Benefit of the Doubt

by Les Cowan

  And all that effort – all the officials and politicians you had to keep happy and well oiled, all the time spent in business meetings, all the detailed meticulous planning and of course some inevitable risks – it all paid off and made life very comfortable indeed. So you could indulge yourself in whatever you particularly liked. And Pablo had some tastes that he could never have indulged living an ordinary life like the stupid peones Colombia was full of. Cars and clothes were fine but that was more or less routine. The power over other people’s lives was definitely satisfying too, but sometimes all the effort to keep the operation going made it feel like you were working for them, not the other way round. No, there were some particular, specific tastes that most men simply would never experience but that this life made easy and abundant. It wasn’t much spoken about, and of course no one would dream of complaining, but sometimes you couldn’t help feeling just a little bit sorry for the younger ones. Sixteen or eighteen was normal. Fourteen was a bit on the limit. Pablo had liked the twelves and thirteens. Well, that was his business. Raúl’s business was to look after business. Then, when he became senior enough, he began to emulate his mentor in that as well and found he really liked it too. Like father like son. Pablo encouraged him even to the extent that sometimes they used to swap and compare. That’s what all the risks and bloodshed bought you. What a good job there were so many nice kids from nice families and nice communities, in countries that thought themselves superior to a South American warzone, to keep up demand for the product.

  However, all good things come to an end, and eventually this was no different. They finally got Pablo through some fancy mobile signal tracing, but still, 25,000 people came to the funeral. Against all the cheering and trophy photos from the police, the ordinary people loved him and missed him. There were many families who blessed his name, as well as those that gave thanks he was dead.

  Raúl did think about going to pay his last respects, but he knew the old man would have told him not to be so stupid. So he gathered up those he could trust and they bought tickets to Madrid to start up something new. That had been fun, being your own boss and trying to put the principles of the business into effect in a new market. Unfortunately the key strategy that made Pablo so rich and so well protected for so long didn’t seem to work as well in Europe. Many – maybe even most – policemen and judges seemed to have surprisingly little interest in getting quietly and quickly rich by making the famous vista gorda – the fat eye – to illegal activities. Politicians were easier, of course, but without getting law enforcement on their side there was a limit to what could be accomplished.

  And there were also those that actively got in the way with an almost inexplicable disregard for their own well-being – like that stupid pastor from Torrejón – who had so many chicos coming off cocaine that it seriously affected the market. Something had to be done. Killing Hidalgo himself would have been the easy and the reasonable thing to do but that wasn’t Pablo’s way. So Raúl thought again about Overwhelming Unreasonable Force and tried to think what would be the most overwhelming and unreasonable thing they could do. So he decided to take the wife instead. Much more memorable. However, even that didn’t work out like he’d planned. Instead of making everybody back off like it was supposed to, it turned out that the girl had been so popular there was a backlash. The drug enforcement chief – Rodriguez, wasn’t it? – managed to swing public opinion so much he got 500 officers just to go after Raúl and friends. Time to move on again. Kind of wasted all the fun they’d had doing it live on air on an evangelical radio phone-in show. Pity. And she was very pretty and quite brave and almost peaceful right up to the end. Hard to make sense of, really. Overall it was a bit of a shame they’d had to mess her up. It took all the fun out of the original plan of dumping the body outside the church on a Sunday morning.

  Anyway, Edinburgh – about the right size. A massive market but disorganized. He’d seen an episode of Españoles por El Mundo on RTVE in Madrid about Spaniards living in Edinburgh. Somebody mentioned the drugs problem as a downside of living there but Raúl didn’t see it that way. It gave him an idea. Once they’d arrived it took some time to get established, but yet again Overwhelming Unreasonable Force did the job. A bit messy for a while but then it settled down.

