by D J Harrison
By the time his face appears at the window I’m working myself into a frenzy of despair. Worse than the visions of him with another woman are the images of him being hurt by the vengeful brothel-keepers. I shoot up in relief, click the button to let him in.
‘Well? Was it Kat?’
‘No, sorry. It took a while to get an appointment with her. She turns out to be a forty-year-old housewife from Ardwick. Her name isn’t really Ekaterina, it’s actually Veronica. She has four kids and a husband. He thinks she sticks sun visors together in a car components factory.’
‘Was there a big queue for her?’
‘Not really but I had to stay the full twenty minutes or it wouldn’t have looked good. You owe me forty pounds by the way.’
‘For what?’ I almost burst with indignation then see his smile. ‘Oh,’ I add. ‘The twenty minutes, I suppose, did you have a good chat then? Much in common you two? Arranged to see her again, maybe?’
‘She told me that all the other women working here are local like her. The management give them the exotic names, it’s not because they’re foreign.’
‘Why does she do it, she’s got a husband and kids, how can she bear it?’
‘She needs the money.’
‘I don’t care how much she needs the money, it’s not worth it surely.’
‘She has a very expensive heroin habit to feed. That’s why she does it.’
‘Oh. I’m sorry. It’s all been a complete waste of time.’
‘Maybe not completely. She told me about a rival establishment not far from here with foreign girls, some of them very young, she says.’
‘There you are then. We’ve got to go and check that out.’
‘Hang on. It’s getting late. You’ve got to go to London in the morning.’
‘Aw, come on. While we’re here we might as well take a look. Or are you too tired to take on another prostitute? Worn out already?’
‘I really think we should go home, Jenny, I’ve got work tomorrow as well. We can get the police to check out this other place, let them sort it out.’
‘No, they’ll not be looking for Kat, only for arrests. Please, Alex. We’re here now, let’s take a look ourselves.’
The address the pretend Ekaterina gave to Alex is a normal, if uncared for, terrace house. Parking anywhere near in these crowded roads is an impossibility. Alex eventually finds a Range Rover-sized space three streets away.
‘Okay, stay here, I’ll be back soon.’
‘Not a chance, I’m coming with you.’
‘Don’t be silly, Jenny, it’s nearly eleven. You can’t be standing around in the street waiting for me. Stay in the car.’
‘No, I’ll be fine, believe me, it’s you I’m worried about.’
I hang back and watch Alex walk up the short path to the front door. It opens, a man’s head pokes out, he shakes it, the door closes.
Alex reports, ‘They won’t let me in.’
I pull out three twenty pound notes from my pocket. ‘Wave these at him, tell them Oleg sent you, tell them you’re desperate. Be a bit more imaginative.’
As I follow him, he turns and asks, ‘Where are you going?’
‘While you’re getting in the front, I’m going to have a look round the back.’
‘Is that wise?’ he says.
‘Don’t worry, I’m only going to take a look through the windows, see if I can see any of the girls. Don’t worry about me, I’ll meet you back at the car if I get fed up of waiting again.’
As Alex trudges unconvincingly towards the front door, I slip quietly down the alley between the houses, find a tall wooden gate that unlatches easily, then an unlocked back door leading into a cramped kitchen. The worktops, illuminated by a bare bulb, are the same as those in my flat. I’ve never liked them. There’s nobody in the kitchen. I can hear television sounds through the closed door and banging noises from above. A woman’s wail keeps time with the thumps. I feel desperate to do something. The voice is distressed; she sounds like she’s being brutally raped.
There’s a man at the far end of the hallway, holding the door open, presumably talking to Alex. I take the opportunity to open the door on my left and peer quietly into the room. Three girls are sitting around in dressing gowns, I slip in quietly, the girls hardly seem to register my appearance.
‘Are any of you Ukrainian?’ I ask. A tall blonde girl stands up, her faded pink gown providing inadequate cover for her lanky frame. Her eyes stare at me as if she’s looking through me at the wall behind. ‘Any of you girls come from the Ukraine?’ I ask again.
