Authors: Graham Masterton
‘What’s happened to Inspector Fennessy?’ asked Michael Gerrety. ‘I was looking forward to crossing swords with him. Very sharp-witted, Inspector Fennessy. So what are the Garda trying to do now,
charm
me into submission?’
‘At least we’re not trying to
choke
you into submission,’ said Katie, flapping her hand at his cigar smoke.
‘Oh, my apologies, superintendent,’ he said. He went across to the sash window and opened it, so that the smoke shuddered out and they could hear the traffic noises from the street below. ‘Carole doesn’t allow me to smoke my cigars indoors or in the car, so I don’t have many opportunities to pollute the atmosphere.’
‘I wouldn’t say that, Mr Gerrety,’ said Katie, sitting down at the conference table and opening up her briefcase. ‘I’d say that you pollute the atmosphere with every breath you take.’
‘Now then, detective superintendent,’ put in James Moody. ‘Let’s keep this amicable, shall we? I realize that we can’t leave this table today as friends, but we can at least leave with all of our differences resolved.’
‘There’s only one way we can leave this table today with any of our differences resolved, and that’s if Mr Gerrety agrees not to deny any of the charges that we’ve brought against him and to come to a negotiated settlement with the Criminal Assets Bureau for the surrender of the profits that he and his wife have made from prostitution.’
Michael Gerrety smiled broadly but said nothing. James Moody raised one of his eyebrows and said, ‘Well, now, is
that
all?’ although it was obvious that he was being sarcastic.
‘As a matter of fact, no, it isn’t all,’ said Katie. ‘He must immediately close down his website, Cork Fantasy Girls, and undertake never again to advertise the sexual services of either women or men. He must close all of his premises that are used for purposes of prostitution and cooperate with all the relevant agencies and charities for the rehabilitation of the women involved – or their repatriation to their native countries if they’re here in Ireland illegally.’
‘Have you had a response yet from the Director of Public Prosecutions?’ asked James Moody, spitting a fleck of saliva on to the middle of the polished mahogany table. ‘I mean, you have actually
filed
the charges with the DPP, haven’t you, along with whatever evidence you claim to possess?’
‘Of course, and Inspector Fennessy and I have been discussing them with her directly. I know it’s unusual for us to meet like this, but the DPP is very sensitive to the political complications that will inevitably arise from this case – apart from the number of people whose reputations could be compromised.’
Michael Gerrety’s sea-green eyes widened in amusement. ‘You mean some of the eminent local councillors who might prefer not to be named in open court?’
‘Fair play to you, there’s that to it,’ said Katie. ‘I won’t pretend that there isn’t. But the DPP has two main concerns. One is to spare the girls the humiliation of having to admit publicly to what they do, because there’s no question that it’s going to make headlines for weeks all over the media. Two, she wants to spare the taxpayer the expense of what could be a very complex and high-profile trial, with scores of expert witnesses having to be called.’
‘But that’s
precisely
what’s needed, a high-profile trial,’ James Moody interrupted her, spitting out the word ‘precisely’. ‘My client is looking forward to it with relish. For the first time he will have the opportunity to air his views on the protection of sex workers and his campaign to turn on the Green Light. He considers that he has advanced the cause of feminism in Ireland by
decades
, single-handedly, and he has done this by giving sex workers over the age of consent the opportunity to sell their services safely, respectably and hygienically, in secure environments.’
‘Do we really want to go back to the days of streetwalking?’ added Michael Gerrety, still with that self-satisfied smile. ‘Do we really want to go back to women having it in alleyways and up against pissy-smelling bus shelters, with no condoms to prevent them from catching all sorts, and nobody to chaperone them if a client turns nasty?’
Katie opened her briefcase and took out a thick green document wallet. ‘Don’t try to pretend that you’re some kind of a saint, Mr Gerrety. We have first-hand evidence that in return for your so-called protection you exploit women by drugging them, by blackmailing them, and by threatening them with physical punishment if they refuse to do what you tell them.’
Michael Gerrety turned to James Moody with his hands held out, as if he had never heard any suggestion like this before and was totally innocent, but Katie continued. ‘Cork Fantasy Girls purports to be a dating and escort and massage website, but you would have to be upstairs in a bungalow not to know what’s really on offer.
