A Place Of Safety (31 page)

The judge looked over his glasses and waited.

Lilly gulped back her distaste. Betraying a child was anathema to her.

‘My client has not been forthcoming.’

‘Please expand,’ said the judge.

‘She has been unable to answer my questions,’ said Lilly.

‘Because she doesn’t understand them?’

Lilly shook her head. ‘Because they are too painful.’

‘Is she from Kosovo?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Is she a refugee?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘How did she come to use the name Anna Duraku?’

Lilly sighed. ‘Your Honour, I don’t know.’

The judge removed his glasses and leaned forward.

‘Do you know anything at all, Miss Valentine?’

‘My client’s real name is Catalina Petrescu.’

‘And she would tell you nothing further?’ asked the judge.

‘No.’

The judge looked directly at Catalina. ‘This is most unhelpful.’

‘I am sorry,’ she said.

Jez rose to his feet. ‘Your Honour, I’m wondering if my friend feels that she must withdraw from the case.’

‘I’ll give you ten minutes to think about it,’ he said, and waltzed out of court.

‘What are you talking about?’ Lilly hissed.

Jez led Lilly into the corner. ‘It makes perfect sense, Lilly. You’ve been out of your depth from the start.’

‘So you’ve said.’

Jez waved away her anger. ‘This way you get to bow out gracefully and no one can criticise.’

Lilly glanced over at Catalina, engulfed in her prison dungarees.

‘You can’t help her,’ said Jez, and Lilly knew it was true.

Alexia hated libraries. It wasn’t the books that bothered her, it was the people. ‘The great unwashed’ her father called them, and he avoided places where there was any danger of interacting with the public. Strange then, that he had made so many millions publishing the rubbish they wanted to read. Of the hundreds of magazines and newspapers he published around the world not one of them had anything of importance to say.

She fingered a copy of the latest Booker Prize winner. ‘A quiet, beautiful novel,’ announced the blurb, ‘about the everyday life of a zoologist.’

Alexia yawned. Maybe she was more like her father than she wanted to believe.

‘Miss Dee.’

Alexia looked up at the woman she instantly recognised as Snow White. ‘We meet again,’ said Alexia.

Snow White walked past her until she found a private space between Large Print and British History. Alexia followed her.

‘I’ll get straight to the point.’ Alexia sensed this woman was not the type to waste time or words. ‘I want to interview the lawyer, Valentine.’

Snow White stood erect, chin up, shoulders back. ‘What makes you think I can help?’

‘You know her,’ said Alexia.

The other woman didn’t speak, but stood thinking, her face framed on all sides by titles on the Second World War.

‘Assuming I do know her, I still don’t see how I can help.’

‘You can introduce me,’ said Alexia. ‘She’d be more likely to trust me if she met me through one of her own.’

Snow White’s nostrils flared. ‘That woman and I have nothing in common.’

‘I still think it’s worth a try,’ said Alexia. ‘Imagine the impact a story like that will make.’

Snow White fixed Alexia with an icy glare. ‘Your fortune would be quite made.’

Alexia didn’t flinch. ‘And your cause would be headline news. Again.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Catalina.

They were back in her cell: the girl and Milo side by side on the bench, Lilly hovering above like an irritated wasp.

‘The prosecution, and probably the judge, think I should stand down from this case,’ she said.

‘And who will speak for Catalina?’ asked Milo.

Lilly threw up her arms. ‘I don’t know, another solicitor, someone she can work with.’

‘Another solicitor?’ Catalina looked horrified. ‘I told you before, I want you to do this for me.’

‘How can I, Catalina?’ shouted Lilly. ‘When you won’t tell me anything?’

Catalina began to cry. ‘I told you what happened in the park.’

Lilly sank to her knees and knelt at the weeping girl’s feet. The floor felt hard and rough through her trousers. As difficult as it had been for her, Catalina
had
told Lilly about the rape.

‘I trusted you,’ said Catalina. ‘Artan trusted you.’