‘You want Ukraine girl?’ she asks me in a clipped accent.
‘I’m looking for someone, for a friend. I thought she might be here.’
She looks around her, as if searching for something in a darkened room, staring intently at each of the other women in turn. Finally she says, ‘Ukraine girl working. Upstairs.’
I become aware of the horrible screams overhead again. I visualise Lottie’s precious twin sister being mauled and abused and run out into the hallway, past the man and up the stairs. I can hear sobbing through the first door I come to on the landing at the top of the stairs.
The bedroom door is unsecured. I walk in, see the grotesque sight of flabby buttocks billowing with each copulative thrust. The man’s back is peppered with grey hair and completely obscures the object of his salacious attention apart from two thin legs protruding either side of his hips.
I can’t see the girl’s face, it’s buried in the mattress, muffling her obvious distress. I can’t help myself, ‘Stop hurting her!’ I yell. ‘Get off her, leave her alone.’
His only response is to increase the intensity of his thrusting. Enraged, I grab him by the hair and try to pull him off her. He stops fucking and flails at me with a thick arm, knocking my hand away and hurting my face. Another blow crashes into my cheek, still tender from the broken teeth. Pain diverts my attention completely. All I can do is slump to the floor, nursing my jaw. The fat man begins shouting, puts his hands under my shoulders and drags me out of the room.
74
I’m lying spread-eagled on the landing. The pain in my face is so bad I can hardly focus my attention on anything else. I hear footsteps on the stairs, hear Alex’s voice calling my name. My face is throbbing as if it might explode. When I sit up it gets measurably worse. I try to call out but all I can manage is a weak moaning sound.
‘Are you hurt?’ Alex asks.
‘Yes, my teeth are hurting.’
‘You look like you’ve been attacked, who did this?’
‘A fat man in there. He hit me.’ Suddenly I’m afraid for Alex instead of myself. He disappears into the bedroom. The door closes behind him. Before I get to my feet he emerges with a girl, still naked, still sobbing. She’s thin, almost completely wasted. Her eyes are large and protuberant, dominating her face. This isn’t Lottie’s sister.
‘Let’s go,’ Alex half drags the girl towards the stairs.
‘That’s not Kat,’ I say.
‘No, I can see that, but the poor girl looks like she needs help.’
The fat guy has mercifully pulled on a pair of shorts by the time he comes out of the bedroom.
‘What the hell’s going on?’ he asks. All his belligerence disappears when he looks at Alex.
‘What’s your name?’ Alex asks.
Neither the girl nor the fat guy answers. Loud shouts herald the arrival of two men on the stairs. I can hear noises in the street, car doors being slammed, loud voices.
The lead man on the stairs reaches the top, he’s brandishing a knife. Alex lets go of the girl, raises his hands, backs off towards me. The second man with a large piece of wood in his hand makes it six bodies crammed onto the narrow landing. The knife stabs at Alex. He twists away, stumbles against the girl, falls backwards against the wall. I try to push past the fat guy, but he’s pressing me against the bedroom door, trying to get away from the knife. The door opens suddenly under our combined weight and I’m
deposited on my back. Mercifully the fat guy avoids crushing me by staying on his feet.
I lose sight of Alex, hear yells, blows being dealt, a sudden loud thud that shakes the whole house. I scramble to my feet intent on protecting Alex, scared to the core that I’m too late. The fat man grabs hold of my arm, pulling me back into the bedroom.
‘Let go of me!’ I shout into his face. His free hand gropes inside my blouse, rips it open, squeezes my left breast hard. His sweaty face plunges towards mine. Leering lips clamp onto my face. I try to hurt him with my knee but I strike only flabby softness.
