Jenny Parker Investigates

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Jenny Parker Investigates Page 63

by D J Harrison

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘What about my car?’

  He takes my keys from my hand and walks away without answering.

  Morrison’s café is ridiculously busy. There’s a long queue at the counter and I can hardly walk for children and pushchairs. Popov is sitting alone, his back to me, facing the window overlooking the car park. He doesn’t look pleased when he sees me, but I’m beginning to realise this is his normal expression and I shouldn’t take it personally.

  ‘Your man said to drive here in his van,’ I say realising as I speak how unnecessary my words are.

  ‘You should be careful,’ he says. ‘Better to be here but not to stay long, you understand?’

  ‘Okay,’ I agree. ‘I’ll get right to it. First I need the money back from you. Second I want to keep Monty but employ him myself, I can’t afford your rates.’

  His face grimaces as I speak, and he stares at me for a full minute before replying.

  ‘I’m not an employment agency, find your own man. Your money is being put into your car and brought here. As soon as it arrives you should go.’

  ‘How much?’ I ask.

  ‘All of it,’ he says. ‘Less of course agreed fees for safekeeping and security.’

  ‘And how much have you charged me for those?’

  ‘Like I say, agreed fees only. Two months’ security, two months’ safekeeping. Forty thousand. I already subtracted it.’

  ‘Okay,’ I say, ‘but subtract ten thousand more and agree to let me have Monty.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Ten grand for you, that’s a good deal.’

  ‘Have you asked him? Did you offer him your job?’

  ‘No, certainly not, I wouldn’t do that without speaking to you first.’

  ‘Good, that would not have been right. In that case I’ll take your money.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I say.

  ‘You have my permission to employ Monty, that’s what you have paid for, agreed?’

  ‘Yes, thanks.’

  ‘You are happy with paying for that?’

  ‘Yes, that’s fine,’ I say.

  I see my Range Rover being backed into a disabled space in front of the café window. Popov takes his phone and gives orders in what I presume is Serbian. I guess he’s telling them to extract the extra ten thousand pounds.

  ‘Okay,’ Popov says. ‘You go now.’

  I drop the van keys on the table and stand up.

  ‘Don’t call me again,’ Popov says. ‘Also when you find out Monty won’t work for you, there’s no refund.’

  My car has been left open, engine running and more than a million in cash in the boot. As I drive away I’m thinking through my situation and get the horrible feeling that I may be on my own from now on.

  45

  Monty’s phone diverts straight to voice mail. I don’t leave another message. No point adding to the dozen or so already there. They start off cheerful, matter of fact and move through irritated to desperate and pleading. Popov must have told him he’s off duty as far as I’m concerned. He wasn’t here at the house when I got back with the money. Now I can’t even put my proposition to him. The option to ring Popov and complain doesn’t work either. His reply was terse and unhelpful.

  I’ve done things the wrong way round. I should have sorted Monty out before I spoke to Popov. It was my idea of being fair, of clearing my approach with Popov first, the polite business-like thing to do. I even paid him for heaven’s sake. Now I’ve got over a million in cash stuffed into the hidey hole in the downstairs toilet and no protection at all. This isn’t the way I wanted it to happen.

  Anyone could come through my front door: the police, the National Crime Agency, Wasiewicz. Even a common or garden burglar – they might not easily find the money but they’d find me and I’d be pretty well defenceless to stop them searching until they did find it. My mobile buzzes and trills. I grab it and answer.

  ‘It’s fine for Tuesday, just letting you know.’ Doreen’s voice. My only remaining ally in all this.

  ‘Oh that’s great, thanks. I’ll swing by at four then.’

  ‘Four is good, he will be here by then, or so he tells me.’

  ‘Have you told him? Is he okay about it?’

  ‘Fear not, Jenny my love, he’s sound. There’s no problem. He’ll have the money for you.’

