A Place Of Safety (32 page)

‘I think I understand,’ Jez laughed. ‘And when did you notice they were armed?’

‘As soon as they reached the pitch I saw they both had guns.’

Jez nodded at the jury. ‘They
both
had guns.’

Lilly got to her feet. ‘Your Honour, I doubt anyone here is deaf.’

‘Indeed,’ said the judge. ‘Please don’t repeat the testimony, Mr Stafford.’

Jez went smoothly back to his questions. ‘Did you ask them to put down their weapons?’

‘I did,’ said Jack. ‘And the defendant did give me hers.’

‘Immediately?’

Jack thought back to Anna’s hand gripping the gun. Her hand had been shaking. ‘Not immediately,’ he said.

‘But Artan Shala wouldn’t be disarmed and you had to shoot him?’

Jack shifted on his feet. ‘I didn’t have any alternative.’

‘I’m sure no one blames you for the action you took.’ Jez’s face was a mask of concern. ‘No doubt you fully believed that Shala was going to kill another child.’

Jack knew the barrister was faking his concern. He didn’t care less what might have happened next, how Jack’s life had nearly fallen apart.

‘I believed Shala was still a risk.’

‘Just a couple of questions.’ Lilly looked up at Jack as if they were strangers. He knew she was at work but it was disconcerting all the same. ‘It was definitely Artan that killed Charles Stanton?’

Jack nodded in what he hoped seemed a businesslike manner. ‘Most definitely.’

‘And it was Artan who you thought might shoot someone else?’

‘Yes.’

Lilly glanced at the jury. ‘Not the defendant?’

‘She gave me her gun before Stanton was shot.’

‘Definitely before?’

Jez rose. ‘My friend seems to have caught the habit of repetition for which she showed so little tolerance only moments ago.’

‘Apologies,’ said Lilly.

Jack gave a tight smile. ‘It was definitely beforehand.’

The court rules might have prevented Lilly from gaining mileage but Jack couldn’t resist making the point for her.

If Lilly was grateful she chose not to show it and levelled Jack in her gaze.

‘Officer McNally at any point before you disarmed her, did you believe the defendant was going to commit a murder?’

Jack took his time. He knew what Lilly wanted him to say. He knew what Jez wanted him to say.

‘In all honesty, I don’t know.’

Lilly sat down, her face impassive. He had told the truth, nothing more.

The whole thing was a travesty. A mockery.

Charlie Stanton was dead and Snow White could see his killer from here.

In any other country the girl would be locked up, the key well and truly thrown away. Or, better still, she’d be hanged.

Instead, a game of cat and mouse was unfolding, with Valentine as the central player.

Why were they even having a trial? The girl was not British, so what right did she have to British justice?

The reporter was just as bad. Poor little rich girl, showing her parents she could make it on her own. Snow White could see through her like a plastic bag.

She was right about the press, though. The liberal, leftist rags would bleat about poor treatment of asylum seekers and the lawyer would pounce on that.

The guilty must be punished.

‘Right then,’ said Snow White. ‘We’ll rendezvous in Little Markham at 9 p.m.’

The reporter couldn’t hide her glee. ‘You won’t regret this.’

Indeed I won’t, Snow White thought, but Valentine surely will.

‘How’s it going?’ asked Sam. ‘Are you going to win?’ Lilly had phoned him as soon as she got back from court. ‘If you do, will she come back to live with us?’

Lilly poured hot water over her Ginger Zinger. The bloody stuff was more addictive than good wine and she had tramped the length of Fleet Street to track another box down. ‘I don’t think you’d like that, Sam.’

‘Where will she go?’ he asked.

Lilly ached with sadness for her client. ‘I don’t know.’

‘I don’t hate her, Mum, I just didn’t want her in our house.’

‘I understand that.’

‘And I don’t hate you, I just wanted to get away from it all.’

Lilly felt a lump in her throat. ‘I know that.’

‘I’ve got to go, Mum, supper’s ready.’

‘How’s Cara’s cooking?’

Sam groaned. His dad’s girlfriend was currently following a macrobiotic lifestyle.

