Truth and Lies

by Marguerite Valentine

  ‘I’d like a beer. Have you got any?’

  ‘I haven’t, but I can get some. There’s a supermarket close by.’

  ‘I’ll go.’ He stood up and left.

  She felt alone, weighted down with responsibility and, to distract herself, she lit some candles, and placed them along the sides of the courtyard. The light glowed through the darkness and tiny insects whirled about attracted by the light.

  He returned and glanced round. ‘Very pretty,’ he said and sat down. He poured Nixie a glass of wine, opened a can of lager for himself, and waited. She was silent, and looked away from him.

  Eventually he said, ‘So let’s hear it. I’m assuming it’s still relevant.’

  Nixie said, ‘I’ve got nothing to lose. You know all about me now.’

  ‘Yes, I do. You’re a game player-and a thief.’

  ‘That sounds hard, what do you mean?’

  ‘You steal identities, hide behind a mask, because without a mask, life’s hell – do you get what I’m saying?’

  ‘I do. But that applies to you too.’ She paused, took a sip of wine, examined her fingers, stood up and walked over to one of the vines. She pulled away a tendril pushing its way into the bathroom and turning to look at him, said, ‘So what do I do?’

  ‘Be authentic. Be true to yourself.’

  ‘I don’t know what that means.’

  ‘That’s the point.’

  There was a long silence. Nixie walked slowly round the small courtyard and came to a stop close to Seb. ‘Okay, this is the score.’ Her confidence was returning. Her voice steadied and her gaze met Seb’s curious eyes. She was on familiar territory, persuading somebody to do something, or be somebody, for another’s benefit.

  ‘The fraud case involving Makepeace, Melbury and Fortescue was passed onto the Serious Fraud Office. They’ve spent the last year unravelling it. They know everything. They know you were the whistleblower, they know about the sweeteners, the bribes, and the rest of the crap that motivates these loathsome bastards to get out of bed every morning… but there’s one piece of the jigsaw still missing. It’s the use of children as “sweeteners”. Namely, rape and other sexual offence against children.’

  ‘You’re talking about Makepeace?’

  ‘None other.’

  ‘So where do I come into this?’

  ‘Not the fraud. Counsel is appointed, and there’s a date fixed for the hearing, but the criminal case is at a standstill. One potential witness is missing. We’re talking about Imogen, the young girl, the one in the photos you showed me, and the one of her with Makepeace on the beach. It was you who assaulted Makepeace. I don’t need to spell it out. You saw what was going on and you beat him up.’

  ‘How do you know I beat him up?’

  ‘Supposition.’

  ‘There has to be more than that.’

  ‘There is more to it than that. When those photos hit the press, there was a call for witnesses. Potential witnesses came forward. The public was obliging. The police now have a timeline of your movements. The weekend in question: starts in London, then you drive to Lavenham, then you take a trip to Aldeburgh, and then come back to London.’

  ‘So it was you − you took those photos from me and passed them on to the press. Thanks.’

  ‘Not guilty. It was my handler.’

  ‘Right. I get it. It’s all coming together now. ’

  ‘What’s coming together?’

  Seb looked grim. ‘I’ll tell you, but not right now. Anything else?’

  ‘They want everything you know about her. It’s important, Seb.’

  ‘Whose they?’

  ‘The Met, the Crown Prosecution Service. The girl could be an important witness for the prosecution. So you have to tell.’

  ‘I’m not sure I want to.’

  Flori gave him a long, hard look. ‘What’s your problem?’

  He paused. ‘The publicity primarily. She’s a vulnerable child.’

  ‘Maybe she is, but wouldn’t she want to put that bastard behind bars?’

  Seb stood up and walked away from where he’d been sitting. He leant with his back against a wall, and stared at her. His face was inscrutable. ‘Nixie, what you’re asking me to do, is heavy duty. I can’t do it. Not right now.’

  ‘Why not…? Okay, I’ll put it another way. You have no choice.’

  ‘So… it’s tough talk now.’