Lilly gasped. Artan had come to her for help and she had let him down. Now Catalina was begging and here was Lilly trying to wriggle away again.

She put her arms around Catalina. ‘I will not let you down.’

‘Do you have instruction, Miss Valentine?’ asked the judge.

Lilly drew herself up to full height. ‘My client is adamant that she wishes me to continue representing her.’

Jez exhaled audibly beside her.

‘And you are comfortable with that?’ asked the judge.

Lilly shrugged. ‘It is what it is.’

‘How do you propose to defend your client if she will not give you the salient details?’

Lilly thought of the rape. How Catalina had struggled to give her account.

‘I know everything I need to know, Your Honour.’

‘Then you will have no objection if I list this case for trial immediately?’

Lilly felt as if she had been thumped in the stomach. ‘What?’

The judge’s gaze fixed her to the spot. ‘You said you have everything you need.’

Lilly fought to catch her breath. ‘I need more time, Your Honour.’

‘For what?’

Lilly floundered. ‘For one thing, I need to check my expert is available.’

‘My clerk has taken the liberty of contacting her,’ said the judge. ‘Dr Kadir is, as they say, good to go.’

Lilly looked at her client. What was she waiting for? Would the case be any stronger in a month’s or even six months’ time?

‘Fair enough, Your Honour.’

‘Monday it is then,’ said the judge, and rose to leave.

Jez leapt to his feet. ‘If I may interject, Your Honour?’

The judge turned and lifted a weary eyebrow.

‘The prosecution would be interested to know the defendant’s age,’ said Jez.

‘I am eighteen,’ said Catalina.

Lilly pushed her papers onto the floor. ‘Bloody hell.’

‘Why is this so important?’ asked Milo.

Jez rubbed his hands together with glee. ‘For one thing, the reporting restrictions no longer apply.’

Catalina rereads what she has written. It doesn’t feel like any of it happened to her, yet every word has been scratched down as if in her own blood.

The paper is nearly full. No matter. The story is almost finished.

Catalina opens one eye. The other is still swollen shut.

‘Emil,’ she whispers. ‘Are you awake?’

He nods his head then groans. His back is still brown with bruises.

They have both paid a high price for losing Nicolae.

She puts her finger to his lips and gestures to the door. Daniel and Gabi are in the kitchen with a third man.

‘The boy knows nothing,’ says Gabi, his voice blurred by vodka.

‘He could lead the police back here,’ says Daniel.

‘Rubbish,’ says Gabi. ‘He has no idea where we are.’

‘Make up your minds,’ says the third man. ‘I haven’t got all night.’

‘Those two are good little earners,’ says Gabi. ‘I don’t want to get rid of them.’

‘Easy come, easy go,’ says the third man.

‘He’s right,’ says Daniel. ‘And I don’t want to take any risks.’

‘Okay okay,’ says Gabi. ‘But I want a decent price for them.’

‘I’ll give you two hundred for the boy,’ says the third man.

‘What about the girl?’ asks Gabi.

‘My brother works a strip club in Luton, he’ll give you top dollar for her.’

‘She’s young,’ says Gabi.

The stranger barks with laughter. ‘He likes to break them in himself.’

Catalina and Emil look at one another. They both know there is nothing they can say to make it better; instead they cling together, oblivious to their bloody mouths and broken ribs.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Lilly was too exhausted to sleep. The weekend had passed in a storm of research and preparation, and Lilly had polished off a two-kilogram tin of Heroes.

This was the first criminal trial she had ever conducted in the Crown Court. It was at the Bailey. It was for murder.

At least things couldn’t get any worse.

Her mobile rang.

‘Hello Jack,’ she said. ‘How did you know I’d be awake?’

‘Call it a copper’s hunch.’

‘What are you up to at five in the morning?’

‘Watching the news,’ he said.

‘Why?’

‘Switch it on.’

She picked up the remote control and snapped on the TV. The Old Bailey was still in darkness, lit only by the orange glare of lampposts. At this time of the morning it should have been deserted, but it was already as busy as Harrods on Boxing Day. The press were out in force.

