Good riddance, p.11
Good Riddance, page 11
“Pleased to meet you.”
Wood smiled warmly as he produced his warrant card for Gloria’s inspection.
“You too, Mrs Jones, you too.”
She didn’t like the sarcastic tone in his reply, but remained calm and forced herself to smile back. After making an exaggerated play of scrutinising his warrant card, she held out a hand out in greeting. After shaking hands, she waved an arm, directing him through to the lounge.
Taking in everything she could about Wood, Gloria guessed him to be in his late thirties, he was tanned, with a lined, almost weather-beaten face, medium height and in reasonably good shape, with a physique that was slim but not athletic. Dressed smartly in a dark grey suit with a white shirt and chequered tie, he strode swiftly along the hallway and into the lounge.
Gloria followed him in, but remained standing.
“Please, take a seat.”
Tim Wood had quickly worked out that the magazine and mug with steam rising from it on the coffee table, were directly in front of Gloria’s favoured armchair.
Replying, “Thank you,” he chose the matching armchair on the opposite side of the lounge, a full settee’s length away from Gloria, it’s selection a deliberate ploy on his part.
That’s unusual, police officers usually choose the settee to ask me questions, nice and close so they can intimidate and apply pressure.
She immediately sussed out the reason Tim Wood had chosen to sit so far away; he thought he was being clever, but she’d spotted his ploy a mile off. He was playing mind games, but she was too switched on and cute to fall for an old trick like that, way too cute. Cottoning on to what his game was, she raised her defences, and that’s where they would stay.
Playing him at his own game, Gloria didn’t carry out the usual pleasantries she afforded visiting police officers. There had been no warmness in her welcome and no offer of a hot drink and biscuits. She was certain his tactic of sitting apart was deliberately designed to make her relax more than she should, maybe he was hoping she would let her guard down? Unfortunately for him, she had played this game many times before and it was precisely because of Wood’s behaviour that her guard had just been raised.
“Thank you for seeing me Mrs Jones, I apologise for cold-calling like this.”
She offered a purposely sickly smile.
“Always pleased to help our boys in blue.”
“You’re sure I’m not stopping you doing something else?”
“Not at all, Saturday morning’s my time for household chores. I lead a tedious existence I’m afraid.”
“Hmmm, I see. Shall we get started then?”
“Yes, let’s.”
Gloria’s words were spoken with her face sporting a sarcastic grin, she was more than ready for him, confident that anything he asked about the murder of David Middleton could be batted off with ease.
Opening up an A4 size notebook, Wood turned over a couple of pages and appeared to read a few notes. Lifting his eyes from the pages, he fixed Gloria with a stern look and went straight in with a powerful question. A question he already knew the answer to, but was merely using to unsettle her.
“Why were you arrested during Operation Chiddingstone?”
His plan worked; he watched the blood drain from Gloria’s face, noting the shuffling of her bottom on the chair and the crossing of one leg across the other, a classic ‘block’ defensive posture adopted by suspects being interviewed. Aware how closely he was scrutinising her, she fought to seize back the initiative.
“A neighbour put two and two together and made five.”
He scratched the back of his neck and screwed up his face, eyeing her carefully.
“Yes, I’ve read her statement. She says you had what looked like a black handgun in your handbag and that you left the block at around six-forty, before returning looking flustered less than twenty minutes later.”
Gloria uncrossed her legs, rested her palms on her thighs and painted on a smile.
“It wasn’t a gun, it was a black toy car, and I’d just popped out to make a booking for a meal.”
“Ah yes, your visit to the Thistle Hotel. Why were you so flustered when you came back home after merely booking a table?”
“I wasn’t. In fact, I was in a bloody good mood, I’m afraid she was mistaken, detective. I’m sure you’re aware it was all cleared up quickly enough.”
He shrugged and referred to his notebook.
“I understand that James Williams-Glass turned up to represent you,” he raised his eyes to fix on hers. “He’s a brief who can make the trickiest of problems disappear.”
