by Karen Botha
‘What do you mean?’ I plead silently.
His eyes bulge; he’s directing me to something.
‘What?’ I check the bedside table. In slow motion I take in every aspect of this foreign room, it takes one millisecond. My phone! How am I to get to that without Ginger noticing?
There’s the briefest of sounds beyond the door. There’s someone else out there. Ginger isn’t alone. His accomplice is rummaging through drawers. There’s a smash, and papers fall. I must move quickly whilst we’re two-to-one.
Filtering a series of plans, I discard options, rehash scenarios.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.’ I cower, backing towards the edge of the bed.
‘I said be quiet.’ He snaps.
I’m shaking with adrenalin. Will my plan work? Goosebumps cover every inch of my naked flesh, but somehow my nakedness isn’t humiliating. My chest is tight, my breathing light and rapid-fire. My head races. The last thing on my mind is that I am totally as I was born before this menacing stranger.
I continue backing up, untangling my legs from the covers, and pulling them up behind me whilst all the time recoiling. I put my hands up ahead of me and then fall out of bed, knocking over the bedside table in my wake.
I scrabble on the floor, collecting my phone, shoving it under my bare bottom. Ginger jumps. Adam breaks free, diving round the front of the bed to cover me. His hand reaches around my waist and locates my phone under my bum cheek. I feel his fingers working, trying to locate the correct pattern to unlock the screen.
‘Get in the corner,’ Ginger orders.
‘What do you want with us?’ I ask, buying time whilst Adam struggles to make a call, blind.
‘I want you in the corner.’
‘What’s going on?’ The bald-headed one who dragged Paula across the garden blasts into the room.
Ginger nods at him, waving like a mad man possessed at us. We back up. My ankles tremble so much, I fear I’ll fall for real.
‘Come on.’ Baldy jerks his head towards the exit.
A look passes between the two punks. Ginger comes up to us, grabs Adam around the throat, and pins him against the wall. Adam’s face runs puce.
‘Stop it.’ I grab at his hand. He’s strong. Baldy observes on from his place within the door frame.
‘This was a warning.’ Ginger spits the words into Adam’s face, then turns on his heel. Their trainers squeak across the hard floors and the front door slams.
Neither of us speak. Adam looks at the phone in his palm. It’s connected to 999. He looks at me again and then places it to his ear, rubbing my face with his spare hand. His fingers are cold, my skin hot.
‘Hello?’ His voice cracks, I place my hand on his arm. Kiss it. Lean in to rest on his chest. I can hear the tinny conversation, they’re sending someone over.
‘They want the camera footage,’ Adam says when he’s hung up. His voice is still soft, distant eyes not quite having registered yet what just happened.
‘Yes. Where is it?’ I ask, in a daze of automatic pilot myself.
He digs in his wardrobe and pulls out a pair of fleece shorts and a baggy t-shirt I’ve seen him wear before. ‘Here, put these on.’ He hands the outfit to me and I smell lily of the valley fabric conditioner. He produces a second, almost identical selection for himself.
Once we’ve dressed in silence, he says, ‘Come, follow me, I don’t want you alone for a second.’
He takes me through into his en suite and presses on a full-length mirror. It clips open, revealing a safe door the same height behind it.
‘Adam, what is this?’
‘It’s a safe room, but with all the commotion, I guess I was too out of it to hear anyone. We didn’t have time to jump in.’ He twizzles the nob one way and then the next.
‘Why would you need one of these?’ The heavy steel door opens, we enter.
‘The casino is worth a lot of money. It was just a precaution. A security alert should have notified me someone was in the house, but as we were a little distracted, I can’t remember whether I set it last night.’
The room is about the size of my bedroom at home. There’s a sofa, a TV, a toilet area at the back, and a desk with a bank of screens set up above it. They’re blank.
‘Should these be displaying something?’ I point with my finger as I ask what is perhaps a stupid question, but I don’t know how these systems work.
