Going Dark

by Neil Lancaster

  Tom tried to reassure her, but he was also aware that he was supposed to be playing a bad guy and the overriding objective was to get Adebayo on film.

  They drove the rest of the journey with little small talk, arriving in Ilford just before 7pm. Tom parked in a street just over the road from the offices and they both got out of the car.

  The lawyer’s premises were above a parade of shops typical of areas like Ilford: mostly Asian food stores, African haircare shops, and mobile phone outlets. The windows above the parade of shops were stencilled with lettering proclaiming ‘Adebayo Associates Solicitors and Commissioner for Oaths’, with the door just to the left of a newsagent’s entrance. He sent a one-line text to Emmanuel. ‘We are outside.’

  Two minutes later the door opened and Tom recognised Emmanuel straight away. The first thing that struck him was that the other man was bigger than he was expecting: at least four inches taller than him and probably four stone heavier. He was wearing a slim-fit polo shirt that stretched across his muscles, his wide expanse of back testing the strength of the fabric everywhere. His biceps forced the sleeves wider than the manufacturer had clearly expected, giving the man an intimidating look. It had the look of chemically-assisted muscle and Tom couldn’t help but notice the layer of fat that caused the shirt’s fabric to stretch in a less flattering way across the stomach. All that was topped by a scowl in a face that may have been described as ‘striking’ or ‘ugly’, depending on your point of view. His hair was cropped close to a scalp which was shiny and reflected the evening sun. The big man nodded at Tom and jerked a thumb, indicating that they should follow him.

  Once upstairs, they followed Emmanuel through the reception area to a closed door that bore a brass plate: ‘Michael Adebayo, Solicitor and Principal’. There was no doubting who was in charge in that little empire.

  Emmanuel knocked once on the door and stepped through, leading the way. The three of them entered a large, well-furnished office where Michael Adebayo sat behind an ornate, teak desk. The knot of his tie was pulled down from the collar of his pink shirt, sleeves rolled up to show slim, hairy arms, one of which was adorned with a thin, gold chain. Tom saw the family resemblance immediately: only the disparities in size and hair set them truly apart.

  The lawyer did not look at them but continued to talk on the phone in a language Tom suspected was Yoruba, a half-smile on his face.

  Sat in the corner of the office was a middle-aged, Asian man with a long beard, wearing Islamic Shalwar baggy trousers. He looked nervous and was clearly intimidated in the presence of Adebayo.

  Adebayo finished his call and fixed Tom with a steady gaze. ‘You must be Tomo. Mira told me you were coming with the girl,’ he said in barely accented English, a half-smile touching his broad lips, more condescending than genuine. ‘Where are the brothers?’

  Mindful of the recording running, Tom replied, ‘You mean Aleks and Luka?’

  ‘Of course, who else?’

  ‘Overseas looking for more girls for you, I imagine.’

  Adebayo smiled. ‘They’re good boys, their mother must be so proud. I have many prospective husbands waiting for beautiful Slovenian girls.’ With his fingers he mimed over-exaggerated quotation marks either side of his head, his over-pronunciation of the words making his meaning clear.

  Gold dust, thought Tom as he laughed along. This is too easy, and all caught on camera as well. With the evidence they had gathered already, that was almost enough. He just hoped that the video was recording everything.

  ‘Who is this lovely creature you have brought to see me?’ Adebayo smirked, eyeing Jeta, his gaze a little too lingering for Tom’s liking. ‘Does she speak English?’ He carried on staring at her, and Jeta shifted uncomfortably under his penetrating gaze.

  ‘This is Jeta. Her English isn’t so good; it’s best I translate for her.’

  Adebayo nodded. ‘Tell her that this is the man she is going to marry. His name is Sohail Ali and she will be helping him to stay in the UK.’ Adebayo pointed at the man sat in the corner of the room, who jumped to his feet and nodded, his big smile almost hidden by his beard. He looked with interest at Jeta, who seemed a little perplexed.

  Tom explained to Jeta in Serbian, ‘Jeta, the man in the pyjamas is called Sohail Ali and you’re to marry him to help him stay in the UK.’

  ‘How old is he? I hope I don’t have to live with him, he’s ugly.’

