‘We will run out of units to sell because the schools like them, so we keep some for local people. And our supplier, he found a batch in south Korea, a thousand units second hand but verified – sale or return, so I bought the consignment.

  ‘Each unit costs us one hundred and seventy-five pounds, and they look like new - we can sell for three hundred or more, or rent them to schools. One dead unit in forty, so not so bad. And we now sell them to the loans company, very popular they are.’

  ‘If you find other batches like that then buy them, yes, we can do schools all over the country. How’s the cash flow?’

  ‘We take in more than three hundred thousand a month in rentals, plus direct sales plus consumables, so the cash flow is good,’ Lucas pointed out.

  Chris put in, ‘We sell a shit load of printer cartridges now, but they have to buy a batch of ten boxed up.’

  ‘You got games consoles for the loans people…’

  ‘Yes,’ Lucas replied. ‘And now a second batch, a better console, and we make some money on them. But the loans company, they grow quick now - word of mouth, and the number of people in the club doubles every three months almost, the call centre getting more staff.

  ‘But I put twenty games consoles in the second hand shop here and they go very quick, so we will put more in there.’

  ‘No trouble with the police yet?’ I asked.

  ‘Some idiots want to sell us units with no paperwork, so we send them away. We don’t need to buy and sell local.’

  I nodded. ‘Any more trouble in the call centre with damaged computers?’

  ‘That girl was charged by the police, and the insurance pays them so they don’t lose anything, and we have their old computers fixed, so they can have them cheap when they need them.’

  ‘Have you been to Swindon?’ I asked Lucas.

  ‘Yes, with Chris and others, a few times. They are busy.’

  ‘I’ll go see them this week if I can.’

  ‘You will take legal action against this newspaper?’ Lucas asked me.

  ‘Maybe, but they’ve already been made to look like idiots.’

  Chris told me, ‘Some newspaper in Egypt says that you staged it with the Vatican, a false miracle.’

  ‘I can imagine a few around the world not wanting the Vatican to look good out of it, but … I want the Vatican to help me with my new charity there.’

  Lucas noted, ‘More money in your British charity they say, millions.’

  I nodded. ‘The government will assist me it seems, a soft prison here run my G4S under license, a hundred cells at most, short stays for the local idiots.’

  Chris put in, ‘A few idiots I can think of. Saturday night can be a bit bloody in the High Street here.’

  I told him, ‘Idea is that the idiot fighting in the High Street gets five days or so, each time he gets charged. They’ll soon get fed up of time inside.

  ‘And when they’re ready to be released - and they’re homeless, we’ll have rooms for them and some work. Magistrate can order them to attend, not to wander the streets causing trouble.

  ‘And if they’re on drugs we can say that they’re unwell and can’t be released yet, some rehab for them, some food and sleep and … a lack of drugs to take.

  ‘Aim is to grab all the homeless, and if a homeless man sits in a shop doorway then the police grab him in five minutes and bring him to us in Grafton Road with a 24hrs watch order – or something like that.

  ‘And we can have our own vans and go collect people, save the police doing it every hour. I’d have the van go around at midnight each night and grab them all off the streets, whether they like that or not.’

  Lucas noted, ‘In Sweden, no one sleeping in a shop doorway. Here I see them everywhere.’

  ‘Thatcher’s legacy,’ I sighed out. ‘Care In The Community, they called it.’

  Chris scoffed, ‘What fucking care, eh? Freezing to death on the streets.’

  Back at home, and David Hutton arrived with Bill, papers in hand, and we sat around the kitchen table.

  David had forms for me to sign, my agreement as one of the charity’s executors to spend money on a variety of things, from the pensioners to the women’s refuge.

  David also had the spending analysis on injustice cases around the UK, and now he was funding cases far and wide, not just locally to Leicester. He had a few cases of bad police corruption for me to look at, and to plan radio shows on.

  He also had the latest drawings for our planned three-phase nursing home, and we pored over them, things discussed – as to what a pensioner in ill health might need, might want, or might desire if they had the money.

  There were no major alterations as far as I could see, but I wanted a few spare office rooms and storerooms available in each section, so they would be added in, as well as wooden fishing platforms for those pensioners that enjoyed a bit of fishing when the British weather allowed.

  The owners of the land were keen to sell, the land’s exact extent mapped out for us, and David would email Rolf to get the purchase finalised, a letter of intent already sent to the owners and to the local council.

  Bill had the specs for the hotel, as well as an artist’s drawing of a typical room and the downstairs café. The rooms would be basic but nice, the corridors would have plenty of light 24hrs a day, and the café would be able to seat up to sixty people at a time.

  Adjacent to the café on the ground floor would be an advice centre, as well as a shop unit rented out - some income for us. Each hotel room would be self-contained, no need for any communal areas, and there was a coin-operated launderette next to the hotel anyhow.

  Each room would have a small kitchen area, kettle and microwave as standard, a microwave that was chained to the wall and could not be stolen. There would also be a small fridge.

  The rooms were not supposed to be comfy, this place was a stop-gap as people got their lives back on track, their stays here limited in duration. And if someone here behaved well they could get an apartment just 300yards away.

