though he owned the place, teenagers and teachers alike hung off his every word. Like the bleeding Fonz. All he did was copy my hard work. ‘Graham let me see your maths assignment.’ I wanted to say no, but what choice did I have?
He even charmed me for a while - he charms everyone. So, I let him see what I’d done, let him take my answers, and in return, I got to hang around with the cool kids. He thinks I didn’t realise I had to be included. But it’s impossible to ignore that awkward sense of not fitting in. I hid my darkness, bit down on the vengefulness which consumed much of my waking hours. None of us are perfect, are we? We each hide those parts not easily accepted by society. It baffles me that people think Adam is the exception to this rule.
And he’s still doing this now. A bloody waterfall behind his desk. What the fuck? It costs a fortune to run too - have you ever considered the cleaning fees associated with those contraptions? Adam hasn’t, that’s for sure.
Nuala is staring at me. I’m staring back at her, although I hadn’t realised. My thoughts all consuming. Her fidgeting disturbs me, she drums her nails on the desktop, then wipes away her fingerprint with the cuff of her sleeve.
‘Nuala, your prints will be all over this office, it’s not like you shouldn’t be in here.’
‘I know.’ She spits this at me through gritted teeth. I swallow a chuckle and stare at her some more. She breaks first, lowers her eyes back to Adam’s screen.
She slides the mouse across the surface she wiped clean, ‘All done.’
I pause behind her one more time, ‘Show me.’
Her right hand clicks; plastic on plastic.
‘Now, delete the old files from his system.’
Another click, this time her index finger shakes. It’s almost imperceptible, but I notice.
Lucy
It’s been a few days since Adam ran out on me. I’ve resisted giving him a call. One day after - yes that's a whole twenty-four hours - he sent me a text saying, ‘I’m sorry.’
I’ve read this more times than I’m comfortable admitting, trying to make some sense of it. What immediately struck me is there’s no kiss, and if I’m honest, it sliced through my heart. But what is he sorry about? Standing me up, leaving me at the hotel the next day without a word, not being able t
o commit?
And the amount of time it took for him to message me. What does that mean? Perhaps he is sorry, and he’s slept on it and there’s no going back? He did contact me though which means he has some feelings towards me…
I’ve worked in the casino for the odd hour here and there as I settle in with the new work, whilst still delivering the advanced bookings my private clients have made. Adam hasn’t popped into see me, and he must have known I’d be here. I didn’t feel able to bob my head around his door either; it’s too awkward. I’ve been to the boxing class on the off-chance he’d show, but of course, he hasn’t. So, whilst I have improved my fitness and made a promising new friend, that friend is not Adam.
And so, today is my first proper week at the casino. I unlock my room. It is the most wonderful space. Soft, laundered towels. A heated bed and seriously having power to adjust the height cannot be underestimated. It’s the single most important factor which will save my joints.
I can’t wait to get stuck in properly. I've seen a few clients on the odd half days I've been bobbing into that casino, and they have been in a right old mess. In particular, the floor staff stand for hours, and it wreaks havoc on their backs, their glutes, their necks, and their shoulders. It's a lot to work through, and I love it.
I open my appointment app; Nuala books the appointments which feed through to the app automatically. She isn't expected to help me, she just does it. She’s a love. Apparently, she’s been with Adam from the beginning. I can see why he couldn’t live without her, she’s efficient. I run my finger down the list; I recognise a few names already, but no Adam. I’d half hoped, he’d book in with me today.
He hasn’t.