by D J Harrison
‘And he wanted the money as cash?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why is that, I wonder?’
‘Because he doesn’t trust me to pay him,’ I say.
‘Really?’
‘That’s what he said.’
‘So this Mr Henderson has the cash now. Is he familiar with money-laundering regulations and the penalties for tax evasion, I wonder?’
‘You can ask him that yourself. All I know is that I got a receipt from him. He told me he was putting the money through his books, paying it into the company bank account.’
‘Why did he tell you that?’ Walters’ face tells me he’s already realised what’s going on.
‘I asked for a discount, you know, for cash. He said there was no discount, that he was saving nothing by having cash.’
‘So why did you pay in cash?’ Sandy Slater asks.
‘Because it was convenient for both of us. I had the money from Lafferty, I would have had to pay it into my bank then transfer it across to Henderson. This way was quicker and easier.’ I pull an envelope out of my bag. ‘In case you need them I’ve brought copies of all the documents, including the loan agreement between my company and Lafferty detailing the interest rate and repayment terms.’
Hector is completely motionless, hands on the desk, watching the conversation and not reacting at all. Slater rips open the envelope and spreads the paperwork across the table in front of Walters.
‘I am afraid this is most unhelpful,’ Walters says. ‘You have had your chance with Lafferty, Mr Slater. I’m afraid for whatever reason your attempt to gather evidence seems to have failed. The judge was quite clear that he wouldn’t look kindly on any further harassment of Lafferty or his businesses. I think we can safely say that’s an end to the matter as far as the CPS is concerned. Even if you do come up with something more substantial I can’t see the court issuing any further orders against Fergus Lafferty in the foreseeable future. Forget him, Mr Slater, you’ve had your chance and missed it.’
‘If we had more time to sort through his accounts,’ Slater says.
‘Well, you had access to everything Lafferty is involved in. If that didn’t yield anything useful then I suggest you have been wasting your time.’
Walters carefully gathers the papers that are strewn about, stacks them in a neat pile which he picks up and taps the table top with the edge, then hands it solemnly to Slater, as if he were giving him a notice of dismissal. Slater gives me a glare then follows Walters out, leaving me alone with Hector.
We sit in silence for a minute or two then both speak at once.
‘What really happened to your arm?’
‘What was all that about?’
I answer first. ‘I was attacked with a piece of wood. Before you ask I’m afraid I can’t testify regarding the type of wood.’ Hector smiles, and his eyes have that dark intensity that seemed absent the last time we met.
‘Very droll,’ he says, ‘but not entirely convincing. Our friend Mr Walters has had his backside kicked by the judge over this one. Slater and his team aren’t his favourite people now that he’s been embarrassed and has to eat humble pie. It really looks like the National Crime Agency has made a dog’s breakfast of the whole affair.’
‘You don’t look too unhappy about it, Hector.’
‘One learns to move on, let things go. Experience is a great teacher if only we pause to take notice.’
‘What about me?’
‘Slater never liked you and now you’ve slipped down even further in his estimation. Nevertheless, there’s little more he can do about it that he hasn’t already. I wouldn’t worry about him if I were you, unless of course you have been receiving enormous sums of unaccounted-for cash that you haven’t bothered to tell any of us about.’
Hector’s words and the way he’s looking at me provoke an uncontrollable heat in my body that rises into my head. I can feel my cheeks glowing incandescent as I try desperately to regain my poise.
‘It’s true what I said about someone in the NCA tipping Lafferty off, it wasn’t me.’ My words come out in a rush, unconsidered, provoked by an urgent necessity to change the subject. ‘I spoke with O’Brian, he told me he knew every detail of what we were doing, even to the extent that Slater was out to nail me as well as him and Lafferty.’ It’s not quite the truth but it’s near enough to do what I need, which is to get the subject as far away from large amounts of cash as I can, as quickly as possible. I can rely on Hector to be drawn in to any intrigue involving leaks from the NCA.
