The Debt

by D A Latham

  "Of course. I'm not a criminal lawyer, but I happen to know the best in the business."

  I wasn't listening, his statement saying Aaron hadn't paid off my debt was racing around my mind. Everything I'd done, the bad sex, selling my soul, it had all been in vain. Apart from my dress, Aaron hadn't had to pay anything. I felt well and truly “had.” "Hang on," I interrupted, "He told me he'd paid it off, and now you're telling me he didn't?" I'd wondered why they hadn't written to me to confirm it was settled and the CCJ lifted.

  "He didn't pay it, because I'd already done it," Andy mumbled, embarrassed for some reason. "I cleared it when I got into work on Monday. By the time Aaron called, you had a nil balance. He obviously lied to you. Bastard."

  "Why did you pay it?" I asked, puzzled as to why he'd do that for someone who'd just dumped him.

  "Two reasons really. First off, he's not a good person to owe. I know he's all charming and pretends to be nice, but you don't get that rich by being a nice guy."

  "Are you that rich?" I asked. It was a loaded question. He nodded warily.

  "It's how I know he's not a nice guy," he admitted. He avoided my eyes. "Second was my mum. Rupert ratted me out during Sunday lunch when she wanted to know what was bothering me so much. I was a wreck. Rupert told her exactly what I'd done."

  "What did she say?" I asked.

  "Oh where do I start? That I was a fool, I'd let the family down, I was selfish and mean, that she didn't bring us up to be thoughtless to women. It went on for over an hour."

  "So why did you lie to me?"

  "I didn't outright lie, I just avoided telling you the truth. What we had..." He tailed off.

  "You never had before?"

  He nodded. "Everyone knew us, the McCarthys, loaded, high achieving and cocky. I either had hungry, ambitious women throwing themselves at my feet, or the cold sociopath who treated me like a retard. I'd never had the chance to meet someone like you."

  "Poor, hopeless, and facing a prison sentence?"

  "It won't come to that. Listen, I need to make some calls, get the ball rolling. Whatever you do, don't speak to Aaron. If he gets in here, press your buzzer for help. I don't want you alone with him under any circumstances. He possibly tried to kill you once…"

  I went cold at the thought.

  "Sally will need something to wear to go home in," Iris said. "We cut her dress off, so she only has a pair of high-heeled shoes with her."

  "Of course," muttered Andy. "I'll get Mum on it. What size are you?"

  "Eight, medium length, shoe size five," I said, reeling from the horror of the red dress being cut up.

  "OK, leave it all with me. I'll make a start, then I'll be back later on." He kissed me softly on the lips, waved to Iris and hurried off. I sank back into the pillows, exhausted.

  He came back a few hours later, lugging a load of bags and accompanied by an older man, who was casually dressed in an anorak and slacks. He certainly didn't strike me as a hotshot criminal lawyer. "This is my dad, William," he began.

  "But everyone calls me Bill," interrupted his dad. "Andrew tells me you're in a spot of bother?"

  I nodded, "Seems that way." Inside, I died a little. I knew my fringe was sticking up, my hair was greasy, and I was covered in bruises.

  Andy dumped the bags in the corner and pulled up two chairs, one on each side of my bed. "Dad was one of the top criminal lawyers in the UK," he explained. "He's semi-retired now, but there's nobody sharper to have on your side."

  "Now, what I'm going to do is ask you to talk me through the events of that night. Don't leave out any details and certainly don't keep quiet about anything for fear of upsetting Andrew. I know his side of the story too." He threw Andy an exasperated glance, then switched on his voice recorder. I tried to keep events in sequence, racking my brains to remember details and approximate times. He then began asking me questions. Odd things such as which hand I opened the car door with, that sort of stuff.

  "What shoes were you wearing? How long was your dress? Were you wearing gloves?" His attention to the minuscule details was astonishing. He turned to Andy, "Have the police still got the car? Have forensics been over it?"

  "Yes and yes," he said. "Aaron requested it back in order to send it to Bentley to be fixed, but I've scuppered that. I've also requested forensics double-check the prints on the wheel and any flecks from shoe leather in the foot wells. I spoke to the doorman who was working that night. He also remembers seeing Sally and Aaron get into the car. I've sent Mike Ritrovato over to get a statement from him and an affidavit."