‘For tea tomorrow we’re having lentil and cauliflower curry.’

‘That sounds…’ Lilly searched for the right word. ‘Healthy.’

‘When the trial’s over we should do something kind for Anna,’ said Sam.

‘That would be lovely big man.’

‘We should cook for her,’ he said.

‘That’s a great idea.’

‘Where is she from, Mum?’

Lilly sipped her tea. ‘I only wish I knew, big man, I only wish I knew.’

‘What are they doing here?’

Alexia nodded at Blood River and Bigsy, who had just stepped out of the shadows.

‘We didn’t like your idea of a cosy Q and A,’ said Snow White. ‘So we thought we would confront Valentine ourselves.’

‘You can get it all down,’ said Blood River. ‘Take a few pics.’

Alexia shook her head. ‘That wasn’t the deal.’

Snow White snorted. ‘There never was any deal.’

Alexia was furious. This was a golden opportunity. Platinum-plated, as her dad would say. It would give her the break she needed. She wasn’t prepared to let a bunch of idiotic Nazis ruin everything.

‘I don’t know what rubbish you’ve got planned, but I want my interview first.’

‘Shut up,’ spat Blood River.

Alexia stood her ground. ‘I want that interview.’

Blood River pushed her hard and she fell to the ground. It was hard and wet under her hands. He stood over her, his malevolent face filling her field of vision. ‘Which part of “shut” and “up” do you not understand?’

He turned on his heel and Snow White led him to the solicitor’s cottage.

Alexia scrambled to her feet, shaking dead leaves from her coat.

‘Fine.’

Lilly pulled out her weighing scales and packets of currants, sultanas and raisins. Each year, at about this time, she and Sam made the pudding ready for Christmas. In the depths of dark November, when half term was long finished, it reminded them that a whole week of eating, present unwrapping and slumping in front of the telly lay ahead.

Sam might not be with her tonight but Lilly was buggered if she wouldn’t make sure Christmas was as much fun as every other year.

And, let’s face it, there was no way she would sleep tonight so she may as well fill her time making something delicious.

She grated orange and lemon zest over the dried fruit and, as the air filled with their citrus tang, Lilly’s mind turned to the case.

The prosecution had closed, the entire case wrapped up in a day. No doubt Jez had wanted to make more of it, but Lilly had accepted most of it. She didn’t dispute that her client was there with a gun. The argument rested on her state of mind. Could Catalina have had the requisite intention, or had her reasoning been impaired by the rape?

Lilly poured over rum, barley wine and Guinness. The smell made her nose wrinkle. It was a standing joke with Sam that Lilly would usually polish off any leftover alcohol but tonight she didn’t fancy it. Tomorrow she would open the case for the defence and that was making her stomach churn.

Alexia’s heart was pounding. Her anger had dissolved to fear as Blood River and Bigsy approached the porch. These men had smashed windows and cars. They had thrown dog mess in court. They had kicked and punched two women.

‘What are they going to do?’ she hissed.

Snow White waved the enquiry away like a fly.

‘That poor woman has done nothing wrong,’ said Alexia.

‘You didn’t give any thought to her wellbeing when you posted her picture all over your torrid little newspaper.’

Alexia felt winded. It was true. She had hidden in the bushes like a dirty sneaky thief and revealed to the world that Petrescu was living with her lawyer. She’d even used a picture of the boyfriend, a decent, honest copper, who had got himself entangled in a mess he didn’t deserve.

‘This is all wrong,’ she said.

Snow White ignored her, rapt with her racist friends.

Alexia shuddered. The woman seemed almost turned on.

They watched the men creep to the side of the house, whispering to one another.

‘Not more smashed windows,’ said Alexia. ‘The noise will frighten her son.’

One look at Snow White’s face told Alexia she couldn’t care less who was in the cottage.

The two men shuffled on the spot, retrieving something from a rucksack. Not another brick, please. Alexia craned her neck to see, but Blood River was almost swallowed by the darkness. She could see almost nothing but his outline until he lit a match, its yellow flame dancing around his face.

