by Jacqui Rose
Alan Day was proud of his work. In fact he was very proud. He was one of the best at what he did. He was the defence. The barrister people loved to hate. The man who let the guilty walk. And Alan Day had been in the job long enough to know that the majority of defendants who walked into his mahogany and leather trimmed office were just that. Guilty. Violent partners, rapists, child killers, paedophiles – at one time or another he’d got them all off.
Domestic violence was the easiest. Money for old rope. Take last week – he’d managed to successfully get the perpetrator off even though the man’s own children had given evidence against him. But juries were hesitant to convict. They couldn’t understand why women stayed. Why women couldn’t seek the help they needed. Didn’t understand and wouldn’t understand, which played beautifully into his hands. All he needed to do was get the woman on the stand and make out she was either neurotic or embittered, and the jury would be happy to go along with it – and Alan was happy to be paid handsomely.
Rapists were nearly as easy to get off. Make out the woman hadn’t really said no, just regretted it the next day. Had drunk too much; no one liked a lush. There were all sorts of defence strategies and again, all he needed to do was put a doubt, however small, into the jury’s mind.
Paedophiles and child killers were harder to get off. The jury, especially the women, went gooey-eyed at a picture of a child. But then Alan did always like a challenge, and never did a malt whisky taste as good as when he managed to get the indefensible to walk free.
Leaning back in his chair, dressed in his tailor-made navy pinstriped suit, Alan lit a cigar.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. His secretary put her head round the door. She was new and keen. Two qualities Alan Day liked. He felt the first stirrings of an erection. Give it a couple of weeks, she’d be begging for it. They always were.
‘Mr Day. There’s a visitor for you. I told him he’d have to make an appointment but he wouldn’t go. I’m not sure quite what to do.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Julian. Mr Julian Millwood.’
For the first time in years, Alan Day felt nervous.
6
‘It was this big.’ Star Barker-Williams stood opposite a laughing Del and Bunny with her arms outstretched and her blue eyes wide open with excitement. Bunny grinned, speaking with warmth to her daughter. ‘Are you sure it was that big, Star?’
Del laughed and nudged Bunny in her side. ‘Listen, when the child says it was that big, it was that big. Ain’t that right, Star?’
Star nodded profusely, a mop of blonde hair falling across her face. ‘Yep. It was huge. Almost as big as this building.’
‘And then what happened?’ Claudia spoke as she leaned forward in her chair, getting nearly as carried away in the story as Star was.
Star looked round the room, delighting in everyone listening. She squeezed her hands together, her face lighting up. The nuns at school always told her not to be so silly when she tried to tell them about what she saw. To stop making things up. But she wasn’t making things up. She really did see pirates. Pirates and cowboys. In fact, though she hadn’t told anybody yet, she was sure the deputy head at school was a pirate in disguise. He had a glass eye and no one but pirates had glass eyes. The other girls at school said he’d been in a car accident but Star knew better. She knew how he’d got it. In a battle on the high seas. And one day she’d prove it, but for the time being it was going to be her secret.
Smiling, she turned back to Claudia, continuing with her story. ‘Then when I went up to the pirate boat, I saw someone.’
Bunny grinned, ‘Who? Oh wait let me guess … a cowboy.’
‘Nope.’
Del shouted out, ‘A lion tamer.’
Star laughed. ‘Nope.’
Bunny tried again. ‘A fairy.’
Star pulled a face. Her mum was always trying to make her like fairies and dolls. And even though her mum bought her a new doll nearly every week she hated them nearly as much as she hated fairies. They were for sillies. She looked at her mum. ‘No way!’
Bunny raised her arms up in the air, grinning. ‘Go on then, we give up. Who was on the pirate boat?’
Star lowered her voice into a whisper. ‘A little girl, and she was tied up.’
Bunny’s smile dropped. She looked tense. ‘That’s enough, Star.’
Del’s head whipped round to Bunny, surprised at the sudden change in her tone. As he frowned at Bunny, Star continued to talk.
