by Neil Wild
“Doubt it.” said Brakespeare.
“Anyway it seems that Masters hinted to the Chief that he is well connected with the Government and that one good turn deserves another, so the Chief put a couple of coppers on the job.”
“Just two coppers – no senior officers.”
Joe shook his head. “Masters didn’t realise that of course – at first. You know one of them.”
“Do I?” Brakespeare asked.
“Durkin. You remember him. Used to be in the Vice Squad, and then got involved with one of the brasses on the Coventry Road. The young black girl, Shay, Shay. Shayleigh Watts.”
“Him?”. Brakespeare now could place Durkin. Why had he not recognised the name before. Durkin had been a Sergeant and an enthusiastic member of the squad. He preferred to target the pimps who ran the vice girls, rather than the girls themselves, but had succumbed to the gratitude that Watts had had to offer when her pimp, who had beaten and bullied her, was sent to prison for living on immoral earnings.
One of Durkin’s jealous colleagues had informed on him, and he had been demoted and banished to the outer reaches of the Black Country.
Joe continued the tale. “Well he was a good cop, and had been mouldering at Old Hill Cop Shop, so the Chief thought that he ought to do the investigation. It would help fill his time. Might even get him his sergeant’s stripes back, and the pension that goes with them.
Durkin to go and see Masters, who apparently told him more or less what he wanted out of the investigation, and even how he should go about proving the case.”
“If I remember Durkin correctly, he wouldn’t have liked that.”
“He didn’t, but the Chief had thrown him a lifeline, and so he had to do his best.” Joe paused again for effect, and took a long sip from his Guiness without taking his eyes off Brakespeare..
“Can I get you another?” asked Brakespeare.
Joe shook his head. “I’m taking it steady.” He looked at his watch. “Another three and a half hours to closing time, and we’ve got a match in the morning.”
“So what did Durkin think?” asked Brakespeare.
“No case to answer.” Joe shrugged. “Masters was furious, and when he found out who Durkin was, or rather had been, he created hell. Told the Chief that he was in dereliction of his duty. The Chief got pissed off and asked the Boss to have a look.”
“Did he?”
“No, he had a word with Durkin, and gave it to me.”
Joe looked very satisfied at having been entrusted with such a politically sensitive case – as he thought. To Brakespeare’s mind, the Police had simply been going through the motions with what was a hopeless case, and the Boss had tried to get rid of it..
“And you couldn’t find anything wrong.”
“No, and believe me I looked. Could have been a winner for me.”
Brakespeare could believe that. It would have elevated Joe above car accidents and dangerous drivers.
“So what happened then?”
“Well, Masters threw all his toys out of the Pram. Pulled every string and rang every bell that he could in the name of the National, and managed to get the file sent to London.
“Ludgate Hill?”
“Head Office, yes. Something political went on. Whether or not it was the Masons or someone in Government………”
“Or both?”
“We don’t know, but the next thing that we hear is that the case is up and running, and us in Brum get a black mark.”
“The Boss won’t like that.”
“He certainly didn’t. He always wanted to get to London himself; get into the Director of Public Prosecution’s office. He reckons he’s blown that.”
Brakespeare was thinking furiously. “Unless I can win the case.”
Joe was never a one for the quick reaction, and he stared at Brakespeare as the issue slowly wafted through his mind. He eventually spoke.
“That’s true.”
“Why didn’t you think that there was a case Joe?”
“Well, firstly they reckoned that your man Newberry was part of the company, Clear something wasn’t it?”
“Clearfield.”
“Well there were no records of that that I could see. Nothing at Companies House”.
“Again, they say that he had money in the company. Again nothing that I could see, except a meaningless scrap of paper. Then he was supposed to have carried out dodgy valuations and the only evidence of that was the word of some other surveyor, White, is it?”
“Black”
Joe grinned. “Near enough. Well I could see that if the Defence got another surveyor to say that Black was wrong, a prosecution would get no-where. Which surveyor is to be believed?”
He had finished his succinct summing up of the case, and sat back and folded his arms.
Brakespeare looked thoughtfully at Joe. “Well, that’s more or less the conclusion I’ve come to, except…” he hesitated and Joe looked expectantly at him. “Joe this is just between us O.K.?”
“On the Holy Mother’s life”
It was Brakespeare’s turn to lean forward in a conspiratorial manner.
“There is one thing which may tilt things the defence way. We’ve done an analysis of Black’s valuations. He’s all over the place. At a time when property values have been falling, he has some values rising and none of them at the same rate.”
“So Black’s evidence is all bollocks.” said Joe.
“Round and bouncy.”
“The Boss will be pleased.”
“Joe, you mustn’t tell him. This is confidential.”
“Haven’t you told London yet.”
Brakespeare hesitated; of course he had just written to the C.P.S telling them all this.
“It’s early days Joe. I don’t want to play all our cards just yet, and if Masters knew that we’re be talking about the case - if the Boss told him – the shit would really hit the fan and we’d all find ourselves being investigated for attempting to pervert the course of justice.”