‘Shit.’

*  *  *

‘Time to get up, soft lad.’

Caz shines a torch in Luke’s eyes. ‘Move your arse.’

‘What?’

Caz pulls on her boots and scrambles out of the lean-to. It’s still dark. Not the usual gloom of the bridge, but night-time.

‘What time is it?’

‘Crack of sparrows,’ she says. ‘Five o’clock.’

Luke groans and lets himself flop back in his sleeping bag.

He used to have no trouble with early mornings at Manor Park and was always the first one out of bed in the boarding house. To be honest, he wanted to be first in the showers, before they got gunged up with pubic hair and plasters.

Today is different. Today he can hardly raise his head. No doubt the three cans of Special Brew he necked with a handful of jellies haven’t helped.

‘I’m not doing this for the good of my health,’ says Caz. ‘And I’m bleeding well not going on my own.’

‘Going where?’

Caz shakes her head. ‘Stop caning the frips and frills, they’re messing with your mind.’

Luke feels the criticism is a bit rich coming from someone who does as much gear as Caz, but he doesn’t want to fight.

‘We agreed last night to go down to the Black Cat and get what you’re owed.’

Luke vaguely remembers a conversation fuelled by strong lager and bravado. He struggles to his feet. ‘I don’t feel too good.’

‘All the more reason we need that money.’

When they get to the café the men are climbing into the vans. Luke catches the Ukrainian’s eye and nods. The man doesn’t acknowledge him.

Caz pushes Luke towards the woman with the yellow hair, which she has pinned back in an elastic band.

‘What do you want?’ She looks Luke up and down and wrinkles her nose. ‘I’ve got no work for the likes of you.’

Luke is nettled by her remark. ‘What do you mean “the likes of me”?’

‘I took a chance on you because you seemed like a nice lad, but you turn up to work off your head.’

‘My hand was hurting,’ says Luke.

‘My heart bleeds,’ she replies. ‘Now sling your hook.’

Luke turns to leave but Caz steps in front of him, her chin jutted towards the yellow-haired woman.

‘He doesn’t want your poxy job,’ she says. ‘He just wants his wages.’

The woman laughs. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’

‘I’m not even smiling,’ Caz replies. ‘He did four days’ work and he wants paying.’

The last man gets into the van and the woman slams the door behind him.

‘He was asleep for one of them.’

‘Alright,’ says Caz. ‘Three days.’

‘Listen to me,’ she hisses. ‘Your friend here nearly got us all nicked. He’s lucky to get out of this without a kicking.’

Caz stands her ground. ‘We just want what we’re due.’

The woman thumps the side of the van and it speeds off into the distance.

‘I had to pay off the foreman at the factory so I’m already out of pocket,’ she says. ‘So if I were you I’d crawl back under your stone.’

When they can hear snoring from the kitchen, Emil crawls from under the old coat.

‘What are you doing?’ Catalina whispers. If Daniel or Gabi catch them they’ll get another beating for sure.

‘We’re leaving,’ says Emil.

Catalina is petrified. ‘They’ll kill us.’

‘I’d rather that than what comes next.’

Catalina thinks for a moment. She is rooted to the spot with fear, yet she knows that first thing in the morning she will be taken away. She will never see Emil again.

She nods at him. They creep to the door and prise it open with their fingernails.

Daniel and Gabi are both slumped over the table, an empty bottle between them. Emil points at Daniel’s pocket. They know the door will be locked, and that is where he keeps the key.

Catalina slinks in his direction, her bare feet silent on the cold tiles. Gabi lets out a fart and shifts in his chair. Catalina holds her breath, afraid even to move her chest.

When his breathing is even again she slides her hand towards Daniel’s pocket. As she slips her fingers in she looks at Emil. He smiles at her. This is it.

She can feel the hard smoothness of coins, a Zippo lighter and a phone. Where is the key? She presses further until she is at the pocket seam. She traces the rough ridge until she finds a hole. The key must have slipped into the lining.