  ‘Jeta is okay with this,’ translated Tom, ‘but she doesn’t want to live with him. I don’t think he’s her type.’

  ‘She doesn’t have to, unless she wants to. The paperwork will be prepared to show that she is living with him. I have a man who can sort it, so her name will be all over it. We just need to convince the Home Office and registrar that they are together.’

  Tom translated this to Jeta, who nodded with relief. Clearly the prospect of living with a fifty-year-old Muslim was not appealing to the young girl.

  ‘We need a few photographs of the happy couple together, but not in here. Can you take her over to the park with Sohail and take half-a-dozen photographs? Make them look like a couple.’ Adebayo threw a small digital camera at Tom, which he caught.

  ‘Okay, no problem. We can do that.’

  Tom, Sohail and Jeta left the office wordlessly and went to the park just a short walk away. He took a series of photographs of them together in various poses: sitting on a bench, gazing into each other’s eyes lovingly, holding hands by the swings, leaning against a tree. He was sure the photos looked utterly ridiculous, but it didn’t really matter as they would never make it to the Home Office.

  Back in the office, Adebayo looked through the pictures on the camera’s screen and chuckled. ‘How do those fools ever accept nonsense like this?’

  ‘You go now, Sohail,’ Adebayo said. The man left the office, shooting a deferential look back in Adebayo’s direction as he did so.

  Adebayo waved a hand dismissively. ‘We don’t need him anymore; he has signed the forms, we have the pictures, so we just need to go through the forms with Jeta and get her to sign. The next thing will be to go to the registry office and book the wedding, but Emmanuel will help on the day for that. We have a friendly face there who doesn’t ask too many questions. Will you be her witness on the day to translate?’

  Tom shrugged. ‘Maybe. Depends on whether the brothers are back from overseas.’

  ‘Whatever. Anyway, I just need Jeta to hang around until these papers are finished so she can sign, and then you’re done. I have her passport: Mira was good enough to post it to me. I tell you what, Tomo, can you run and get us three coffees from over the road and I will do this now, so it’s all done. We don’t need an interpreter for this bit.’ He smiled a slightly unpleasant smile.

  Tom thought it through. It didn’t sound quite right, but he didn’t want to risk a confrontation in the office while the camera was rolling.

  ‘Okay. I need to make a call, anyway.’

  Tom descended the shabby staircase, an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach; he didn’t trust Adebayo or his brother one bit. Rather than let the door lock behind him he propped it open with a doormat, so he wouldn’t need to be buzzed back in. He went and picked up three coffees from the nearby shop that had a Costa machine and paid at the counter. He returned to the office within ten minutes and climbed the stairs quietly. Something wasn’t right. He had a niggling feeling that had been bothering him since he left the office. Then it hit him. There was only one reason why Adebayo would want Jeta alone, and it wasn’t a good one. He walked quickly towards the office and was met by Emmanuel, stood outside like a bouncer at a nightclub door.

  ‘How did you get back in?’ he asked with a note of aggression in his voice.

  ‘Door was open. Where’s Jeta?’

  ‘In with the boss, do not disturb just yet.’

  ‘I’m not happy about that, Emmanuel. She’s not a working girl,’ said Tom, not taking his eyes off him.

  Emmanuel just laughed. ‘She’s a wh
ore just like all the others, Tomo. Mira always lets the boss sample the goods: perk of the job.’ He sneered at Tom, almost challenging him to try to get past him.

  A scream of, ‘Molim vas pomozite, ne, Tomo! Help, please, no, Tomo!’ erupted from within the office.

  ‘Step aside, Emmanuel,’ said Tom in a low, impassive voice, fixing the other man with an even, unrelenting gaze. He was getting Jeta out; no way would he let her get raped in there.

  Emmanuel said nothing, but his eyes narrowed and his muscles tensed, ready for whatever was about to come his way.

  Tom threw the three cups of scalding coffee straight into the other man’s face. Emmanuel screamed and put his hands up to his eyes as Tom followed up by driving his right elbow straight into the bigger man’s solar plexus with devastating force. The elbow is often a far more effective striking weapon than a fist, and the kinetic energy which was concentrated through the small surface area caused Emmanuel’s breath to leave his body with a whoosh as he doubled over and hit the floor, gasping. Tom jumped over him and burst through the door, taking in the scene in front of him.