  The north side of Edinburgh was a total dump and it seemed to be constantly freezing even when the sun was out but there were always compensations. Like little Jen. Very cute in her own way. Cute and stupid, but then you didn’t expect a fifteen-year-old to know anything about anything. And she was fun once she’d been given some encouragement. For some reason she seemed to be a very angry girl – almost as if she was looking for some excuse to do everything Raúl supposed she’d been told not to – which meant it hardly took any effort at all to pull her in. She started off being compliant and pretty soon was really quite enthusiastic. He only had to be a bit rough once; then she came crawling back and he knew he’d get everything he wanted. You just had to be a little patient sometimes. In fact, that made it better in the long run.

  Anyway it all came right in the end. They went to her house when they were sure Mum was out at her cleaning job. She bundled the contents of a couple of cupboards into a case and walked right out with a smile on her face. Very good girl! There was a particular satisfaction in playing a little one and then seeing her jump right onto your lap. Funny how they could be so blind. Well, that was why he was worth a few million dollars and she and her Mum weren’t worth worrying about. He thought he might see how long he could keep her going before he got bored. Miguel bet him six months. He took him on. He was sure he’d manage at least eight.

  Chapter 10

  Southside

  By the time David was walking down over the Links on Sunday morning, the snow was beginning to melt and the air felt purified, as if the snow had caught every particle of dirt and grime on its way down and was returning them deep into the earth. He tried to put last night’s events behind him. The girl would surely turn up, Mrs MacInnes would surely calm down, and Juan would come to see his point of view. Pausing to cross Melville Drive on the fringes of the Meadows, he preferred to think about dinner at La Hacienda. An evening of witty and attractive company was a rare pleasure and loomed larger in his mind than the problem of a missing teenager. Where it might go and what it might mean he chose not to think about right now. She was just lovely – sympathetic and sensitive. And he had good reasons to see her again in a normal way at Spanish class without considering the more complicated questions. It was enough to enjoy the moment. God knew there had been few enough to enjoy of late. He was feeling good and looking forward to church and the week ahead.

  Just one thing kept niggling at the corner of his mind. Although he didn’t want to admit it, the conversation with Juan had rattled him. Irene MacInnes’s plea, his reaction to it, and Juan’s challenge seemed to have crystallized something that up to now he hadn’t allowed himself to consider. Is this what they call “thinking the unthinkable”? he wondered. Had he got to the point where he actually lost the plot in relation to faith – in relation to an active trust in a God who cared – or was it just temporarily misplaced? Was God in the dock with the verdict delivered or just subject to a final warning? And what did it mean to be even a part-time pastor, ministering to the faithful, if his own faith was hanging on a shaky nail in a house about to fall down? Juan had said that the story wasn’t finished yet and that was true but he couldn’t imagine what could change things now. Nothing could bring back the dead. That was for sure. And if he was somehow teetering on the edge, what would happen if he actually fell over? Where would he land, and who would catch him now if there truly wasn’t a God you could trust? Finally, with all the activity of the past few days he’d never managed to get that sermon finished. What could he say about the Good Samaritan who took a risk to save a life? He felt the moment’s euphoria steadily draining away.

  “Good morning, Señor David!” a resolutely che
ery voice called over the wrought-iron banister. His thoughts had taken him all the way from his own front door to the stairwell of their little rented upper floor room on automatic pilot. He could have passed a car crash, a bank robbery or an elephant on the way without noticing. He looked up, trying his best to be pleased and positive.

  “Good morning, Mrs MacInnes. How are you?”

  “Very well, thank you. Do you know, I slept so much better knowing you’re going to help us. I’ve brought Alison along.” David reached the landing and turned in through the double doors. A young woman in her mid-thirties was waiting for him dressed in what was very probably Sunday best. Her figure and face were slim to the point of looking pinched. Her complexion was pale, her hair fair and wispy, and her eyes red. She managed a weak smile as they shook hands.

  “I’m really sorry to give you any trouble Mr Hidalgo.” Her voice was husky and strained and did not sound like it would be much at home in Morningside. “It’s probably nothing but Mum thought you might be able to help.”