His eyes burned into her.
Shit. Does he know how the ‘witnesses’ came about?
Suddenly, Gloria was on the back foot, she needed to move the conversation on.
“Yes, he’s very good, but very expensive. Sorry… I thought you were here to ask me about David Middleton?”
He held his piercing gaze on her for a few seconds longer than necessary, letting her know he was on to her. The game was afoot.
Wood’s questioning about Gloria’s visit to Kings Hill House were mainly about the timing of her movements. He tried again and again to pin her down to precisely where she was and more importantly, when. With every question he became more insistent, more accusatory, his demeanour shifted from the pleasant, smiling detective of his arrival, to a Doberman sinking his teeth into an escaping prisoner, shaking her hard and with no intention of letting go.
Refusing to be bullied or intimidated, she stuck rigidly to her story, she knew that as long as Gladys and Margaret didn’t change their timings, she couldn’t possibly have been responsible for the murder.
After fifteen minutes of pressuring her, Wood reluctantly accepted he wasn’t getting anywhere and relented.
Slumping back into his chair he sighed loudly. He was doubtless convinced she was the killer, but he was experienced enough to know he needed to gather more evidence before he could arrest her… a lot more. She was calm, assured and her version of events were backed up by Gladys and Margaret, which would be difficult to break down.
“Okay Mrs Jones, that’s enough for now. Thank you for speaking to me.”
Standing up, he raised a hand indicating that Gloria needn’t get up, but she lifted herself from the armchair and followed him through to the hallway. Walking behind him, she heaved a quiet sigh of relief. Wood seemed determined to get to the truth about the murder of David Middleton and was making it plain he thought she had something to do with it. Deflecting his interest in her was not going to be easy.
Suddenly Gloria was hit by a prolonged coughing fit, to the extent that she was struggling for breath and close to collapse, Tim Wood had to help her to a chair.
“Are you okay Mrs Jones, shall I call an ambulance?
“No, thank you. I’ve got cancer of the oesophagus and this kind of thing happens every now and then. I’ll be fine.”
“I’m so sorry, I had no idea, can they treat it?”
“They can treat it, yes, but there’s no cure, I’ve got to live with it.”
She rose to her feet again. Showing him out, she decided to ask a direct question.
“You think I killed David Middleton, don’t you detective?”
He turned to face her in the tight hallway, their faces only a couple of feet apart.
“Did I say that?”
“You didn’t have to. It’s plainly visible in your eyes.”
He wanted to speak harshly, to let her know he wasn’t fooled by her, but learning about her condition had shocked him and he softened his approach.
“Let’s just say I think there’s more to you than meets the eye, that perhaps you know more than you’re letting on?”
Stepping forward to invade his personal space, Gloria looked up into his eyes and grinned widely.
“David was a controlling, bullying piece of shit who deserved to die… but I didn’t kill him.”
She watched for a reaction, but got none, so she went further.
“Believe me detective, if I’d killed him, it would have been a long, drawn out and horribly painful death, not just a knife stuck in his neck. That’s far too quick for the likes of him, he deserved to suffer first… really suffer.”
Astonished at such a tirade from a sick and elderly lady like Gloria, he pursed his lips.
“Why did you feel the need to tell me that?”
“Because there are at least a dozen others who hated him equally as much as me, people close to any one of the many women he’s abused. Friends, brothers, fathers, uncles, take your pick.”
She could see by his face that her message had hit home. He held her gaze and slowly nodded, seemingly accepting the point she’d just made. He turned to walk out but stopped himself.
“How do you know Sergeant Sean Aylen?”
The question shook her to the core.
“We meet at Police and Community meetings about the drugs problem in the area, I’m there in my position as chair of the Residents Association. Whenever there’s a problem, I contact him, sometimes he pops around to discuss things.”
He didn’t respond, just walked out and pulled the door closed behind him.