  ‘Yeah, it has to be, because if you remain schtum, I can guarantee you’ll get subpoenaed for both trials. The criminal trial of Makepeace, and separately for the fraud. They’re connected. And remember I know all about you. Running and hiding? Forget it. Because Zanthe and her family can’t or won’t. That’ll be the end of your beautiful love affair.’

  ‘You’re a real bitch, Nixie.’

  ‘Yeah. A female version of you. A thief you said. But be authentic, you also said. So that’s exactly what I’m doing. What do you know?’

  ‘I don’t take kindly to being threatened ─ especially by you, Nixie. It makes me more stubborn. You should know that.’

  ‘You’re pissing me off, Seb. If it’s protecting the girl that’s holding you back, surely you know in this type of case, the child’s anonymity is protected.’

  ‘I didn’t know that, but it doesn’t change my decision. There’s a bit more to it than that.’

  ‘Okay, maybe this’ll change your mind. If you refuse, you’ll also be charged with grievous bodily harm of Makepeace and with breaking and entering your father’s office at Lavenham, plus any other stuff the creative minds of the Met can come up with and, I hate to say this, but daddy and mummy won’t take kindly to knowing it was their son who dropped him in the shit. Not forgetting, of course, hacking into Langhithe computer system.’

  ‘Fine. Pile it on, Nixie. As far as my father goes, there’s no love lost between us, so I couldn’t care less. Besides, it’s only a matter of time until he knows that I was the whistleblower. As for my mother, I’m expecting her to take my side so I can make my peace with her as and when… assuming of course, when it does all come out, she chooses divorce rather than the marital trap of money.

  ‘Your threat of criminal proceedings − hasn’t it occurred to you, since you also work undercover, that’s hardly going to happen, is it? Because, in the process of bringing me to book, your role will be blown apart. I can guarantee I won’t keep my mouth shut, and what would your Mike say to that? Not to mention the whole of Grassroots. No one would be pleased.’

  ‘There’s ways round it. So what do you say?’

  ‘I say that your work is particularly nasty.’

  ‘Couldn’t agree more. Yours too. Nasty, but necessary.’

  ‘It takes a certain type…’

  ‘That’s right, and I’m that type. You know that. I know that. So what about it?’

  ‘Let me think about it.’

  ‘How long will you take?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, but I’m not coming to a decision right now.’

  ‘Okay. What about tomorrow?’

  Seb shrugged, ‘Can’t say for sure.’

  ‘So when?’

  ‘Soon.’

  ‘Christ, what’s the problem?’

  ‘Because it’s serious stuff, Nixie. More than you know.’ There was a long silence as they contemplated each other. ‘I’ve got to go. It’s late.’ He glanced at his mobile, stood up.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Where do think…? The house on the headland, the one you’re so fucking interested in.’

  ‘To see Zanthe. How are you getting there?’

  ‘Dunno. I came by car, but I’ve had too much to drink… the water taxis stop after one.’

  ‘Do you want to stay here?’

  ‘That’s not a good idea.’

  ‘Maybe not. But neither
is driving down precipitous coastal roads in the early hours, while under the influence, if that’s what you were thinking… You should stay, but it’s up to you.’

  ‘Yeah, it is up to me…’ He walked over to her and looked straight at her. ‘What’s your game, Nixie? We’re not an item any longer.’

  ‘I know that. No game. But, I still care about you.’

  ‘Really…don’t make me laugh… after what you’ve just been threatening me with?’

  ‘It’s my work. It’s how we operate, as you know. Nothing personal. It’s what we do. You understand that.’

  ‘Life according to Nixie. The personal and the professional. Unrelated. I don’t buy it anymore. But whatever, I’m assuming you have a spare bed?’

  ‘I don’t.’

  There was a long silence. ‘What’s going on? ’

  ‘Who knows?’

  ‘Okay. You always did know your own mind. Fuck it.’

  ‘I’m not sure what you mean but…’

  ‘ Nixie You have to know that my relationship with Zanthe… It’s important. I need to text her. Give me five minutes, and I’ll be with you.’