‘Yes, they should.’ He presses some buttons and the computer whirs into life. There’s a bit of mouse clicking, and he ceases, resting his chin in his hand.
I hover, not sure what to say. Something is wrong; I can’t break the atmosphere, I need to let his thought process run through his head undisturbed.
I study the medical box above the toilet, and for a second I consider how vulnerable someone must be to install a room like this. To cater for the eventuality of a worse episode than today happening. For you to expect someone to want to do you such harm that you would need bandages and an emergency telephone line in a fortified room off your bedroom. For the first time I wonder whether Adam - or his business - is all he seems.
It’s a ridiculous thought. He called the police as soon as the thugs left us. Had he been up to no good, he wouldn’t have done that, would he? It was his first instinct; he told me to call. Someone with something to hide would shy away from further investigation. No, Adam is fine. He’s just security conscious.
Paula
I never thought I’d be grateful to see an empty wheelchair. Someone has located it whilst I was in with the girls and I could cry all over again when I spot it.
The open-plan office is silent. Everyone from my old squad is hunched over screens remoting into Patrick’s interview, but when they hear me wheel in, they turn and cheer at me. It’s short lived as they don’t want to miss anything on screen, but it’s enough. I feel welcomed back into my old stomping ground.
‘They’re all in on their own time for this case,’ Steve says. ‘They’re not allowed to work it officially; it’s not our area. They’re doing this for you. That’s how much you mean to us. To all of us.’
This is the point where I should make a quip, but I don’t have the mental capacity to think quickly right now. Instead, my eyes well up and I’m not sure if it’s from pleasure or pain. Perhaps it’s both. Regardless, I bury my vulnerable mental state in a strong sniff, maintaining my emotional middle ground.
‘Just get my chair,’ I instruct.
These seats don’t look that comfortable, but the relief upon resting my weight against the black vinyl fabric is wonderful.
‘Wheel me to a screen,’ I wink with my one functioning eye.
‘Now you’re taking the piss,’ Steve laughs pulling a chair up next to me.
‘So, if everyone is in on their own time, the Fire Brigade didn’t find any bodies, then?’ I check.
‘No evidence that anyone else was kept there. Although you did a good job with that fire, there’s not much left out there. They found an old cloth. You'll need to look at that later, see if it rings any bells.’
'What's it like?' I ask.
'Pinky purple, I think. I've not studied it. The Fire Brigade have it at the moment. I'll let you have it as soon as it arrives.'
I let that sink in. No bodies doesn’t necessarily mean no deaths, then. We may never know.
‘Is he no commenting?’ I ask the room.
‘He was, but he’s started speaking. Jerry read him the riot act about our evidence,’ Mo answers.
‘We have evidence?’ I ask.
‘What do you think?’ Mo says.
‘Not until he provides it to us?’
The room laughs, collective banter, like the old days. I know in that moment that I will be coming back to the force. Nothing else matches this camaraderie. I just don’t feel safe out there in the adult world without this adopted family taking the proverbial out of my every mistake.
Patrick sits in the corner of the tiny room, his elbows leaning on a
small half-moon table top attached to the wall at its flat side. He’s dressed in the non-descript grey jogging suit handed out to all prisoners whilst they’re helping us with our enquiries.
‘Who employed you?’
‘I don’t know his name. I never met him. Was just told where to go and when, with the girls. Had an allowance to buy clothes for me and for them so we were all fit for purpose, they said.’
‘They said?’ Jerry tries to find out how many people are behind the ring.
‘Well, he said, it’s just a turn of phrase.’
‘How were you contacted?’
‘Always a withheld number, but I recognised his voice. Kind of had a posh accent, but sounds like it was put on. It had an odd ring to it.’
‘That’s not helpful, try to narrow it down.’ Jerry says.
‘I don’t know, maybe he was foreign, I’m not sure.’
Steve shouts across the room, ‘Mo, start looking into foreigners closely connected to Adam.’
‘On it,’ Mo says.