‘So you didn’t tell Lafferty about the raid?’ Hector looks serious again.
‘I didn’t have to. Anyway, that buffoon Slater insisted on being with me when the money was handed over, he’s a dead giveaway.’
‘So, Jenny, it seems we have no Lafferty and no O’Brian. The two subjects you offered to assist us with are both, it seems, free and clear. How do you feel about that?’
His question surprises me. How do I feel? Relieved, happy, glad that Slater’s had a kick in the teeth. Sad that I’ve lost Alex. Frustrated at the way he’s dumped me because I’m an undesirable person who affects his job prospects. Nervous about what comes next. Frightened of Hector and his uncanny perceptions.
‘You know I’m more interested in those bastards who are forcing young girls into the sex trade. I’ve always felt we’ve been putting our efforts into the wrong areas. Now we can do something about Wasiewicz and his gang.’
‘So you’re not too concerned about the activities of people like Lafferty? It’s the foreign nationals who control prostitutes that you’re worried about?’
‘Yes, they are the dangerous ones – and you still don’t care because it isn’t our remit. But with you or without you I’m going to do something about it.’
‘What exactly does this something involve?’
‘I don’t know.’ I look at Hector as I make the honest admission. He’s looking at me with an expression I would find patronising if it weren’t for the glint of excitement in his eyes.
60
It’s a blessed relief to my frayed nerves that Monty’s moved in properly. He lives here; he’s no longer a visitor. When I wake up in the dark hours and the fear bites, Monty’s presence eases away the panic, soothes me. The house feels less hostile and I move about with less trepidation. When I hear noises I assign them to Monty and relax instead of reacting with anxiety. His bedroom is close enough for me to feel his benign presence but far enough away for his occasional snoring to be melodious and comforting, rather than annoying.
Even though we share the house I see less of him than I did when he was my bodyguard. He’s out at the crack of dawn, off to Midgeland, often before I even get out of bed. Evenings and weekends he’s spending at the house over the road, sorting out the garden of the old lady who lives there. If she’d been a bit younger I might be suspicious of his motives, but he’s struck up a close friendship with her and it seems to make him happy. When I look around my own garden there’s plenty he could be getting on with here, but if I make that suggestion he only laughs and suggests I hire some gardeners.
I have to be grateful for the job he’s doing at the waste business. Between him, Tina and Dan Henderson there’s not much I have to get involved with, apart from the finances. After the Stefan incident, the workforce are obeying orders, all the loads are being properly weighed and accounted for, and business is looking much better.
When I arrive at the site I’m greeted by Tina’s smiling face. The weighbridge is clean and tidy, there are fresh flowers on the counter top. The place feels bright and airy now that the light is no longer filtered through a muddy film on the windows.
‘This is Lesley.’ Tina introduces me to a lady with short black hair and a smile that almost rivals Tina’s. ‘She’s my friend Lydia’s mum,’ she offers by way of explanation. ‘Monty said we needed someone to do the wages now that Yvonne has left.’
‘So Lesley works here now?’
‘Yes.’
When I walk round to the shed I get another surprise. The pile of waste is completely gone, and now the shed looks enormous. There’s plenty of room for the machinery to operate and the recovered materials to be stockpiled separately. Monty strides out of the cabin wearing the third big grin I’ve seen in my short time here today. My whole being lightens, there’s a huge weight missing from my shoulders. Only now do I realise what a terrible, hostile place this has been for me. Every previous visit threatened to crush me, suck my energy, throw me deeper into despair. Now even the clouds of white dust that bellow from a quickly deposited load are welcoming.
‘What do you think?’ Monty raises his arms round expansively.
‘I think you’ve been hiring staff without consulting me,’ I say.
‘Who? Lesley? Did you intend to come in and do the wages yourself?’
‘No but I could have.’ The weakness of my protest is reflected by Monty’s unwavering smile.
‘The pile’s gone,’ he adds unnecessarily.