  She woke alone. Distraught, half asleep, she stumbled into the courtyard. There was a note on the table. She picked it up. ‘Nixie, meet me today, about four. Go down to the ferry terminal, ask for Andreas and he’ll take you to a beach where we can talk. He’s totally trustworthy. The swimming is superb, by the way. See you later, Seb.’

  — 22 —

  Andreas swung the boat into the bay, and brought the boat to a halt by a large, flat rock. It had taken twenty exhilarating minutes from the harbour to reach there. Nixie watched as he tethered the boat to a bollard alongside a speed boat already moored there, and a moment later he jumped out, and holding out his hand, he steadied Nixie as she stepped from the boat onto the rock.

  She glanced around, her attention immediately caught by someone swimming strongly across the bay towards them. It was Seb. He pulled himself out of the water, said a quick hello and dripping, picked up the towel lying flat on the rock, and after wrapping it round himself, shook hands with Andreas. There was a short but animated conversation in Greek which involved Andreas raising his voice, and banging his fist down onto his other hand but just as she thought this had to be a serious argument, they burst into laughter and Andreas left. They were on their own.

  Seb smiled, said, ‘Hello, you. You’re looking unusually shy.’

  ‘I feel shy.’

  She was unsure after their conversation the previous night what decision he might have come to and she regretted offering him her bed. It had been madness. It had awakened all the strong feelings she’d thought she’d got under control. She forced herself to speak.

  ‘You understand Greek, then.’

  ‘Just a little.’

  ‘Is this place safe, can we talk?’

  ‘Yes, if that’s okay.’

  ‘I prefer somewhere with shade.’

  ‘Well, we can go up there.’ He pointed to a narrow path leading into the trees. ‘There’s a tamarisk tree. It has shade, a view of the sea and it’s private.’

  ‘Good. Is this bay near where you live?’

  ‘It’s not far. But you can only get here by boat − that keeps most of the tourists away.’

  ‘Is that yours?’ Nixie pointed to the speedboat.

  ‘No, it belongs to Nikos… Let’s go. We have to talk.’

  He picked up his backpack, slipped his feet into flip flops, and looking at her expectantly, waited for her to follow him up the rough track. The path curved through the trees and away from the water. Eventually he came to a stop and pushing his way past some shrubby bushes, they came to a small clearing.

  ‘This is it.’ He pulled out a towel from his backpack, cleared some stones away, and laid it flat under the tree. ‘Okay? ’

  Nixie glanced around, ‘Thanks, but I prefer to sit on that rock. It looks like a seat, but thanks anyway.’

  ‘You seem jumpy.’

  ‘I am. I want to know what’s going on.’

  ‘Okay.’ He paused. ‘Right… What I’m about to say is to go no further.’

  ‘That’s not possible. I have to report back. You know that.’

  ‘I’m talking about the press. You’ve let me down once.’ She didn’t answer. He eyeballed her. ‘Are you wired? That back pack you’ve brought with you, empty it, please. And your bikini? Is that concealing anything?’

  ‘Seb, this isn’t necessary.’

  ‘If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t be asking. Do you have a mobile?’

  ‘No mobile.’ Nixie picked up her backpack and emptied out the contents. It contained a towel, sunscreen and a bottle of water. Seb put his hands in the bag’s pockets. Empty. He gave her a hard look. ‘What about your bikini?’

  She glared. ‘Don’t be stupid. You have my word for it. I’m not wired.’

  ‘Okay. But there’s a reason for my paranoia. The photos of Imogen that got plastered all over the press were seen by certain people. Thugs, I’d call them. They didn’t like them and they didn’t like me. It was bad enough before they cottoned on I was the whistleblower and I beat up Makepeace… I can do without a repeat situation.’

  ‘Who are you talking about?’

  ‘Some arseholes…I’m about to tell you, but those photos…I can’t trust you.’

  ‘I told my handler not to pass the photos on. He ignored me. I’m sorry about that.’

