All that Glitters

by Les Cowan

  “David,” he said and nothing more.

  “Well, welcome, David.” Max smiled warmly. “I hope we’ll see you some more.”

  I’d really rather we didn’t, David thought, but noticing a quizzical look on Max’s face, just said: “Sure. No doubt.”

  Even as he finally extricated himself from the possessive grip and made for the door he felt the knowing, slightly amused gaze boring into the back of his head. Vaya, hombre, he thought. That was weird. I’m not surprised Sandy Benedetti did what he was told.

  Out on the street he turned left, then left again, straight into Lucano’s Kitchen. That needed a double espresso, pronto. He collected his coffee and decided not to take the vacant window seat but buried himself as far back in the café as possible. That was weird too. He had no reason to hide and should be grown up enough not to be intimidated. Nevertheless, he really did not want the leadership of Power and Glory Church to come trooping in after him for post-prophetic refreshment. Sipping his coffee and nibbling a pastry he went over the morning in his mind. It felt like trying to make sense of an Escher print or tricking your mind around one of those 3D patterns. What exactly had been going on? There was nothing taken strictly on its own you could object to, but the overall effect just felt wrong. He sipped again and tried another nibble but didn’t have any appetite. It was obvious that those attending – he didn’t know whether to call them church members, disciples, or devotees – loved and valued it. They seemed to feel right at home and clearly there was a lot that was good mixed in with the dubious or frankly coercive. Apparently Sandy and Sonia had come to a real personal faith through “PGC” long before matters at the bank took their sinister turn. The wheat and the tares again – good and bad. All mixed up and no way of knowing exactly where one stopped and the other began.

  Suddenly his mobile gave him a jolt. A call from an unknown number. He’d never make it out in this din. He grabbed his hat, picked up the paper cup, and struggled to the door.

  “David Hidalgo. Hello.”

  “Good morning, Mr Hidalgo,” said a youngish Scottish voice, clear but with a definite touch of tension. “Sorry to ring you up like this. We haven’t met but I wonder if I could possibly see you. It’s quite important. You may have heard of me – I’m Alexander Benedetti.”

  Chapter 12

  THE PRISONER’S TALE

  Arriving in London should have been the greatest day of my life. I’d worked, planned, saved, and paid for it. That couldn’t have been farther from the truth. They took us out of the van into some sort of warehouse, where we were given tiny rooms each. First they took my passport off me, then I was sent to shower. When I came out all my clothes had gone. There was just this flimsy gown. I was told I was to have an interview to assess my suitability for work. The guy I spoke to was Belarusian. He said there had been unexpected expenses on the trip. Border security was suspicious and needed to be bribed. I owed them another £25,000. I said I didn’t have it; that wasn’t part of the deal. But I could see what was coming. He said if I didn’t have the money then I’d have to work for it. They had work they could offer me. By now there was a hard, heavy feeling in my stomach. I remember my mouth was dry. He told me to stand up and take the gown off. I told him to go to hell. He laughed and said, “Don’t you know? That’s where you are already.” Then another man came in. He must have been listening. He grabbed me from behind. They ripped it off me. I can’t write down what they did. I try to forget it but I can’t. Finally an older woman came for me then and took me back to my room and locked the door.

  They brought me breakfast next morning, then I had another “interview”. The man asked me if I had reconsidered their offer. The same thing happened but this time they beat me afterwards. I lay in bed for the rest of the day. The old woman bathed my face and body. They left me alone the day after. Then I was taken in again. They said I could do what they told me or I’d be reported to police as an illegal immigrant. But I knew that was a lie. I guessed I was worth too much to give away. I was taken to a room in the basement. The gown was ripped off me and I was left. There was a bed and a locker. After about fifteen minutes a man came in. He was Asian and didn’t speak much English. He kept saying something I didn’t understand and trying to grab me. I kicked and scratched him. I didn’t let him touch me. He was fat and old and I was able to keep him off. He started screaming at me. Then the door opened and he was screaming at the woman. He went out and the two men came in again. I couldn’t defend myself against them both. Later the woman took me back to my room.