‘I did notice.’ I can’t resist his infectious joy any longer, I let out a deep breath. ‘The place looks amazing.’
‘It’s all organised. Look, there’s bays for all the different recyclates, room to operate, room to separate out materials, so everything can be dealt with as soon as it comes in.’
‘I’m impressed,’ I say. ‘I didn’t realise you were a waste expert.’
‘I am now.’ He laughs. ‘With Dan Henderson’s help. He’s the one who’s transformed the place. He’s waiting for you in the office and he’s brought the Johnstone invoice for clearing the place up.’
Inside the cabin Dan gives me an envelope. ‘You need to pay David Johnstone right away. That’s the arrangement you agreed. If you give me the cheque I’ll drop it off.’
I examine the documents. ‘Thirty thousand pounds,’ I say. ‘That’s much less than we agreed.’
‘There’s tipping on top of that.’
‘How much?’ I ask.
‘Sixty thousand. But it has to be in cash.’
‘Where’s it been tipped?’
‘The paperwork says it all went to Johnstone’s yard, which has a valid permit. What he does with it after that is no concern of yours. You’re in the clear, it’s all perfectly above board.’
‘I’ll need to fetch the cash,’ I say. ‘Can you wait here for an hour or so?’
‘No problem.’ Dan smiles as Lesley brings him a mug of tea. ‘I’m being well looked after.’
‘Can it wait?’ Monty’s response to my request is testimony to the wholehearted way in which he’s engaged in his new role. ‘I’ve got to sort out the customer lists, Tina’s helping me. I need to know all the jobs otherwise the drivers will run rings round me.’
‘No, it can’t wait, I need to pick up cash to pay for the tipping. I might be able to drive but there’s no way I can retrieve it without your help.’ I raise my injured arm. ‘I’m disabled or have you forgotten?’
It’s comfortable and familiar having Monty in control of the Range Rover, and driving myself is uncomfortable with the plaster cast on my arm. As we pull onto the drive I’m struck by how empty my house looks from the outside. It’s quite obvious to any casual observer that nobody is at home. The curtains are open revealing a hollow darkness inside. The whole atmosphere is one of emptiness. The thought makes me feel vulnerable. I imagine thieves ransacking the place, despoiling it just as they once did my Salford apartment. That memory stirs anger which is quickly overwhelmed by sadness when I remember Alex’s visits there and how good he made me feel.
Monty unscrews the wood and plasterboard panel above the downstairs toilet and pulls it off to reveal the holdall stuffed with Lafferty’s cash. I unzip one and count out the sixty thousand I need for Johnstone.
‘You’re supposed to hide yourself in there,’ Monty says. ‘There’s no room for you with all that money.’
‘I can hide upstairs. Anyway, there’s nowhere else to keep the cash. This is the best place isn’t it?’
‘Maybe for the time being, but we’ll have to sort out something much more secure.’
‘Okay, whatever you say, Monty. If you can sort out somewhere safer, then do it.’
‘Leave it with me.’ He smiles as he shoves the panel back into place and fastens it securely.
61
Toby is in the garden with his new best friend Monty. I think they are looking at insects, it’s the only explanation I can think of for a grown man and a six-year-old to be lying on their fronts, poking their fingers into a flower bed. It’s been the same thing ever since Toby got here – ‘Monty look at this, Monty come and play, Monty can you do this, Monty, Monty, Monty.’ It was really cute at first, but now it’s wearing a bit thin. At least Monty is going over to Saddleworth to see his daughter this afternoon, so maybe I’ll get a bit of attention from my son at last.
I call them in for lunch. It’s hard to decide which one of them is the grubbiest and they both complain when I shoo them towards the washbasin and some soap. I can’t help but smile. Everything is going so well since the incident with Stefan. Even my arm is feeling whole again, though a little vulnerable after being released only yesterday from its protective cast.
