Benefit of the Doubt

by Les Cowan

  “Well,” Mr Grant shuffled, scratched, and sucked again. “You know how it is. They’re just not our kind of folks. Not saying anything against them, of course, but it’s just not what we’re used to. I’m sure they’d be happier with their own sort as well. So it would really be much better all round.”

  “And what do you suggest, Mr Grant?” Mrs MacInnes was an old campaigner and knew very well the value of getting the enemy to set out their position in full before mounting a counter-attack.

  “Well, I’m not entirely sure. I…” Mr Grant had, however, served his purpose in establishing that this was not a one-woman crusade but a mass movement and Mrs Buchanan no longer needed his limited input. She took over brusquely and made herself plain.

  “There is bound to be a church somewhere nearer. This is far too far from their estate to expect people to come. Especially with the youngsters as well. I will contact the secretary of whatever church it might be and find out the details. Then I will advise the young man who seems to be in charge of all these…” she paused, searching for the right word, “… individuals and suggest that that would be more suitable by far. I’m even prepared to draw them a little map or something. You know, these people might not be used to following instructions. That will be much better for everybody, I’m quite sure.”

  Mrs MacInnes paused for a moment, just long enough to gather steam.

  “So,” she said, “am I to understand that although the Kingdom of God may have a place for sinners who have come to repentance, Southside Fellowship does not? That it may be easier to get into heaven than into this congregation? That when St Paul said, as I recall, there is now no longer Jew, nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, he should have added, ‘but there remains a distinction between Southside Fellowship and the residents of Muirhouse’? The fact is, Mrs Buchanan, that young Eric has come to Christ and has sustained his calling over several months, now wishes to get married and make things right by his young lady, and is in other ways, it would appear, producing fruit appropriate to his confession – such as bringing his friends to church. And to their credit, unlike Nicodemus who was too ashamed to visit Jesus in broad daylight, they came right in, as a group, on the recommendation of their friend to see what we are made of. Well, I think I can see perfectly well what impression they would go away with if we were to follow your advice. No. Until Señor David gets back and comes to a different conclusion, Eric and his friends will be as welcome here as, well, as welcome here as you or I. Or indeed you, Mr Grant. I hope I make myself clear.”

  Mrs Buchanan had been gradually growing a deeper shade of red throughout this response and now looked like the human version of a faulty boiler at the old Portobello Baths.

  “I see,” she said between clenched teeth. “Well. This will not be the last you’ll hear of this. Come on Mr Grant. I can see our views are not to be taken into account. Good day, Mrs MacInnes.”

  “Good day, Mrs Buchanan. Are you not going to join us for a cup of tea then?” Mrs Buchanan made a noise as if one of the boiler valves had suddenly sprung a leak and sailed towards the exit with Mr Grant meekly in tow. Mrs MacInnes shook her head. She did not enjoy such altercations for their own sake, though she knew some that did. But sometimes a church secretary has to do what a church secretary has to do. She joined the coffee queue behind a young man who seemed to be called Sniffy for some reason she couldn’t quite understand.

  “Well, Mr… eh… Sniffy…” she said, “What do you think of Southside Fellowship then?”

  Jen slowly became aware of birdsong and morning light and opened her eyes. For a moment she had no idea where she was. It seemed too warm for Edinburgh and it certainly wasn’t her bedroom at home. Then she noticed a high-backed wooden chair with a man’s white shirt and trousers draped over the back and she remembered. She tried to move but found her hair was held tight at the nape of her neck. He was there behind her in the bed, one arm over her bare shoulder and another gripping the short curls tightly at the back of her head. Even in his sleep he controlled her every movement. The birdsong and sunlight had briefly raised her spirits but now she remembered everything and wanted to cry. She’d been doing a lot of crying lately. The anger, the violence, the hatred, the way she was treated, and the way everyone saw her as something disgusting with neither virtue nor purpose, just kept around till everyone had had their final fun – she felt worthless, stupid.