  All this time I didn’t see any of the other girls but I could hear them crying at night. I didn’t let myself cry. There was nothing left inside to come out. The next day another man came to my room. He grabbed me by the throat against the wall so I couldn’t breathe. He said if I did that again he wouldn’t let go. They’d dump my body in the river. No one knew I had arrived; nobody would know when I left. They’d find my body washed up in France. I had one more chance. The same Asian man came that night. He was naked. He was smiling this time and stroked my hair. I let him. He ran his hand down my face, then my neck, then my shoulders. Then I couldn’t stand it any more so I kneed him in the groin. He went down like a burst balloon. He started groaning. They must have heard him outside. I knew what was coming next. I’d kept a nail file I’d picked up hidden in my hair. When the man came at me I went for his face. I almost got him but he dodged and caught my hand and laughed at me. He slapped me hard but that was just the start. I don’t know how long it was before I lost consciousness.

  I woke up back in my room. Another man I’d never seen was there. He was speaking to the first man. I could hardly open my eyes but I could see he was worried. He was speaking fast and low and it looked like he was counting something off on his fingers. He got to five then held up his whole hand right in the face of the other man. Five something. I didn’t know what it was. I found out later it was five ribs they had broken, and my nose. After that they left me alone for days; I don’t know how many. I was in more pain than I knew was possible. They gave me some aspirins and that was all. I couldn’t even take them myself but the old woman helped me lift my head just enough. I lay flat all the time because any time I tried to roll over or sit up my muscles went into spasm and made me scream. Finally another man came in who I’d never seen before. He spoke in English. He said I didn’t have any choices left. I had been a lot of trouble to them and I only had one chance left. They needed the room for someone who would work. If I wouldn’t work then I couldn’t live. It was that simple. So when I was fit to go down to the basement again I did what they wanted. Actually I just lay there till it was finished. It was a different man. He was young with a shaved head and a swastika tattoo. I try to forget his face but it’s always there. It was like that for a week. Every night. By then I could move better. They said another girl needed the room and I had to leave. They had found me another job, far away. I was given my clothes back and told to get dressed. They put me on a bus handcuffed to the seat. We drove through the night. When I woke up I didn’t know where I was. The woman who brought me breakfast was there so I asked her. She was Belarusian too. She said it was “Edynburh”.

  I was put into a room that was more like a bedroom this time. They said it was my room and I could put up pictures and arrange it how I wanted. There was a bed, a chest of drawers, a wardrobe. There was a poster on the wall with a picture of a garden and a Bible verse. I was given breakfast then told to sleep. I would have an interview at two o’clock. I fell asleep immediately but had nightmares. I was naked in the middle of my family. My grandmother was there. I wanted her to comfort me but she spat on me instead.

  There was thin soup, then potatoes and sausages for lunch. Then I was taken to the office. There were two men, one younger with very short blond hair and a scar on his cheek. The older, tall man was like a wrestler or a weightlifter. He was smiling all the time. That was worse than the ones that only looked angry. He told me his name was Max and that h
e was my employer. I had a debt to pay back and until it was paid I had to work for him. While I was working I also had to pay for my room and food. If the customers were pleased with me I would get a bonus; if they weren’t pleased I would be fined and that would be added to the debt. It was my choice. I didn’t say anything. He said Mikhail would look after me and nodded at the younger man. Both of them were smiling now. Before I was taken back to my room he said I had to work out my own salvation with fear and trembling, whatever that meant.