‘I’ll help.’ I’m already rolling over to Mo, keen to get some progress under our belts.
‘Start with his employee list. There’ll be a lot in the casino, so begin with his close contacts first.’
Mo raises his eyebrows, ‘Yes Miss,’ he salutes.
‘Sorry!’
He shakes his head, the right side of his mouth curled up, ‘Good to have you back.’
‘I’ll check his bank accounts…’
Mo stops me, ‘You know, we could always just ask him.’
I laugh. ‘We could. Guess the murder squad doesn’t usually have a key witness to ask these types of questions.’
Mo picks up the phone. Whilst he’s speaking to Adam, I wheel off to a quiet corner to check out what Jerome has discovered. It’s most unsatisfying. He’s been through a host of cameras and hasn’t found a jot. He’s sending over stills of the different people, in case a face rings a bell, but I’m not holding out much hope. It sounds like the connections extend far and wide, and I don’t see why we’d recognise anyone at this stage.
When Mo gets off the phone with Adam, I wheel back over. I raise my eyebrows waiting for him to fill me in.
‘No, you first,’ he says.
‘I got nothing. You go.’
‘Well, Adam was just broken into. Both he and Lucy were held up at knife point. Guess by who?’
I shake my head. ‘Are they OK?’
‘Yes, they are. It was your very own Ginger and Baldy.’
‘You’re kidding. What did they want?’
‘He doesn’t know. They’ve ransacked his office, uniform are round there now.’
‘Did you get to ask him about foreigners working with him?’
‘Yeah, of course. I’m a pro!’ He polishes his nails across his chest.
‘Go on!’
He passes me a list of names, I glance over it. ‘We’ll have to check these out then.’
‘Well, we may not have to. He’s employed a lawyer to get him off this charge, Clifford Harris. He’s been looking into the situation. We should see how far he’s got first. No point reinventing the wheel.’
Adam
Soho seems an odd location for my solicitors’ office, especially considering my charges. But, here we are. Lucy and I met Paula and Mo at the regency buildings. We didn’t have wait in the poky reception, and instead we’re shown directly into the board room. Blinds covering the floor to ceiling windows allow light in but keep the distraction of city life out of the space.
I’m serving tea like we’re all out for nothing more serious than a coffee. I place two plates of cookies in the table in front of us. We must be important clients; they broke open the chocolate ones. The quality of biscuits is a constant source of entertainment for me at meetings. It whiles away some of the more monotonous hours.
Clifford, sporting another ludicrously bright tie, enters the room with Judith in tow. A keen young girl, introduced as Fiona, follows on behind, carrying a substantial pile of paperwork. She declines the tea which is probably a good move as by now, the water has turned lukewarm.
I pre-warned the team about Paula’s less than savoury appearance; nobody even flinches. Instead, all three unfold cardboard files and Clifford clears his throat. ‘Now, let’s jump right on in.’
We all nod - obedient school children.
‘We’ve delved into your social media accounts and it would seem that there has been little personal activity.’
‘No, I’m not on there much. As I said when we met previously, Nuala uses it more for business promotional purposes.’
‘Indeed. We did see exactly that kind of posting behaviour.’
I hope we’ve not all trooped down here to have this lot rehashed. I remain quiet, waiting, ignoring the churning in my stomach.
‘Now, we analysed that Companies House document Jerome found. We can confirm that is your signature, Adam.’
Alarm pierces my relief, deflating it as quickly as a popped balloon. ‘What?’
Judith interjects, ‘You genuinely have no memory of signing it?’
‘No, none. I don’t understand how it could happen.’ My mind wanders, recounting the regular signature procedure. ‘It could have been anyone. I sign papers for all departments in the business.’
‘OK, well, let’s move on,’ Clifford says. ‘To the point of your ID documents, we found what could be forgeries. You appear to hold a lot of loans against your name, Adam.’
‘What for? I do have those I listed, car finance and the like. Do you mean I have additional credit that I’m not aware of?’