  Jeta was bent over the teak desk, her sundress hitched up over her hips, her briefs discarded on the floor. The dress front was ripped away, and vivid red weals were visible around her bra strap. She looked utterly terrified, her eyes wild with fear. ‘Tomo, Tomo, molim, molim!’

  Adebayo’s eyes widened in shock at the sight of Tom. His trousers and boxers were down by his skinny ankles. He began pulling away from the girl, his rapidly deflating penis clearly visible.

  ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Emmanuel, Emmanuel!’ he screamed, his face a mixture of fear and anger. He grabbed a letter opener from the desk and waved it threateningly at Tom. ‘Keep the fuck away from me, you fool! Do you know who you’re fucking with? I’ll have you killed, you impudent Serb fucker!’

  Time slowed for Tom, as it always did in circumstances like this. Jeta was the priority: he had to get her away from there, now. He had everything he needed on tape to put both brothers away for a long time.

  Adebayo continued to threaten him with the letter knife. ‘Come near me and I’ll cut you,’ he snarled, more out of fear than anger, but Tom saw it in his eyes that he was defeated.

  ‘I’m taking the girl. Come on, Jeta.’

  The girl picked up her underwear and ran to Tom’s side, rearranging her sundress as she did so, her movements shaky with terror and her breathing rapid. She was showing all the signs of shock and it was only at that moment that Tom saw the livid bruise and swelling forming at the corner of her left eye.

  ‘Take the slut then,’ yelled Adebayo. ‘You’ll never get my business again. Plenty of people like you, you fuck. You mean nothing!’

  Tom slowly approached the lawyer, his eyes fixing him with an even gaze, full of contempt. Adebayo raised the knife and continued to wave it threateningly at Tom.

  ‘I’ll stab you, I promise, you bastard,’ he hissed, his voice full of fear and loathing.

  Tom paused just out of the blade’s reach, aware of the impediment Adebayo faced with his trousers round his ankles. Tom gave him a slow, even smile.

  ‘You know, Michael, you’re not the first man to hold a knife towards me. I wasn’t scared then, and I’m not scared now; you may want to ask yourself why?’

  Doubt flashed across the lawyer’s face; the calm aura that Tom projected was disconcerting. He jabbed the knife half-heartedly in Tom’s direction, the blade pointed directly towards his stomach.

  Tom gave Adebayo a slight smile and delivered a sweeping roundhouse Muay Thai kick with his right leg, a vicious blow into the nerve bundle just above the lawyer’s knee. Adebayo dropped as if he had been shot, screaming in pain and clutching his leg. Tom turned to Jeta, who was staring open-mouthed at him and smiled, icy calm.

  ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’

  ‘My passport, Tomo; I need my passport.’ Jeta pointed at the desk where her Slovenian passport lay.

  Tom considered for a moment; it was now officially a crime scene, and everything should have been left as evidence. However, he knew how the police property systems operated and it was likely that, once seized as evidence, she’d be unlikely to see her passport again. He figured that the poor girl had enough to contend with without the complications that having no passport would cause her. He grabbed it and handed it to her.

  ‘Right. Let’s go.’

  They stepped over Emmanuel, still gasping on the floor and clutching his face, and descended to the street. Tom called Jean on his mobile and she answered immediately.

  ‘Jean, it’s Tom. Get someone to me now. I’m going to be outside the station entrance in one minute. I have a rape victim with me. Get the arrest team to move in to the office: Emmanuel and Michael Adebayo need to be arrested for rape and immigration offences. All the evidence is there, and I have it all on tape. I need to get out of the way or my cover will be even more blown than it is now.’

  ‘On our way. Fortunately, we have two of our seconded cops with us,’ said Jean and she hung up.

  ‘Come on, Jeta,’ said Tom in Serb, ‘we’re here to help you.’

  ‘He raped me. The bastard raped me and punched me when I said no. Thank you, Tomo, you saved me from him.’ She fought back tears, a lost and faraway look of hurt and pain deep within her eyes. For just a moment, Jeta reminded him of his mama all those years ago. Tom swallowed heavily at the memory.