  So that became my life, the life I had given up everything for in Belarus. There are six girls in the house but I know there are other houses too. If someone’s sick sometimes a girl comes from another house until she recovers. They’re all from Eastern Europe, though not all from Belarus. We all have more or less the same story. I wish I could write to all my friends at home and tell them not to trust anyone. The routine is the same most days. We start work at about eight o’clock in the evening and work late into the night depending on how many men there are. Sometimes there’s just one or two but usually more like four or five. They get fifty minutes each and we get ten minutes to clean up. Most are middle aged or older. Sometimes there’s a young one. Once I had a man who only wanted to talk about how his wife was disabled and he couldn’t have a normal married life. But normally they want what they pay for. It often hurts but you have to not show it or you get a bad report and they fine you. I started off hating the men. Then you get used to it. Now I try to ignore them. I pretend they’re not real, that it’s just like a video game or a dream. Sometimes you get the same man coming back every week who wants to “get to know you”. I smile and make something up. When I’m working I try to think about other things. I wander through the woods around my uncle’s farm or go shopping in Minsk. They have my body but my mind is my own.

  We work late so we get up late next morning. The kitchen always has plenty of food so we have breakfast whenever we want. Lunch and dinner are made for us by a Scottish woman. She doesn’t say much. There are two showers and toilets but no bath. The girls chat in the kitchen or the lounge. We watch daytime TV. Once there was something on the news about people trafficking from Eastern Europe. We watched it but no one said a word. To start with I only had my own clothes but once I’d been in the house for two weeks I was told I could go shopping. Mikhail, the younger man with the scar, took me. He made me put a metal collar on. He said if I tried to run away he had a remote control. When he pressed the button a shock went through my entire body and I hit the floor. He said that was only number 1. Then he put me in a car. He sat beside me in the back while the woman drove. It was the first time I had been outside since I came to London a month before. We parked the car and walked. I think it was the main shopping street. It was a very wide street with a castle and gardens on one side and shops on the other. It was beautiful. But the most beautiful thing was the clear, fresh air – and the sky, the people. There were people of all ages just walking about, talking, laughing, smiling. Normal people, who of course had no idea about me. How could they? They seemed polite. A middle-aged man with an overcoat and a fedora held a door open for me. He smiled and nodded. He looked like someone I could trust but I couldn’t say anything. I think we spent more than £200 that day. Mikhail paid for everything. He said, “Smile, Tati, we’re going upmarket. Max thinks you deserve the best.” I had to try on expensive underwear to make sure it fitted. Then I had to choose earrings and bracelets. We went to a shop with underwear and sex stuff in the window but I wasn’t allowed to go in. Mikhail smiled at me in a way like he knew something I didn’t know and left me outside with the woman. He gave her the remote. After a few minutes he came out with a big shopping bag. “You’ll like this, Tati,” he said. “Bags of fun in here.”

  So that’s how it goes. The girls are sisters; we help each other. If someone gets crazy and says she can’t go on we try to calm her down and help her. We tell her it won’t last forever, but of course nobody knows when, how, or if it will ever end. If she can’t make herself do it any more they “deal with her” and she needs to be fed and washed for a week. Sometimes girls disappear. Nobody mentions it. There are men that like to hit a girl, abuse her, so quite often one of us needs something soothing rubbed on the blows. Mikhail said there are cameras in the rooms so they can stop it if it goes too far but usually they don’t bother. We don’t talk much about who we’ve been with or what’s happened. We all know what goes on. Men think they’re good in bed but every one’s just as pathetic as the one before. Anyway, we eat, we sleep, we work. We try to forget. We regret that we trusted anyone and we remember the past when it wasn’t like this, though that seems so long ago. We don’t think much about the future. You can hear some of the girls crying in the middle of the night. They walk around like zombies during the day but they cry at night. They think it’s over; there’s no way out. We’ve had a few that couldn’t go on and did the only thing they could. They take the body away in the morning and nothing is ever said. If you complain or make a fuss, you get fined to start with, then beaten. There are drugs you can take if you want but you have to “pay” for them and they write it down in a book. Sometimes I’ve tried asking how much I owe now, like I’ve a right to know, but you just get laughed at. We all know that’s just some kind of excuse, something they say to start with to make it sound like there’s some sort of sense behind it all. But everyone knows – them and us – there isn’t any sense. I don’t take drugs because I think that someday, somehow, there might be a chance to get out and I want to be ready to take it when it comes. But I don’t know how that could happen. The house is locked, there’s always staff on, and we’re only allowed out with a minder. There’s no phone or internet and the windows are frosted and have bars on. But I know there has to be some way out. I don’t care if I get sent back to Belarus as long as I get out of here. But before I go I’d like to pay them back – Max, Mikhail, Ivan, and all the rest. They should know what it’s like to lose your freedom, to lose control of your own body, to be someone else’s property. They think they own me. Well they don’t. Somehow, sometime, I’ll find a way. And not just for me. For all the girls in all the houses. When I get free then they should watch out.