Judith nods. ‘Yes, Adam. Several car loans, including a large one recently.’
‘Oh, that’s OK, that’s my new toy. It’s legitimate,’ I explain.
‘No, that's logged on our list. This is another one. For £300,000. Does that ring any bells?’
I don’t need to think long; that is not mine. I shake my head. Paula and Mo are silent, and he starts to scribble.
‘There are also several others for smaller amounts over the course of the last few years,’ Clifford continues.
I remain shaking my head. How could I have been so blind? I’ve signed sham documents and allowed my identity to be stolen to such an extent that I’m now landed in considerable debt. A wash of horror runs cold through my blood. ‘Can I pay my bills?’
‘You’re getting in arrears, but it wouldn’t suit whoever is behind this for you to fall into too much bad debt. They wouldn’t be able to continue borrowing then so payments are being made at a minimum level.’
My credit rating issues can be dealt with later. At least I’m still solvent.
‘Now, this is where it gets interesting. Fiona, here, has uncovered some common threads.’
Dread hits me like a truck. This is it. This is when I unearth who from those I trust have set me up. My brain is numb, my heart more so. There’s no avoiding this moment. I need to find out to move forward. I’m like a battery hen, shooed into the pen for a public execution.
‘We’ve found links. Tenuous at the moment, but links nevertheless. If nothing else, it will be helpful to Paula and Mo.’
Mo peers up from his pad, pausing his scribbling.
‘Nuala’s IP address was the common thread. That address has made multiple postings on social media for Bright Knights, the one with the K. Nuala has you sign a number of documents on a near daily basis. She manages your life. And she speaks with an Irish accent does she not?’
‘Well, yes, but Paula, didn’t you say that we were looking for a male with a foreign accent?’
‘Yep, and to be fair, this is all a little tenuous. Whose PA isn’t involved in all this activity? You certainly won't find a good one.’ Paula says.
‘Indeed, except that Adam here claims he’s unaware of the existence of Bright Knights,’ Clifford retorts.
A hush descends on the room.
‘Listen. I'm totally in the dark about anything associated with that company. You know
this.’
‘And that’s exactly the case we’re constructing here, Adam,’ Judith says. ‘Our job isn’t to say categorically that there is enough evidence to prosecute Nuala; but that we possess enough evidence to prove you are not guilty of the charges being brought.’
‘And therein lies the issue,’ says Paula. ‘We absolutely want to get to the truth. Without that, whoever is out to destroy Adam, for whatever reason, will still be in play.’
Mo nods. ‘In fact, if we put the wrong person away, we’ll be giving the culprit carte blanche to continue with renewed confidence.’
‘So, what else did you uncover?’ Lucy breaks the tension.
Judith shuffles papers in her file, ‘Nothing of significance.’
We step outside, a little rattled. The air is chilled with winter now, and it snaps at our bones like hungry dogs.
‘I don’t know about you, but I need a beer,’ I say.
‘Excellent idea,’ says Paula.
‘We’d better get you a straw,’ teases Mo.
‘Should you be drinking on your drugs?’ Lucy asks.
‘Listen, I can manage a small one to ease the tension. It’ll help me think. I’m sure these drugs are killing my brain cells slowly.’
‘That’s old age,’ I laugh.
There’s a bar next to the solicitor’s office. It’s one of those cold, unfriendly places that’s trying too hard to be trendy and alienating all clientele except those with a huge chip on their shoulder. Without additional hesitation, we step inside. Paula rolls up and parks beside the chesterfield. Lucy takes the sofa to herself, Mo the chair opposite her. I order.
‘Here,’ I say plonking down the order on the table. ‘Wine and whiskey, what can go wrong now?’ I take the spare seat next to Lucy and snuggle up next to her. Our thighs are sealed, a thin layer of fabric our only divider.
‘Shouldn’t that be wine and water?’ Lucy rubs her hand up my thigh. I swell inside; she doesn’t notice she’s doing it, and I appreciate her honest gesture.