‘She looked dead scared and just as I was going to try to rescue her I heard a scream and …’
Bunny stood up, her face red and her voice raised. ‘I said enough, Star! Don’t you know when enough’s enough? You have to stop with these silly stories. No wonder you’re always getting into trouble at school.’
Star’s eyes filled with tears as she looked at her mum. Annoyed at the way Bunny had spoken to Star, Del snapped.
‘What the hell’s wrong with you, Bun? She’s only telling a story.’
‘Well, maybe I don’t want to hear her story at the moment.’
Claudia walked over to Bunny, speaking gently to her.
‘Bun, you’re being harsh, babe. Star’s only having fun.’
Bunny said nothing. She looked at Del, who was staring at her in amazement, then at Claudia, before finally crouching down to look at her daughter, whose expression was a picture of hurt. Shame swept across Bunny’s face.
‘Star, I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me. Mummy’s just tired. Can you forgive me, babe?’
Star wiped away her tears. She hated tears. A moment later she threw her arms round Bunny’s neck in a loving embrace, but not before noticing the tiny glance exchanged between her mum and Claudia. A smile appeared on Star’s face. There were secrets everywhere.
Teddy Davies adjusted his seating yet again in an attempt to get comfortable on the tatty sofa. He sat back watching Gary Cole crouched down against the wall, hugging his knees in despair.
Teddy rubbed his chin feeling his twenty-four-hour stubble and sighed. He hated missing children cases. They took too long and he was expected to be sensitive.
He had things to do. He needed to deal with Del. What had happened in Whispers was chewing at him. It was clear the man thought it was all right to humiliate him. He had a bad feeling about it all. Del was up to something and he wanted to get to the bottom of it before it was too late. He’d worked too long and too hard to lose control of Soho. But instead of being able to deal with it straight away he was stuck with Gary Cole, who was struggling to even talk.
He’d already wasted over an hour. He needed to speed things up a bit. Besides which, he could do with a few lines of quiver to pick him up, take the edge off his anxiety. Turning to Gary, Teddy spoke.
‘Mr Cole is there nothing you can think of that may help?’
No answer.
Teddy tried again.
‘Are you sure your daughter couldn’t have just got up and gone out on her own?’
‘No. I know she wouldn’t have.’
Teddy indicated the rizla papers and beer cans on the table. ‘So what went on last night, Gary? Looks like you had some sort of party.’
‘What? Sorry. No … no, there was no party. I had a few drinks. Oh Jesus.’
Teddy rolled his eyes, listening to Gary’s sobs. ‘You need to try to concentrate, Mr Cole. These melodramatics won’t help anyone, least of all your daughter.’
The gasp in the room came from the other detective who held Teddy’s gaze with a look of disgust. Teddy stared back, cutting his eye at his colleague. He didn’t give a shit what he thought. Gary was gasping, clearly having some kind of panic attack.
‘I can’t breathe … I can’t breathe.’
That was it. Teddy Davies had had enough. He walked towards the door. His colleague could do the rest. He had somewhere else he wanted to be.
‘I think I’ll be off now, Gary, the family liaison unit should be round shortly and if
you do remember anything more, you need to contact me straight away. Oh and by the way, in my experience, if you can’t breathe, you can’t talk.’
Outside Gary Cole’s flat, the summer sun pierced down into Teddy’s eyes, eclipsing the depth of the squalor of the run-down estate. Striding back to the car and hoping to find the kids from the area hadn’t taken his wheels off his new Range Rover, Teddy looked at his watch. A Rolex. Courtesy of Alfie Jennings for favours done. If he was quick, he could get back to Soho in time to speak to Del.
Teddy opened the door, going into the glove compartment. From inside he pulled out a wrap of quiver. Taking a quick look round he opened it, shovelling up the powder with his long fingernail, especially grown for moments like this. Within seconds the quiver hit the back of his nose, then his throat, until he felt the high take over his body.
Jumping into the car, Teddy smiled to himself. If Del Williams thought he could get the better of him, then he was more of a fool than he looked.
