by D J Harrison
To hell with both of them. They’ve been as awkward as they could be over Toby. When I move into my new house, everything will change for the better. I’ll be close to Toby’s school, much more accessible, and there’ll be plenty of nice play things to help him to spend more time with me. I plan to get him one of those electric cars to run around the garden, a big trampoline, swings, slides, lots of stuff. He’ll want to bring his friends round; it’ll be perfect for him.
But first, I have to find out who is so determined to have me killed and stop them.
12
‘The kids ate earlier,’ Doreen announces, ‘it’s just us three.’ She places the third large white porcelain tureen of vegetables carefully on the mat protecting the polished table top. We’re in the dining room, a place unfrequented by children and reserved for special occasions. Everything in here is dark wood, beautifully kept and carefully tended. The wall cabinet displays crockery and ornaments from ancient times, no doubt handed down gently from one generation to the next. There is an air of formality about this arrangement and I’m in danger of drowning in a sea of social niceties.
Fergus Lafferty commands the head of the table; Doreen and I face each other. She spoons soggy greens onto his plate, ignoring his pleas for mercy. Doreen provided a thin sliver of brown meat, barely covered with thick gravy, on each plate. We are allowed full rein at the vegetables, but she is rationing the meat. Perhaps it’s not good for us.
My solid wooden chair is providing insufficient adhesion and I’m in constant danger of sliding suddenly under the table. Maybe it’s the skirt I’m wearing that’s too shiny, or of the wrong material. When I look over to Doreen, she seems quite stable in comparison.
We eat in silence. I devour my meat almost instantly, wishing there were more but not feeling like asking. It’s very weird. I’m ridiculously nervous in the place I normally feel most relaxed. I yearn for the casual kitchen table and the enlivening presence of the children.
Fergus is also eating in silence while Doreen is cascading horse-related trivia. I’m wishing I hadn’t come. There’s something very distasteful about me getting to Lafferty through Doreen. I’m beginning to feel ashamed at what I’m up to. The problem is, I’ve no other way to do this. I am under no illusion that if I don’t perform, I’ll be spending a long time in prison at best and even longer dead at worst.
‘So she’s eating well,’ Fergus says, pushing his carefully emptied plate away.
‘Oh yes, she’s grand, loving it here.’
‘I knew she would.’ His face relaxes suddenly as he looks at Doreen. ‘You’re a fine horsewoman, didn’t I always say so.’
She colours slightly and busies herself collecting plates. I stand up to help.
‘Don’t you be doing anything of the sort, Jenny Parker. Sit yourself down and tell Fergus what you are about. He’s dying to know, aren’t you, dear?’
Fergus looks at me dutifully. ‘I presumed you’d settled down to a life of leisure after the deal with SG. That was a kindness indeed, Doreen giving you half the proceeds.’
My stomach twists. I feel badly aggrieved. Doreen did nothing of the sort. It was me who insisted on her having the money. It was me who gave her half of my money in truth. His eyes are on me, watching. Perhaps he’s expecting a reaction. Maybe he’s testing me, weighing me up, or it may be he’s cruel and heartless and likes to upset people. But what could Doreen possibly see in a man like that?
‘She’s wonderful, like a mother to me only better.’ I smile easily, because I encompass Doreen in it. ‘I still blame myself for Gary’s death.’ There may be no need to mention Doreen’s much loved late husband, but some form of retaliatory response is required if this man is intent on winding me up.
‘So.’ He leans forward to accept a small bowl containing apple and blackberry pie, covered with bright yellow custard. Doreen’s pies are homemade and delicious but her custard is always out of a packet and too sweet and garish for my liking. ‘What are you doing with yourself now, Jenny?’
The tone of his voice upsets me. I feel a rush of resentment, a reaction out of proportion to his words. If Doreen weren’t here, all softness and lovely appreciation, I’d tell him to mind his own business. It’s just as well she is here, as my real purpose in engaging with Lafferty is to save my own life. I have to face it, he winds me up terribly, just by his presence.