“He and the Boss don’t speak apparently. Hate each other’s guts now.”
“But if it got around the Masons.”
“O.K. point taken. Still sounds as if you’re on a winner my man. Best of luck, and if you do want any help…?”
“I’ll bear you in mind”, said Brakespeare.
They both emptied their glasses.
“Well better hit the road. Nice seeing you again Joe.”
“You too Jonny. I’ll keep my ears open on this one. Mind how you go. As I said, the Boss will be pleased.”
“Joe, keep Mum.” Brakespeare pleaded.
Joe winked and shook hand before returning to the saloon bar.
chapter sixteen
Brakespeare felt elated as he pulled out of the Pub car park, across Bourton Road, turned left down High Street and along Oxford Street towards Chipping Norton. So he was on the right track, or at least they were on the right track, thanks to Lisa’s figures. As Joe had not noticed the discrepancies in Black’s figures? It was likely that the C.P.S. in London had not either. If that was a case the letter would come as bombshell.
There again, if Joe were right and the prosecution was being brought under pressure from Masters, they were not going to drop the case lightly. Indeed for all sorts of extraneous reasons they could not drop the case. That meant that his letter was unlikely to have any effect. Damn.
He thought of telling Newberry about the meeting with Joe to, but decided against it. There was no point in raising his hopes. They might well have to see this one through to the end.
The same went for Lisa and the partners. He could not tell them because the story was bound to get back to Newberry. It was probably an unethical conversation anyway, and if Masters found out, he would no doubt be on the telephone to the Solicitors Regulation Authority demanding that Brakespeare had his Practising Certificate revoked again!
The rest of the journey through Chipping Norton, Buckingham and to Milton Keynes passed
in this lighter mood as he went through Joe’s tale time and time again in his mind. He imagined the conversations that must have taken place between the Chief Constable, the Chief Prosecuting Solicitor and Masters. If what Joe said was right, Masters must have some connections very high up to get this prosecution. It couldn’t be the Americans as the whole exercise was to mislead them.
Moreton in the Marsh had been the halfway point in the journey, but he made the next 50 miles to Milton Keynes in just over an hour, as the Friday homeward traffic had long since reached it’s destination. The three bedroomed semi-detached house which he shared was in Furzton on the west side of the City, and he pulled the little Fiat onto the driveway. His was the only car. That meant that Trevor was not in and was possibly away on an Open University Field course. Mel didn’t have a car. Was she in?
He took his suitcase out of the car and opened the front door with his key. The house was quiet. No it wasn’t, there was someone in the bathroom. He collected a pile of post from the hall and went up to his room.
“That you Mel?” he called, and unlocked his room. He wished that he had left it in a tidier condition. He sat on the bed and flicked through the post. It was mainly unwanted advertising. Nothing of either interest or importance. He suddenly felt flat.
The bedroom door burst open. It was Mel in a short bath robe.
“Johnny, I‘ve been wondering what happened to you.”
Brakespeare stood up and she flung her arms round him, smelling sweetly of bath oil and shampoo. Mel was obviously in one of her affectionate moods, and he held her closely to him, swaying gently from side to side with her and feeling the soft pressure of her firm beasts on his chest.
He pushed her away. “Have you been missing me?”
She didn’t answer. She was as gorgeous as she had been when he had left her in his bed at the beginning of the week.
Brakespeare sat her down next to him on the bed, and explained all that had happened during the week. Mel was a good listener when she wanted to be, and he enjoyed the way her mobile face registered the ups and downs of the week, only he didn’t tell her about Joe Gargan. He also said very little about Lisa and nothing of his drink with her.
“And you’re going to get this criminal acquitted?” Mel asked, almost in awe.
“Not a criminal Mel, just a slightly odd human being – a bit like yourself.”
Mel roared with laughter. “That’s me man, the oddest of the odd.”
“So where have you been up to?””
“Well I got this contract to dance on this TV show in London; only it was 5 shows and we did them all back to back; a day to learn, a day to rehearse and a day to record. We were at it 15 hours a day.”
“So where did you stay?” asked Brakespeare, half dreading the answer. Mel picked up on his thoughts.
“With a dancing friend. A female dancing friend” she said emphatically. “No jiggery pokery. Too tired to do that sort of thing when I’m dancing, Mr. Brakespeare.”
“Seen the kids” he asked.
Her face fell and her shoulders slumped. She shook her head. Then after a pause, she sparkled once more. “Got ‘em on Sunday, and” she paused for emphasis, ”I got money to spend on ‘em too. What about you?”
“Yes, I’ve got mine on Sunday too. Do you know I sometimes wonder if all this contact is worth it. The kids live a life separate from yours; you gradually lose track of what to them are everyday things, and then you see them for an artificial few hours.
If they lived with you, they’d be doing their own thing. When you have them for contact they are with you 100% of the time, and it’s difficult to know what to do with them. But when contact is over – that is the depressing part - as you know.”
He showed his sadness, and in empathy Mel put an arm around his neck and cradled her head against his shoulder. They sat like that like that, silently, each with their own thoughts for a few minutes. Then Mel sat upright again.