7
Edith Williams lay on the sun lounger and broke wind as she stuffed the last of the Godiva chocolates into her mouth. No matter how much she tanned herself in the heat of the Marbella sun her skin didn’t turn any shade of anything, apart from red.
Her over-processed undernourished platinum hair hung like straw from under her hat. Her swollen size twenty body was squeezed into her expensive Pucci swimsuit, with the layers of fat straining to escape. Puffy fingers held an array of Bvlgari and diamond-encrusted Chanel rings. Her fingernails were painted a deep purple, matching the swollen veins on her hands and legs.
Feeling something warm on her chest, Edith looked down, and noticed that one of the chocolates had fallen onto her creped skin, melting and oozing dark liquid down her swimsuit.
‘Oi, bleedin’ hell. Look at the state of this. It looks like I’ve been shat on by a flying pig.’ Edith spoke loudly to herself.
‘Alfonso! … Alfonso! Bring a bleedin’ cloth to mop me up before the flies come and eat me alive.’
From inside the villa, Alfonso Garcia sat at the large marble kitchen table, finishing off his freshly squeezed lemonade, and rolled his eyes. He had no intention of moving until he’d finished his drink. At the best of times he didn’t like to do much, but today it was especially true. He was tired and the Costa del Sol heat was, as it always did, getting to him.
He’d only just got back this morning from a trip to London. Another errand for Edith; bringing back chocolates from Selfridges. Why she couldn’t be like anyone else and buy her chocolate from the local shop he didn’t know. And now, even though in the last twenty-four hours he’d had less than two hours sleep, he was still supposed to be at her beck and call. Well he wasn’t going to be rushed by anyone, least of all Edith Williams.
Spitting a lemon pip back into the iced drink, Alfonso listened to Edith’s screeching, which was becoming louder and more hysterical with every call.
‘Alfonso! … Where the bleedin’ frig are you? … Alfonso!
‘Alfonso! … Stop bleedin’ mugging me off … Alfonso!
‘Alfonso! … Get your skinny arse out here … Alfonso!’
Having given it another five minutes before going to see what Edith wanted, Alfonso walked out onto the pool area and was promptly greeted by an empty box of chocolates being thrown in his direction.
‘Where the friggin’ hell have you been Alfonso? I was calling that much and that loud I’ve got gut rot now. You know stress does funny things to me stomach. I’ll have to go to the khazi now and do a banana split.’
Ignoring Edith’s crudeness, Alfonso smiled a sickly smile. ‘I didn’t hear you.’
‘I was calling loud a-bleedin’-nuff.’
‘I was at the back of the house sorting out some of the deliveries that came this morning. Perhaps next time you should shout louder.’ Alfonso held his smile for a moment before adding, ‘What was it you wanted anyway?’
‘Look at the state of me.’
Alfonso stared at Edith, trying not to show his disgust in his face as he looked at her beached-whale body on the sun lounger, covered in gooey chocolate.
‘Come and help me clean myself up.’
Alfonso picked up a towel discarded on the other lounger and went towards Edith to wipe away the chocolate. Straight away Edith screeched loudly, brushing him away with her hand before he could wipe up the mess.
‘Not with bleedin’ that you silly sod. Get me some tissues. Oh and Alfonso. Where’s my kiss?’
Alfonso’s sickly smile reappeared as he inwardly shuddered. ‘How could I forget?’ Bending down he kissed Edith who, with shark-like speed, opened her mouth, pushing her tongue past Alfonso’s tightened lips.
Coming up for breath, Alfonso took the opportunity to pull away. ‘Now my princess, let me go and get you those tissues otherwise like you say, the flies will eat you alive.’
Edith scowled. ‘I thought you said you didn’t hear me.’
‘I heard you as I was coming through to see what was wrong.’
‘But I said that when I first called you.’
Alfonso shrugged his shoulders. ‘Edith my darling. I’m here now. Stop getting your pretty little head in a flap.’ Alfonso winked at Edith who giggled in a childlike way, causing Alfonso to shudder again. ‘Right, you’ll be okay here for a moment while I go and get those tissues.’
