Nemesis - Constance

"I'm sorry?"

"There are CCTV camera's on all the stations nowadays my friend. Virtually unimpeachable when an alibi is required."

-----

I didn't recognise the phone number that my tail was supposed to call. It was a mobile number anyway, so it would probably lead nowhere even if I'd tried to trace it.

The following evening after travelling one station north I switched to a southbound train, and was joined by my new friend one station down the line from where I'd begun my journey. He informed that the youngster had watched my northbound train go out, and then left the station, presumably to get an early night.

I saw no sign of the two large dark shapes I'd passed in the ally the previous evening, and my new friend didn't mention them.

We obviously discussed what I might discover when I got to my house, and what we would do if no one proved to be home.

My wife hadn't mentioned that she was going out, so we figured that she was expecting company at home. Well, there was always the chance that I'd call for a chat later in the evening. I had done that already once that week and on reflection my wife had sounded just a little... distracted.

She had admitted to me that she was in the middle of a TV program and that she had muted the sound on, when the telephone rang, and that she was trying to follow the program via the TV's subtitle feature. Constance always did follow those stupid soap programs on the telly, so I'd accepted her explanation at the time.

By then I wasn't so sure. Actually I was racking my brain trying to recall what else I'd heard in the background during the call. Some half heard sound was bugging me and a couple of times I had thought that maybe Constance had put her hand over the microphone. She'd also giggled at one point in our conversation, but I'd assumed that she was laughing at something in her soap.

I looked around, but just the two of us alighted from the train at my home station. My new friend must have noticed.

"Don't worry, they're here already. They came down by car earlier."

As we began walking towards my house, my companion began to talk to himself. For a few seconds I thought he'd lost his marbles, and then I realise he had one of those Blue Tooth do-what's-it's in his ear. He was obviously talking to the two dark shadows.

He informed me that we'd better hold up somewhere for a while. Constance was still alone, but she was expecting someone.

When I enquired how he was so sure. He told me that she'd opened the integral garage's door about five minutes ago and moved our car out into the street.

"Looks like her visitor intends to stay all night." He commented.

We wasted a little time looking in shop windows in the town precinct where we couldn't be seen from the road, until my companion was informed that the game was on. Then we made for my house.

My companion stopped me from charging in like the proverbial bull in a china shop. He pointed out that tonight probably wasn't the first night Constance had had a visitor, so there was little point in closing the stable door after the horse had bolted. We needed to give them enough time to get well and truly into, whatever they were going to get into. So that we could get the evidence I would need when it came to a court battle.

My companion obviously had more experience than I in these matters, so I took his advice. We hung around in the back garden for about twenty minutes before my impatience got the better of me; then I sneaked up to the rear lounge window. Luckily those curtains, that Constance had been so pleased to find, had shrunk ever so slightly when she'd washed them. I'd never got around to getting the steps out again and adjusting the ruffle cord so they completely closed together in the middle.

I really would never have thought Constance was capable of it. She was stark naked and kneeling between the legs of and equally naked Tony Copland. He was one of our Local Council Members no less, and his party's prospective parliamentary candidate for the next general election. Our sitting MP had already announced that he was intending to retire.

Quite obviously Constance was performing the act that a certain ex-President of the United States had described as "Not having sexual relations." I somewhat disagreed!

The only way I knew that the tosser was called Tony Copland by the way, was because Constance had been delivering circulars for his political party before the last local elections. Constance wasn't a party stalwart or anything, but she had inexplicably become involved in the last local election campaign.

Ever since, I've wondered whether Constance's affair with Copland, evolved out of her work for the party during that election or whether her sudden interest in local politics and the election was a result of her and Copland's affair. I have to accept that's probably a question I'll never learn the answer to.

I suppose I was still pondering that question, when my companion pulled me away from the window. The last glimpse I got was of Constance's head going up and down. Copland had both his hands entangled in her hair, for encouragement I suppose. For obvious reasons I was having a little difficulty controlling my temper. But to be honest with you and what made it worse for me, was that Constance had always claimed that the mere thought of oral sex, made her feel ill.

When we were well clear of the house, my companion handed me a small video camera, complete with a lanyard to put around my neck. He explained that when we got in the house I was to keep the camera pointing at Copland and Constance as long as possible. But should Copland go to attack me, I should just release the camera and defend myself. He reminded me that the camera would continue recording, even if it were just hanging from the lanyard. And that whatever I said or did, once we got inside the house, I was under no circumstances to make threats of physical violence against either of the perpetrators.

"If he comes at you, you crack the buggers head open for all I care, but don't raise a hand to him first. I'll have this camera trained on you all the time to prove that you haven't attacked him and I'll try to keep this one on both of them all the time as well."

"Two cameras?" I asked.

"Yeah, it's my business, selling video cameras wholesale. Didn't I tell you?"

"You've told me nothing about yourself. I don't even know your name!"

"Probably better that way, if you decide you want the boys to do the business later on."

-----

After sneaking into the garage, and slowly letting all of Copland's car tyres down, we passed on through the fire door and into the kitchen. From there we could actually see -- and record -- what was going on in the lounge, where Copland was by then returning the favour to Constance.

