Chapter 21 Chapter Twenty

Ackland, as always, was lounging in her car when Jackson returned from a doctor's appointment.Abandoning her initial attempt to talk to him about Jane, she told him sternly, "You look awful, and it's really not doing my image good to have this bearded gorilla around." He stroked his beard, "I'll scare Daisy if I show up like this." "She said you were like a stalker who eluded you." "I know. I heard you guys arguing in the kitchen yesterday morning. That's why I think you guys need some time to yourself." He has answers to all questions. "You shouldn't be listening."

"I don't have much choice," he said mildly. "When Daisy is angry, voice travels at super speed." "It wasn't easy for her." "It's just the opposite." Jackson frowned, "What do you mean?" "I've spent too much time with you, things shouldn't be like this. She's jealous." Jackson smiled in surprise, "Jealous of you? Don't be funny! She's been jealous of all kinds of women in the past... but she's never been jealous of a man." "It's not about sex...it's about being the center of attention. She doesn't want anyone interested in you but her. She only allows you to be the center when she needs you to come out as a bodyguard. If every time you come home There's a dog wagging its tail so hard at you that she'll even chase the dog away."

"Now you're a psychiatrist." He shrugged. "I'd be happy to be in a bar all day staring at her tits if that makes your life easier. She expects that from every guy in the bar." "She's not here for fun, but for business." Jackson hastily unlocked it and put the medical kit into the trunk. "Then the discussion is over." As if deliberately provoking, Aklan opened the cab door, "I will jog back to the bar and join the fan club." Jackson glared at him, and adjusted his sitting position behind the steering wheel, "Get in the car!" She turned her head to the passenger seat angrily, "I'd rather tie you to my ass than send you to Daisy's breasts Scared her to death by leering." She waited for him to go around the hood and climb into the passenger seat, "What's the matter? What did she do that you didn't like?"

"No. On the contrary, she doesn't like me." "Neither of you likes the other." Jackson sighed dejectedly, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. Akram shrugged again, "If you want to know the truth, the truth is: she scares me, the clothes she wears make me uncomfortable... the way she plays with her hair makes me uncomfortable, I can't stand it What’s more is the way she likes to put her hands on other people.” Jackson turned his gaze to him, "Would you do anything to hurt her?" "If she touched me, I probably would," he said truthfully, strapping on his seat belt, "and that's why I'm avoiding her."

Inspector Bill knocked lightly on the glass panel of Ben Russell's door to attract the Sheriff's attention, and waited outside for Jones to come out.When the door opened, he caught a glimpse of his uniformed colleague sitting by the window taking notes, and Jones closed the door behind him, sullen and impatient. "This kid is all about yes and no, with that nasty lawyer protecting him at every turn. Every time the poor little bastard yawns, he threatens to end the conversation," he said, taking a few steps from the door. , "Tell me some good news." "You're right about the whores. If his daughter is to be believed, Walter has been hanging out with most of the whores in South London for the past six months. She doesn't know the details either—no names, nor Can't describe any of the girls, because she's never met one—but she's sure there are half a dozen who come regularly to coax her father out of his money."

"How did she come up with the numbers if she never met them?" "Walter slipped up, when she said he was an old fool who thought a drug addicted whore would really love him, he said not one, but six." "Why didn't she tell us before?" "As always," Bill flipped through his notebook, "we didn't ask...and she didn't think it was important...she thought her father had said it was a man who attacked him." He picked out a page, "I mentioned that no fingerprints were found at Walter's house that matched our files - and I said it was weird because I couldn't believe her father had just picked six prostitutes who had no criminal record in London - her The answer: 'I told him I wouldn't come back to see him if he didn't clean up afterwards.'”

"What about the prostitution evidence? Are you just guessing when you say 'if his daughter is credible'?" "He's been paying. According to Ms. Tardin, he's being coaxed out of money two or three times a time because he's old and stupid. She said the girls treat him like a free bank every time he needs their services. She even thinks He gave one or two of them his bank card PIN." "What else?" "A series of examples of how Walter was disgusting." Bill kept his tone deliberately matter-of-fact. "Semen in the cup... dirty panties... cheap perfume smell on the zipper of the pants... cigarette butts in the sink. Obviously, when He even masturbated in front of Ms Tardin when he forgot who she was."