Too late Alexia saw the milk bottle, a rag stuffed in the top.

Too late she saw the material catch, fire licking the air.

Too late she saw Blood River throw the bottle and watched it explode through an upstairs window.

‘Stop,’ Alexia screamed. ‘She has a little boy in there.’

The house was burning. Too late.

The noise was tremendous. An ear-ripping crash followed by a whoosh. Her immediate reaction was that there had been another terrorist attack.

Lilly had been stirring the mixture, making wishes, one for herself and one for Sam, when she heard it, dropped her spoon and ran upstairs. She threw open her bedroom door and saw a riot of colour. Oranges, reds and yellows.

Too shocked to move, Lilly watched the flames flash across the curtains, the walls and the ceiling. With a frightening speed the room was engulfed. Water, she needed water. She ran to the ensuite bathroom at the furthest end of the room and ran a towel under the tap. She tried to lash out at the flames, damp them down but now the room was filled with black smoke that tore at her eyes and made her choke. She needed to get out.

Which way was the door? Which way was out?

Both left and right was blocked and Lilly backed up until she was trapped against the wall.

‘Give me your hand.’

Lilly couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see. She could feel herself fading.

Through the miasma she caught the faint outline of a hand.

Was it a hand?

She held out her own as the blackness started to take her.

‘That’s about it, love.’ The fireman patted her on the back. ‘It could have been a lot worse.’

Lilly looked at her cottage, the walls stained black with soot, water dripping off every surface.

‘You reckon?’

He gave a sympathetic shrug. ‘Got somewhere to stay?’

Lilly closed her eyes. She couldn’t go to Jack’s, he’d be fired on the spot. She didn’t dare tell David what had happened, at least not yet.

‘She can come back to mine.’

It was the woman who had dragged her out of the house. She had stayed while they revived Lilly with oxygen and while the police asked a million questions.

‘Thanks,’ said Lilly. ‘But who are you?’

The woman held out her hand. ‘Alexia Dee.’

‘Jesus,’ said Lilly. ‘You’re the woman who took my bloody photo.’

*  *  *

Alexia pulled two beers from the fudge and handed one to Lilly.

‘Don’t suppose you’ve got a Ginger Zinger?’ asked Lilly

‘Sorry?’

‘No worries,’ said Lilly ‘Beer’s fine.’

She looked around Alexia’s flat. The generic prints of ballerinas seemed at odds with the glamorous young woman in her expensive shoes.

‘I still don’t understand why you were there.’

‘Do you want the truth?’ asked Alexia.

‘It usually works for me.’

‘I wanted to interview you and I asked someone to make the introduction.’

Lilly cocked her head. ‘You thought I’d be swayed by a firebomb-throwing xenophobe?’

‘One of them is a parent at Manor Park.’

Lilly was stunned. ‘You’re joking?’

‘I wish I were.’

‘And you had no idea what they were going to do?’

Alexia threw up her hands, sending bubbles spiralling across the carpet. ‘God, no,’ she said. ‘I would never have agreed to something like that.’

Lilly nodded. ‘Then thank you.’

‘For what?’

Lilly laughed. ‘For saving my life.’

‘Don’t say that.’ Alexia’s eyes filled with tears. ‘If I had acted as soon as I suspected something was wrong, I might have been able to stop them.’

Lilly collapsed onto the sofa. It was brown and uncomfortable.

‘That’s exactly how I feel about Charlie Stanton,’ she said. ‘Artan Shala came to me after Catalina was raped and I knew what he was going to do.’

‘He told you?’

‘Not in so many words,’ said Lilly. ‘But I could sense it would be bad.’

‘But you can’t blame yourself,’ said Alexia.

Lilly raised her eyebrows. ‘Can’t I?’

‘That’s why you’ve got so involved in this case.’ Alexia pointed her bottle at Lilly. ‘You’re trying to make amends to the girl.’

‘Thank you, Dr Freud.’

‘Do you think it was the rape that sent them over the edge?’ asked Alexia.

‘Yes, I do,’ said Lilly. ‘But I’m going to have one hell of a job proving it.’