  “Señor David,” Mrs MacInnes corrected. “We all call him Señor David. On account of his being from Spain, you know. And of course it’s no trouble. Señor David knows all about this sort of thing. That’s right now, isn’t it?” She was glancing from one to the other to make it clear that David and Alison were now part of a team.

  “Well,” David made sure to sound suitably cautious, “I really don’t have many contacts in Edinburgh. I’m not sure I’ll be very helpful.”

  Seeing Alison’s hopeful expression drain away made him wish he had kept to a polite “Good morning”. He could have explained to her later on in a calm and logical manner why he wouldn’t be able to help at all.

  “Humph.” Mrs MacInnes let her feelings be known. “Nonsense. We’ll talk about it over a cup of tea after the service.” Alison bit her lip and allowed herself to be wheeled off. She sat down near the back next to the missionary prayer board and a pile of ancient hymn books. Well done, David thought, making his way grimly down the aisle. That was nice. That’s a lot of help.

  Juan was waiting at the platform.

  “You’ll have to use the stand mike,” he said, adjusting it for height. “The tie clip isn’t working again.” He wrapped the cable round the boom and headed back to his mixing desk without once glancing up. Alicia at the keyboard caught David’s eye and also looked down. Great, he thought. That’s unanimous. Everyone’s mad at me.

  The band were in good form and led the couple of dozen of the congregation in a flowing, easy mix of lively celebration and quieter, more reflective worship. David led in prayer then looked up his reading. Luke 10:25–37 – the Good Samaritan. It was a well-known passage not encumbered with any tricky Hebrew names to navigate around or a pile of begats but as he read aloud, he found himself becoming increasingly uncomfortable. He’d got a few thoughts together during the singing and was hoping he could maybe wing it but it didn’t feel remotely right. David read more and more slowly as the passage progressed. The parallels were unavoidable, the implications obvious. His mouth was dry and his palms sweating. He wanted to sit down but couldn’t. He started feeling slightly dizzy then distinctly sick.

  He took a sip of water, paused, then closed the Bible and looked out over the company. He’d only been here a matter of weeks and was still on honeymoon terms. For most there was a sense of satisfaction that they’d got a real pastor when the best they’d expected was a student internship. Here was a man of experience, a man who could be trusted, a man who had seen God at work and worked with him. He was the man for their moment who would sort things out. On the other hand Juan continued looking down. Alicia watched him with an expression of confusion and concern. Irene MacInnes pursed her lips, a steely glint in her eye. Alison looked hopeless. As the silence grew, the congregation started feeling a little uneasy. Some shuffling broke out and a cough or two. A low murmur was spreading as he folded up his notes and put them aside. He cleared his throat. He had made a decision. It had to be done.

  “I’m afraid I have something of a confession to make this morning,” he began. “I’ve recently found myself in a situation a bit like the Good Samaritan. But I haven’t been handling it too well…”

  After the service, opinions differed as to just what exactly had happened that morning. Some took the simple view that the ways of ministers are past finding out so further analysis was pointless. It was the sort of eccentricity congregations had to put up with from time to time. As long as nobody was asked to clap, cheer, raise their hands or otherwise interact then probably no harm was done. Group two – the minority opinion – took a dimmer view. They had never been in favour of an outsider and now they found they had only allowed themselves to be talked into it against their better judgment. “Señor David”, as some insisted on calling him, had seemed a bit of a queer fish right from the start and now it was all coming out in the wash. Things like this should be nipped in the bud before we all end up being required to confess our sins to one another like Pentecostals. Finally, the largest group, while not entirely understanding what was going on, did sense something of the struggle and its outcome. These were the ones who shook his hand, squeezed his elbow, and wanted him to know they were with him, whatever it was all about.