  ‘The police will be here soon, Jeta. They will help you,’ he said, putting his arm on hers. Jeta flinched, just slightly, at his touch.

  ‘Who are you, Tomo?’

  He smiled. ‘Just a friend.’

  10

  Jean arrived at the railway station within a couple of minutes, accompanied by two officers wearing police baseball caps. That was good news: they would need the local borough cops, as the office was a crime scene and there was a victim to look after. They also had two rape suspects to process and get safely to the local nick. This is going to get heavy quickly, thought Tom. The crime would be investigated by the local sexual offence specialists and a whole new set of procedures were about to begin.

  Even though Emmanuel wasn’t in the office with his brother at the time of the offence, he was just as culpable. It was as clear a case of Joint Enterprise as was possible to imagine. Even better, it was all recorded.

  Tom explained to Jean what had happened. He needed to get away from there; his cover was essentially blown and, once word got back to Mira and the brothers, there would be recriminations all round. He could give his statement under his pseudonym, though, and the recording would tell the story.

  ‘Jean,’ said Tom, ‘can you and your man here take Jeta and get her to the closest cop shop, probably Ilford. Tell them she’s been raped and assaulted. Tell the custody officer I’ll make a statement soon and I’ll deliver the SD card from my camera with all the evidence they need. Get your arrest team in and nick them in the office and secure the scene. Forensics for the rape will be the priority but you will be able to move in after securing evidence for your investigation. Best call the local police to get some support here as well.’

  Jean nodded. ‘You okay, Tom?’

  ‘I’m fine. Adebayo is a horrible bastard; make sure you nail his arse to the wall. It’s all on the tape, he’s proper screwed to the wall. They’ll be feeling a bit under the weather: I had to get a bit lively with them,’ he said, his face impassive.

  Jean nodded. Tom explained that he would get out of the way to try to preserve his anonymity as best they could while things calmed down.

  *

  Tom ran back to his BMW and drove away, keen to be as far from the situation as possible. That was not how it was supposed to go down; he should have calmly delivered the evidence into the hands of the investigating team via his cover officer and then melted into the background.

  That would have then allowed them to plan a clear arrest strategy that preserved his cover for as long as possible, and maybe even kept
him out of the evidential chain. No chance of that now, though. The pervert Adebayo had forced his hand; he could hardly have stood back and let that poor young girl be abused like that.

  He called Liam, who wasn’t best pleased, as it meant a load of work for him to try and preserve what little remained of Tom’s cover. Liam promised to call Neil Wilkinson and fully appraise him of what had happened, and they agreed to meet at Forest Gate nick, only fifteen minutes away, to plan the next move.

  Tom sat in his car, the tension rising as he thought the whole thing through. The potential for everything to blow up was huge. He had just violently attacked a solicitor and his brother in their office and deposited a vulnerable rape victim into the hands of unknown officers. He was very reliant on the actions of his colleagues, and his general mistrust of others began to rise to the surface.

  The realisation of how easily he had just used serious violence in despatching two criminals also flashed across his mind. He knew he had been justified in the circumstances but how was it that he, as always, felt nothing? No excitement, no fear, no satisfaction: in fact, no emotion at all. He forced those thoughts back down. Now was not the time.

  He needed to see what the recording held before handing it over. That was not totally in line with the rules: the evidence should have been duplicated immediately on an official police copier, then the original bagged in a tamper-proof bag. But if he did that, he might not get to see it for ages, and he wanted a view before he wrote his statement. Adebayo was a rich man who would no doubt be employing high-priced defence teams to pick over every bit of what had happened. Knowledge was power in cases like that.

  Tom went to the boot of the BMW and retrieved his messenger bag which contained, among other things, a camera case which held an SD card reader that would enable him to view the footage on his iPhone via the lightning port.

  He extracted the SD card from the hard drive in its holster at the small of his back, slotted it into the cable port and opened the photos app on his phone. He then clicked ‘import’ and watched as the familiar egg-timer ticked through the transfer of the footage to his phone. Once complete, he pulled out the SD card, tucked it in his shirt pocket, and packed the cable back into his camera bag before tapping the icon on his phone to view the recording.