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Chapter Eleven

James

The second I alighted I felt myself tense at the crowds bustling through the platform. I used to love the hustle and bustle of the big city but now it felt kind of oppressive. I wanted to get straight back on the train and get back to Hiraeth. But I couldn’t. I had a job to do.

My phone rang. “Where are you?” I asked.

“At the entrance by the LEON,” Owen replied. I headed over and sure enough he was there and holding a takeaway bag in hand. I ran to him and hugged him.

“My favourite?” I asked, and he nodded. I pulled away from the hug and took the little paper wrapped burger from the bag. I took a bite. “God, that’s good. It’s the only thing I’ve missed from London…and you of course.”

“Thanks,” replied Owen sardonically. “I don’t even know why you like it. You’re not even vegan. You eat steak, for fuck’s sake.”

“If you don’t understand the feelings I have for the LEON Love Burger then maybe we can’t be friends. I don’t even believe it’s vegan, I think they’re lying to me.”

“I think you’re lying to yourself if you can pretend that’s meat. Anyway, we better rush. By my reckoning we have…45 minutes.”

“Let’s go then.” I was ready to face them. I was sure of it.

◆◆◆

I was not ready to face them. I felt Owen’s arm tighten around me reflexively as I tensed, but I found that my best friend wasn’t the comfort I wanted or needed right now.

He had always been there for me, but it felt like that instinctual need to be comforted had pivoted elsewhere. And I knew where.

We were looking at a monitor which displayed a little bland room with a wooden table inside.

At that table sat the little man who had so completely altered my life.

A police officer just as bland as the room who hadn’t bothered introducing himself stood next to Owen and I whilst we could see Detective Inspector Butt on the monitor, facing away from the camera on the opposite side of the table to the young man.

“For the tape, this is Detective Inspector Richard Butt. Could you please state your name for the record?”

“ Dick Butt? ” I whispered to Owen. “His name is Dick Butt?”

I laughed despite myself, and the police officer stood with us shushed me. I mouthed a quick sorry and turned back to the screen.

“Charlie Clarke,” said the young man.

“And you have chosen not to have a solicitor present?”

“That’s correct.”

“Then we’ll begin. Were you present in Heaven nightclub on the night referenced?” asked Detective Butt.

“No comment,” said the young man. His voice was lower and less flighty than I remembered it being. Had he been putting on a more feminine act to see what I’d like? It seemed ironic that I’d ended up falling for the gruffest guy around.

“On the night in question, did you meet with the man in this photograph?” I could just about make out that it was a picture of myself being pushed across the table.

“No comment.”

“Did this man buy you a drink, and did you put any controlled substances into it?”

“No comment.”

“Have you ever met or worked with this man?” Detective Butt passed two pictures over the table, supposedly of the bearish man he’d been involved with.

“No comment.”

And so on it went. Every question answered with a shrug and a nonchalant no comment, like he hadn’t been part of a gang that had drugged me and left me for dead. I stared at the pixels on the screen and searched for one shred of remorse or sadness, but could find none.

“Before I present any further evidence, I would like you to reflect carefully on your previous answers. If you have any additional details you would like to furnish us with or to enter a plea, it may reduce your sentence. If you have been coerced by this man into this kind of behaviour, it would be better for you to speak now.”

“No. Comment.” Charlie crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair.

“Here he goes,” muttered the police officer to our side, surprising me with intonation and personality to his voice I would never have expected otherwise. He leaned toward the monitor and Owen and I did the same as if waiting for our favourite football team to score a goal.

“We have a witness, the man whose picture I presented you with, who is happy to testify against all three of you in court. To say he was at Heaven, that you spiked his drink and gained access to his finances and property. We have tests confirming that he had a very high amount of GHB in his system, possibly enough to overdose. ”

“Some junkie with a vendetta against anyone young and pretty enough to get some? Not exactly a reliable witness.” The young man had careened from complete nonchalance to spite, and I wondered why. Was he worried the gig was up? But if what he was saying was true and I wouldn’t be seen as reliable…

“It seems that the CCTV in the bar area of the club wasn’t working, but the bouncers did wear body-cams. You entered the club-” at this, DI Butt passed over the three pictures to Charlie, “-at 9pm. Your alleged associate entered at 9:27.”

