Walden of Bermondsey

by Peter Murphy

‘And what did you suggest their use might be?’

  ‘I suggest we have massage parlour.’

  ‘What led you to make that suggestion?’

  ‘Before I come to Jordan’s I work for two years at bar in Fulham called Benny G’s. I am not manager. I am assistant manager. Manager is Vic. This place is closed now. But then it was bar. And behind the bar was massage parlour.’

  ‘Was the massage parlour something you started?’

  ‘No, no. Massage parlour was there before I came. Vic ran it at the time, but even before Vic, I think it was there. It was well known. So I ask Vic many questions: how this is organised; where he finds the girls; what is the going rate, and so on; what precautions must be taken?’

  ‘When you say, “what precautions must be taken?” precautions against what?’

  ‘Precautions to make sure that it is massage only, and not anything else.’

  ‘By anything else, do you mean sexual activity?’

  ‘Yes, because Vic explains to me that there is law against brothels, and he says you must not make a brothel, this is very important.’

  ‘And was Vic successful in taking such precautions at Benny G’s?’

  ‘Completely successful.’

  ‘Because you said that bar had closed…?’

  ‘Yes, but not because of this. It was too much mortgaged. It did not make enough money, and even with massage parlour they could not save it. It was shame. It was a nice place. I make proposal to Vic that we should buy it after it closed, and we went to bank but we could not get the financing. So…’ He lifts his hands sadly above his head and back down.

  ‘As a result of this, did you feel that you were qualified to run a massage parlour at Jordan’s, if Mr Jordan agreed to it?’

  ‘Yes. Why not? I kept in touch with the girls from Benny G’s, and I knew they still had some of the furniture in storage, so I could even decorate without spending too much money. So I say to Robert, “Look, Robert, there will be some expenditure, yes. Painting, decorating, furnishing, heating and cooling. Perhaps we have to spend seven thousand pounds, ten thousand, even. Then there is regular cleaning and other expenses every week. This is not nothing. But I know that at Benny G’s you can make five thousand in a week for each room, sometimes even in a night, if you have good clients.”’

  ‘And was that how you decorated the rooms, from the furnishings in storage at Benny G’s?’

  ‘Yes, and other things I find in open air markets. You have to look around. I know places. I know painter who used to work at Benny G’s also, and he gives me reasonable price.’

  ‘And the girls? How many young women did you hire?’

  ‘We have twelve on the books at any one time. This is perhaps not quite enough, but they wanted to work hard, and so they all had their shifts.’

  ‘They were young women you had worked with at Benny G’s?’

  ‘Yes, most of them. Some had returned to their countries when Benny G’s closed, but most of them were still in London.’

  ‘And as everyone agrees, you were very fair to them?’

  Valkov draws himself up to his full height and places his hands on the sides of the witness box for emphasis.

  ‘Yes, of course. Never will I exploit any woman. The women must not be abused. They must be well paid and looked after. This cannot be compromised. Also, by now, they are my friends, not just workers.’

  Emily pauses for effect. ‘Mr Valkov, please tell the jury what service you asked these young women, your friends, to provide.’

  Valkov turns slightly to face the jury full-on.

  ‘They provide the traditional Swedish massage.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  He shrugs. ‘Some of the girls know other massage techniques, sports massage, head massage, aromatherapy, you know. If they want to offer this, of course there is no objection. But it is massage service.’

  ‘Did you ever require, ask, or even permit any young woman to offer sexual services to a client?’

  Valkov brings his fist down hard on the witness box.

  ‘No, no, a thousand times, no. I tell all the girls this is out of order. I put up notice in six languages. They all know, if this happens, it is the end for them. They all know this even if I do not tell them, but I tell them anyway.’

  ‘Did you know that massage parlours, however legitimate, have to be licensed by the local authority?’

  Valkov allows his head to sink down on to his chest. He does not reply immediately.

  ‘Of this I am very ashamed,’ he admits. ‘I know this, of course.’

  ‘Then why did you not…?’

  ‘I could do nothing about this,’ he explains. ‘Robert was insisting that there must be no connection to the restaurant. This was the condition under which we could go ahead. There could be no advertising, nothing to make any connection between the massage parlour and the restaurant. Certainly, I could not have local authority inspectors coming to the building. That would have been the end, as far as Robert was concerned.’

  ‘But if it was discovered…?’

  ‘Yes, it was stupid thing to do, and I feel badly for Robert now. But I think, you know, this is short term venture, and we have very high class of customer. We will have to be unlucky to be discovered.’

  ‘But you were discovered, weren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, we were.’

  ‘Mr Valkov, if there was to be no advertising, how did you attract customers to the massage service?’

  He smiles. ‘I kept good records at Benny G’s. I know many of the customers there. I pay a fee to the same taxi drivers, to bring customers who are looking for this kind of establishment. Word spreads. It takes time. This is not overnight. But it does not take too long if you have a good service, and we did.’