  It was all so clear now but she couldn’t understand how she had been so blind. Dazzled by the show-off cars, clothes, money, computers, drinks, and drugs. Fooled by an act designed for one purpose only – to get her to walk into hell of her own accord. All the jokes, the gifts, the smiles, the fun. All so clear now. She was a toy, an amusement. He had even called her “his little plaything” once and laughed. She had laughed along, thinking she was cherished like a favourite without seeing what it really meant. She’d been so intent on being grown-up, proving to everyone that she could take care of herself and make her own choices, that she hadn’t realized until now that she’d been like a bird following a trail of breadcrumbs into a trap.

  Anyway, the choices were over now. She was in, with no way out. A seed of hope had taken root when she got the mobile and thought of a way of sending messages. That had worked for a while. Then he had found out and beaten her so hard she couldn’t move without stabbing pains for two days. It took more than a week for her face to go back to normal. She knew that some of the other girlfriends didn’t like how he was treating her, but what could they do? They cleaned her cuts and bruises and tried to help her sleep but then he had come back for her, hauled her off by her hair, and done things she couldn’t bear to remember. And she couldn’t get the images and sensations out of her mind or her body. If none of this had happened she could see how he would have looked handsome in a photoshoot. Now she knew what he really was she couldn’t think of him as a human being at all. He was a demon. All the demons rolled into one.

  Finally, when the crying had emptied her of everything else, there was only one thing left to try. It’s what Granny would have told her to do.

  Chapter 22

  Policía Nacional

  Captain Rodriguez sat behind his desk in a spotless, beautifully pressed uniform, a little more formal in his manner than the day before. David, Gillian, Juan, and Alison took chairs in a half circle round the desk. Another officer sat in a cramped corner taking notes. Rodriguez listened with the utmost attention and concentration. From time to time he asked a question for clarification or to check an unfamiliar English expression, but by and large, merely listened and nodded. David spoke most, with Alison describing the background and Jen’s last visit to the flat. Finally, David read the most recent text – “PS 70 1 2: ‘Please God, rescue me! Come quickly Lord and help me. May those who try to kill me be humiliated and put to shame. May those who take delight in my trouble be turned to disgrace.’” But that had been a week ago and nothing since.

  “Well,” the captain said at last, “that she knows we are coming is good, though the desperation and lack of contact for a week is worrying. We can only hope they will indeed be humiliated and put to shame. A remarkable story. But now we have limited time. I agree Toledo seems most likely, but I am concerned they may be planning a move. Colombia would make things much harder.” He looked at David and seemed about to say something then changed his mind.

  “In any case,” he added, “the sooner we have the chance to have a ‘charla’ with Señor Álvarez, the better. Since you have been in touch with the girl we need to work together. You will understand, not many of my officers could communicate in this way.” He gave David a rueful smile. “To be honest, I would not be able to do so myself. Acceptable? Good. Well, we will need to set up a base in Toledo, while my men make enquiries. I know a location that will attract the minimum of attention. Álvarez will have his lookouts. Could I make a suggestion that may seem a little unusual? It may involve some risk. Please feel
free to say no if this is too much.”

  Rodriguez looked carefully round to be sure they understood this included them all.

  “I would like to suggest we set up our base at the Parador Hotel in Toledo. It is the best hotel in the city and the exact location where we would like to be. You would pose as tourists – my men will be in town on business. Señor David and Señora Lockhart would have to be a married couple. The same for Señor Hernandez and Señora MacInnes. But you are friends so you are in and out of each other’s rooms. You go sightseeing in the town or visit some historical places and take photos. You know. My office will arrange your stay and deal with the costs. Would such an arrangement be acceptable to you?”

  David and Gillian looked at each another – one of the top hotels in Spain… pretending to be lovers… at someone else’s expense…

  “I think we could manage that,” David agreed. Juan shrugged and Alison nodded.

