Lost Innocence: The Accused. Part One (9 page)

“
I don’t think you’re
thinking straight.”

“
Do you want to help
me pack or are you just going to stand there whinging?”

She could feel she
was losing this battle. Her eyes filled with frustration and
fury.

“
I think you’re a
stupid, selfish old man!”

He lunged forward,
took her by the throat and pinned her up against the
wall.

“
Perhaps, but this is
my decision, not yours.”

“
You’re hurting me,”
she wheezed, the colour of her cheeks fading from her
face.

He released his grip.
She fell to her knees. Gasping for air, she picked herself up,
stumbled out of the bedroom and struggled down the
stairs.

“
I’m
sorry.” Nigel screamed. He stood at the top of
the stairs waiting for a response. She didn’t reply. He turned back
to the bedroom, threw some clothes into a Burberry bag then picked
out a suit.

Back in the study
and
dressed, he flicked through an app. on
his iPhone and checked for the next flight to Bangkok. Then
flicking onto Amazon, he searched for a book and downloaded the
latest John Daysh, ‘Cut Out the Middle Man,’ for the flight. He
turned to his bookshelf, slipped out ‘A Course in Miracles’ and
packed it. He left his bag by the front door and strolled back to
the kitchen to find his wife. He leaned over to kiss her, but she
turned away.

“
I’m sorry for
hurting you. It must be these new meds. I really don’t know what
came over me.”

Her top lip raised,
yet she didn’t say a word.

“
I guess we’ll talk
later then,” he frowned.

He stepped over to
the counter, poured himself a half cup of coffee and after a few
sips, he was ready to leave. He picked up his things at the door,
stepped outside to the garage and glancing up at the grey sky, he
opted for the Jag.

En-route to the
airport, he pulled over to the side of the road and called his
daughter-in-law on the hands-free, “Hi Lou.”

“
Hi Nigel. How are
you?”

“
I’m fine. How are
you holding up?”

“
As well as can be
expected.”

“
I’m heading to the
airport now.”

“
Thank
you.”

“
Tell me everything
Mike told you.”

“
Alright, where do I
begin?”

“
From the beginning.
I need every detail.”

Nigel listened and
took notes on a pad attached to the dash. Once the call ended, he
checked the rear-view, pulled out and pushed the pedal to the
metal. He inserted a Sinatra CD into the player, nudged up the
volume, broke the speed limit and tapped on the wheel as
Ol
’
blue eyes
flew him to the
moon.

Nigel’s flight landed
early. He struggled through immigration, picked up his luggage and
headed over to the nearest Bureau-de-Change. After exchanging a
stash of cash with a sexy cashier with dyed hair, he avoided the
taxi touts and headed for the exit.

“
What the hell,” he
cursed at the humidity. He dived into a green and yellow Toyota,
wiped the sweat from his brow then noticed a middle-aged,
wrinkle-faced man glancing back at him.

“
Hot?” he
laughed.

Nigel nodded,
unfolded a piece of paper and handed it over. ‘Wrinkle-face’ held
it up to eye level, nodded, handed it back, switched on the meter
and drove away. Nigel sat up, opened his journal and peered out of
the window.

It seemed the whole
population of Bangkok was on its way to work. People were crammed
into open buses and hanging on the outsides, young girls in short
skirts and tight shirts were riding side-saddle on motorcycles
driven by men in bright orange vests and battered trucks emitting
thick, black, toxic substances into the atmosphere were driven as
if their drivers were drunk. Nigel thought the traffic in London
was bad - welcome to Bangkok.

After a while, they
finally arrived at a run-down apartment building. It was crumbling
on the outside and the neighbourhood looked rough.

Nigel turned to his
driver. “Can you wait? Can I leave my bag?”

“
Okay,” the Thai
nodded.

“
What’s your
name?”

“
My name
Pang.”

“
Thank you, Pang. I’m
Nigel. I won’t be long. You can leave the meter on if you
like.”

Nigel climbed out of
the car with his Thai phrase book in hand. He stepped over to the
entrance, rang the main buzzer - nothing. He pressed again and
waited. He glanced back at Pang who was out of the car and leaning
on the boot. He was a short, skinny man with a kind, trusting face,
wore tight, shabby clothes and his shoes were literally on their
last legs.

Nigel was about to
press again when the door swung open and a lady in tight, striped
leggings appeared. She was holding a steaming bowl of soup and
eating something spicy.

“
Can you speak
English?”

She stood there with
a blank expression. He repeated his words slowly - she didn’t
reply. Sweat was beginning to ooze from his body.

“
What you want to
know?” Pang asked. He had stepped over from the car.

“
I need to see the
studio rented by my grandson. Can you tell her that in
Thai?”

Pang nodded. A long
conversation ensued. Finally Pang turned back to Nigel.

“
Your son with
Police, not come back yet.”

“
Yes, I know. I want
to see the apartment.”

Pang turned to the
lady; another conversation began and ended with her putting down
her bowl.

“
Can you join us?”
Nigel asked Pang.

Pang nodded,
locked
the car and followed Nigel and the
lady inside. She led them through a dim hallway and up a wooden
staircase. There was a smell of vomit in the air. Nigel, feeling
the heat, turned back to Pang. “No air-conditioning in
here?”

“
Not have, but in
room may have.”