It took all of self-control assisted companion's influence to prevent myself from dashing into the room and using my right boot to ensure Copland would be singing Alto from that day forward, or would it be Castrato? Whatever, my helpful friend persuaded me that neither the right boot nor the carving knife from the rack in the kitchen, would be conducive to my own long term well-being. He suggest that HMG's extended holiday homes are places you visit, not establishments you'd wish to be incarcerated within for ten or fifteen years.

How the hell Constance never saw us standing there, recording the scene, I just don't understand.

Then Copland seemed to tire of his labour and climbed up to mount Constance, even though she did object by saying that he hadn't got her off yet. Personally, on reflection of course, I thought that was damned unsporting of the fellow.

Copland said something to Constance about not being able to contain himself any longer and started humping away for all he was worth.

Somewhat oddly, I thought, Constance told him to take it easy, and kind of inferred that he hurt her when he went at it like that. Their conversation didn't really make very much sense because Copland interspersed almost every word he spoke with the two words "Fucking bitch" while Constance kept repeating "Oh fuck!"

I'd never heard Constance use profanities in all the years I'd known her. Usually when we made love she'd repeatedly chant "Oh my god!" I'd always taken that as a compliment, perhaps I'd been mistaken.

Copland was going at it for several minutes when a mobile phone that was laying on the coffee table began to ring. This caused him to halt screwing Constance for a second, and look at the ringing telephone. After a moments thought he rolled over along the sofa pulling Constance with him so that she was on top and told her to fuck him as he picked up the still ringing phone.

Constance -- much to my surprise -- obliged and began to slowly move herself up and down. Actually I should imagine that Constance was happier to be on top; manys' the time she'd performed in the same manner above me. However I could never recall having to drag her into position so... uncaringly.

The odd thing was that by then Constance was looking into the mirror on the wall behind our sofa, and not far short of staring into my companion and my eyes in our reflections in the bloody thing. God alone knows where her mind was.

Copland put the phone to his ear and said "Hello!"

Then things began to get comical. I of course could only hear one side of the conversation. What the caller was saying to him I have no real idea. But I kinda got the gist of it.

"How did you get this number?" Copland demanded.

"No, I have nothing I wish to make a statement to any newspaper about!"

"How dare you young man? I'm..."

"If you make accusations like that in your newspaper young man, I'll have your damned job for you!"

Constance had stopped her gyrations and was looking down at Copland. She must have sensed something in his tone. Or maybe what the reporter had said to him had suddenly put Copland out of the mood for sex and that had had repercussions for a particular part of his anatomy.

"Now you look here! I'm visiting a local resident on official council business. It's part of my duties as a councillor to assist..."

"That's none of your business, young man. Her husband is well aware that I am here this evening."

At this point in Copland's telephone conversation, Constance's eyes suddenly snapped back to the mirror on the wall, and an expression of horror came over her face.

"Steve. Oh god no! Steve!" She wailed at the top of her voice.

Constance's sudden wail took Copland by surprise and he looked up at her. I can only assume he realised she was staring at something reflected in the mirror, because he moved his upper body to one side so that he could see my companion and me.

Now there isn't many times in my life that I've seen real fear in somebody's eyes. But I saw fear in Copland's eyes that night.

You know, I don't know whether he disconnected the mobile phone call or not. I do know that in his panic he shoved Constance off himself with such violence that she fell to the floor, smashing the coffee table with her head in the process and briefly knocking her unconscious.

I have to say that I've never seen anyone get into a pair of strides back on so quickly. Then Copland located his jacket and threw that on.

My companion used his shoulder to push me further into the lounge as we continued to film Copland in his rush to leave the house. I realised later, that my companion had moved us out of the kitchen doorway to clear Copland's escape route to the garage where his car was parked.

Shoes in one hand and underclothes in the other Copland rushed past us out into the garage. I shortly heard him shout. "You bastards!"

In the meantime my Companion had told me to check out Constance -- but at the same time warned my to keep my camera trained on her -- while he followed Copland.

I assumed from Copland's shout that he'd discovered that his car had four flat tyres. Whatever, I heard the garage roller door open and him attempting to drive away.

I was by that time over with the just regaining consciousness Constance who having come to her senses, sat up, looked me in the eye and then promptly fainted. Giving her head another nasty clout on the floor in the process. From my perspective Constance did not appear to be having a very good evening of it.

I figured that I'd better call for medical assistance for Constance, so -- still keeping the camera trained on Constance's nude body -- I moved over to our land line and dialled three nines. Only to be told that an ambulance and the police were already on their way. Indeed, I could hear the sirens before I'd put the telephone receiver down.

Rather odd really, I was still standing there filming the by then semi-conscious Constance when the paramedic rushed into the lounge.

"Time we left my friend?" My companion had returned and was gently urging me towards the door.

He also stuffed a pair of sunglasses on my nose and an oversized trilby on my head, which he pulled firmly down onto the sunglasses. I have no idea where he had procured either item and was somewhat surprised that he was now garbed in a similar manner himself.