  A surge of excitement quickly gives way to fear. There’s a lot riding on Tuesday going according to plan. The fact that nothing else has doesn’t bode well. I have to get my ducks in a row, and not only that, they have to quack simultaneously or I’m done for. This is looking like a bad plan, but it’s the best bad plan I can come up with. Monty walks into the kitchen and starts filling the kettle while Doreen is telling me about the children and their latest escapades. As she describes every stitch and pattern on Siobhan’s confirmation dress my anxiety grows. At least Monty’s making a brew. I’ll have a few minutes to make my offer. The time is dwindling away with a description of a triumphant second place at Newmarket for one of the fillies Doreen has stabled at the house. I can’t cut her short, it would offend her terribly. She gets few enough opportunities to let me know how she is.

  By the time the goodbyes are said, Monty is sipping a mug of tea and has placed mine on the worktop, sitting it on a cork circle for good measure.

  ‘I’ve been trying to call you,’ I say.

  ‘I’ve a new phone now, a new number. It gets changed after every job, makes things simpler, saves a lot of misunderstandings.’

  ‘So this job is finished as far as you’re concerned?’ I feel the fear well up in my throat constricting my voice. I am counting on Monty, he’s absolutely essential to me. There’s no one else. Without him I’m totally alone. I don’t even have Alex to comfort me now. I have to keep Monty both for physical protection and as someone I can trust.

  ‘Popov tells me you’ve cancelled. He’s put me on another job.’

  ‘So why aren’t you there?’ I can hear the hurt in my own voice.

  ‘Popov said to come and see you today, that you’ve got a job offer you want to put to me, that I should listen to what you have to say, then explain why I can’t work for you.’

  ‘So you’ve made up your mind before you even know what I’m offering?’ Now I’m sounding spiteful, even to myself. This conversation started badly and is getting worse.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jenny, this happens a lot. Clients get used to me being around, try to keep me on without paying Popov’s rates.’

  ‘So Popov won’t let you leave?’

  ‘He wouldn’t stop me, there’s more men like me needing work than there’s ever been. He’s no shortage of replacements. People are queuing up for jobs. There’s an awful lot of us ex-servicemen needing employment these days. The army isn’t the career it used to be.’

  ‘How much does Popov pay you?’

  ‘Enough.’ Monty smiles. ‘A lot less than you pay him though.’

  ‘I’ll pay you more and I’ll give you a car, pay into your pension fund, pay you when you’re sick. I’ll bet Popov doesn’t do any of that.’

  ‘He doesn’t need to, that’s not the arrangement. I’m effectively self-employed. We agreed terms on a contract-by-contract basis, that’s the way I like it.’

  ‘I guarantee if you work for me you’ll be better off.’

  ‘I’m sure you can match the money, Jenny, it’s not that. This kind of work isn’t possible as an individual. I can’t do it on my own. What do you think happens when there’s trouble?’

  ‘You deal with it, I presume.’

  ‘Look, Jenny, when the shit hits the fan I need the backup that Popov provides. A van-load of very capable men, tooled up, ready to help is never far away. Without support there’s not much one man can deal with.’

  ‘When we went to see Wasiewicz, did you have backup then?’

  ‘Oh yes, I made sure there were plenty of guys close by. If anything kicked off, they would have got to us in seconds, otherwise there’s no way I’d have been there
or allowed you to go.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I remember the hollow fear as I confronted Wasiewicz and his crew. If I’d known there was a posse of armed men ready to jump in and save me, things might have been easier.

  ‘You might have acted differently,’ Monty replies. ‘Maybe triggered an incident to put on a show of strength. Our arrangements aren’t something we generally tell clients about anyway.’

  ‘Okay. But it’s not a protection job I’m offering. You don’t need Popov to do this job. It’s management, I need you to help me run the waste business. I need someone I can trust, someone intelligent. Someone who’s willing to work hard and put in the hours. It doesn’t have to be you, but you’re my first choice. ’

  ‘I don’t know anything about waste, or running a business for that matter. Protection is what I do. I’m good at it and it’s all I’ve ever done. Sorry, Jenny, I’d be like a fish out of water.’

  ‘What were you in the army?’ I ask.

  ‘A soldier.’

  ‘No, what rank?’