Walking back into the villa with his back turned away from Edith, Alfonso’s face changed into a nasty sneer. He’d been employed by Edith for the past three years, going from the maintenance man to the cook, to the chauffeur to the housekeeper and finally to her bed; not that there was any attraction on his part, quite the opposite in fact.
He’d stupidly thought becoming her lover would’ve given him a certain sway; imagining being able to do as he pleased – more to the point, being able to spend her money as he pleased. But he couldn’t have been more wrong if he’d tried. Edith had become more demanding, both in the bedroom and with the things she expected him to do for her. Treating him more like the hired help than ever before. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have other staff working for her, yet she insisted on him doing it.
Going into the large, ostentatious gold-leafed bathroom, Alfonso grabbed some tissues. He stopped to look at himself in the mirror. He was naturally olive skinned but the years of living abroad had given his skin a constant dark mahogany tinge, making him look more Mediterranean than the locals and helping him turn from the East End-born Alf Garfield he really was into the suave, well-spoken Alfonso Garcia.
When he’d first come to Spain it’d been his intention to lie low and blend into the background, needing to be unseen, but he couldn’t have imagined for a moment how well it would turn out. It’d worked out perfectly in fact.
Over a short period of time his skin had darkened, his mousey brown hair had been dyed to a jet black and he’d changed his name, picking up the local lingo along the way. He’d reinvented his life and erased the past. Changing his history from the life of crime he’d led – spending the majority of it going in and out of the nick – to a third generation Spaniard who’d come to live back in Spain with his mother who’d passed away ten years ago.
He’d picked up odd jobs, looking over his shoulder at first until he realised no one was actually looking his way. And over time he’d been able to put Alf Garfield to rest, and in his place the smooth-talking Alfonso Garcia was born.
Then one day he’d been in Puerto Banús, the luxury marina south-west of Marbella. He’d bumped into an old acquaintance – a retired face from London that he’d done some work for when he first came to Spain – who’d told him about a job where they needed someone to keep their mouth shut and their eyes open. Alfonso had known this wouldn’t be a problem; it’d been how he’d lived his life. A few days later a meeting had been set up with some cronies before he was actually taken to meet the man himself. Del Williams. Husband of Edith, and number one face.
Even though it paid well and the work came with living quarters provided
, Alfonso hadn’t seen the job to have any redeeming features; unblocking toilets around the villa, changing fuses and whitewashing already brilliantly white walls as well as always keeping schtum to the comings and goings of the Costa del Sol’s biggest faces, wasn’t his idea of living the high life.
But then a couple of months after he’d started work at the Williams’ villa, Alfonso had woken up to find Edith sitting in the kitchen, having returned from one of her luxury holidays. Within hours, Del had left the villa, going back to London, not being able to stand more than the minimum of time with his wife. So that had left Edith and him.
At first, Edith had viewed him suspiciously, but one thing Alfonso had always been good at throughout his life was reading people. Giving them what they wanted before ripping the granny out of them and taking them for everything they had. Edith was no different. Alfonso knew exactly what she needed to get him what he needed.
‘Alfonso! … Alfonso! Where are those bleedin’ tissues? Where the fuck are you?’
Alfonso scowled. The time was coming when he wouldn’t have to jump to Edith’s every whim. She was a fat, loud-mouthed cow – but a very rich one, and even though it’d taken longer than he thought it would, if he continued to play his cards right, he’d be able to get his hands on that wealth.
His phone started to vibrate in his pocket, breaking his thoughts. He answered, slightly annoyed.
‘Yes.’
Alfonso listened to the caller for a moment, before growling down the phone. His voice changed from the feigned affected voice in which he spoke to Edith, into the heavy threatening cockney accent of Alf Garfield.
‘Listen geeze, I told you to never fucking phone me … I’m warning you mate, don’t press my fucking buttons, pal, otherwise I ain’t going to be held responsible for my actions.’
Cutting off the call, Alfonso straightened down his clothes and walked out into the brilliant Spanish sunlight, trying desperately to ignore the nagging unrest that had just come over him.