25
Returning to the lounge, Gloria looked outside and saw the rain had finally relented. This was good news, not only for the shivering birds in the branches of the London Plane trees outside her window, it was also good news for her planned return visit to Green’s Court. She had hoped to be there by 12 noon, but her late morning interlude with DI Wood had delayed her plans by a full hour.
To partially disguise herself, at least well enough that Davit wouldn’t recognise her, she donned a ¾ length navy-blue coat, a black woolly hat and glasses. Rather than carrying her usual tan handbag, she walked from her lounge with a green and blue rucksack on her back. Checking herself in the hallway mirror, as was her habit, the reflection looked nothing like the Gloria Jones normally seen in the area, she was more than satisfied with the transformation reflecting back at her.
She considered taking the handgun with her, silencer attached of course, but thought better of it at the last moment. Rushing the job simply because she couldn’t bear the thought of the unimaginable horrors those women were enduring each night wasn’t the answer. She might move too quickly and spook the gang into moving the women elsewhere, meaning they would be free to continue plying their foul trade in human misery elsewhere. She would carry out another couple of recces first, gleaning as much information as possible before making her move.
Needing her medication, she ate a hearty meal before taking it and heading out. Today had improved as the day went on, apart from her coughing fit when she was escorting Wood from her flat, she didn’t feel as bad as she sometimes did. Hopefully, she could stay strong enough to find out all she needed to. The rain and wind had blown itself out, replaced with a sky of uniform grey and a gentle breeze. It was cold but not unpleasant.
The weekend streets of Soho were, as usual, busy with tourists, shoppers and those heading out to lunch in one of the dozens of pubs, cafes and restaurants. Strolling slowly down the length of Old Compton Street, she smiled warmly to herself. She loved this place, really loved it, it was so welcoming and carefree... but she hated the thought of what those bastards were doing within its confines.
Arriving at Green’s Court just before one o’clock, Gloria took the plunge and marched straight into the alleyway from the Brewer Street end. She’d reckoned that she’d probably got an hour or two to spare before any activity around ‘that’ door built up again.
Just over halfway down the alley, she noticed the traffic noise from passing vehicles on Brewer Street reduced hugely. She looked for the doorway on her right-hand side where she’d seen the men coming and going, she passed a black one, a green one, and then... there it was.
Number 3c was a completely normal-looking cream door, except Gloria didn’t see it like that, she hated that door, absolutely fucking hated it. Behind that door was untold human suffering, young girls being raped every half an hour, sometimes every twenty minutes. Their first customer would be just after lunchtime, their last one somewhere in the early hours, with no choice of who they accommodated and no end to their torment in sight.
That door was symbolically keeping them prisoner; That door hid the terrible happenings inside from decent people passing by. That door stopped any hope of rescue for those imprisoned inside. Yes, she truly hated that door.
Staring at it, she suddenly heard male voices and footsteps on the stairs behind the door. This was completely unexpected; she hadn’t anticipated activity so early in the day.
Shit, I can’t be discovered here!
The alleyway was only a couple of metres wide, she had nowhere to run, and more importantly, no time. Gloria turned her back and tried the craft shop door she was standing outside, her heart sinking as she read a sign saying ‘back in 15 minutes.’ Her only option was to pretend to be looking into the shop window. Terror gripped her very being, if Davit recognised her, she feared the worst, but there was nowhere for her to go, nowhere to hide, she had no choice but to play the part of someone innocently looking into a shop window.
There was nothing unusual about a woman looking into a shop window, and whoever these men were, they had probably exited that door loads of times when someone was shopping opposite. But she had extra knowledge about what they were doing and being in possession of that knowledge frightened the hell out of her, she could barely control her emotions.
Hearing the door click open, Gloria stayed stock still as she heard them step out into the alleyway. The door closed, but the men didn’t move off, they stood directly behind her, less than two metres away.
Why aren’t they going? Why aren’t they walking away? Are they looking at me?