‘Busy as ever.’ I try to justify what feels like a shallow and useless existence under the disapproving gaze of this Irishman. ‘Setting up new businesses, lots to do.’
‘Really.’ His eyes show no interest in anything other than his apple pie. ‘And what about your man, Alex, how’s he getting along?’
The new question knocks me sideways. Of course, he met Alex at the party at my flat. It’s a surprise he remembers his name, though. Maybe I’m so pathetic and unimportant the conversation has to be moved on at any expense.
‘Busy as well. Alex is always busy, up and down to London all the time, I hardly see him these days.’
‘Fergus is worse,’ Doreen says. ‘He’s always gadding about, aren’t you, love?’
Lafferty shows only pleasure in being described as a man who is prone to gadding about. ‘You should come with me,’ he says.
Doreen shakes her head. ‘And what would I be doing all day long but sitting in some dreary hotel waiting for you and your boozy friends to take me to dinner?’
‘I’m over in Dubai again next week. I’m sure you’d like it there.’
‘I’m sure I won’t, thank you very much. If you want to take me there on a proper holiday I might come, but not if you’re doing business all day, though I don’t know who’s going to look after the horses if I go away, not to mention the children.’
‘Your children are old enough to take care of themselves.’ Lafferty finishes his pie and looks at Doreen. ‘You should be putting yourself first for a change, make some time for yourself.
My awkwardness is increasing. I’m an intruder here and Lafferty shows no interest in anyone but Doreen. I should leave before I irreparably damage my position with him. I need to take things more slowly, drop more subtle hints through Doreen. Wait for him to come to me. Now certainly isn’t the time to be pitching my new business idea.
‘Thanks for a lovely meal, Doreen. I have to be getting off now.’
‘You will be doing nothing of the sort. Sit yourself down while I clear up. I’ll leave you two all alone to talk business, Fergus is dying to hear what you have to say. You’re all ears, aren’t you, Fergus?’
Lafferty nods dutifully but without any obvious conviction. Doreen scurries away, carrying an unstable collection of crockery. I’m left with an awkward silence.
‘This may not be the best time to be talking business,’ I say. There’s an opportunity here to give up and walk away. To tell Hector that I tried and failed, that Lafferty wouldn’t deal, that I can’t help any more. I may be putting myself at risk then but at least it’ll mean I’m not being dragged further and further into the mire. Maybe I’m far better looking after myself than going along with this charade.
‘Nonsense. Doreen will never let me hear the last of it if we don’t. Let me hear your elevator pitch.’
‘My what?’
‘Your elevator pitch. Imagine you’ve been dying to talk to me but unable to make an appointment, and suddenly you find yourself standing next to me in a lift. You’ve got until I reach my floor to make me interested.’ He smiles, but I feel no warmth.
My mind goes into overdrive. Thoughts of caravan sites, landfills, cash transactions and accounting methods are running through my head. My chance to leave is gone and something inside me needs to prove to this obnoxious man that I can put a business deal together.
‘I transform cash into legitimate earnings,’ I say.
‘Whose cash?’ he asks.
I was hoping to keep the business proposition nicely general, but now he’s straight to the point and making me even more uncomfortable.
�
�Yours for example,’ I say.
‘What makes you think I need that sort of service?’
‘It’s the way of the world. Businesses need to earn money, and the people with money to spend are the ones who deal in cash.’
‘So what’s stopping me taking their cash and putting it through one of my businesses?’
‘Disclosure. If it’s a substantial amount you’ll be asked to identify who gave it to you. If you do there’s a good chance the source will be arrested and the money confiscated. If you don’t you may get prosecuted for money-laundering.’
Lafferty smiles. ‘That sums it up very nicely, Jenny. Are you offering me an alternative, something that lets me receive cash quietly with no questions asked?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Who else is in on this scheme of yours?’
‘O’Brian. Peter O’Brian.’
‘I know Peter, he’s sound. Very nice man, good to deal with. Who else?’
‘Nobody.’
‘Why would Peter want me in on his arrangement with you?’