After climbing the
staircase, Nigel and Pang were led into Michael’s studio. Nigel
caught his breath, flicked on the air-con and took a look around.
It was a fair-sized studio with a low ceiling but could have used a
little more light.

There were sketches
of several girls pinned to the walls. Nigel stood back and admired
them. Then spotting a sketch on an easel he took out his mobile and
photographed it. “Excuse me, Pang.”

Pang stepped over and
stood at his side.

“
Can you find any
other drawings of this girl?”

Pang studied the
sketch, checked the others and returned a few minutes later with
another two. He held them up for Nigel to photograph
them.

“
You want to work for
me?”

“
How much you
pay?”

“
How’s five thousand
a day?”

“
What you want I
do?”

“
Drive me around and
translate a bit.”

“…
Can."

“
Good, then let’s
go.”

They left the studio.
Nigel thanked the landlady with a thousand on the way out. She was
shocked.

Pang rushed ahead
down the stairs, opened the back door of the car and then helped
Nigel climb into the back. He got into the front and
waited.

Nigel fumbled around
in his trouser pocket, pulled out another piece of paper and handed
it over. Pang’s smile turned upside down as he read it.

“
You know the
place?”

Pang nodded then
drove away like a chauffeur.

TWELVE

JOHN AND I
were
walking the
yard.

“
Where are
the guards?”

“
They watch
from air conditioned rooms and only come out when officials are
visiting.”

“
You said
they were lazy.”

I noticed some
scratch marks and faded blood stains high up on a wall.
“What happened there?”

“
An inmate
must have tried to escape. I saw a guy use two suction devices like
the ones used to carry glass sheets to help lever himself up. He
reached half way before being spotted by a blue shirt.”

“
What
happened to him?”

“
The blue
shirt called a guard. He was ordered to come down, but didn’t. They
shot him in the leg, he fell and later in the cell, he removed a
blade from a disposable razor, slashed his left wrist then wrote a
suicide note on the wall with his right hand – in his own blood.
Suicide is really common in here and nobody bats an
eyelid.”

I was about to comment
when ‘Bald
Guard’ appeared and
called me over. I turned to John and smiled. “That must be my
dad.”

“
Good for you
mate.
Get out of here.”

I followed the guard
and was taken to the interview room. A guard on the other side
ushered someone in but it wasn’t my dad who’d come all this way to
see me; it was my grandfather.

He took a few steps
towards me, sat down, placed his hand on the mesh and waited while
I did the same. His eyes flickered back and forth between where our
palms faced, only the mesh between us. We picked up a phone with
our other hand.

“
I saw that in a
movie, but it’s usually a glass partition. What are they trying to
pull in here?”

It was lovely to see
him. He could take a tragic situation and make it funny. I loved
him for that.

“
How’s the food on
your side?”

“
It’s terrible. I’ve
lost weight.”

“
I can see that, you
look grubby too.”

His smile faded to a
frown. “Listen, I’m not sure how much time we have. I know what
happened and I sympathize but if this goes to Court, you could be
stuck in here for ages.”

“
Where’s my
dad?”

“
He’s here in
Bangkok. He had an accident.”

“
What happened? Is he
okay?”

“
He was hit crossing
the road, but he’s fine. He just can’t move around too
much.”

“
Was he
drunk?”

“
He’d had a
few.”

“
Have you seen
him?”

“
Not yet. I wanted to
see you first. Look, I’ve more than enough cash to settle this.
Your mum said they had already offered you a way out.”

“
They did, but only
if I accepted the case against me and paid my way out.”

“
You mean it wouldn’t
go to Court?”

“
That’s right but if
I fought the case and lost, I’d have a record and never be able to
come here again, that is, after serving my sentence.”

“
Would you want to
come here again?”

“
I have my reasons
and I didn’t do anything.”

“
I know you didn’t,
but they don’t care about that. They just want money and I want to
get you out. Your mother’s worried sick.”

It hit a nerve when I
thought about her and what she must be going through. I could still
hear her frightened voice in my head.

“
I’ll offer a decent
stash of cash to make this go away. You ready to go
home?”

“
I’m meditating with
an Ozzy guy in here. He was arrested for smuggling
heroin.”

“
Glad you’re keeping
such good company.”

“
It’s not like that.
John’s a good guy.”

“
Good guys don’t
traffic drugs, Mike.”

“
He did it to save
his family.”

“
I’m glad you’ve
found a friend, but don’t get too close….How you doing for
money?”

“
Not good. I owe John
a lot.”

“
How do I get money
in?”

“
You need to pay a
guard. He would get it in.”

“
Could we trust
him?”

“
No, but if you tell
him there’s more coming, he’ll get it in, minus his
commission.”

“
I want you out,
Mike.”

“
If they can’t charge
me in twelve days, they’ll have to release me or extend it for
twelve more days.”

“
What if they do
extend it?”

“
The evidence is
false. They won’t….I’ve come this far. Let me wait it out. Trust
me, I can do this.”

“
You think you can
you handle a few more days?”

“
I know I
can.”

Nigel raised his
eyebrows. “All right, we’ll try it your way. In the meantime I’ll
track down the girl who’s accused you and send you some
cash.”

“
I’d appreciate
that.”

“
Will a hundred
thousand be enough?”

“
That’s too much.
John warned me about that. You give too much, the guard may do a
runner and where would I keep so much cash safely in
here?”