  "At the moment, the police are simply looking for evidence of a hit and run, so we need to direct them that we believe there was an attempted murder involved in order to frame Sally. I need the shoes you were wearing."

  "Bedside cabinet," I said. Andy bent down and pulled them out. He handed them to his dad, who examined them carefully.

  "If she'd have been wearing these while driving, the back of the heel would be slightly scraped. It's why ladies often have driving shoes. We can see that these are still pristine. Sally obviously had her feet flat on the floor." He placed them carefully on the end of my bed and turned to me. "The police will interview you tomorrow. I will be present throughout. You don't speak unless I'm there. Understood?" I nodded. "Good. Now, they may well arrest you tomorrow, but don't worry, I'll immediately apply for bail. Before that, I'm meeting with the chief inspector for a swift nine holes, first thing tomorrow. I'll have a chat with him in confidence; steer the investigation a little."

  "Will that work?" I asked, panicking about being arrested.

  "Of course it will. This was the clumsiest fit up I've seen in years. He didn't have a lot of time to get his ducks in a row. Plus of course, he was drunk. He made a lot of mistakes. The police are only looking at you right now because they haven't had any other evidence put in front of them, nor has Mr Pryce's version of events been challenged."

  "Wouldn't I be better not asking for bail? I mean, I've got nowhere to go, I can't go back to Lakeswood." I didn't particularly want to go to prison, but it was better than living on the streets.

  "You're staying with me," Andy said rather gruffly. His dad shot him a daggers look.

  "What did your mother say about being a bit more emotionally intelligent? No wonder the poor girl got herself into a scrape with you being so kind and welcoming."

  Andy rolled his eyes. It was funny seeing him told off by his Dad, although it was pretty tongue in cheek. "Is there anything at Lakeswood of value? Anything sentimental?"

  "My phone and laptop, that’s all, plus of course my clothes."

  "Can all be replaced," Andy stated, "It's safer to have no contact. We don't know what lengths he'll go to for your silence. You'll be safe at mine."

  "Okay... if you're sure. I know I've been enough hassle."

  There was an awkward pause.

  Bill stood up. "Right, well, I've got enough to be going on with. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon. Andrew, think about what your mother told you to do." He blew me a kiss and left.

  "I'm sorry," I said. "I just lurch from disaster to disaster. You must be so fed up with me by now."

  "I like saving you," he said, still rather gruff. "It's what I do best." I went to speak, but he put his hand up to stop me. "When you left me, it was physically painful. I've never experienced anything like it before. I missed you terribly."

  "I missed you too," I murmured, "and I loved all those songs you sent."

  He shifter closer and held my hand gently. "I meant every word of them. Can you believe I actually missed your disasters? Wondering if you needed me... it drove me insane."

  I let his words sink in. "Andy, if you want me, then you need to be honest with me." I paused and took a deep breath. "Are you only with me because it makes you feel superior?" I half-expected him to either laugh, or be cross. Instead, his lovely face was etched with concern.

  "Is that what you think? Of course not. I want you because you're the right woman. You're
smart, funny, caring, and incredibly kind. I'll accept that you're a Calamity Jane, but to be honest, if I'd had your upbringing, I doubt I'd have coped half as well as you have." He brought my fingers up to his lips and kissed them. "Just so you know, I never, ever thought you were with me for money. I thought you were with Aaron for his, but not me." His eyes bored into me, searching out the truth. Fat tears rolled down my face, partly because I was ashamed of what I'd done, and partly because I knew I'd hurt both of us. He gently ran his thumb under my eyes.

  "You were right," I said, "and I feel shitty for having to admit it. I planned to wait until I had my back pay in the bank, and then do a runner. I just didn't think I had any other choice." I brought my face up to look at him. His eyes were a little glossy. Silently, he opened his arms and I fell into his embrace, breathing in his wonderful scent and enjoying being in my safe place. Tentatively and oh-so-gently, his lips found mine. He poured all his emotion into that kiss, trying to communicate what he just couldn't do with words.

