by D J Harrison
‘Loosely speaking they are the Irish.’
‘What? Why would the Irish want to kill me?’
‘Same motive as the others, probably. They see you as a threat, or representing someone, some faction, that is trying to take over their business.’
‘But that’s nonsense. That can’t be right. I’ve never had anything to do with that kind of thing.’ As I say the words, the realisation comes that what I’m saying isn’t quite true. I’ve been up to my neck in the Anglo-Irish world and many aspects of it have been on the criminal side. All my money-laundering schemes have been to the benefit of one Peter O’Brian who is as Irish as you can get.
‘Is Mr Smith tasked to deal with the Irish connection?’
‘No, he’s in a completely different department.’
‘So who is?’
‘That’s our department, Jenny.’
‘So you could put out the word and stop the Irish attacking me?’
‘Not so straightforward.’ Hector’s face shows concern; how genuine I’m not sure.
‘Why not?’
‘Well, you were given two names to investigate, do you remember?’
‘Yes of course: Peter O’Brian and Fergus Lafferty.’
‘Exactly. Our problem is that we need to avoid compromising your position. If it were generally known in those circles that you were one of us, how do you think that would affect things?’
‘They’d not talk to me, that’s for sure.’
‘My point exactly.’
‘I see. If you tell the Irish to leave off me, I’m no use to you?’
‘Correct.’
‘But if they kill me, I’m not going to be any use to anyone, am I?’
‘Quite. See what a difficult situation we’re in, Jenny?’
8
The site looks unpromising, to the extent that I almost turn my Range Rover around and head back home. Midgeland Brickworks is no longer used for the manufacture of house building materials, it’s been converted into a landfill site and waste-processing centre. A steady stream of skip wagons splash their way through the mud and discharge a cascade of broken and unwanted items onto the ground. I am greeted cheerfully enough by a thin lady with a kind face, wearing a mud-splattered fluorescent jacket, several sizes too large.
‘I’m Yvonne, you must be Jenny.’ She takes me into the corner of a cavernous building where a small wooden office sits vulnerably in the shadow of a huge rotting pile of refuse.
‘How’s business?’ I ask.
‘Slow.’ She puckers her lips in a way that suggests amusement, but her eyes look serious. ‘The landfill tax is killing the landfill business. We are doing more recycling, but it’s hard to make money.’
At least she’s being honest, but as a sales pitch it lacks the wow factor. I hope she’s as brutally honest with the other potential purchasers she meets. This is a bit of a long shot for me but I really need something to attract Lafferty’s attention. My hopes of getting free and clear of any association with money-laundering have been dashed by Hector’s expectations. But involving Lafferty in the caravan business where I grudgingly clean O’Brian’s tainted money isn’t an option. I can’t take the risk of enmeshing both me and O’Brian in any police action that’s going to result. Instead, I have to acquire a new standalone business for Lafferty’s cash. Problem is, I have very little idea about what’s involved when it comes to handling rubbish.
‘It’s going to be hard for you to sell a loss-making business,’ I say.
‘Oh, we’re profitable. It’s not as good as it used to be, though.’
‘So why are you wanting to sell?’
‘It’s the planners, they’ve refused us an extension on our planning permission. We’ve only two years left, then they’ll make us stop, demolish all the buildings and cover everything with soil to take it all back into agricultural land.’
‘Then that’s even worse, Yvonne. I can’t see anyone putting money into such a short-term situation.’
‘It’s not the waste business we’re selling, it’s the site. We’ve talked to the council and they’ll give us permission for a holiday village here.’
‘What, on the tip? Won’t that be a bit dangerous? What about the smells, aren’t there problems with gas on old tips that stop them being built on?’
‘We wouldn’t need to site anything on top of the landfill, we’ve got lots of land that hasn’t been tipped.’
‘Okay, so what are you looking for?’
‘I want income, long term if possible, a sort of pension to keep me going after the waste business stops.’
