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NATURAL JUSTICE

The rap on the front door was sharp and demanding and gave Jasmine a start. She rarely had visitors, especially at this time of night. She rose, quickly and scurried into the hall. “Yes, who is it?” she asked apprehensively, without opening the door, for it was that type of neighbourhood.
“Jimmy Brookes!” came the gruff reply.
She opened the door as wide as the security chain would allow and through a narrow slit saw the  frame of a large white man who lived somewhere cross the street.
“What do you want?” she asked timidly.
“Can I come in love? I don't want to do business in the street, anyway, it's a bit parky out 'ere!” He said with a slur and she smelt the beer on his breath.
“Well, I don't know, what is it you want, it's rather late.”
“Won't keep you a minute love, I want to talk to you about my boy, the one who had the accident, I mean the one who was run down by the bus, earlier. I won't hurt yer, I'm not a nonce or nuffin', it's just, well, there's a couple of fings need sortin' out. It'll only take a minute!”
She dithered for a second or two, she was still wary of white males, especially the ones with their shaved heads, foul language and their Cross of St George tattoos. But slowly, she shut the door, withdrew the security chain and opened it wide. “Come in.” she invited, most reluctantly.

He seemed even bigger in the narrow hall. She pulled her cardigan around her and stood firm.
“It's about my boy,” he said, without explanation or preamble. “He was knocked off his bike by a bus earlier and taken to A&E. The paramedics thought he might have a broken leg. His mates told me that you saw it 'appen, saw the bus speed away from the bus-stop and come too far out into the street, then knocked 'im down. The coppers will be round soon to take statements. I, er, just wanted to clear up a coupla points with you before they do....” and he withdrew a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket.
“The bus didn't speed away and didn't pull across the street. It didn't happen like that.” she said, firmly. “There were five or six teenage boys on bikes, they all came down Beech Hill  together, riding very fast and then they turned onto Aspen Road just as the bus pulled away from the bus stop. They were all going too fast to stop or turn aside, they had no lights on, they were.................”
“Whoa, whoa! Now wait a minute love,” said, shaking his head, “ my boy is injured, he's just 14 , just a lad riding his bike and knocked down by a bloody great bus, cos the driver was talking to one of the passengers, I got that from a witness. What I want now is............”
And she suddenly found  a reserve of courage she cut him short, “Please, please, don't smoke in my house, I don't want.......
“Why not, what's wrong with it?” he demanded.
“I could tell you I suffer from asthma or bronchitis but the truth is, I don't like the smell of it, it lingers for days, it always.......”
He tutted, tossed his head to one side, opened the door and threw out the cigarette.
“Look love,” he continued, in patronising tones, “I know you're not from this country so you won't know how things work here. Big companies like the Bus companies have to take out insurance to cover them against any accidents. The bus knocked my lad off his bike and it looks like it broke his leg, right? Now the coppers will be here soon to investigate it and take statements from all the witnesses. The driver is going to say that he wasn't speeding, wasn't talking to anyone and was paying attention. My lad may be badly injured, he...........”
“Mr Brooks,” she interrupted politely, “I may well be from the another country, from the wilds of Africa even, but I know what I saw this evening and I know how the system works. I also think that we shouldn't be discussing this incident before making a statement.............”
“All right love, all right, we'll do it like it's done in Africa!” He snapped, “I'll tell you what I want you to say to the coppers, you give evidence in court and when the driver gets done for dangerous drivin', I'll sue the bus company and I'll give you ten per cent of the compensation! There, how's that? Can't be fairer than that, can I?” and he grinned in a weak attempt at friendliness.
“Mr Brooks, it would be legally and morally wrong for me to even think of such a thing!” she exclaimed with indignation.
“All right, I'll also send my mate around to dig your garden and repaint your house.” he offered.
“I said that I think that there are some legal and moral issues at stake here.” she persisted.
“Fifteen per cent!” he countered, flatly.
“No!”she snapped, angrily. “Look, it is the truth that counts here Mr Brooks. It is only right and….”
“No, you listen to me.” he interjected. “The bloody bankers, the businessmen and the MPs in this country twist the truth and the rules to fiddle the books and line their own pockets. In your country, you can get anything you want if you have the money, all of Africa works on back-handers, bribery and graft. All I'm asking you to do is stretch a point or two. I'm not asking you to tell giant porkies, I'm just asking you to, well, you know what I'm asking.”
“I'm quite clear in my mind Mr Brooks, I know what I saw earlier this evening. I have nothing to hide and nothing to fear. I don't care what other people saw or will say to the police, I just......”
He snarled then and his mood changed, “You don't want to make enemies with me love, I carry a lot of weight around here,” and he poked his finger at her, menacingly, “some people are scared of me, so we'd best not fall out, I'm a better friend than an enemy, if you know what I'm saying!”
“Oh, I think that I know exactly what you're saying Mr Brooks, I think that you're saying that if I don't tell the police what you want me to say, you'll make life extremely difficult for me.”
“No, no, no.” he said, smiling gain. “come on love, come on, twenty per cent, I'm offering you twenty per cent of the compensation. My lad is a promising football player, Pompey are interested in him. The compensation could run to two hundred grand, maybe more. You would get thirty or forty thousand quid, you could buy an awful lot of things with that in Africa!”
“It's wrong and it is illegal and I won't do it.” she insisted.
“Here, you're not one of those illegals are? Not scared of being chucked out are you?” he sneered.
“Well, no …..it's not that, I...erm...”.
Then he turned nasty again. “I'm getting a bit fed up with you now. I come round here, all reasonable and friendly and you give me the high and mighty. You tell the coppers what I want you to say or I will make life very difficult for you!”
Her confidence suddenly ebbed, her lip trembled and momentarily, words failed her.
“I ain't messing now,” he snarled, “you tell the coppers that the driver wasn't paying attention and knocked my boy off his bike, or you'd best start looking for somewhere else to live! Savvy!”

There was a long, brittle pause, then the lounge door slowly opened and a rather tall, striking black woman stepped into the hall. “All very interesting Mr Brooks.” she said in a rather polished and formal tone. “I'm D/C Florence Adebola, of Central CID,” and she flashed what might have been a warrant card. Then she held up a small pocketbook. “I've been here all the time and I've recorded all you have said in shorthand, it will make very good reading in the court, Mr Brooks!”
“Whoa, whoa!” he cried defensively and held his hands up, “no, no, no, I don't want no trouble miss, I was just trying to get some things sorted out with.............erm...erm...”
“Shall I record that also Mr Brooks?” Florence asked, with an air of innocence.
“No, no.” he pleaded and he turned to Jasmine, “Hey, look, look, just forget that I was here, my boy will tell the, erm, police he was riding his bike too fast, with no lights, careless like. There won't be no compensation claim!” And he turned abruptly, opened the door and disappeared into the night.

“I'll tell you what Florence,” Jasmine observed, with a hint of a grin, “you'll get yourself into serious trouble if you keep pretending to be a policewoman, in this country!”
Florence shrugged and said, “In my village we say 'you can wait for the hyena to eat you or you can poke him in the eye with a sharp stick!' Now be a dear and open that bottle of wine, we've just seen Humpty Dumpty fall off the wall!”

oooOooo