Like a worm burrowing into an apple, her finger searches. At last she can feel metal. She has the key.

She extracts it from the pocket and holds it up for Emil to see. He gives her a silent round of applause.

She takes one step away from Daniel and then a hand grabs her waist.

‘What are you doing?’

Catalina looks down into his face, ugly with anger, saliva still dripping down his chin. His hand around her waist is hurting, digging through her skin.

She shakes in terror. He’s going to kill her.

She waits for the fist to break open her skull, but it is Emil’s hand that darts through the air. He grabs the bottle from the table and brings it crashing down on Daniel’s head. There is a smash, a scream, and the air is filled with glass and blood. Daniel falls to the floor.

Gabi wakes with a start. He sees his brother bleeding and his face contorts. ‘You little bastards.’

He flies at Catalina. ‘Emil,’ she screams. ‘Emil!’

Once again the air is filled with glass and blood, as her friend drives the broken bottle into Gabi’s face.

For a second Catalina watches in horror as Gabi whirls around, his eyes gouged, his cheeks ripped.

‘The key,’ shouts Emil, and they race to the door. Catalina undoes the lock and throws herself into the cold night air. They run and run and run. They don’t stop until daylight breaks.

The guard opens the cell. ‘Ready?’

Catalina nods. She has packed her things in a transparent plastic sack.

Calm, calm, calm.

Lilly breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth. Who had suggested this yoga crap? It didn’t work.

She lugged her papers up the escalator at St Paul’s and headed to court. Her breath crystallised in front of her face in the chill.

Her mobile rang. Caller ID told her it was David.

‘I really don’t need an argument right now,’ she said.

‘Have you seen the news?’

She rounded the corner to Old Bailey. ‘I think I’m just about to become the news.’

The pavement was crowded with journalists and photographers and cameramen. When they saw Lilly they began shouting and screaming.

‘Miss Valentine, can you confirm your client will offer a plea of insanity?’

‘Is it true she’s currently being held in a mental institution?’

‘Bloody hell, Lilly, I can see you on the telly,’ said David.

‘At least I’m wearing my good coat,’ Lilly replied.

A man with a sound boom pushed it into her face. ‘Is it true she was removed from your custody because she threatened your son?’

Lilly shielded her eyes from the barrage of flashes and pushed her way into court.

‘This is serious, Lilly,’ said David. ‘Even they think she was a danger to Sam.’

‘You never did have a sense of humour, did you?’ she said.

‘And that’s my point,’ he said.

Lilly shrugged off her coat and jacket as she prepared to go through security. ‘So you do have one then? You didn’t call to wish me luck?’

‘My point is you laugh everything off when you need to consider things properly,’ he said.

Lilly sighed. ‘Can we not do this again, please?’

‘Look at that lot outside court and tell me I’m wrong,’ he said. ‘Tell me honestly that Sam wouldn’t be better with me right now.’

Lilly turned her head towards the crowd waiting outside and a hundred cameras clicked and whirred.

‘If I don’t agree you’ll take me to court, won’t you?’

‘You know I will.’

Alexia stamped her feet against the cold.

She’d arrived at 6 a.m. and was nowhere near one of the first. She wasn’t sure what she was doing there really. Every television network and radio station had the trial covered. Every national had sent a staffer. There would be no need to buy anything from a freelance reporter. And it would all be pushed to page three or four. What an absolute waste.

She’d hoped she might sneak in and get a chat with Mark, but the press were being kept strictly out of the body of the court. They could sit in the public gallery like everyone else, but no cameras or recording equipment were allowed.

Alexia didn’t know if she fancied a whole day taking notes. She was thinking about nipping off for a coffee when the sight of a familiar face changed her mind. Snow White had come along for the ride.

The jury looked expectantly at Lilly. Jez had introduced himself and now it was her turn.

She cleared her throat and smiled. No one smiled back. Was that normal? Did they hate her already? Were they like dogs and could smell her fear?