‘So if I take on the site, develop it and create a caravan park, you’d be happy with a share of the earnings?’
‘Yes, that’s the idea.’
As I follow Yvonne around the waste-strewn bleakness, my borrowed wellies pinch my toes and the mud tries to suck them off my feet. There’s a long, expensive job to be done here before any caravans arrive. The whole enterprise may be completely unviable. Nobody in their right mind would take this on as a business proposition. It looks just about perfect for what I have in mind.
9
Peter O’Brian doesn’t look like he’s forgiven me for selling GOD Security to Hector Brighouse. His grey hair is wilder and less kempt than ever, especially the bunches of growth around his ears. I wonder if this man ever bothers to look into a mirror. His wife must have given up any sartorial commentary years ago.
‘Tell me what possessed you to sell to SG, Jenny. I thought we had a deal?’
‘No we didn’t, Peter. Hector and I had a deal. Your offer didn’t even come close.’
‘You could have at least had the decency to give me first refusal, tell me what the deal was, let me match it. Instead, you went behind my back.’
‘Look, Peter, Security Group were the only ones who would pay good money for GOD Security. Once we took the Trafford contract off them, we became an obvious target. Don’t forget I had to do right by Doreen O’Donnell, it was her late husband’s business after all.’
‘I hear she’s involved with Fergus Lafferty now. Is that true?’
‘As Doreen would put it, they’re going steady. I expect them to get married early next year.’
‘So, it’s as serious as that is it? Did Fergus have a hand in the deal then? He’s a wily bugger is Fergus.’
‘Of course.’ I take the opportunity to deflect O’Brian’s displeasure, even though I’d barely met Lafferty before the deal was done and he certainly had nothing to do with it.
‘Typical,’ O’Brian sighs. ‘That man is as tight as a fish’s arse, and that’s water-tight. I still don’t understand how SG missed our caravan park arrangement.’
‘You mean the money-laundering part of the business?’
‘It would be obvious what we were doing if they examined the accounts properly.’
‘But they didn’t. I nobbled their accountants, paid them to turn a blind eye. That’s another reason why it had to be SG.’
‘But now they’ve bought it they’ll soon find out, Jenny. Aren’t you worried Hector will want his money back? He could even involve the police.’
‘I’m certain he’s got better things to do. Anyway I covered our tracks pretty thoroughly. It’s not as obvious as you might think.’
I look at Peter who appears to be showing real concern for me, now that his initial outburst of pique is over. He’s a man used to getting his own way, but quick to grasp the realities of any situation. Hector is insisting that I deliver O’Brian and Lafferty in order to save my own skin. For all I know, Lafferty may be a gangster, but I wouldn’t put O’Brian in that category. Some of his dealings may be questionable but I’m sure the man sat in front of me at his kitchen table is not the sort of person who would pay people to have me killed, even if he became very upset with me. This has to be the measure, surely. People get angry all the time but it’s only the bad ones who take revenge. Peter O’Brian has not been trying to kill me, of that I am absolutely certain
. What I can’t stomach, though, is the origin of the cash he so blithely hands over and expects me to deal with. It’s profit from the criminal exploitation of the weak and unfortunate. It derives from the disgusting sexual exploitation of young girls, the sex traffickers who Lottie and I fear have got their hands on her twin sister. He might be able to turn a blind eye, but I can’t.
‘I’ve been working on our caravan parks business, Peter.’
He looks across at me, a sad look in his eyes.
‘The caravans are no use to us without GOD Security. I can’t put any more money in now there’s no way to get it out, not in the amounts I need anyway.’
‘That’s why I’m here. I have a new proposal for you, one that could solve that problem.’
‘What is it?’
‘A site near Blackpool. We can acquire it very cheaply and it’ll make an ideal caravan site.’
‘We don’t need another caravan site, they’re no use to us any more.’
‘This one will be. At the moment it’s a landfill site, with two years left on its planning.’