“I’ve never seen those men in my life,” Charlie replied.

“So we’re not no commenting any more? Cool.

” DI Butt seemed to have full control of the situation.

The dynamic shift had been subtle, but Charlie was now on the back foot.

I wondered if he was starting to sweat. “Your alleged accomplice left some hour later with the victim, claiming to bouncers he was going to get him a taxi. You left just three minutes later.”

“You can’t prove we were there together.”

“No. I can’t. But you said you’d never seen him in your life. Odd, given he left and entered within minutes of you. You might have even seen them at the taxi rank.”

“Well I didn’t so-“

“I’m not done.” The Detective Inspector’s voice was low and clear.

“The problem with thieves and muggers? Greed. Pride…whatever the other deadly sins are. We found this-” he passed one small object in a plastic bag over to Charlie, one I recognised instantly as a credit card, “-in the pockets of your accomplice.”

“I told you, I haven’t seen that man before in my life!” Charlie was angry now, and he had made as if to stand before sitting down again and trying to create the cool mask of composure. Even on the little screen I could see that had become a struggle.

“And if we were to test it for fingerprints?”

“No-I mean, that older guy might have bought me a drink before he did whatever with him. I might have had his card in my hand.”

“Right. So your fingerprints are on a stolen credit card, found in the pocket of a man with whom you had absolutely no association but were in the club with?”

“That’s right, yeah.” Charlie sounded deflated.

“See, that might have been enough to take to the Crown Prosecution Service. We might have gotten a conviction, despite your insistence you had never met those men, and we might have taken you to jail for a relatively long time. But those are all maybes. I had no concrete evidence that you had ever met the other who had been involved with the theft. I had no proof it was a theft after all, beyond the credit card. But juries can be persuaded, and with the eyewitnesses we had I was relatively confident that they would be on our side. But I wasn’t sure . ”

I had to admit DI Butt was phenomenal. I could tell he was building up to something, but having been late to the station we hadn’t had a chance to review the evidence beforehand. I was as clueless as Charlie, it seemed, in what the Detective Inspector had up his sleeve.

“The one continuing pattern with scams and gangs that go on for a long time is sloppiness and laziness. Keeping the credit card was lazy, or perhaps it was pride. A search of your accomplice’s possessions showed he had kept a credit or debit card from every victim.

Trophies of the poor innocent people he and you spiked, beat, mugged and left for dead.

Depending on the victim’s profile in every instance they described being approached by a larger man or a smaller one - we couldn’t get a handle on hair colour, length, beards — I presume you changed those for each scam, to make it harder to identify you? ”

“I fucking told you, I don’t know what you’re on about! This is bullshit! I have never seen that man in my life!” I could see one of Charlie’s hands vibrating above the table like he was trying to resist the urge to hit DI Butt.

“You’re such a good liar it’s almost believable,” said the Detective Inspector.

“But there’s one last piece of evidence.

One I wouldn’t have found myself. A junior officer of mine was almost too ashamed to admit he recognised you.

At first, he thought from one of the clubs, but then he realised.

Are you familiar with the Twitter handle @YungTwink62? ”

Charlie didn’t answer. I could see him slumping down in the chair slowly, early defiance long gone.

DI Butt continued. “You see, there’s a link to a paid service here…

but pinned at the very top of this profile—oh wait, your profile—is a video.

A video called ‘Daddy Bear Dominates Little Twink’.

Now I wouldn’t call it particularly artfully shot, and I’m much more a fan of otters and jocks myself.

But the people in the video are unmistakably you and the older gentleman you claimed not to know.

And out of some ridiculous urge you couldn’t possibly wait any longer.

As far as we can ascertain this video was filmed in the victim’s flat, in his bed before you ransacked the place.

He will no doubt confirm this for us when we show him the video.

As you’ve so far not seen any reason to cut in I feel pretty comfortable in formally charging you with one count of first degree assault, level three robbery.

If this gets escalated beyond our force based on evidence we have provided, you’re looking at many more similar charges.

You’re going away for a significant time. ”