Jones raised his face in disgust, "Is she telling the truth?" "I think so. She had a big fight with her father about the money and he didn't deny spending it on prostitutes... and claimed it was his right to do whatever he wanted. I'll check at the bank tomorrow and see How much money he has withdrawn in the past six months." "Why six months?" "Ms Tardin found a stack of unpaid bills dating back to February. It may have been longer. She said her father had been behaving erratically since her mother died two years ago." "Odd that he's still sexually active?"

Bill shrugged. "Sexually curious, at least. She claims she's seen a phone bill from last year showing he spent £500 a season on the 0900 porn line." Jones frowned. "Why didn't we find this?" "When Ms Tardin threatened him with certification that he was incapable of managing his own finances, he threw away all the evidence. That was two or three weeks ago." "How long has she known about whores?" "Know for sure? Not too long. A month at most... Ever since she found out about the stack of bills and got into a fight with him. She's been trying to make him understand that those people are endlessly robbing him of his money, and if They come again, don't open the door."

Jones rubbed his face hard. "I'm going to have to think about arresting a stupid street whore." He thought for a moment, "Does she know how he contacts whores?" Bill shook his head, "She said, on the contrary, it wasn't him looking for them, but they would come to them whenever they needed cash." "He must have contacted them first. What does she think?" "The only thing she's sure of is that he doesn't know how to use a computer, and he's been going to the same bar for a drink every night for 30 years." He looked at his notebook again. "The Crown. It's only two miles from Walter's house." Street. Do you know this place?" Jones shook his head. "I have a vague feeling that this place has come up in our investigations... but I don't remember where. I wonder if this is one of the places where Harry Peel often picks up customers when he drives a taxi?" He raised a questioningly Eyebrows, "Any impression?"