‘We also have first-hand evidence that you traffic in girls illegally from Eastern Europe and West Africa and that you confiscate any identity documents that they might happen to have to prevent them from leaving. We have evidence that you farm girls out to other pimps, especially girls you think are less attractive, or older women who have lost their looks. You run a cattle market, Mr Gerrety, that’s what you do. You and your Green Light! It’s a cattle market and you’re the auctioneer, and the only thing green about it is the money that’s pouring into your pockets.’
‘My client strongly objects to being bracketed with “other pimps”,’ put in James Moody.
‘I apologize,’ said Katie. ‘The trouble is, I don’t know of any other word that describes men who live off the profits of prostitution. Procurers, perhaps?’
James Moody ignored that. He dragged out a handkerchief and wiped his mouth, and then he said, ‘Of course, we’re aware of the majority of your so-called evidence against my client already, since it was itemized in the thirty-nine charges that for some reason the Garda saw fit to bring against him. But he believes very strongly that public and political opinion is in favour of his Green Light campaign and that it is time for Irish law to catch up with the times. Besides that, he doesn’t see that by posting advertisements for these young women’s companionship on his website that he is in any way contravening the Criminal Justice Act 1994. If their clients happen to have sexual relationships with them, it is hardly
his
responsibility, is it?
‘You must be aware that Canada’s supreme court has unanimously struck down the country’s anti-prostitution laws in their entirety, including keeping a brothel, living off the avails of prostitution, and even street soliciting. They did it because sex workers were seeking safer conditions. A similar ruling is bound to happen here in the Republic, in the not too distant future. Perhaps this case will be the catalyst for such a ruling.’
Michael Gerrety stood up again and walked towards the window. As he looked down at the passers-by in the street below, he reminded Katie of Orson Welles in
The Third Man
, looking at the people down below him from the top of the Vienna Ferris wheel. ‘
Would you really feel any pity if one of those dots stopped moving forever?
’
‘I fully understand that it’s your duty to uphold the law, superintendent,’ he said, without turning to look at her. ‘But certain laws have been rendered obsolete by technological advances like the internet, and even more so by the rapid changes in our moral attitudes.
‘We are
kinder
towards each other these days, more tolerant. We are much more understanding that we all have needs, both physical and psychological. It’s over a decade now since gay sex was decriminalized in Ireland. Surely it’s time that we accepted that everybody has God-given desires that need to be satisfied, but that some of us have no partner we can satisfy them with.
‘If a man is prepared to pay for sex with a woman, and a woman is prepared to sell herself to him, where is the harm? The only harm comes when such a transaction is illegal and has to be carried out clandestinely, which leaves the woman unprotected against sexually transmitted diseases or unwanted pregnancy or random violence. Worse than that, it means that sex workers are ruthlessly exploited by the vilest kind of low life and become entangled with all kinds of sordid criminality, such as drug-running and slavery. Sex should be a natural and healthy form of commerce, no less natural and healthy than the restaurant business, for example. Restaurants satisfy a natural hunger in return for money. Is that immoral? What’s the difference between serving up a pork chop and prostitution?’
‘Very eloquent, Mr Gerrety,’ said Katie. ‘Is that the closing speech that you’ve prepared for your defence?’
‘How many of the women on your website are addicted to hard drugs?’ asked Detective Sergeant ó Nuallán, in that flat, toneless voice that had earned her the nickname of Sergeant O’Polygraph.
‘Don’t answer that, Michael,’ said James Moody, immediately, without even looking up from his notes.
‘How many of the women on your website are illegal immigrants?’ Detective Sergeant ó Nuallán persisted.
James Moody shook his head at Michael Gerrety and Michael Gerrety said nothing, although he kept on smiling.
‘Of those women who are illegal immigrants, how many of their passports or other identity papers are you holding?’
‘My client declines to answer that,’ said James Moody.
‘How many of them owe you money or believe they owe you money?’
‘My client declines to answer that, too, and I strongly object to this line of questioning. These women are not my client’s personal responsibility and you cannot hold him liable for any addictions they might have or for their status as foreign nationals. It was my understanding that we were meeting here today to come to some broad agreement about these thirty-nine extremely shaky charges of living off immoral earnings.’