  Chapter 13

  SILVERKNOWES

  Alexander Benedetti had asked that they meet at David’s flat, not in a public place. “I know I’m in trouble,” he’d said. “The police are going to want to speak to me. I just need to speak to you first.”

  “First question,” David said, with Benedetti sitting across the Monday morning breakfast table. “How do you know who I am and how did you get my number?”

  The banker was sitting with his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. He was unshaven and wore a crumpled white shirt and corduroy trousers.

  “Well I’d heard your name from… Mike and Sam… before,” he started, a slight hesitation before uttering the names, “so I knew you’d been involved in drugs and crime and stuff in Spain – I mean you’d been working against them, not with them. Sorry, I didn’t phrase that very well. Look, do you mind if I get a glass of water or something? I’m not in a very good state right now.” David could see he was shaking. Initially he’d been outraged that he’d even had the gall to call him, never mind want to meet. After agreeing to the meeting, he’d been planning to tear strips off him in person then do everything he could to make sure they locked him up and threw away the key. The problem was that the man sitting opposite him now was such a pathetic shell – unwashed, unshaved, a tousled mop of uncombed hair. He looked like he’d been sleeping in his car. Seeing him slumped in the chair with his head in his hands, David found it difficult to hold the line.

  “Sure. Would a strong coffee be better?” he finally asked.

  Benedetti seemed to settle a bit with a caffeine shot inside him. He was in serious trouble and knew it. Whether he was going to tell the entire truth remained to be seen, but either way there didn’t seem like an ounce of fight left in him.

  “Let�
�s try again, Alexander,” David resumed in a slightly softer tone. “How do you know who I am? How did you get my number?”

  “Sandy – I’m Sandy. Do you mind if I smoke?”

  “Yes, I do. Now, Sandy,” David said between his teeth, “how?”

  Sandy Benedetti had his coffee mug cupped in two hands and was sitting hunched over as if he hoped to gain some warmth from the contents. He spoke in barely more than a whisper.

  “Well, like I said, Mike and Sam mentioned you. Then, when Mike was asking about the account – that’s what this is all about – he said he was part of a group looking at church finances that you were part of. That’s why he was so interested. He’d seen their official accounts and knew that didn’t match what we held. So he flagged it up. You know we look into accounts that don’t match their profile, to stop money laundering and stuff. At least,” he added as an afterthought, “we’re supposed to.”

  “I know,” David replied quietly, seeing they were getting somewhere at last and trying not to put him off his stride. “And I know it’s Power and Glory Church we’re talking about.”

  “How do you know that?” Sandy asked, suddenly startled. “Did Mike say it was them?”

  “No, he did not,” David said, making a strong effort to keep calm, like he was talking down an addict in Madrid. “He maintained confidentiality. But Sam guessed it must be the church you go to and PGC is one of the three we were looking at. It’s not that hard to work out.”

  “Oh.” Sandy collapsed again. “I didn’t know.”

  “Well, we only found that bit out last week,” David continued. “And my phone number – how did you get that?”