  Emily then takes him at some length through his bank account, a process which, to my mind, does more to add to the confusion than to shed light on the subject of Valkov’s financial affairs and the administration of upstairs. What does seem clear is that these were in reality one and the same. The massage business was Valkov’s personal bailiwick, and he ran it without interference from anyone else. The young women were self-employed. Valkov collected from them all the fees and tips paid by the clients, returned the tips and a substantial percentage of the fees to the young women, and kept the rest to cover the expenses of the house. Nothing went through the Jordan’s business account. Valkov took all the receipts and paid all the outgoings, after which he divided the profits between Robert Jordan, Lucy Trask and himself. Finally, Emily offers him one more chance to protest his innocence.

  ‘Mr Valkov, what was your reaction when the police raided Jordan’s and you learned that sexual activity was going on upstairs?’

  He closes his eyes and shakes his head.

  ‘I could not believe it, you know. These were my friends. How they could do this to me, and to Robert Jordan? It is not to be believed. I was utterly shocked. Today, still, I am utterly shocked.’

  ‘Did you have any knowledge at all that this was happening?’

  ‘Not at all. Not at all.’

  ‘Were you knowingly engaging in the management of a brothel?’

  ‘Not at all. Not at all.’

  Valkov has done no real damage to his co-defendants, and their cross-examination is accordingly short and restrained. Susan and Aubrey ask the more or less obligatory questions to show how easily Robert Jordan and Lucy Trask could have been operating in the dark as far as any hint of prostitution was concerned, and leave it at that. Valkov is not the most convincing of witnesses to use to suggest that idea to the jury, and to a large extent their strategy is to distance their clients from him as far as possible.

  ‘So, Mr Valkov,’ Piers Drayford begins, having pushed himself up slowly and menacingly to his feet in an apparent attempt to mimic a screen version of the angel of
death, ‘have I got this right? On the night when the police visited, sexual services were being provided by your friends in each of the four rooms occupied by your legitimate Swedish massage service, and you knew nothing about it. Is that correct?’

  Valkov senses that the atmosphere has changed, and you can see the defensive barriers go up.

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘That’s nonsense, isn’t it?’

  ‘No…’

  ‘You weren’t paying taxi drivers fifty pounds a time to bring rich clients for a traditional Swedish massage which they could get elsewhere for a fraction of the price, were you?’

  ‘They get good massage from my girls.’

  ‘You don’t decorate rooms to look like a Louis XIV salon, or an American diner, to give legitimate massages, do you?’

  ‘Why not? Many rooms people use for massage are so sterile. Why we should not create interesting ambience?’

  Piers ignores the question, and asks Dawn, our usher, to hand the witness PC Davis’s photographs from the Louis XIV room, Exhibit two.

  ‘Mr Valkov, please turn to photograph thirteen in this exhibit. Do you have it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It shows a box of condoms which has been opened, would you agree?’

  ‘Yes, that is obvious.’

  ‘Yes. And you understand that this was found by PC Davis in the upstairs room nearest to the door, what we have been calling the Louis XIV room?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Let’s pass over photograph fourteen, the feather duster, and come to photograph fifteen. This has been described to the jury as a vibrator. Would you agree?’

  ‘Again, this is obvious.’

  ‘Also found in the same room?’

  ‘Yes. Would you please explain to the jury, based on your experience of Swedish massage parlours, why these items would be found in a room dedicated to legitimate massage?’

  ‘Obviously, I can’t explain that. You know, the girls must have been providing other services.’

  ‘Without your knowledge?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Of course. Mr Valkov, do you remember telling the jury, when you were answering questions from my learned friend Miss Phipson, that your job was to ensure that it was well managed, so that Mr Jordan did not have to worry about it?’

  Silence, for some seconds.

  ‘This is true.’

  ‘That was your job as a good bar manager, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How often did you go upstairs yourself to check on what was going on?’

  ‘Myself?’

  ‘Yes, yourself.’

  Valkov shakes his head. ‘No, no. I would never do so. I must not intrude on the privacy of the clients. You understand, the doors are not locked, but I can’t just walk in. I would be sure to lose a client if I walk in and interrupt his massage.’

  ‘But you took clients upstairs sometimes, didn’t you? As you did with the two undercover officers who visited Jordan’s before the raid?’

  ‘Sometimes, yes, if they were new clients. Once they had been with us once, they knew the way. They could not get lost in such a small space.’

  ‘And when you brought a new client, it must have been obvious if objects like this were lying around, yes?’

  ‘I never saw such things. Never.’

  ‘Did you ever see any of the young women naked in any of the rooms?’

  Which is when it happens. Lunchtime is fast approaching, and part of my mind has already turned to the conversation I am likely to have in the mess about the question of replacements for the kitchen, and to the question of how I can dissuade Hubert from rising for two hours to go to the Garrick Club. The jury seem to be enjoying the show, but I am sure their minds also are turning to the pleasant prospect of a break and the chance to eat something for lunch (while they still can, I reflect). When suddenly –

  ‘I can prove I am innocent!’ Valkov virtually screams.

  He is loud enough to have every eye in the courtroom fixed on him instantly.