"No, has anyone checked since Walter's attack?" "I don't know. Ms. Tardin said she brought it up when she was asked about her father's habits, but the last time I spoke to members of the investigative team, they didn't bring it up." He saw the sheriff's face darken Down, "It's no one's fault, Brian. Walter's case has been put on hold over Kevin Atkins' phone. Do you want me to stop by the Crown on the way back?" Jones looked at his watch, "Give me ten minutes, and I'll go with you." He pointed his thumb to the door of Ben Russell's ward, "Did Ms. Tardin tell you anything that could erase the pride on this boy's face?" smile?" Bill hesitated. "It's nothing special, but she has a lot of opinions about teenage girls—the nurse knew that very well. I heard them yelling for a few minutes, first complaining about feminism, and saying that feminism made it. A generation of megalomaniac girls who are half-naked, abusive, drunk, celebrity-worshipping, wanting to be better than their celebrity-worshippers...and then talk about how easily they let the boys take advantage of them." Jones smiled slightly. "What does that mean? The police might say that when they encounter something like this." "I agree, but it makes me think of Ben. He wants us to think that Jock is his only friend in London, and he still loves Hannah from Wolverhampton...but he's been in London for a while, The 16-year-old was probably healthy before he developed diabetes." "You think he knew Walter's whores?" Bill shrugged. "That's a fair guess. They're in the same age group, and I don't think a letter from an absent girlfriend can keep a feisty boy loyal for long, especially with a trickster like Ben." "Just ten minutes," Jones persuaded Ben's lawyer.He sat down, nodded to the policewoman, and told her to start taking notes. "Just a few questions and we'll be done." He surveyed Ben's bored expression. "You might prefer to keep your mother out of the way," he whispered, "unless you're comfortable discussing your sexuality in front of her." Behavior." Ben looked at him in panic, and the lawyer intervened before he could say anything, "We agreed that the issue was only about items in Ben's backpack that he confessed to stealing, Sheriff." Jones nodded. "But we believe that your client stole these things from teenage prostitutes. Mr. Pearson, I am interested in his relationship with these girls." Pearson smiled professionally. "If these questions were asked individually, Mr. Jones, I would suggest that Ben answer you. If you insist on linking them like this, I won't." He paused. "Perhaps you would prefer to let I'll ask." He turned to the boy, "Ben...did you get or steal those things from teenage whores?" "No." "Do you remember if you ever had a relationship with a teenage prostitute -- sexually?" "No, unless Hannah is a whore." He snickered at the lawyer's frown. "Just kidding. I've never had sex with any whores." "Go ahead, Sheriff." Jones studied Pearson's face, wondering what he thought of his client.A well-spoken man in his mid-40s, Pearson looked an unlikely defender of a foul-mouthed Wolverhampton teenager. "Whatever the answers to these questions, Mr. Pearson, I intend to continue asking about them. Ben has a history of predating vulnerable underage girls, and when he had sex with Hannah, Hannah 12, he's 15." "We've dealt with this, Sheriff. Hannah's parents refuse to continue discussing it." Jones smiled incredulously, "They had no choice. Their daughter refused to make a statement. She had a romantic idea that a battered old photograph and a few typo-laden letters would make an absent lover feel sorry for her." She's faithful." He turned to Ben suspiciously, "What's wrong with girls your age? Are they too smart to listen to you? Not easy to shape?" "Whatever you want." "How would Hannah react if she found out you were hanging out with prostitutes? Do you think she would accept it?" Ben gave him a disgusted look, "None of your business." Pierson cleared his throat. "My client says he has never had sex with a prostitute, Sheriff." "By the way," said Ben, "I don't even know any girls in London." "You prefer boys?" Ben aimed at Jones with a simulated gun in his hand, "Get out!" "And all the time on the streets of London, your only friend was Jock? Do you mean that?" "Yeah...if you heard it from Jock, most of the time he didn't understand, he was probably referring to gays...calling them 'girls' or 'misses' to their faces and spitting on their backs On the ground. He took me to the alley and helped me get rid of those people. He hated gays." Jones nodded. "That's what you said the first time we asked you. You seemed very eager for us to see your only friend as a total homophobic." "If that kind of behavior says he's a homophobic, then Jock is." He turned the "pistol" to the window, simulating the recoil of a shot," he said, and if he still had a gun, he would have shot Kill those sodomites." "Is that your opinion too?" "Of course. Homosexuality is against humanity, isn't it?" "Isn't it okay to sleep with a 12-year-old girl?" The boy immediately turned to his lawyer for help. "We've talked about that, Sheriff." "I don't think so, Mr. Pearson. I'm interested in your client sleeping with underage girls in London." He leaned forward. "We didn't get the information we wanted from Jock. Well, Ben, the girls we're talking about are clearly young prostitutes with a drug habit." He watched the boy's face for his reaction. "What's your role in this? Pimp?" "Damn it!" Ben turned his attention to the lawyer. "He's talking crap. I don't know any whores." "Where does this point, Sheriff?" "Walter Tardin," Jones continued to stare at the boy, "this old man was beaten half to death last Friday... He lives at 3 Westwelling Lane, Bermondsey. He came to his senses a few hours ago." The speed of Ben's reaction suggests he's mentally rehearsed the answer, "It's none of my business. I vomited like a dog last Friday ... there's no way I'd end up here." "Mr Tardin was attacked at noon," Jones said, "and you had the strength to climb over the railing 12 hours later. Can you tell me where you were between 11:00 a.m. and 1:00 p.m. on Friday, Did you do anything?" "Can not remember." Lawyer intervenes again, "Ben told you in the first conversation that he doesn't remember the details of