Peter is fiddling with his teacup and his eyes are wandering idly around his conservatory ceiling as if he’s making mental notes of things to do. If there were a newspaper handy I’m sure he’d start reading it.
‘This is what we do. Our caravan business buys the site and restores the old landfill. We carry on the waste business as long as we can then grass the whole place over and put caravans on it.’
‘Restore an old landfill? You’re talking millions of pounds of liability. You have no idea how much that would cost, have you?’
‘Yes Peter, I have. The restoration will be about a million, then there’s after care and the caravan site construction. So one point seven five million in all.’
‘I told you.’ Peter sighs dismissively. ‘You want to spend two million and all you’ll get is a caravan site worth almost nothing.’
‘There’s a financial provision.’
‘A what?’
‘It’s a fund that was built up over the life of the landfill. It’s so that the Environment Agency can be certain there’s enough money to finish the landfill off properly.’
‘I don’t see how that helps.’ Peter is sitting forward, attentive now.
‘The money in the financial provision will pay for all the capping and restoration and monitoring. It gets released when the landfill closes and as the work is carried out.’
‘How much?’ Peter asks.
‘One point five million pounds.’
I watch him settle back into his chair.
‘That’s very interesting. So what are you thinking?’
‘I’m sure you got there before me, Peter.’ I watch his slow smile beginning. ‘If we value the finished site at, say, half a million, and add that to the financial provision, we have our two million. Your company gets the contract to do the work of course. All the cash you put into the caravan business can then go straight through into your legitimate account. We can process as much cash as we like and you get a nice lucrative contract out of it on top.’
‘I like it.’ O’Brian beams. ‘It’s a pity there’s no more cash coming in. We’re not going to have enough to take full advantage. I must admit, Jenny, this is better than having GOD Security. I’m glad I didn’t buy it now.’
I wasn’t sure until I saw the smile on O’Brian’s face that this scheme was viable. If I couldn’t convince O’Brian there’s no way I could convince anyone else. His reaction gives me the confidence to move on to the next stage in my plan.
‘How about if I find another source of cash, someone who would put in what you can’t?’
‘It’s a possibility. Do you have anyone in mind?’
‘Yes, how about Fergus Lafferty?’
10
There are new security gates at Doreen O’Donnell’s house. I tentatively press the intercom button and am gratified to hear an almost immediate reply. The voice is clear, crisp and easily identifiable as belonging to Sean, Gary’s youngest son. The system must be recent enough for working it to retain an air of excitement every time a new visitor comes.
‘Oh it’s yourself then, come on in.’ I look up into the tiny camera and smile at him.
‘Thanks Sean. Tell your mother I’m here, be a good lad.’
‘That I will,’ he says.
There are a couple of new horses in the paddock; big, strong and shiny brown. The whole place has a new feel of tidiness and organisation that was lacking when Gary was alive. I can’t help myself; every time I come here the sadness of his death threatens to overwhelm me. Those new gates might have kept out the thugs who shot him when they were trying to kill me, but probably not. Gary would have left them permanently open, regardless.
Doreen O’Donnell looks well, her hair neatly cut in a very swish asymmetric style. She looks ten years younger than the last time I saw her. The care lines on her face are less prominent, her face is more open and relaxed. There’s a ring on the third finger of her left hand. The diamond in it is so large, I think it has to be crystal, otherwise the crown jewels will need checking for a missing gem.
‘I like your hair, Doreen. I might try something like that myself. I think it would suit me.’
She looks steadily at my face for a few moments, then I see her shoulders relax and the beginnings of a smile.
‘Ah yes, how is your ear?’ She gently brushes back my hair with her hand and examines the distorted thing. ‘Ah but it’s looking real fine, they’ve done a good job..’
‘Mr De Carpentier says it’s still a big ragged. He’s offered to smooth it out a bit.’
‘Goodness no. That’s not necessary at all. It looks well, you’d hardly know you’d had a bit cut off it.’
‘Thanks, Doreen, but it will always be a lot smaller than my other one. Maybe I should get De Carpentier to trim the other one to the same size.’