‘I am Lilly Valentine, and I represent the defendant, Tirana Duraku.’

Jez gave a small cough, almost a hiccup.

What had she forgotten? She checked her robe was correct and that her skirt wasn’t tucked in her knickers.

‘What?’ she whispered.

‘You called her Tirana.’

Lilly felt the heat seep up her neck. ‘As my friend so rightly pointed out, my client is, in fact, Catalina Petrescu.’

The jury mumbled to one another, no doubt appalled that the defence lawyer couldn’t even remember her client’s name. Lilly sat back down before she could make matters worse.

Jez got to his feet and beamed at the jury. Two female members positively simpered back at him.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, I won’t bore you with a lengthy opening today; frankly, I don’t need to. The facts speak for themselves.’ He twisted his body towards Catalina. ‘Quite simply the defendant went with her friend to a school in Hertfordshire. It was an ordinary day and ordinary things were afoot. The under-tens were playing a football match and some of the seniors had come out to cheer them on.’

Jez turned back to the jury his face grave. ‘Alas, the uneventful afternoon was shattered by the arrival of the defendant and her friend, who were both carrying guns.’

He paused to allow the gravity of the situation to sink in.

‘What they didn’t know was that a police officer was on the scene, and he was able to disarm them both, but not before a child was murdered.’

Jez put his hands together to make a mock gun.

‘The defendant and her friend had a plan to kill that day, and, tragically for Charles Stanton, they succeeded.’

Jez nodded solemnly and sat down. Lilly wondered if the jury might give him a round of applause.

‘I thought you weren’t going to bother them with an opening,’ Lilly whispered through the corner of her mouth.

‘Oh, Lilly,’ he said. ‘Didn’t I say you were out of your depth?’

‘Fancy seeing you here.’

Alexia slipped into the gallery and took the seat next to Snow White.

The other woman frowned. ‘Are you following me?’

Alexia laughed. ‘I hear there’s a big trial on, or something like that.’

Snow White smirked.

‘Have you thought about my offer?’ asked Alexia.

‘It was hardly an offer, Miss Dee, more a request on your part.’

‘I thought we agreed we’d both benefit.’

Snow White opened her arm around the courtroom. ‘There seems to be no shortage of publicity.’

‘But they’re not on your side, are they?’ said Alexia. ‘Most of the press are very PC.’

She could see by the twitch at the corner of Snow White’s mouth that she had struck a chord.

‘Get me an interview with Valentine and we’ll both get what we want.’

Jack sat outside Court Four and waited. Another witness sat opposite, a slender woman, probably a Middle-Eastern woman, her hair pinned up in one of those French bun things. Jack ran his hands through his own wayward mop. The woman was engrossed by her laptop, caramel fingers tapping. Jack opened his paper and tried to read. He crossed and uncrossed his legs, unable to settle.

Giving evidence was always one of the worst parts of the job, with defence lawyers doing their damndest to trip you up and make you look a twat. Even the most honest coppers came out looking like diehards from the West Midlands Serious Crime Squad, and the fact that it was his woman who would be doing the questioning offered no solace. If need be, Lilly would chew him up and spit him across the room.

At last, the door to the court opened.

‘The prosecution calls its first witness, Officer Jonathon McNally.’

Jack groaned. He never used his full name.

He walked stiffly to the witness stand and took the oath.

‘Could you give your full name please?’ said Jez.

‘Jonathon Christopher McNally.’

Lilly stifled an hysterical laugh with a coughing fit, and Jack felt himself turning crimson.

‘Officer McNally, were you at Manor Park School on the day of this terrible event?’ asked Jez.

Jack nodded. ‘Indeed I was.’

‘Were you on duty?’

Jack turned his body away from Lilly. ‘No, I was watching my friend’s son play football.’

‘I see,’ said Jez. ‘And at what point did you realise the defendant and her co-conspirator were not merely supporters?’

‘My friend noticed them first, and I noticed her noticing them, if you know what I mean?’