  They would also be able to work at the new place on Grafton Road, some money earned, no CV required when applying for a job; being unqualified, scruffily dressed and smelling bad being a definite advantage in the job application process.

  If a candidate looked like he had been sleeping in a pile of shit for a month then he would be taken on, so long as he could stay awake for more than an hour at a time. And workers here would get a free lunch, cups of coffee and chocolate to aid in our desire for them to stay awake more than an hour at a time.

  Workers would be paid cash-in-hand less tax, the local council appraised of payments made in case the same person applied for benefits. Housing benefits were OK for low income workers, jobseekers benefits were not since the people in question were not seeking a job just dosing off to sleep as they pretended to work for us.

  Our architect had drawn-up a sketch of what the office block might look like when retro-fitted with apartments, rather rooms than apartments, since this would be a short-stay facility.

  The building could hold sixty rooms, allowing for leisure areas, a canteen, a medical area, a classroom even, and an area with treadmills, our druggies to be encouraged to get some exercise.

  They would have a regime of good food, plenty of sleep and some exercise forced upon them, or at least they would be nudged towards it - with varying degrees of success anticipated.

  After two hours of discussion, plans made, we would now move ahead and buy the land and buildings, hoping that a license would be finally granted. Problem was that the council would need to inspect the place when ready, not look at a drawing.

  Sat behind my computer that night, the dust blown off the screen, I found a great many emails. Not many people knew of this email address, but enough of my group of friends, staff, and associates did.

  I found emails from Lucas, weekly status reports, emails from Evergreen, from the manager in Swindon, from my old customers in Essex and Watford, and a million “Get well soon” type of messages.

  The oldest email was from Rita, asking that I respond if I could, spelt badly and typed in a hurry. I took a quiet moment to consider the pain she had gone through at the time, thinking that myself and Rolf had been killed.

  I found an email from the Cabinet Office as well, a nice gesture, one from Tony Blair and wife, one from Michelle in Corsica, a few from our agents in America and the chat show team.

  I created a generic email response, and I cut and pasted it into a hundred emails, a simple thank-you plus “I’d say more but I’m catching up on a million emails”.

  Amongst the recent emails was one from Cardinal Armani himself, details of the proposed new charity and how it might work. I read it carefully, twice, and sent him my ideas.

  An email from Jenny was responded to with, “After next week I’m free and should be able to walk. No stunts on set please.”

  The Dortmons had sent me an email so I typed a nice email back, to make it look like I had taken my time with it.

  The emails from Trish I scanned, the financial ones forwarded to my accountant since I would soon have to sit down and do my accounts with him.

  Trish kept good records, and she had a spreadsheet that detailed everything from day one, so that was handy for my accountant. On the less-than-handy side of the equation were all my cash payments for the investigation of Roger Pearson, but I would not be claiming tax relief for them anyhow.

  My dividends from our Swedish company were easy to spot and to itemise, and I would need to account for early payments made into my personal bank account after I left school last year. I would also have to factor in my salary and commissions whilst working for my uncle, less car usage and gifts in kind from anyone.

  I sent my uncle an email, asking that he prepare it all ready, then I called Julie.

  ‘You back?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah, first day back. You quit your job…’

  ‘Your uncle is a dick anyhow, and I make more money teaching.’

  ‘Did you tell them that I agreed it?’ I complained.

  ‘Well, I may have stretched that one a bit, but I knew you’d let me move over.’

  ‘They replaced you with an old frump, no cleavage,’ I told her.

  ‘Good, she won’t distract the young lads.’

  ‘As you distracted me…’

  ‘I taught you a thing or two,’ she insisted.

  ‘Yes, the kinds of things that my mother would have rather you not teach me.’

  ‘How’s Carter?’

  ‘In London, being poked and prodded, then he can quit and spend the million quid that the airline handed him.’

  ‘Million quid? I’d rub his back for him.’

  ‘Call him, and suggest that, you’d get yourself a free holiday, and the fact is … he needs someone to talk to.’

  Do the rounds

  In the morning, I headed up to Derby with Bonza in the back of the car, the two of us being driven by Trev, the gossip caught up on – and when would he be getting married. I asked if he would house sit, but he was thinking of buying a place, an investment for the future – which I commended him for.

  In our Derby insurance giant’s offices the staff were all shocked to see me, the bosses welcoming me into the board room as Bonza had a look at a few computers, Trev sat in a corner staring out the window.

  The bosses wanted all the gossip, not least secret rooms in the Vatican, and how much of a pay-out did I get. The business side of things were fine, there were no issues, and forty minutes later I left a happy bunch of customers, stopping to pose for snaps.

  And I had agreed to do an advert for them at a good price; a good price for me.

  Across town, we walked into the training centre that bore my name, the girl on reception almost fainting. Upstairs I interrupted a class on spreadsheets, the aging students all keen to pose with me for a snap or two.

  I spoke with the lady boss as Bonza spoke to the trainers, and business for her was good now, our huge insurance client sending their staff here, many local companies also sending their staff.