Slowly she dropped the bathrobe from round her shoulders and to her waist.
“Have you missed my babies?” she asked, wriggling her chest.
“God, she’s fantastic” thought Brakespeare admiring her figure. No matter how many times he saw it, it always aroused him.
Grinning broadly, slowly Mel opened her legs, and Brakespeare, still in shirt and tie, slowly put his hand on one of her knees.
“Oh no you don’t” shouted Mel, “you all smelly and in your working clothes.” She stood and hoisted her bath robe up on her shoulders. She bent and kissed him gently on the forehead as she tightened it round her body.
“You just get out of those clothes and into the bath. I’ve left the water for you. I’m clean, it’s only soapy. Trevor’s away. We’ve got the house to ourselves. I’ll order a pizza; there’s a bottle of red wine in the kitchen, and then once we’ve eaten I’m all yours.”
She laughed again. “You can’t expect a girl to hump on an empty stomach!”
Then she looked gently at him. “Not the way you do it to her Mr. Jonny Brakespeare.”
This was the Mel that Brakespeare loved. She had clearly been depending on his coming home, and had the evening all planned. He also knew that she would have been anxious about him as she waited. It was time to consummate their rather odd relationship once more. Odd only in that that he never knew when he would see her, because of her odd work patterns, and now that he was in Worcester, it could only be at weekends at the most. He felt safe in her company, and when they were alone together, each was the only person that the other was thinking about.
“You order the pizza, I’ll wash the week away in your body fluids,” he said, unable to resist opening her robe and kissing her breasts, before crossing the landing into the bathroom.
He lay in the bath, topping it up with hot water whenever necessary, until he heard the doorbell ring for the Pizza delivery. Quickly jumping out and drying, he found his own towelling robe and went downstairs to the kitchen where Mel had put two plates in the microwave to warm, and had opened the wine; the Rioja that she knew that he liked, to let it breathe.
He could hardly wait for the meal to be over. He knew that Mel was deliberately tantalising him as she eat, sipping her wine and gazing at him He also noted that she downed three glasses of the delicious Spanish vintage. Mel did not have much of a resistance to wine and never had more than two glasses - unless she intended to become uninhibited.
“That’s it then,” said Mel, and started to clear the table.
Then she sipped out of her robe, and sidling up to Brakespeare undid his. Her eyes were dark.
“I see you’re ready for me,” she said, and they kissed, slowly and deeply.
The touch of her firm body with it’s oh so smooth skin, and her natural female perfume filled Brakespeare with a passion he had rarely felt before, even with Mel.
Slowly they made their way upstairs.
“Your place of mine?” said Mel, while not hesitating to lead him into her bedroom.
The quilt was pulled back on the bed and they sank together on the fresh sheets that she had obviously put on that afternoon. Mel was as aroused as he was and foreplay was not a requirement that evening. Human chemistry alone worked it’s wonders
For two hours they uninhibitedly enjoyed each other.
“That’s it” gasped Mel pushing him off her. “I can’t feel my legs any more. Jonny Brakespeare, what have you done to me?”
They lay looking at each other.
“You’re something special, Mel”, said Brakespeare.
Mel did not reply, but gave a little sigh. “I’m a Jamaican…..”
“No you’re not. You were born and bread in Watford.”
“Jonny, you know what I mean.”
“What are you afraid of.?”
“Jonny, no.”
“But I need you.”
“Oh no you don’t.” she broke into one of her peals of laughter. “Go and find some white woman to hump. They must have them in Worcester.”
&nb
sp; “But it wouldn’t be you.”
“Doesn’t matter. Pussy is pussy.” She could be incredibly crude when she wanted to be. “Besides, you can always come back to me.”
She turned away as she said it, and Brakespeare could tell that she didn’t mean it. She didn’t want to share him – perhaps there was no-one else in her life after all..
Neither of them said anything more. Brakespeare reached down to the foot of the now crumpled and damp bed, and pulled the quilt up. He snuggled against her back, and putting his arms round her, cupped her breasts. Very soon the pink clouds of sleep that follow love making engulfed them both. It was a good end to the week.
chapter seventeen
Five days later, Brakespeare was still thinking about the night with Mel.
He was thinking about it whenever he met Lisa, and wondered if he could ever get as close to her. After all it was Mel who had suggested that he look elsewhere, but did he really want to? Mel was not interested in a permanent relationship. Well, that’s what she had implied.
On the other hand could he really see himself setting down with her? He was wise enough to know that the test of a relationship was whether or not you still felt the same about each other when the “can’t keep my hands off you” period was over. It wasn’t yet of course.
There were things to think about such as having more children. Would he want coffee coloured children around; would he be able to see himself reflected in such a child as he could with his present kids? What would his parents say? What would his colleagues say? A solicitor marrying a black dancer? The problems seemed endless, and so he tried not to think too hard about them.
It was easier to think of Lisa as a replacement for Mel. A potential fuck buddy.