  ‘Sergeant.’

  ‘There you are.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You had to manage men, this is exactly the same.’

  ‘No it’s not the same, the army’s different. There’s a certain way of doing things. There’s a strict disciplinary code for a start.’

  ‘It’s not so different to the business, Monty. As long as you have the respect of the workforce, everyone pulls together. You get that by being you, by being honest and fair. You can do that.’

  ‘Maybe I can, Jenny, but it’s not what I want.’

  ‘You can’t say that until you’ve tried it. I’ll pay you a good salary, at least what you’re earning now. There’s a nice car, fully paid for.’ I watch his face as I speak. There’s no sign he’s changing his mind. ‘All the benefits, paid holidays, the lot. But that’s only the employment details. What I’m doing here is buying a business cheap and making it ready for resale. When it’s sold there’ll be a nice profit, several million. I’m offering you equity, a share in the business. When we sell, you get ten per cent. If we sell for five million you get half a million. I aim to be in and out in less than five years. Two will be better. Think about it, Monty, this is a chance you need to take. This will give you the opportunity for financial security. You’ll be able to please yourself, decide what you want to do. See more of your daughter, help her out financially. Make a secure future without having to watch other people’s backs as well as your own.’

  There’s a softening in his features now. His expression isn’t so set. He drinks the last of his tea and stands up.

  ‘Okay. I’ll think about it,’ he says.

  ‘What is there to think about?’ I insist. ‘This is a once-in-a-lifetime offer. Come on, Monty, let’s do this together. Let’s shake hands on it now.’

  ‘I’m not saying no but I can’t say yes. I need some time to think, Jenny.’

  ‘You can’t be worried about working with me, you know how well we get on.’

  ‘It’s not you I’m concerned about, Jenny. It’s the people behind you. The ones with the money. Even Popov’s nervous as far as they’re concerned. He says they are dangerous people. The very worst. That’s what’s bothering me about your offer. Leave it with me. I’ll give it some thought and get back to you.’

  When he’s gone the kitchen feels lifeless. I am unable to rise from my chair. I’m not expecting to ever see Monty again and that saddens me deeply. His words hang heavy in the air. What does Popov know about Lafferty that I don’t?

  46

  The window on my left looks out onto the vast expanse of concrete tarmac and glass that transformed semi-derelict Salford Docks into Media City. This is where the soap operas, chat shows and talent contests are fabricated for public consumption. The place looks as hollow and manufactured as its programme output. The nice lady who held the entry door open for me obviously had no idea of the high crime rate in the area and gave me free access to this ivory tower. She looked vaguely familiar so she could have recognised me. I suppose I should give her the benefit of the doubt.

  In front of me is Alex’s door. I know he’s in there. When I close my eyes I can visualise him sitting on his settee, feet up, not a care in the world. My soft fist is raised to knock but hesitates for the tenth time at least. A thrill of excitement rushes through me, quickly followed by an impulse to slink away and leave him in peace with words left unsaid and the situation unresolved.

  I like the thought that our separation is a temporary inconvenience, a phase in our relationship that will quickly pass, and that our love will find a way for us to be together again. Sitting alone in my house won’t make my wish come true. Alex hasn’t contacted me since the police raid. When I ring him, he speaks tersely, polite but distant. He cuts off my pleading with excuses, refuses to meet, fobs me off. Now I’m here to confront him and my worst fears. He’s made his choice; his work, his standing in his hierarchy, his prospects, his career, his advancement and his continued climb to the top. I don’t seem to even register any more. We’ve gone from intimacy to estrangement in the instant it took for the National Crime Agency to decide that I’m a villain.

  My anger is enough for my knuckles to begin rapping on his door. I keep banging until it opens. His face appears and reacts with surprise, but the door opens to admit me. One of my worst fears, that the door would be slammed in my face, recedes, but there are plenty more dark thoughts to take its place. Inside he holds me in his arms. I can feel his body but not his heart. It’s a dutiful hug, a familiar reflex and not an expression of bonding. When he releases me I look into his eyes, searching for the one who loves me. He’s in there somewhere, I only wish he’d show up.