Katie said, ‘We are, yes. If your client agrees to all of the conditions that I listed at the beginning of our discussion, then I’m prepared to go back to the DPP and tell her that we’re prepared to suspend all charges against him, provided he complies with them and undertakes that he will continue to comply with them in the future.’
‘You’re asking far too much, detective superintendent,’ said James Moody. ‘Essentially, you’re expecting my client to admit without due process of trial that he has committed an offence and to accept punishment by surrendering a very substantial amount of his assets to the CAB. You’re also asking him to abandon a campaign for human rights in which he fervently believes.’
Michael Gerrety sat down and folded his arms. ‘I will fight you on this one, believe me. Not for myself, but for all of those women who rely on me for safer working conditions. I treat my sex workers like royalty. I will fight you, and you just watch me – I will win, because I
always
win.’
Katie stowed her document wallet back into her briefcase, clipped it shut, and stood up. ‘In that case, gentlemen, I have nothing more to say to you. The DPP will be in touch with you in due course, I’m sure.’
As James Moody opened the door for her, however, she stopped and said, ‘Mr Gerrety, there
is
one thing I was meaning to ask you.’
‘Not for a date, I should imagine,’ smiled Michael Gerrety.
‘Oh, I would, yeah. Do you think I’m a masochist? It’s that African friend of yours I wanted to ask you about – the one who wears the purple suit. When was the last time you saw him?’
Michael Gerrety kept on smiling, but Katie could see that all of the amusement had drained out of his expression. ‘I have no idea at all who you’re talking about.’
‘Oh well, don’t worry about it. They say that the camera never lies, don’t they? But in this case perhaps the camera was a bit guzz-eyed. We’ll see you in court.’
‘What camera?
What
camera?’ asked Michael Gerrety, but Katie walked off along the corridor without answering him, and without looking back.
They had been given a lift to James Moody’s office by Detective O’Donovan, but Katie chose to walk back to Anglesea Street because the afternoon was so sunny and bright and she needed to calm down. Michael Gerrety always made her feel like grinding her teeth. She wanted to text John, too, to tell him that she shouldn’t be late home tonight, and that she had bought a lamb stew dinner for two from Marks & Spencer’s. He had frozen the Mexican-style meatballs.
As they walked back along South Mall, Detective Sergeant ó Nuallán said, ‘I was reading through the files on Michael Gerrety this morning.’
‘Oh yes?’ said Katie, jabbing away at her iPhone.
‘Almost all of the evidence against him comes from the women who work in his brothels or rely on his website. No wonder he’s so cocksure.’
Katie finished her message to John with a row of XXXs and dropped her iPhone back in her pocket. ‘You’re right, of course. That’s exactly why we’ve been planning Operation Rocker. Gerrety is smooth enough to persuade a jury that he only has the women’s best interests at heart. And like you say, we have plenty of witness statements, but most of them come from women who depend on him in one way or another.’
‘Couldn’t we have waited until we had more material evidence before we charged him?’
‘Well, I wanted to. But Dermot O’Driscoll was dead set on charging him as soon as we had witness statements. He’s been burning to nail Michael Gerrety for years, like it’s almost been a holy crusade. Maybe he suspected that he wasn’t well, and wanted to see Gerrety convicted before he had to quit.’
‘I don’t think it’s going to be at all easy to get a conviction with what we have so far,’ said Detective Sergeant ó Nuallán. ‘Like, some of the statements of drug abuse and beatings are pretty damning, aren’t they? But now I’ve met Gerrety … Jesus. He’s a cute hoor, isn’t he?’
‘And then some,’ said Katie. ‘He may come on all saintly, but he won’t hesitate for a moment to send his scobes around to threaten any of those women who have spoken out against him. No – we need much more hard evidence, even Dermot recognizes that. We need medical reports on how many of the women who work for him are addicted to drugs, and how many of them rely on him for a regular fix. We also need independent witnesses to say how many of those women he’s coercing in other ways to act as prostitutes. We need to be sure how many of them are illegal immigrants, who he should have reported to the Immigration Bureau. How many of them don’t even speak English, for instance? How many of them have passports or ID papers, and how many of them have had their papers taken off them? I’ll bet you money that Operation Rocker will find their papers in Gerrety’s safe at Amber’s – or maybe even James Moody’s safe. Now, that really
would
make my day!’