He’s enveloping me, using his bulk to force me down onto the floor. I’m trying to resist while listening for Alex’s voice outside, hoping he’s okay. My punches are too short to have any effect. My legs are too busy keeping me upright to kick. All I can do is grab his bulbous nose with my teeth and bite hard. Now I have his attention. I can feel the painful surprise in his body. I let go but not before I taste the blood streaming from his face.
His hands rise reflexively in protection. I push him away, extricate myself and run out of the bedroom. There’s no sign of Alex. The balustrade is splintered and broken, the girl stands at the top of the stairs. One uniformed policeman appears, then another.
*
The desk sergeant fills in the forms slowly and painstakingly. All I want is to find Alex or at least know he’s safe.
‘I’ve done nothing,’ I protest. ‘I was only trying to help the poor girl who was being raped by the fat guy.’
His face settles into a world-weary sneer. ‘You are accused of assault, actual bodily harm, and there may be other charges once we’ve made more enquiries. This is a serious incident. There’s a man in hospital with serious injuries. This may turn into a murder enquiry.’
‘Who’s injured? Is it Alex?’
‘I don’t have any of those details, there are officers at the scene and at the hospital making enquiries.’
‘Find him, please?’ I ask.
‘You say you had a boyfriend present at the house?’
‘Yes, Alex Hartley.’
‘When you say boyfriend do you mean regular client or is he your pimp?’
‘I’m not a prostitute, you stupid man.’
‘Really?’ He runs his eyes around my body and I realise what he is seeing. I must look a mess, my blouse hanging open, makeup smeared all over my face, hair looking like I’ve been dragged around the block a time or two. He pulls himself upright and puts down his pen.
‘You will be held in custody pending appearance in court in the morning. Meanwhile I suggest you calm down and cooperate with the investigating officers. As I say this may turn into a very serious matter.’
‘I can’t stay here. I have to find Alex. I have an important meeting in London in the morning, I can’t miss that. I want to see my lawyer, call him, get him here.’
The cell is bare but clean and unoccupied, a stark contrast to my Ukraine experience. Alex’s welfare is all I can think about. The last time I saw him he was being attacked with a knife, he must be the one in hospital that they’re all talking about.
My bag with my phone and my purse are in the Range Rover. Alex has the keys. Even if they let me out I have no way to get to London now. My face aches, my fists are sore from beating on the cell door, my voice is hoarse with shouting. All my energy is gone, all my hope has evaporated. I’m certain that Alex is dying in hospital, alone, without me.
It’s my own fault. My stupid obsession with Lottie’s sister. How could I ever have believed I could find her on my own? I have to face it, what I’m doing is hardly rational. Everyone is better off without a crazy woman like me. Alex if he survives, Toby, everyone. All I do is bring misery and violence into people’s lives. I only ever seem to make things worse. Lottie’s father is dead because of me. Now Alex, the man I love, may be dead as well.
75
‘This is Mr Ali. He’s a solicitor. You have the right to have a solicitor present during your interview.’
‘What time is it?’ I have no watch, no phone.
‘Five-thirty,’ the policeman says. ‘In the morning,’ he adds unnecessarily.
‘Where’s Alex, what’s happened to him?’
The policeman ignores my question. ‘Do you want to speak with Mr Ali in private before we record an interview with you?’
‘Yes.’
Mr Ali is thin, bespectacled, with tired eyes and agitated hands. ‘I have to get to London by ten o’clock. I’m selling my business and if I don’t sign the papers it may all fall through. Also I have to find Alex, my partner, he was in the house, they were attacking him. Do you know what happened to him, maybe he’s in hospital?’
He looks down at the paperwork on the table. ‘You are Jenny Parker?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re being charged with common assault, the interview is to see what other offences may have been committed. The interview will be recorded and a transcript read out in court. Do you understand?’
‘Yes. Never mind about that, can’t you get me out of here? I have to find Alex.’
‘You’re being held overnight, you’ll appear at court in the morning, the magistrates will set the terms of your bail then.’
‘That’s no good. I have to get away now. Can’t you do something?’
‘I can ask, but it’s unlikely to do any good.’