  We sprang apart the moment the door opened. Iris bustled in. "I'm so sorry for disturbing you, but I've brought you a cup of tea and I need to take your blood pressure." I could see she'd blushed a little and was wearing a sly smirk. She took my vitals quickly and efficiently, noting them on the sheet at the end of the bed. "So you have clothes?" She asked, pointing at the heap of carrier bags. "Did you shop or did your mum do it?" She asked Andy.

  "Mum. I wouldn't have a clue," he admitted.

  "Then you're safe," she said to me with a wink. "If Andrew had done it, I don't know, lots of lingerie and not much else."

  "Cheek!" Andy exclaimed. "We're not all like Phil you know."

  "I know all about McCarthy boys," Iris said, smiling at me. "Too many good looks, too much charm, and they all have cheeky smiles. They all run rings round us girls."

  She bade us goodbye, as her shift was finished. Andy went off to find the nurse who'd be covering the night duty to warn her not to let Aaron in, and then he found the hospital Starbucks and bought us both large lattes.

  As I sipped mine, grateful for his comforting presence, he showed me what his mum had bought. She'd truly thought of everything. Comfortable yoga pants, a soft, warm sweater, socks, warm boots and a quilted coat, as well as hospital stuff like a nightie, dressing gown, and toiletries.

  "She said to say sorry it's only Marks, but she didn't have much time to get it all."

  "It's perfect," I told him.

  It felt wonderful to put on a clean nightdress after wearing the open-backed hospital gown. I'd had quite a severe concussion, so was getting a sort of sea-sick effect when I stood up. The doctor had assured me it would disappear in a day or two, and I'd have no lasting damage. In the meantime, getting to the loo meant gripping hold of anything solid within reach, with my arse on full show, so the nighty instantly made me feel better.

  Andy stayed until the night nurse threw him out. Leaving me with a soft kiss and a promise to be back the next day. His dad would be there for my police interview.

  I woke early the next morning, the noises of the hospital jolting me awake. With some trepidation, I got out of bed and made my way to the loo. The dizziness I'd experienced the day before had definitely eased. I decided to attempt a shower.

  I had to wash my hair ultra-gently, the bruises on the side of my head where I'd hit the passenger window were still tender, but I managed to lather up my hair and let the hot water run through it to rinse. Just being clean again made me feel better.

  I was drying off with the cardboard-hard hospital towel when Iris came in to find me. "I would have helped you," she told me. "Now, do you want to put normal clothes on rather than your nightdress?

  "Please. I wasn't sure if I'd be allowed."

  I sat in my bedside chair, fully dressed, and ate the rubbery scrambled eggs and cold toast served for breakfast and ruminated on the prospect of having lost every possession I owned. In a peculiar way it felt cathartic. I was rid of the leaky shoes and useless coat forever, along with the girl who'd had to buy them because it was all she could afford. I made a vow to myself to only shop carefully in the future. In fact, all my fears about losing everything felt small now that it had actually happened. The only fear I had to face was the possibility of losing my liberty, which struck terror inside me.

  The doctor came round late that morning and after checking me over, announced I could leave. He seemed warmer than he had previously, which I put down to Iris telling him what had really happened. "I hear the police will be here soon. Let's hope that the truth comes out, eh?" He said as he examined the egg-sized bump on my left temple. "Thinking about it, you couldn't have got this bump unless you'd been in the passenger seat, given that the driver was unharmed." He frowned as he gave me a last check-over. "Well, good luck."

  I thanked him and watched him sign my discharge form. I briefly contemplated doing a runner, but quickly dismissed the idea. I needed to face the problem head-on, otherwise I'd be limiting my options even more.

  Bill showed up at mid-day, just ahead of the police. I sat in silence as one formally arrested me, stating that anything I said would be used as evidence. Even though I knew it was coming, I was shocked and scared. I was glad Bill was there. The list of charges was a long one and included driving without a licence as well as driving under the influence and most importantly, manslaughter.