  Collecting Bonza, we drove south talking about the hotel in Corsica since he wanted to impress his lady with a visit there. I would get him a free room.

  Back in Leicester we headed to the call centre, the staff all shocked to see me, despite all my previous visits here. I could hear one lady talking to a customer, and telling that customer that “Roskov” had just walked in.

  In with the bosses, tea made as Bonza had a look at a stubborn computer, they described a thriving call centre.

  The MD then told me, ‘The loans business is growing so fast it could overtake this place for turnover.’

  ‘If this place handles all the calls … then great, we work for ourselves. Better that way.’

  ‘The loans-club idea is working very well, not many defaulters, and we’re selling computers like hot cakes, a six month or twelve month payment plans.’

  ‘They haven’t used my name yet?’ I asked.

  ‘No, they’re damn worried about that, so for now it’s hush-hush.’

  ‘I can get them more cash, if they want to go national,’ I offered.

  ‘Rate that they’re growing they’ll be national soon anyhow, and it’s all word of mouth, and we’re already kind of national - we have people in Scotland and Cornwall. We’re doubling turnover every three months.’

  ‘Most clients still in the Midlands?’

  ‘Yes, just because we advertised here to start with.’

  At 2pm I set off northwest with Trev, a journey to Manchester that might take two hours depending on the traffic, but the traffic was light and there were no accidents. If we had a traffic jam device in the car it would have been helpful yet redundant on this trip.

  Skirting Manchester city centre, we made it to the new Docklands area in good time, waterways and high-rise blocks seen, although we were a long way from the ocean. Manchester still had a ship canal, little use for it these days, but building trendy apartments overlooking the canal was big business these days, as with London Docklands.

  Parked, we passed through a security barrier, my face opening the barrier as if by magic, and we took the lift up, the other lift passengers a little shocked to see me.

  On floor ten we found a reception committee that led us to a boardroom, the company board assembled, and the introductions started – not that I could remember them all.

  Settled, Trev sat in a corner and watching out for deadly assassins and nice girls with some cleavage in equal measure, I began, ‘What I want to achieve here, and what my investors want – the guys with sixty million quid to spend – are two separate things. I want to help British drivers and to help the British economy, they want to make some money.

  ‘But the two desires intersect with the planned new system, since many drivers will buy the devices and sign-up for the service and thereby make us all some money, and those drivers will also avoid snarl-ups on the motorway – helping the economy by not being sat in a traffic jam.

  ‘I have a good working relationship with the current Prime Minister, as well as Tony Blair, so either way I hope to get some support since I want the project to cover the entire UK, not just the north.

  ‘How I see that working … is that your existing call centre changes to be a private company all on its own, paid by us, semi-independent, and that the government ends up owning forty percent of the shares.

  ‘That way the government is involved, that way they give the police a nudge, and we’d cooperate with the various regional police services so that when a nasty accident is reported we get the detail straight away.

  ‘If the police tell us that it’s a ten car pile-up with six fatalities … you can be damn sure that it will take ten hours to clear - because of the fatalities.

  ‘If your drivers see a tail back they report a tail back, no knowledge of what’s happening up ahead. There’s then the weather issues in the winter, with the police reporting black ice, and local council gritting machines in use.

  ‘We then give something back to the police, because they would have ten officers camped-out in our call centre, and when one of our registered drivers reports a car on fire and people killed the police get that detail very quickly.

  ‘And by registered users, what I mean is someone who drives a great deal for their job; lorry driver, courier, salesman. They register with us, we check them out, they have a scorecard of reports and accuracy, and they get the system free of charge.

  ‘They have a mobile on the dashboard, hands-free, they hit a recall button and give the report. That report is then checked with other drivers before an alert is given.

  ‘That alert … has to be clever, but also configured. So let’s say that you have a truck leaving now and it’s heading to Dover. The system reports that the M42 is blocked, M25 blocked, so the driver stops, calls you and asks for a route to be planned, an alternate route.

  ‘That alternate route plan … needs to be in effect before he gets anywhere near the M42, so the system has to be able to accept parameters, but that a local salesman has only a thirty mile radius on his GPS.

  ‘Your truckers’ devices would have a two hundred miles radius, but in an ideal world we want to be able to tell the system what roads your truck plans to take, and it warns you accordingly.

  ‘We don’t want a warning on the M6 issued to a driver who’s on the M1 heading south, so we need to be selective. By default, you could just say forty miles, and that would warn of motorway snarl-ups ahead, but would also warn of nearby “A” road snarl-ups, which is a waste of time.

  ‘A local salesman wants that “A” road information, your trucks don’t until they get off the motorway and start to use those “A” roads, so we need a clever and selective system, and my investors don’t care how long it takes, we want it right, and to benefit all drivers.

  ‘So at some point the device in the car or in a lorry will be programmed by the user with a planned journey, a region, a preference about distances to a crash warning given.

  ‘That means a two way system, which is way more complicated than what you guys are currently considering, but ten years from now it will be there and working, that’s inevitable, computer technology and mobile phones getting more and more clever.