  “Good. Teniente Espinosa here would normally be officer in charge of an active investigation but I have been looking for Álvarez for over ten years and therefore have some personal interest in the case. So I have approval to take personal responsibility. Now, we need to move as soon as possible. We can drive to Toledo in an afternoon. Someone will contact you later today to confirm. Our plan will depend on rooms but these hotels are government owned so perhaps we can bring some influence to bear. You will also need a vehicle.” He looked to the teniente who nodded.

  “Until we can start, then? Buenas días.” Captain Rodriguez stood up and formally shook hands with each of them. Espinosa took a note of their mobile numbers. Then, just as they were leaving, Rodriguez called David back in.

  “Señor David. I did not wish to upset the Señora, but there is the possibility that even if Álvarez is planning to move elsewhere it may not be his plan to take the Señorita with him. You understand my meaning.”

  “Perfectly,” David replied. “The possibility had occurred to me. I’m not sure if Alison has considered it. I imagine it would be just too frightening.”

  “Understandable. So there is some urgency. I would simply ask that you be ready to leave immediately we contact you and follow the instructions of my officers. I’m sure you see the importance of this. Also we have had some unfortunate – how do you say – leaks – in previous operations. Another reason why I will be leading this one myself.”

  “I see. Of course.”

  “Muy bien. We will be in touch.”

  And that was it. Two minutes later they were back on the street in the sunshine of a Madrid summer’s day.

  “What did you think of El Capitán then?” David asked as he and Gillian walked hand in hand, Juan and Alison following behind.

  “What a polite man! It was so lucky… sorry Juan… I mean it was so good to meet him at church. What a connection. I had no idea what we were going to do once we got here. Now we’ve got all this help. And a Parador stay thrown in. ¡Estupendo!”

  “Rodriguez is one of a dying breed,” said David. “He’s an old-fashioned Spanish gentleman – a caballero. He believes in courtesy and good manners as a matter of self-respect as much as anything else. He’ll be polite and respectful whether he’s helping you put on your coat or a set of handcuffs. Part of the Spanish economic miracle followed by the crisis is the loss of a lot of these old-fashioned attitudes. People just need to survive now so everything has gotten a lot harsher.”

  “So a bit like Scotland except for the economic miracle?”

  “I suppose so. Anyway,” he turned to Juan and Alison, “we’ve got at least a couple of hours to spare in Madrid. Where do you want to go?”

  “Oh, I’ve no idea,” said Alison carelessly. “Wherever you think.” She was in no mood to view the trip as a holiday. David hoped she would be able to keep up the pretence once they got to Toledo.

  “Where do the tourists go?” Gillian asked. “If that’s what we’re supposed to be.”

  “Plaza Mayor,” said Juan. “Puerta del Sol, The Prado, maybe the Retiro park. Casa del Campo if you have time.”

  “What’s the Plaza Mayor?” Alison asked.

  “The town square,” David replied. “Almost every city in Spain has one; this just happens to be bigger than most.”

  “And the haunt of every pickpocket between Bilbao and Cadiz,” Juan put in with a grin. “Don’t forget, this was my workplace for years.”

  “You need to keep us right, then,” said Gillian.

  “Never let bags or cameras out of your sight. Money and credit cards in a zipped bag in front of you. Be suspicious of everyone. I’ll try to keep an eye on things.”