‘We want to go bigger. I’ve a new opportunity that needs a couple of million more than Peter can supply.’
‘Two million in cash?’
‘Yes. Over two years, not all at once. Is that too much?’
‘No,’ he laughs, ‘quite the opposite, it may be too little. You’re not the only one with the ideas, Jenny Parker.’
I’m deflated and upset. I’ve played my hand, put my cards on his table, implicated O’Brian and now he’s laughing at me. Laughing at my inadequacy.
Doreen returns with cups of coffee. ‘Are you two still talking business or is it all sorted?’
‘Fergus thinks my new scheme is a bit small for him to get involved,’ I say.
‘Nonsense.’ Doreen stands beside her man. ‘He’s very taken with it, aren’t you, dear?’
‘I’ve not heard the details yet but it certainly has promise,’ he says.
I tell him about the landfill, the caravan sites, the restoration costs, the way the money will flow. Doreen remains standing, listening intently, and when I finish says, ‘There, that’s all fine isn’t it,’ and Lafferty nods as if it’s all he’s capable of.
13
The puddles are washed by yellow street lights, the drizzle flecked with gold. An occasional gust blows soft rain into my face as I walk down the disused railway tracks towards the transport yard. Parking half a mile away feels a bit excessive now that I’m out in the rain, but it’s a precaution that I feel the need to take, convenient or not.
Trafford Trailers is a huge transport depot where hundreds of trucks accumulate to be loaded, unloaded, parked, maintained or stored. The last time I was here I surreptitiously placed a tracking device on one such vehicle being used to illegally import young women into this country.
The steel gates are open, so presumably there are arrivals expected. The gatehouse forms an island between the two red and yellow poles that control entry and exit. The security guard, wearing a smart black jacket with SG embroidered on the breast pocket, walks out to greet me.
‘Hello Ian,’ I say.
‘Oh it’s you, Mrs Parker, I wasn’t expecting you.’
‘Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.’ I smile. He screws his face up.
‘The what?’
‘Forget it, it’s a joke. My friend Alex is always using it.’ He stands, arms hanging listlessly by his side, with his mouth slightly open.
‘How about a cup of tea?’ I ask.
‘I’m not sure that’s allowed. You don’t own GOD Security any more, do you?’
‘No Ian. SG own GOD Security. We both work for SG now.’
‘Oh, I didn’t realise, I thought you’d left, we all thought you’d left.’
‘Day to day operationally I’m no longer in charge, but I still work for SG. Checking up on things, making sure everything’s in order, that kind of thing.’
‘Then I suppose it’s okay.’ He looks decidedly unenthusiastic at the prospect, but leads me inside the cramped hut where he splashes water from a plastic container into a grimy mug and uses his forefinger to wipe off some of the brown stains.
As we wait for the kettle to boil he shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other, throwing the occasional glance back towards the gates.
‘Are you expecting much more traffic tonight?’ I ask.
‘Some,’ he says.
‘Anything special?’ I watch as his shoulders hunch up even more.
‘Is that why you’re here?’ he asks.
‘Why else?’
‘Well that’s not a good idea. They only expect me to be here. I’ll get it in the neck if they find you this time.’
‘Then I’ll stay hidden.’
‘It’s not as simple as that.’ Ian looks at me, his eyes narrowed with concern. ‘After last time they are very careful.’
‘What do you mean after last time?’
‘They know you were here. They know what you did. I told them you were my boss, that I had no option, that I had to do what you said.’
‘How did they know I was here?’
‘They were watching. They’re always watching, looking out for trouble. They know you planted a tracker on their trailer.’
This news sends shock waves through my entire body. I thought I’d been so clever and discreet, now I feel foolish and vulnerable. I breathe deeply and consider the implications. It was after I saw the girls shipped in here at the dead of night that the serious attempts on my life began. Two men at my flat, then the gang that followed me to the airport.
‘They tried to kill me,’ I say.
‘They’ll kill us both,’ Ian replies, his eyes flickering around. ‘You should go, it’s not safe here, especially now.’