There’s no doubt I was right all along about Monty fitting into the business. He’s a natural. There’s been not so much as a peep out of Greg and the other drivers. Everything is being weighed in properly and we’re separating out twice as much good stuff with half the workforce. Things are going well, my grand plan is progressing but I’m still desperately nervous about all that might go wrong. The worst thing is that Alex is in London and contact with him is sporadic and distant. I’ve told him I’m in the clear, that I’m not being investigated, that there’s no longer any reason for him to avoid me. It’s not up to him, it’s the vetting procedures, he maintains.
Toby is spooning spaghetti hoops down his black Transformer t-shirt and watching Monty with undisguised devotion.
‘Monty says you can eat worms,’ he says. ‘I want worms for my tea.’
‘You can find your own worms,’ I say, ‘but make sure you leave some for the birds, or shall I give them your chicken nuggets?’
He shakes his head and points to Monty’s plate. ‘I want leaves as well, it’s what you eat when you’re in the jungle. Give me some leaves, Mum.’ Toby starts eating lettuce, pulling a face to indicate disgust but persevering until the entire leaf disappears.
‘More,’ he gasps.
‘I didn’t think you liked lettuce,’ I say, heaping some more on to his plate.
‘I don’t, it’s horrible, but I’ve got to learn to survive in the jungle.’
Monty smiles, I laugh. Toby sees nothing at all amusing in the situation.
Monty gets up. ‘I’ll be off then, thanks for lunch.’ Tony squeals disapproval and tries to attach himself to Monty’s leg.
‘Come on,’ I say. ‘Show me where to find a tasty worm, I’m still hungry.’
Outside, the air is soft. The garden is peaceful yet buzzing with life. I sit on the comfortable dry lawn, making daisy chains from the mangled remains of Toby’s enthusiastic harvesting. He admires my handiwork but draws a firm line against wearing the garland around his neck. The warmth of the sun diminishes suddenly. I feel a cool shadow move across my body yet the brightness remains. The feeling is palpable enough to bring me to my feet. My limbs are quivering with fright. I quickly pick up Toby, grab his protesting body into my arms. As I turn towards the house a man steps out of the bushes on my right. He’s thin, unkempt, youn
g, probably early twenties, dressed in a jacket several sizes too big and crumpled grey trousers. I wonder about him being a child looking for a lost ball or a confused soul who’s lost his way.
His eyes look meaningfully into mine. There’s purpose in that look and I feel very afraid. Toby is wriggling in protest. My injured arm is beginning to hurt. I half run, half stumble away from the intruder, intent on reaching the safety of the kitchen door. He makes no attempt to cut off my escape, following me at a steady pace. A momentary impulse to confront him and demand an explanation rises but Toby’s vulnerability resists it. Better to shout at this man from safety than here with Toby exposed to whatever unpleasantness might occur.
My relief at reaching the kitchen unscathed lasts for only an instant. There are two more men waiting for me in my house. Before I can do or say anything the youth follows me in and slams the door closed behind me.
As if he feels my anxiety, Toby stops protesting about being removed from his beloved garden and starts to cry, clutching onto my neck and emitting loud wails into my ear. My handbag is on the kitchen table, I can see my phone sticking out of it. One of the men in my kitchen is considerably older than the other two, a grizzled weasel of a man, thin and spindly apart from the football-sized beer belly which gives him a pregnant look. His face is calm as if he’s been here before on many occasions and knows exactly what’s going to happen. The third man looks even younger than the first one I encountered in the garden. His apparent youth may be ascribed in some part to his copper-coloured hair and outrageous freckles. I’ll not have any problem picking these three out of a police line-up. As the thought passes through my mind I stiffen with fear. They must know that. They’ve made no attempt at disguising themselves. It could be that they’re very stupid but it may be that they don’t expect me to ever be in a position to identify them.
‘Get out of my house,’ I shout. ‘Leave now, how dare you come in here?’
‘We will go soon enough, all we want is the money.’ The old guy speaks with a soft voice in a refined Queen’s English accent.
