The Real Lady Detective Agency: A True Story. Rebecca Jane

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СКАЧАТЬ Well, that confirms who it is. I’m sat at my desk, quite close to throwing up. My hand is over my mouth, and my head is bowed. I’m literally stunned to silence. The one problem about these audio bugs is that I’ve got no visuals, so I have no idea where on earth they are! They could be in his office, in a hotel room or even in a broom cupboard. All I know is that his wife will not be happy!

      I have to carry on listening though. I need to hear the whole thing, and hopefully get some confirmation this is still him. Then it happens …

      ‘Please can we not leave it so long next time, Tom? I really miss you when I can’t see you,’ says the female voice.

      ‘I know. It’s just Jane’s been really suspicious lately. I need her to chill out for a bit. She seems to be getting better just the last few days.’

      Thank you, Tom. Everything is confirmed and I’ve got it recorded. They continue their conversation, but not for long. It ends with Muriel telling Tom he should leave his annoying, pathetic wife, to which he gives a non-committal grunt.

      I try to detach myself from the situation and not think about what’s happened. I pick up the phone and dial Jane’s number. I feel horrible. He really is everything she’s said. He is a dreadful man, who’s mentally torturing her. He’s having an affair with a girl young enough to be his daughter, and it seems he truly does hate his wife. Jane shouldn’t have to live with this awful reality.

      I break the news to her, and even though I feel sick to the stomach and deeply distressed about it, Jane takes it all very well. She’s been totally crazy the whole time – but now she is calm? It’s very bizarre, but she seems at peace by the time our conversation ends. You can literally hear the sound of relief in her tone as she says, ‘It’s not just me then?’

      A little bit of my heart breaks, and I struggle to swallow the lump in my throat.

      ‘No, Jane, it’s not you. You were right.’

      Jane thanks me, and as we end our conversation, I tell her I’ll call her in a few days to see how she’s doing.

      I sit in the same place I did just a few days ago, looking out at God’s Waiting Room, watching the world go by. I had been utterly convinced Jane was a total fruitcake. She’d driven me to the brink of distraction and I’m sure she was doing the same to her husband. I was 100 per cent, totally, massively convinced beyond any doubt that her suspicions were all in her head. What does that say? Does it mean that her husband is a typical nasty horrible man, a serial cheater and the type of person no one should have anything to do with? Or is the result, and my problem with this case, based on guilt?

      I feel dreadful for not believing Jane. My gut instinct was wrong. This was the classic woman I’d set out to help, and every step of the way I’d doubted her. Had it ever shown in my voice? Did she know I believed she was crazy? I put my hand on my heart and hoped she hadn’t.

      It makes me even more determined to stay open-minded and non-judgemental when our next job comes along. And I’m hoping that will be soon. Because despite all the long hours on the phone and the many irritations, I feel I am cut out for this role. Just a bit more practice and I hope I’ll even get good at it. After all, I have the credentials from my life experience. I know what it feels like – on both sides of the fence.

THE LADIES VERSUS THE CSA

      I’ve got strong moral values – but there are times when they have to go out of the window. I’ve always been the type of person to hold a firm opinion – but on the other hand, I’ll do what it takes to get a job done. If you ask me how ruthless I am, my automatic reply would be: ‘I’m lethal. I will literally do anything to get to where I want to be.’

      Being a Lady Detective, even for the short time I’ve been doing it, has taught me a lot about myself that I never suspected. One: I want everything my own way. Two: I’m a serious control freak, and the hardest thing for me is delegating my precious clients to other people. Three: my moral boundaries are still being developed. I thought I knew who I was and what I believed in, but almost every day I have to re-evaluate. Four: I am seriously fascinated by people; I have a burning need to understand the world and why people do what they do. Five: I never realised how judgemental I was! Six: I care too much (hmm, most of the time, anyway!). Seven: I’m really not very ‘lethal’ at all – in fact, it’s highly possible I’m a total pussycat pushover … I’m still working this point out. Eight: I get infuriated with the Child Support Agency …

      It’s 11am and God’s Waiting Room is as lively as ever. Mrs Jones is weeding her garden. Mr Thomson across the road is mowing his lawn, and Albert is talking to his cat. Quite a remarkable sight, three people outside all at once! I’m in a thoughtful mood. How can I expand the work we’re doing? What other avenues can we pursue? So far we’ve only had business from women who want us to follow their menfolk and find proof of infidelities, and mostly we’ve succeeded. It seems women’s instincts about this are often spot-on. Maybe they don’t ring us until they are pretty certain, but all this sordid stuff could quite possibly mash my brain after a while. We need to use our services for good purposes, but I’m lost as to what exactly. The percolator has finished making my morning coffee, and tapping my pen on the notepad isn’t getting me very far. I stand up in a huff, mainly with myself. Like a flashing beacon, the phone sounds. I’ve now moved on to the James Bond theme tune, mainly because I couldn’t find Cagney and Lacey.

      ‘Good morning, the Agency,’ I say, in my business tone.

      ‘Hello. I have a problem I need some help with.’

      This is the point at which I’m listening hard. It could be a perfectly normal person with a very normal problem or we could be taking a step on the crazy train, and dealing with the utterly bizarre. We get both in equal measure, I’ve found. What is today bringing me?

      ‘Of course, and we’re the right place for that,’ I tell the lady on the end of the phone. My non-judgemental (cough, cough) summing-up, based on her voice alone? I reckon she’s in her mid-forties with blonde highlighted hair.

      ‘Excellent. I need to hire a private investigator to catch out my ex-husband.’

      ‘Really? OK, how’s about you give me some background information and I’ll tell you if I can help.’

      ‘Of course. My name’s Sarah. I left my husband three years ago and we’re now divorced. We have a child – she’s now six – and he’s never paid child support. I don’t want millions from him, I just want something. I don’t understand why he thinks that my paying for everything is acceptable when we created her together. Not only that, I’m a single mother and I do actually need help. I don’t have a money tree in the garden or anything.’

      ‘I understand. It certainly doesn’t seem very fair. Have you got the CSA involved?’ I ask, wondering if she has a genuine case.

      ‘Yes. I first asked them to look into it two years ago, and they put him through assessment. He never replied to any of their letters, so they based the amount of money I was owed on some chart or scheme or something.’

      ‘I’ve heard about that. It’s a survey they look at if they can’t get information from the non-resident parent, or can’t find a tax return. The survey tells them what the person is expected to earn, based on their job title. The judgment is based on this.’

      ‘Exactly. It said I was owed £50 per week, which was fine by me. Only problem was that when they started СКАЧАТЬ