  ‘I had to come,’ I say. Alex walks away and busies himself in the kitchen area, filling the kettle, taking mugs from a cupboard.

  ‘You could have buzzed,’ he says, head turning to speak over his shoulder to me.

  ‘I thought you wouldn’t let me in.’

  The kettle boils. Alex carefully adds a spoonful of powdered tea to the pot, douses it with boiling water and covers it with a thick beige cosy.

  ‘It’s good that you came, Jenny.’ He gestures for me to sit on the sofa with him. We’re sitting slightly apart, half facing each other, awkward, uncomfortable. My body mirrors my feelings.

  ‘I’m sorting out the police business, Alex. They’ll leave me alone now, I’m certain they will. Then we’ll be able to get back to normal, won’t we.’

  He’s adopted a facial expression that you might see on a doctor talking to a dying patient. His eyes aren’t meeting mine. His hands are clasped tightly in front of him.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he says. As soon as he speaks the words, the little hope I arrived with flows quickly away, leaving an acid trail of resentment. ‘There’s nothing either of us can do, it’s the vetting procedure I have to go through every year. They’re not going to pass me if we’re still together.’

  ‘Then to hell with it. To hell with them. Tell them to go stuff themselves.’

  ‘I wish I could, but without security clearance I can’t do my job.’

  ‘Then get another one. We can go into business together, we make a great team, you know we do.’

  ‘I can’t.’ Alex’s face hardly moves. There’s no sign of any real feelings of regret. ‘This job is what I’ve worked and trained for all along. It’s my career, it’s what I do, it’s who I am.’

  ‘So it’s me or your lousy job and you have made your choice.’

  ‘What we had, what we have together is special, I know that, Jenny, but I have to be realistic.’

  Despite knowing all this before I came, my tears can’t be denied. I put my hands to my face to hide them and feel the moisture oozing from my eyes and nostrils.

  ‘They’re sending me back to Westminster, to the Cabinet Office. It’s the opportunity I’ve been working towards for many years. I’ll be in London, Jenny. I’m moving back there nex
t month.’

  47

  There’s a red Toyota pickup parked in front of Yvonne’s house. Her own Ford is on the drive. I recognise both cars. My eyes are still stinging from yesterday’s encounter with Alex, but my body is recovering. A night of sobbing gave way to a new day of getting things done. It always seems to be this way. The irritation isn’t confined to my eyes, the dust I inhaled from the huge pile of waste at Midgeland is clogging my throat. Worst of all, the sight of men in the sorting shed sitting on their backsides drinking coffee and reading newspapers has left me almost choking with rage. I need to talk to Yvonne and get her support for what has to be done. I also have to take care not to overwhelm her, given her delicate state.

  Yvonne eventually answers the door; hair dishevelled, bare legs and feet, clad only in a pink bath robe. She looks surprised and then glows red with embarrassment.

  ‘Can I come in?’ I ask.

  She nods and steps aside so that I can stand in the hall with her. I look up to see Stefan clambering down the stairs, almost comical in a flimsy dressing gown that hardly closes at his waist. I glimpse his hairy genitals slapping against his thighs as he descends.

  ‘Ah, there you are, Stefan.’ I mock surprise. It’s all I can manage in the way of humour. I look at Yvonne whose eyes shrink away from mine.

  ‘There’s a lot of men wasting their time and my money because you’re on the job here instead of where you should be. I can do without you anyway. You’ve shown that you’re a useless manager, I only hope for Yvonne’s sake you’re good at something.’

  Stefan walks up boldly behind Yvonne and puts his hands around her waist then stares at me in defiance.

  ‘In case you’re in any doubt what I mean, I’ll spell it out for you. You are fired, Stefan, sacked.’

  There’s a Toyota key on the hall table, I pick it up and put it in my pocket. ‘The car belongs to the company. I’ll send someone to pick it up, save you the trouble of returning it yourself.’

  ‘You can’t do that,’ he smirks. ‘Tell her, Yvonne, she can’t fire me.’

 

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