  Finally, tea and coffee were trundled out and people started milling around and chatting. David shook hands with those that had to go. Juan and Alicia were waiting for him as he came down for a coffee. Juan had a grin on his face and Alicia was looking as if she had just won the Evening News prize bingo. She threw her arms around his neck and squeezed till it hurt.

  “Estoy tan orgullosa de ti. I’m very proud of you,” she said. She reached up to kiss his cheek and whispered in his ear. “Well done. Rocío would have been proud.” Mrs MacInnes bustled over the cups of tea, shepherding Alison along with her.

  “Well, Señor David. I don’t know if you were referring to our little problem today but in any case I’ve always had perfect confidence you would know what to do. So, what do you recommend?”

  David may have been dimly aware he had turned a bend in the road but wasn’t yet at the point of accelerating down the back straight.

  “Well perhaps we need a little privacy first to let Alison tell her story.” He was about to lead the way into the tiny back room when he felt a presence behind him and turned.

  “Gillian? I didn’t see you coming in. Welcome to Southside!”

  “I had to see how things worked out after your call last night. Any news?”

  “That’s just what we’re going to find out. Want to join us?”

  With Alison’s agreement they got together as the congregation began to disperse.

  “Ok,” David began directing himself to Alison, “I’m sorry there’s so many of us here when it’s such a personal matter. I can speak to you on our own if you want but we might need to work as a team to do any good. Is that all right?”

  Alison shrugged and seemed to accept the need to tell her story to a meeting, not just to the pastor. Haltingly, with much encouragement, repetition, clarification, and summarizing, it all came out. Alison spoke of a marriage in trouble and Jennifer as a sensitive child who couldn’t put up with the arguments and increasingly bitter atmosphere. Eventually when Ian had left there was an immediate sense of relief, but as time went on Jennifer missed her dad and Alison missed a partner in looking after a teenage daughter. Being evicted from the house and having to take a council flat in a tough area made things ten times worse. She hinted at a series of unsuitable boyfriends, debt problems, and finally worries about her health from all the stress. Jen was also getting to be a law unto herself. Schoolwork had gone by the board and she was keeping later and later hours, sometimes staying out for days. Then she started finding bits and pieces in Jen’s room that pointed at experimentation with drugs. Alison tried being calm and understanding. Then she tried reading the riot act. Neither made much difference. Eventually, Jen
was staying out all weekend and refusing to say where she’d been. Now she’d been gone for over a week with some of her clothes missing and Alison had done everything she could in terms of speaking to friends, teachers, and neighbours but without a clue.

  “Ok,” David summed up. “That’s a lot of information. Normally missing persons are a matter for the police but your mum said you didn’t want them informed.” Alison glanced at her mum with a look of embarrassment.

  “Yeah, I didn’t really want Mum going to the police.”

  “So does that mean you have been to the police, you just didn’t want your mum to know?” David asked. Alison was studying the floor.

  “That’s right,” she muttered. “I went straight to the police when she’d been gone right over the weekend. I’m not daft, like. They’ve told me they’d be looking out for her but there’s nothing more than that yet.” Then, turning to her mum, she added, “I just wasn’t wanting to worry you. It’s my problem.” Mrs MacInnes reached across and squeezed Alison’s hand.

  “I’m sorry you didn’t feel able to tell me sooner. I know I should have given you more help. Once we find Jennifer I’ll do better. I promise.”

  “Ok, so that leaves us with what to do now,” David carried on. “In Madrid we knew all about the gangs – I’m sorry to say. Here I really have no idea.”

  “No es verdad, Señor David,” Juan broke in. “That’s not completely true. A lot of the compadres come into Hacienda. There’ve been more and more Spanish about in the last year.”

  “You mean more Spanish people moving to Edinburgh?”

  “Yes, but not the sort we want. It looks like some of the bosses have maybe come to Edinburgh for a new market or something. Maybe the Policia Nacional have been making things harder for them so they need to make a new home. Chicos with too much money and big cars. They come to Hacienda and have a fiesta sometimes.”