‘Then ask and find Alex for me, please.’ With a shock I realise his number is on my phone and I haven’t committed it to memory. It’s 5 a.m. I can’t think of anyone else I can ring at this time of night. Anyway, the only two numbers I know off by heart are my own, which used to be Gary’s, and Big Mick’s of course.
‘Can I use your phone?’
Mr Ali looks uncomfortable.
‘Ring this number, tell Mick I’m in trouble, where I am, what I need.’ I take his pen and write in the margin of his papers.
Two police officers sit down, one of them a pleasant looking young woman, the other an older man. The room is filled with the heavy scent of stale sweat, as if one of the new arrivals has been living in their clothes for several days.
‘Do you understand that charges are being brought against you?’
‘Yes, of course. Who am I supposed to have assaulted?’
‘A man who paid you to have sex with him has complained that you attacked him.’
‘That’s not true, I am not a prostitute.’
‘Then what were you doing in that house?’
‘I was investigating reports that a woman was being held there against her will and being forced to have sex.’
‘Investigating?’
‘Yes. I received information from a woman at another brothel, the Evanescence Club. She told me about the girl, or at least she told Alex about her. It was me who insisted we should find out if it was Kat.’
‘Who is Kat? Is that what you call the other girl who was with you in the house?’
‘No, it wasn’t her. It was all a mistake. The fat man was raping her in the bedroom, she was screaming. I went in to make him stop.’
‘So that’s when the assault occurred?’
‘Yes, he hit me, hurt my face.’
‘So you are saying that you didn’t assault anyone, it was you who was attacked?’
‘Yes, at that time. Later on I had to bite the man on the nose to stop him from raping me.’
‘When you were arrested you were wearing a short skirt and your blouse was undone. Isn’t it obvious to anyone what you were really doing at that house?’
‘No. My blouse was ripped when I was fighting, I already told you why I was there.’
‘Tell us what happened with the man whose nose you bit?’
‘He grabbed me, tried to rape me. He was feeling my breasts, pushing me down. It was all I could do. He was slobbering all over me. His nose was the only thing I could damage. I tried to knee him in the balls, but it didn’t have any effect.’
‘So you did bite him?’
‘Yes,
I’ve already told you that a dozen times. I’ve also told you he was trying to rape me.’
‘That’s not really very likely, is it?’ The policeman is speaking wearily, in tune with the dead hours of the early morning. ‘You are in the bedroom of a brothel wearing very little, he’s paid his money, what did you expect him to be doing with you?’
‘You bastard,’ I jump to my feet. ‘Don’t you realise what it’s like for those poor girls, having smelly perverts rubbing themselves off inside them? You should be ashamed of yourself.’
Mr Ali gently pulls me back to a seated position. ‘Mrs Parker would like to enquire about the whereabouts of her partner, Alex Hartley. She’s concerned for his safety.’
The two policemen look at each other, the woman nods and then says, ‘We have no information that we can help you with.’
*
My hopes rise as the cell door is opened again but sink again when they announce that they need to interview me one more time. It’s been a couple of hours at least since the first one. I have visions of Mick arriving to extricate me and get me down to London.
‘Any news of Alex?’ I ask Mr Ali, who looks ready for his bed.
‘No, nothing. If the police are holding him they’re not willing to disclose that to me.’
‘What about Mick, did you manage to get in touch with him?’
‘Ah yes, I rang the number you gave me but there was no answer. I left a message on the voice mail.’
‘Haven’t you tried again?’
‘I’m sorry, no, I’ve been busy. There’s a lot happening tonight and I have to cover four police stations.’
‘What do they want me for now, are they likely to release me?’
‘More enquiries, they say. We’ll have to ask them what they intend to do about bail.’
It’s a different pair, this time both men, one of whom is in plain clothes and much older than the other. They’re asking me the same questions. I give them the same answers, but without all the indignation I displayed before. My tiredness has got the better of my bitterness. All I want to do is curl up and sleep.