‘Why now?’ His eyes widen at my question.
‘There’s another shipment, tonight. They’ll be turning up soon to supervise the unloading.’
‘More girls?’
‘How should I know?’
‘It’s always girls, isn’t it?’
‘From what I’ve seen, yes.’
‘Where are they from?’
‘I don’t know and I don’t want to. If I ask any questions they’ll not be happy. They already killed one security guard. I’m keeping my head down and saying nothing.’
‘What about George Bottomley? The guy who used to run this place, the one who died in a hit and run?’
‘Yeah. It wasn’t an accident. So now will you leave, please? You’re putting us all in danger.’
‘So who tells you when they’re bringing in a trailer full of girls?’
Ian looks down at his feet. The kettle is boiling vigorously. If it has an automatic shut-off, it’s not functioning. The drumming of the rain on the roof intensifies. I think about the long walk back to my car and wish I’d driven all the way here.
There’s no opportunity for me to engage in any discreet surveillance. I’m sure Ian is sufficiently part of the gang to tell them all about my visit. Whether he does it out of greed or fear is not important. His eyes tell me everything I need to know. It’s a big mistake for me to come back here, snooping around, asking questions. It can only intensify their desire to deal with me once and for all.
Alex’s words make sense. There’s no way the security services can keep me safe. Charles had me convinced that putting the word out that I’m an intelligence officer would do the job. Now I recognise the absurdity of that promise. The whole point of me working for them is that I have an established cover. Nobody knows or even suspects what I’m doing. To send out a general broadcast in order to put off evildoers from harming me is patently stupid.
I can only think that being recently shot at affected my judgement. Now I see that they can’t protect, I wonder about the other edge of the sword they hang over my head. Does their threat of having me put back in prison hold any more credibility than the promise of safety? I doubt it, now I come to think it through, but there’s still no choice for me. If I sit tight
, do nothing, I’ll either be assassinated or put in jail. I have to look after myself. No one else can, not even Alex.
Ian passes me the concoction he has reluctantly produced. The tea bag’s dorsal fin is breaking the surface of the hot liquid; the white opacity gradually becoming suffused with a darker brown. I ignore it; leave it on the counter top.
‘Tell your human-trafficking friends to stop trying to kill me.’
His mouth opens. I speak quickly to counter his automatic denial.
‘Tell them to stop. If they don’t I’ll cause them so much trouble that they’ll wish they had.’
‘I…’ His voice tails off as I walk out into the driving rain.
14
My parking space is inconveniently situated underneath my apartment building, in a dingy under croft area that looks as if it’s still under construction. All that bare brickwork and naked concrete can’t surely constitute a finished job. Maybe the builders will be back eventually, who knows. It has the effect of making me fear for my life every time I come home. I would rather park on the street and take a parking fine if I could be sure they wouldn’t tow my car away. The atmosphere is cold and threatening in here even when it’s bright and sunny outside.
Black Honda Civic is parked in the space next to mine, but I’m relieved to see that Silver Polo is out. At least I now have half a chance of manoeuvring the massive Range Rover between the inadequately spaced lines. It takes me three attempts with sensors on continuous scream mode before I manage to fit neatly enough to be able to open my door, yet not overhang the bay on the passenger side.
As I squeeze out, snagging my tights on the bottom corner of the door, I become aware that a solitary figure has stepped out of the shadows and is walking slowly towards me. He’s wearing a long coat and his right arm is held stiffly at his side. After recent events involving Kalashnikovs and hiding in bushes being shot at, I immediately jump to the very reasonable conclusion that he’s got a gun and he’s going to kill me. Throwing my handbag back into the car I clamber into the driver’s seat and fire up the engine. By now the man is standing in my headlights; I can see his face clearly beneath short, cropped white hair. The coat is green waxed cotton with a brown felt collar. As he raises his right arm, I drive straight at him. He realises the car is moving towards him and jumps to the right. I turn to the left, grateful for the empty space or I would be chamfering Silver Polo in my desperate need to escape.