Friday, the sheriff - and he doesn't really remember the weeks leading up to his admission - except that he was often sick , probably passed out a few times. His consultant also confirmed that these are typical symptoms of type 1 diabetes, and further complications of ketoacidosis." "I know that, Mr. Pearson. I still remember that the doctor mentioned that the precursor to coma is a trance. I wonder what a boy in a trance looks like," he added a hint of sarcasm in his tone, "this state prevents him from Remembering everything - yet he managed to find his way around Covent Garden in the dark." "I probably found it by intuition." Ben observed Jones with half-lidded eyes. "If you go to a place often, you can find it in your sleep, but you can't remember how to find it." "Do you remember you were at Bermondsey at lunchtime?" Jones asked. "I don't think I'm going there. As far as I know, I've never been to that place, and I don't even know where it is." He looked at the lawyer angrily. "Can he do that? The doctor told How sick I was, and obviously it had nothing to do with what was in my backpack." "Do you have any evidence linking Ben to the Tadin attack, Sheriff?" "There is no direct evidence, but we believe he knew who was involved. His claim would be much stronger if he confirmed this for us now." "Is this a fishing trip, Sheriff?" Jones shook his head. "Far from it. At this stage, the only reason we're not arraigning Ben as a suspect in the attack on Mr Tadine is because his illness makes me subject to the Police and Criminal Evidence Act." He glanced at Ben's mother, who sat with her head bowed habitually. "The man who attacked Mr. Tardin had a strong disdain for the elderly. First of all, the poor old man's savings were wiped out." , and then he was abandoned as if worthless. It's a miracle he's still alive." Mrs Sykes was disturbed. "Mine wouldn't do such a thing. Would you, darling?" "Of course not. I like old people. Jock is very old. My stepfather is very old. Maybe have a fight with them once in a while, but I would never hit them." "Is this your line?" Jones asked. "What boundary?" "You can steal money from the elderly, but you can't hit them." "I've never stolen money from an elderly person." "According to your stepfather, you stole. You used his debit card to withdraw £300 from the ATM on the day you left home. He checked the bank statement and found that you also stole a few times, but the amount was smaller. Just a little bit. He blamed himself for writing the password in the diary, giving you the impression that stealing is easy." "That's different." "Why is it different?" "Stealing from your own family is not the same as stealing from strangers." "What do you mean? Is that a lesser crime, or more of a fluke?" "Mom and Barry know why I did that." "Does that make your behavior acceptable?" Jones asked coldly, turning his eyes to Ben's mother. She looked up. "It was a difficult time for him. He did some things that he regretted. Barry and I can understand that." Jones inspected her face with interest, "Does your understanding extend to this firm's admission of stealing cell phones over the past four months? He uses interesting terminology when referring to those victims." ...he called his female victims 'bitches' and his male victims 'bastards,' both words implying his contempt for those he robbed." "But none of them are old!" There was a gleam of satisfaction in Ben's dark eyes, as if he had scored a point. "I don't call an old man a jerk...I call them old. I don't either I have seen how many elderly people play with mobile phones on the street, so it is not so easy to rob them." "Then it's not a moral question, it's a practical one. If a sickly 82-year-old makes you feel easy going, you treat him like a teenager." "Think what you want," the boy said contemptuously, "if you insist on distorting my meaning, I can't help it." "Not too long ago an elderly black lady was punched and kicked over her phone and was seriously injured and had to be hospitalized." "not my business." "I must state for the record," interposed the lawyer, looking at his watch, "that my client, Ben Russell, says he does not steal from old people, nor does he use derogatory names for them. I would also like to remind Sheriff Jones that in the We discussed the terms 'bitch' and 'bastard' at length during our interview last time. These are accepted street slang terms for young girls and young boys respectively. Nor was there any contempt for my client. He tapped his watch. "We agreed for ten minutes. I must insist that the conversation be ended." "Of course." Jones bared his teeth and smiled like a wolf. "What are we holding you up to, Mr. Pearson, opera?" A faint smile appeared on the corner of the lawyer's mouth, "I didn't make the rules, Sheriff. I just have an obligation to represent my client and remind you of their existence." "Then, I suggest you do the same to remind your client. I, as an overworked taxpayer, both investigating this self-confessed thief," he pointed at Ben, "and paying you to protect him, I think It's ridiculous." "I'm afraid so," agreed the lawyer. "The French call it the theater of the absurd, but that's the price we pay for living in a civilized democracy." He cast an indifferent glance at his client, "However, I do understand your frustration. I've never met a police officer who would call what he sees and hears every day civilized." Jones leaves the hospital building with Bill and the policewoman.Jones asked the female police officer if she heard anything from the lawyer's parting words, "Pearson seems to be trying to tell us something, do you have that impression?" "I just don't think he likes the boy and he doesn't like his mother. When you and Nick were talking outside, mother and son were complaining angrily, wanting compensation from the police for harassment. I could see it in Mr Pearson's body language , the whole conversation pissed him off." "What did he say?" "He said he felt there was no basis for making this request, but if they insisted, they could choose another lawyer to appeal for them." The policewoman suddenly laughed, "He suggested that they go to the law firm on Litigation Street and pray for good luck , don’t let one malicious lawsuit lead to Ben being charged with multiple theft charges.”