  ‘So, it was your handler. Well, great, thanks to him my life’s been threatened.’ Nixie was silent. ‘I’d assumed it was Makepeace behind the arson and being run off the road, and that’s partly true. He is involved ─ but not in the way I thought. He’s a consumer, if I can put it that way, of sexual services supplied by a gang of human traffickers. They import young women from Eastern Europe. Gullible and desperate women, hoping for a better life. They think they’re going to proper jobs. They want to send money back to their family. The reality is they’re forced into prostitution.’

  ‘So how does Imogen come into this?’

  ‘Imogen is part of the supply chain.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I’m talking about sex for the so-called civilised members of society; the effete, landed gentry, the wheelers and dealers of industry, the rich, and the stupid. The service was unknown, they operated in the shadows… until this hit the press.’

  ‘You sound angry, Seb.’

  ‘I am fucking angry. Anyone with a modicum of humanity would be, wouldn’t they? They fuck up lives. And somewhere, somehow, my father’s involved with them.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘He operates in those grey areas, the ones where people say, “I didn’t know, I didn’t see, I can’t say, I can’t help.”’

  Nixie glanced at him. There was no way now she could get him to cooperate. Guilt just wouldn’t work. He actually didn’t give a fuck about maintaining a relationship with his father, but he cared about the young girl. That was obvious.

  ‘I still don’t understand how Imogen is involved.’ Seb glared at her, but didn’t answer. She tried another tack. ‘How did you find out about all this?’

  ‘I’ll tell you. Those photos, the ones left after the break-in. I recognised the buildings in some of them, so I did some detective work. I went back to London. It wasn’t difficult. I hung around the square. I observed what was going on. I watched the cabs, the chauffeur-driven cars, the comings and goings, the men, the girls. It’s big business. And there’s tie-ins with restaurants and night clubs.’

  ‘When did you go back to the UK ?’

  ‘A month or two after we split up. I felt a total mess so I had to do something. I missed you and the buzz of the work.’ He looked out over the sea, then turned to face Nixie. ‘Losing you, and everything that you said you valued, was one motive, but besides that, Imogen’s
face haunted me. I remembered her as she was, a sweet, serious child. I wanted to speak to her but then an idea came to me. One that could help her breakaway from the shit she’s got herself into.’

  ‘Why didn’t her adoptive parents help her?’

  ‘Her parents?’

  ‘Yes, you’d told me she’d been adopted.’

  ‘Oh, that wasn’t true. I first met her on the beach at Aldeburgh. She was about eleven or twelve and I was fed up with my life. I’d walked along the beach and I came across the Shell. It’s a piece of sculpture. Do you know it?’ Nixie shook her head. ‘So I was standing there looking at it and this small girl walks up to me and she starts talking to me as if we knew each other and we just clicked.

  ‘I met her later, again by chance, I was on the beach walking towards Thorpeness and I saw that prick, Makepeace, having a pop-shot at her. I just lost it. I wanted to kick the shit out of him. Then I took her back to her father. Another useless specimen of humanity. I realised then that she’d had a bad start in life and it was only a matter of time before some arse hole would take advantage of that. And how right I was.’

  ‘So where are you going with all this?’

  ‘I’m about to tell you.’

  ‘When I first met her, she’d told me she wanted to go to art school and be an artist. Like the sculptor, she said, who’d created the Shell. But she’d been told it was too expensive. So there I was, a rich kid with the best of education and I’d been left some money in my half brother’s will.

  ‘I had no need for it so I went to a solicitor specialising in missing persons and I said, find her, and tell her, if she leaves prostitution, I’ll pay her fees if she gets herself into art school. He employed a private detective. He found her. She said, thanks, but no thanks. She wanted to be independent, she said and she’d use her own earnings for education…It’d be funny if it wasn’t so tragic.’

  ‘Did you believe her?’

  ‘No. I didn’t. I insisted on meeting her. We met in the solicitor’s office. She looked wasted.’

  ‘Did she tell you what was going on?’

  ‘Yeah. She did.’