  We were driven directly to Bromley police station, a new building which the architect had attempted to make modern. The high walls and security spikes gave it a forbidding appearance, and the lack of windows rammed it home that this was a place for prisoners. Bill guided me in, gently holding my shoulder in a very fatherly gesture. He could probably see me shaking.

  We were taken to an interview room, where we were left alone for a while. "Are you alright?" Bill asked. "You're very pale."

  "I'm scared," I admitted. "What if they don't believe me?"

  "They'll believe you alright," he said very quietly. "The chief inspector, this morning, let me in on a little secret. Aaron Pryce is being investigated for a string of insider dealing and dodgy bond-trading scams. If they can get him for this, it'll blow open the rest of his empire for the fraud squad to investigate, so they're keen to accept the truth about the accident. Just let them get their ducks in a row Sally. They'll need to do this a certain way. Be aware of that. Just remember, they're not after you."

  I let out the breath I was holding and tried to calm down. When two men walked in, grim faced, my stress levels ratcheted back up. One switched on a tape recorder, reeling off the date, time, and who was present. "So Sally, would you tell us about the events of Saturday fourteenth of February, more specifically from the time you left the Foxbury Ball."

  I began haltingly, trying hard not to leave out any details. Bill didn't interrupt or try and steer me on what to say. The detectives asked a few questions, mainly about timings, until the nicer one asked; "did Mr Pryce argue with anyone on Saturday night?"

  "Yes, a middle-aged bald man. I didn't know his name. He confronted Aaron. I was standing some way away and it was loud, but I heard him shout something about fifty grand. Afterwards, Aaron, Mr Pryce told me that the man was cross because he held onto some bonds too long and his greediness cost him fifty grand of profit, but he still made a quarter of a million."

  "Did you know about any of his business deals?" I shook my head.

  "I was his dog-nanny; it's how we met. He never discussed business with me."

  "What do you know about Marcus Brookes?"

  "He's the housekeeper for Aaron. Well, he organises the household and designs all the interiors."

  "Was he present with you Saturday night?"

  "Yes, he came with us, but didn't leave when we did."

  "Why was that?"

  "He was chatting up some fella, said he wanted to stay." I wondered why the nice cop was interested in Marcus. He'd had nothing to do with the accident. Bill seemed puzzled too.

  "Can I ask why you're asking my client the
se questions? Mr Brookes wasn't in the car when it crashed," he asked. The copper ignored him.

  "Were you ever offered cocaine by Mr Brookes?" He asked. I gasped.

  "No, never," I squawked. "I don't take drugs, you can do a blood test if you like." The copper just blinked at me.

  "We already have. You tested clear for narcotics, positive for alcohol." He pulled out a file. Inside was my red clutch, held in a clear plastic bag. "Is this your bag?" He asked.

  "Yes."

  "What was in it?"

  "A Rimmel lipstick and my door key."

  "Where in the car did you place your clutch?"

  "On the seat, wedged under my thigh. Why?"

  "Do you recognise this? He reached into his file for another plastic bag, and showed me a small rectangle of foil. I shook my head.

  "Can you say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ for the recording, please?" He said.

  "No, that wasn't in my bag."

  He placed it all back in the file and closed it carefully. "Did you check the wheel for prints?" Bill asked.

  "We did indeed. I'll need to take your client's to see if they match. The duty Sergeant will arrange it. Now, Sally, while you were at the house, were there any suspicious comings or goings?"

  Bill butted in straightaway. "This line of questioning is not relevant to the case in hand. Given that there has already been an attempt on my client's life, I'd like to know why you're asking about this?"

  The policeman gave Bill a hard stare. "Cocaine was found in your client's bag, which was on the back seat of the car. I'm trying to ascertain where it may have come from."

  "My client is not a drug user, you have the evidence, plus the bag was, in her words, wedged under her thigh on the front seat. Has the bag been tested for prints?"

  "Yes, we found three different prints on it."

  "Marcus unwrapped it when it was delivered," I said. "I don't think Aaron ever touched it."

  The policemen left the room. "You OK?" Bill asked. I nodded.

  "So Aaron was a drug user?" I said, more to myself than Bill. "Explains why he did everything at a hundred miles an hour."