Then she heard the click of a lighter and a waft of smoke assailed her nose and lungs, she had to fight really hard not to cough. Then she heard an accent she’d heard recently.
“So, what you think of new girl?”
“She’s gorgeous, but she kept crying. Put me off a bit if I’m honest.”
The other man had a cultured English accent. They were both keeping their voices hushed as they chatted, with Gloria standing so close by, but the alleyway was acting like an impromptu whispering gallery, so she could hear every word.
“Good fuck though, yes? Tight pussy, she only fifteen.”
Fifteen! She’s only Fifteen? You evil fucking pigs!
“Yeah, she’s tight alright, but you need to stop her crying, it’ll put punters off.”
Gloria frowned, something about that voice was vaguely familiar.
“Don’t worry, I tell her we break legs if she cry again.”
Both men laughed and finished their cigarettes, stamping them out on the damp ground. Whoever the other man was, he replied through his laughter.
“That should do it. Right then Tamaz, I’ll see you later in the Moon Under Water. Who else will be there?”
“Davit, Mikheil and boss.”
“Okay, what about the girls and the punters?”
“We close both places for one hour. Girls locked in rooms; our women look after.”
The man started to move off, then stopped.
“What time’s the meeting again?”
“Boss want everyone there at seven. You know what he like. Very bad if you late.”
Gloria heard the man blow out hard.
“Yes, he’s not the most pleasant of men. Don’t worry, I’ll be there on time.”
He set off again and seconds later she heard the door close behind her. Turning to her left, she was just quick enough to see a smart man in a grey suit turn right into Brewer Street. Was the unknown man just another henchman, or was he something more? She thought she might have heard his voice before, but could have been mistaken, it was one of those very nice voices you often hear on television dramas.
Get a grip Gloria! He’s been invited to a meeting with members of a people trafficking gang, you need to find out more about him.
Striding out at pace, she was soon only a few metres behind the mystery man, who had crossed Brewer Street and was walking smartly. Keeping up a good pace, she crossed to the opposite pavement, hoping to get a glance at his face while tracking his movements. She didn’t know what good it would do, it just seemed right. Just as she was moving up level with him, he ducked into a newsagent. Halting her progress, she waited on a street corner five metres down on the opposite pavement.
Only a minute later, the man exited the newsagent and stopped outside the door just as a lorry passed, obstructing Gloria’s view. Once the lorry had passed, she saw him bending forward inserting a Daily Telegraph and a pack of cigarettes into his opened briefcase. Closing the case, he looked up before moving off and Gloria’s heart leapt into her mouth.
She thought she might have heard his voice before and now it was confirmed that she had. Unable to believe her eyes or allow her brain to accept what was happening, she finally had to concede it was true. She did know who he was… James Williams-Glass, the solicitor who had turned up and provided her with fake statements when she’d been arrested as a suspect in Operation Chiddingstone! The solicitor for Michael Higgins and his family, another organised crime gang!
I don’t believe it! That dirty, filthy bastard has just raped that poor girl… and he knew her age, she’s just a kid!
Thinking back to her dealings with Williams-Glass, she had assumed he was in the pocket of the Higgins family just as much as she was. But now it was all becoming clear, he had been working for them through choice, not coercion. Once that particular gravy train had come off the rails when she’d eliminated them, he moved seamlessly into dispensing legal advice for another organised crime gang, and this time they were people traffickers!
What a scumbag. What a piece of shit. He probably earns loads of money and gets a free bunk-up with some poor girl whenever he wants it!
He was walking off again and she had to make an instant decision, did she follow him... or not? Thinking quickly, Gloria let him go. She knew who he was and decided there was nothing to be gained by following him. After all, she’d only been out less than half an hour and she’d already been hugely successful, albeit serendipity had played a huge part in that success. She’d not only learned about Williams Glass’s involvement with the group, she’d also learned they had replaced Maia with a new girl and there was a meeting in The Moon Under Water at 7pm that very evening. A meeting she intended being in the pub for, a meeting she intended monitoring!