  They all welcomed a distraction from Jen, Raúl, Bible codes, even Toledo. The Puerta del Sol was thronged with tourists, street entertainers, an anti-austerity demonstration, and a few beggars. Spiderman, Bart Simpson, and Spongebob wandered around waving at the crowds. At this time of year the visitors were mostly foreign besides a few Spaniards from the provinces come to see how the madrileños lived. Gillian queued up to have her photograph taken in front of the Kilometro Cero plaque from which all road distances in Spain are measured. She and Alison posed for photos next to the statue of the Bear and the Strawberry Tree. Then souvenir shopping as, for a few short hours, they joined Madrid town life in the open-air cafés round the town square. Only once did Juan have to grab a passing youth, relieve him of a misappropriated purse, and return it to an astonished American couple at the next table. In return he was obliged to accept their thanks, join them for a photograph, exchange email addresses, and see some snaps of their farm in Idaho. Eventually they paid the Bolivian waiter and wandered round admiring the architecture and murals, looking into the windows of shops set into the cloisters and listening to a South American pan pipe trio playing Abba’s greatest hits. David couldn’t help imagining, at the corner table in a particular bar, a girl with a raspberry beret and a younger version of himself. They were sipping Rioja and looking very pleased with themselves. But this time it didn’t make him feel bitter. He strolled past hand in hand with Gillian and could have sworn the girl in the beret smiled at him.

  Lunchtime rolled around and Juan suggested they all go to Sobrino de Botin, his former place of employment and famous as the oldest continuously functioning restaurant in the world. Eating early as suited Brits abroad they got in without a reservation and followed Juan’s recommendations while he hobnobbed with former colleagues and friends in the kitchen. The Cordero Asado and Cochinillo were delicious. Then, just as they were feeling relaxed and comfortable, thinking they could get used to this, David’s phone went off. It was Espinosa. Rooms had been booked at the Parador and a car was ready. Could they meet at Mariano’s in one hour? He looked at his watch. It would be tight but they’d try. Sadly they had to forgo coffee, settle up (a discounted bill), and make their way to the nearest Metro.

  Waiting on the platform Alison felt herself jostled by the throng of passengers all trying to find the best spot. Only once the train had arrived and they were in did she notice the missing purse and phone. The purse contained only twenty-five Euros and the mobile was a spare but she still felt stupid. Added to the sense that they were now embarking on the most hazardous part of the enterprise, she wondered if she should just have stayed at home and let more capable people take care of things. No. Jen was her girl. Her place was here.

  Once again it made her trawl deep down for some hint she should have seen what was happening with Jen. Nothing. Just as there always was. She had done the best she could and that was that. Juan was also feeling stupid. Besides missing Alicia, it was his job to keep the women safe in a world he understood much better than they. How would things be now if it had been the other phone that had gone? Too horrible to contemplate. David and Gillian were the only ones who seemed at peace with themselves and the world. They hadn’t forgotten the exploding van and why they were here, but somehow that night had taken on a distant ethereal qualit
y. It might all have happened to someone else in a different world. What was real now was what was between them. David had explained earlier about his walk round Warehouse 66 the day they arrived. Now he needed to know Gillian’s story. They found seats where they couldn’t be overheard.

  “So… can I ask about church yesterday?”

  “Sure, ask away.”

  “Well – em – was it ok?”

  “Yeah, ok.” Gillian paused. “No – sorry – I shouldn’t be making you work for it. It’s just that – well – I’m not sure how to put it. God and I needed to get a few things straightened out.”

  “So I hope you’ve put him right.”

  “That’s not even funny. All these months. I feel like I just haven’t been paying attention.”

  “Meaning…?”

  “I’ve been around so many people who’ve got it together and it’s like I haven’t even spotted the difference.”

  “Between?”

  “Me and you of course. All of you. First of all I thought it didn’t matter. You know, everybody just believes what they believe – we’re all different – that sort of thing. Stuck to that for a while actually. Then it turned into – ‘I can go with this – it kind of makes sense – but it doesn’t need to change me – no problem’. That was stage two. But then there’s a little voice somewhere saying, ‘That isn’t enough.’”

  “Scary. I remember.”

  “You’ve no idea. It frightened the life out of me. I was thinking, ‘What now?’”

  “And you concluded?”

  “Well all the time I’m thinking ‘I do not want to turn into some weirdo’, but then – you’re not that weird. Well not really.”