  ‘That’s not what I asked,’ Piers insists. ‘My question was –’

  ‘I am innocent!’ Valkov screams again. ‘I can prove it. I have black book. I have black book with names. Names of important men, who would not come to brothel, who would not be seen in brothel. I will say such names if I must because I am innocent!’

  A deathly hush falls over the courtroom – except, that is, for the press seats, where there is suddenly a renewed outburst of whispering and scribbling. My mind returns abruptly from the kitchen to the courtroom.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Valkov,’ I say, ‘did you say that you have a black book containing the names of customers?’

  He looks at me as if puzzled at first, and then breaks out in a smile.

  ‘Yes, your Honour,’ he replies. ‘I apologise. It is cliché. I admit it. Much better I buy red or blue book, something different. I am sure you have all the time black books. For this I am sorry.’

  ‘I am not interested in the colour of the book, Mr Valkov,’ I say. ‘What I am interested in is…’

  I break off, because I am not entirely sure exactly what I am interested in, and it might be better if I think about it first. I look at counsel to see if they have any guidance to offer. Emily is looking as though someone has just tasered her, but Piers has recovered, and interrupts me.

  ‘Your Honour, forgive me, but I submit that it would be preferable for the court to go into chambers while this matter is discussed further.’

  It does not take me long to see the logic of that suggestion. But there is also a piece of evidence to bring under control.

  ‘Yes, Mr Drayford,’ I reply. ‘But just before we do, I need to ask the witness one more thing. Mr Valkov, where is this black book? Do you have it with you?’

  ‘Yes, your Honour, of course.’ He gestures towards his back-pack which is lying on the floor of the dock. A dock officer retrieves it and opens the door of the dock just enough to hand it to Dawn, who gives it to Valkov. In an instant, he opens it and extracts a thin black volume which looks rather like a desk diary. He holds it up for my inspection. I ask Dawn to bring it to me. I resist the temptation to open it.

  ‘I am going to rise for lunch now,’ I announce abruptly. ‘I shall take this book with me and peruse it over lunch. I will see counsel in chambers at two o’clock.’

  I see Piers poised to suggest some other course, but I am not going to give him the chance. I rise quickly. Valkov may be playing a silly game, in which case the black book will be exposed for the nonsense it is, and Piers will tear him limb from limb and leave him for dead in cross-examination after lunch. Or he may be serious, in which case the press will soon be able to report a scandal that goes a lot farther than they thought when the case began. Before I decide what to do next, I need to know what I’m dealing with.

  I sit down with Elsie’s cheddar and pickle sandwich and a cup of instant coffee and open the black book. It does indeed contain names, male, sixty-five in all, the vast majority of which mean nothing to me. But I do recognise the names of three members of Parliament, one of whom is currently a minister for something relatively unimportant; of one High Court judge; and of one well-known reporter for BBC Television; and there are one or two others which, for one reason or another, ring a bell with me. One in particular, in fact, which rings a very loud bell indeed.

  Whether or not the names mean anything to me, each one undoubtedly means something to somebody, if only the man concerned and his family. One or two of the names I do not recognise have phone numbers with them, but almost all have no further details at all, and there is no clue about when the names were added to the book, much less when they may have visited Jordan’s. There is nothing except the word of Dimitri Valkov to establish any connection between any of these men and Jordan’s, much less
to establish that they received sexual services there, and at this point I’m not sure that Dimitri Valkov’s word is a particularly gilt-edged commodity.

  Nonetheless, this must be handled delicately. Whether or not you have done anything dodgy, merely having your name in a book like this is liable to expose you to some pretty uncomfortable questioning on the home front, and in many cases, in the workplace also. The names themselves are likely to start feeling a bit panicky as soon as the Standard hits the streets this afternoon, but so will many others whose names are not in the book, but very well might be. Valkov’s strategy seems pretty clear. His reference to the book is a threat. We are meant to believe that he will not hesitate to reveal names if he has to. If he goes down, he is saying, he will take a few highly placed people with him. The only possible legitimate relevance of the names is the one he gave us in court: to show that such prominent men would not have come to Jordan’s if they had known there was any hanky-panky going on. This is hardly convincing. In fact, one might think it more likely that they were tempted to Jordan’s precisely because it offered a discreet haven for hanky-panky, and their names in a black book – cliché as Valkov rightly concedes it to be – rather supports that view.

  No, this is an attempt to blackmail either the court or the prosecution. It’s not going to work, but I have to do my best to prevent unnecessary collateral damage. The first priority is to guard the book itself. Of course, Valkov may well have copies, and he may know the names off by heart. I can threaten him with dire consequences, such as holding him in contempt of court or withdrawing his bail, to try to shut him up. But I can’t stop him naming names, if he is really determined to shout them from the rooftops. On the other hand, perhaps I don’t need to. He could have gone to the press with the black book at any time, but he hasn’t raised it until now. And if he simply starts blurting out names now, hopefully he won’t be taken too seriously.

  As the lunch hour ends, I am given my first indication of how fast news like this travels. Legless knocks and puts his head tentatively around my door.

  ‘Charlie, do you have a moment?’

  ‘Yes, of course, come in.’