I discovered why as we exited the house through the garage. A TV camera crew (local news I assumed) and several reporters were waiting to pounce. They threw questions too numerous to answer at us as my companion guided me to a waiting taxi. Some other stranger interjected himself between the newspaper people, my companion and myself and kept repeating, "My client has no statement to make at this time!"

As the taxi drove us to the railway station I looked across at my companion.

"What you told me, was it all bullshit?" I asked him.

"No, my wife stitched me up, much as I said. Her solicitor though... Well, he was a right arsehole; you just met him this evening.

"Copland?"

"Yep, Copland! Then last week a pal of mine who runs a PI business told me that a certain Tony Copland had got in touch and wanted you watched. Well, my friend didn't like the look of the job, it didn't make sense to him and Copland wouldn't explain what it was all about, so he turned the job down.

"But my friend, knowing the animosity I felt towards Copland, tipped me off about his desire to be informed if you showed any inclination to return home, unexpected like. Well, it was pretty obvious wasn't it; it didn't take a genius to put two and two together on what Copland's game was.

"Sorry about the press though, but I wanted to make sure Copland's political aspirations come to an abrupt end. Hopefully it won't do his legal business much good either. Actually once they get their claws in to bastard, I'm sure that the media will pretty quickly forget about you and your wife. There's a lot of more juicer muck in Copland's past for them to get their teeth into.

-----

We were on the train heading back north, when my companion informed me that Constance was in the local hospital. A hairline fracture of the skull, his contact thought.

Then he asked me if I wanted anything done to Copland when the police get finished with him.

I looked at him, the question in my eyes, and he explained that Copland had discovered that it's not easy to drive a car with four flat tyres and he'd crashed into at least three parked vehicle and ended up parked in a shop window. Copland had last been seen being carted off in the back of a police van.

My companion -- who was obviously still in contact with, and receiving messages from eyewitnesses back at the scene through his mobile phone -- was a little hazy about the exact reason Copland had been arrested. He just referred to it as a traffic violation. Seemed reasonable to me at the time. Driving a car with four flat tyres surely cannot be legal.

-----

Later, I gathered from TV and newspaper reports that Copland had panicked when -- as the roller door on the garage had gone up -- he'd seen the TV and press people gathered outside. He was standing in the garage in a state of undress and my companion was blocking Copland's access to the switch that would close the door again. So the panicking Copland had jumped into his vehicle and driven it away. Or should that be, he attempted to drive it away.

The brief description I read in the press said that his car had certainly moved along the road, but it had clipped the TV crew's van as it left my drive and numerous other parked vehicles as it went on along our street. Then, as Copland had tried to turn into the main road, he apparently collided with a passing truck. It would seem, that the collision with the bigger vehicle, had imparted Copland's car with the impetus it needed to imbed itself in a shop front.

What a shame our taxi had driven off in the other direction that night, I really would like to have seen the carnage first hand.

-----

During our journey my companion informed me that that evening was probably going to be the last time we met. But he also said that if everything went to plan I would hear from him sometime in the future. He apologised again for the unfortunate publicity, but said he had needed something spectacular that would set the dogs loose. It was many months before I realised what he was talking about; I'll get back to that later.

At one stage as our train crossed a bridge over a river, my companion threw the mobile phone he'd been using out of the window. Telling me that I would no longer be able to contact him via it and nobody else would either.

"Keep the video camera, I've got plenty more!" He grinned.

"What about the film in those two?"

"I'm sure you've got enough for what you need on the chip in that camera, Steve. I've got plans for the recordings in these, and I might need to stir the pot a little. But don't worry; your wife's face will be kept right out of the papers."

"Who gives a shit?" I said.

"You do my friend, and I'm sorry that it's going to happen. No man likes the idea that everybody knows that his wife was a slut who's been hanging-it on him for god knows how long. It doesn't do our ego much good my friend, I can assure you. That's human nature."

-----

My companion got off the train a couple of stops before I did. He shook my hand, apologised again for the publicity and for any other repercussions that might inadvertently come my way in the future. He assured me that he'd do his best to negate them, but didn't clarify what he thought might happen.

His last act was to give me a business card and tell it was the solicitor's, who'd been outside my house; he was a good man and could be trusted. I was to use him for my divorce, if I decided to go for one and for any other contingencies.

Then the train pulled out of the station and I was never to meet him personally again. But I was to hear from him in a round about way, and see his face again. But I'll tell you about that a little later.

-----

The night man on reception caught me as I entered my hotel and handed me a parcel marked urgent. I took it with me into the bar, where to be honest I was planning on having a skinful. Who wouldn't under the circumstances?

Ripping the brome paper from the parcel at the bar I discovered that it contained the manufacturers packaging for the little video camera that was now in my pocket and a printed note. In essence the note instructed me not to get drunk. I was to go to my room and make at least one copy of the file from the camera's memory card on my laptop, and preferable several others on any media I had handy. I also suggested that any copies I made and the original were not kept in the same place.

Downing the scotch and the chaser I'd ordered, I did as the note instructed placing one copy of the file on a DVD that I later took down and deposited in the hotels safe at the same time as I posted a second to my sister. I could only make the two extra copies because I only carry a couple of blank DVD's and CD's around in my laptop case.