‘Did they ever get the bastards who did it to you?’
‘No. At least they’ve not told me if they have. Anyway there’s been more serious things to worry about.’
‘Yes, that’s shameful. Those men with machine guns, turning up at your flat. There’s nowhere safe any more, that’s a fact.’
‘Is that why you got the new gate?’
‘Ah no, that’s Fergus for you. He put the damned thing there for the horses, he doesn’t want them taken, it’s not about me.’
‘So those new ones, they belong to Fergus?’
‘Right. See the one over there, she’s a filly in foal. She won the Oaks last year. If it’s a colt it could be worth millions of pounds. That’s why we have that ugly gate.’
‘Does Fergus spend a lot of time here, Doreen?’
‘Heavens no. He’s a mighty busy fella that one. Worse than my Gary ever was. Always saying he’s on his way, always stopping over an extra night in some godforsaken place. He’s in Dubai now for heaven’s sake.’
‘Doesn’t he offer to take you with him?’
‘Threatens more like.’ Doreen smiles. ‘I can’t be doing with all that flying and hot weather. Anyway, he’d be too busy all day and what would I do with myself? I’d rather stay here with the horses and my children. I’ve told him often enough but he keeps on asking.’
‘I’d like to talk to him about a business deal I’m involved with. It’s another caravan site, and I wondered if Fergus would be interested?’
‘If it’s you, Jenny, I’ll make certain he is, be sure of that. He’s supposed to be back tomorrow. Come round for your tea, Jenny my love, we can talk then and he can help you.’
11
Toby is reluctantly describing his day at school, his voice flat and matter of fact, bereft of his normal five-year-old’s exuberance. Talking to his mother on the phone is clearly not one of his priorities. I can hear the TV beckoning to him in the background and bow to superior competition.
‘I’ll try to see you soon, it’s been a bit busy for Mummy lately. I’m sorry I missed seeing you last week, but I’ll
be moving a lot nearer to you soon. We’ll be able to see lots more of each other.’
After the attempts on my life, Alex expressed his worry about Toby’s safety. It’s a horrible thought that someone might use my child to get at me, but he’s got a point. I was shocked when I realised just how vulnerable my little son is. I can’t put him at risk, no matter how badly I miss him. Since then, I’ve limited myself to telephone calls, awkward reminders to both of us of our separation.
Toby’s Dad comes on the phone. ‘He’s gone to play now,’ he says.
‘Okay, Tim, I understand.’
‘What’s this all about, Jenny? You put us through a lot of trouble and expense and then you can’t be bothered using the access rights your lawyer got for you. Was it all just to get at me?’
‘No! I need to see Toby, he needs to see his mother, it’s just that I have some serious personal issues that stop me seeing him at the moment. I can’t explain, but it’s all going to be sorted out very soon.’
‘I don’t see what can be so important that it stops you seeing your son,’ Tim says.
‘I know you don’t because I’ve not told you.’
‘Is it because you’re in the money now that you’ve sold the business?’
My heart suffers a nasty jolt at the suggestion. How could Tim think so badly of me that he thinks I’m more interested in wealth than my son? ‘No, it’s nothing to do with GOD Security.’
‘But you made a lot of money, didn’t you, millions I heard,’ he says.
‘None of that has anything to do with Toby.’
‘He’s happy here with us. Just because you can afford fancy lawyers doesn’t mean you’ll succeed in getting custody. It’s been too long and he’s in a family, the courts won’t take him away from me, no matter how much money you spend.’
‘That’s not my plan, Tim. All I want is Toby’s happiness. That’s the priority for both of us, nothing changes. I’ll be back to see him on a regular basis as soon as I can.’
There’s a whining tone to Tim’s voice that I recognise all too well. She has been carping on at him, that’s obvious. She’s probably wondering if Tim’s sorry he divorced me now that I’m wealthy. I’d not be surprised if Tim isn’t thinking those thoughts himself.