Chapter Twenty-Five

Drip, drip, flipping drip.

Luke watches the endless rain. Last night it poured relentlessly and it hasn’t stopped this morning.

The weather wasn’t something he used to give much thought to. If it was cold, Mum turned up the heating; and the boarding house was always stifling. He’d known Tom to mooch around in his shorts in February. When you were homeless it was different. You got damp right to your underwear and there was nowhere to dry your clothes, so everything began to smell of mould.

He can’t even hang out in the Black Cat, because the owner is really annoyed that he messed up in the factory after he’d been the one to put Luke on to it.

‘You stacking?’ he asks Caz. It’s not that he needs it, but getting off your head just makes days like this go so much quicker.

Caz shakes her head and wipes her nose with her sleeve. She’s grumpy too.

‘Got any cash?’

He empties his pocket and shows her the collection of five-and ten-pence pieces.

They’ll have to go out begging.

He peers out into the downpour.

Great.

‘Try this.’

Alexia held out a black jersey wrap dress. It was elegant and stylish. It was a size eight.

Lilly burst out laughing. Last night’s clothes were black and acrid and there was no way she could wear them to court.

‘Have you got anything bigger?’

Alexia went back to her wardrobe. ‘I have this for when I’m premenstrual.’

Lilly took the blue silk skirt. It was floaty the waist elastic. It would do.

‘What about a top? It needs to be white.’

Alexia pulled out a white T-shirt with ‘LA Lakers’ emblazoned across the chest. ‘You could wear it inside out.’

Lilly wasn’t convinced.

‘You’ll have your robe thing over the top.’

As Lilly turned the corner to Old Bailey her mobile rang.

‘Right on cue, David.’

‘I can see you on telly again,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to ask what on earth are you wearing?’

Lilly ignored the camera pointed directly under her chin.

‘There was a fire at the cottage.’

‘Bloody hell, Lil, are you okay?’

‘Sort of.’

‘Is there anything I can do?’

Lilly checked her reflection in the rain-spattered glass of the door to the court.

‘Buy me a black suit.’

‘What size?’ he asked.

‘Twelve.’ She patted her stomach. ‘Better make that a fourteen.’

She climbed the stairs and met Jez at the top, where he was stood with Kerry Thomson. Jez looked her up and down. Kerry sniggered into her hand.

‘Don’t say a word,’ said Lilly.

Jez swallowed a laugh.

‘Not even half a word,’ said Lilly.

‘Good morning,’ a voice boomed from behind.

Lilly turned to see Teddy Roberts sauntering towards them. Out of his robes and ridiculous wig he was a handsome man. His hair was flecked with grey, his jaw distinguished.

He appraised Lilly in much the same way as Jez.

‘My chambers. Now.’

Judge Roberts peered over his glasses at Lilly. ‘There is an explanation, I presume.’

Lilly shrugged, as if a peasant skirt and a T-shirt worn inside out were everyday attire in the Crown Court.

‘I didn’t have access to my clothes this morning, Your Honour.’

‘And why was that, Miss Valentine? An all-night party, perhaps?’

Lilly stuck her chin in the air. The pompous bugger had no right to make assumptions.

‘Actually, Your Honour, my house was fire-bombed by racist thugs.’

The judge’s mouth fell open.

‘My things are in disarray,’ she continued. ‘But my ex-husband has kindly agreed to purchase something suitable and deliver it to me at court.’

‘I’m so sorry, Miss Valentine,’ said the judge. ‘Surely you will want an adjournment?’

‘Of course,’ Jez spluttered. ‘The case must be adjourned.’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Lilly.

‘Are you sure?’ asked the judge.

Lilly held her neck quite straight. ‘My mother taught me never to give in to bullies.’

When she had left the room, Teddy Roberts shook his head. ‘She’s a hell of a woman.’

Jez let a smile spread across his face. ‘Indeed she is.’

Alexia headed down Fleet Street towards the West End. There was nothing to be gained by hanging out at Old Bailey. The story was well and truly covered.

She buried her head under her umbrella against the rain and looked longingly at the black cabs that sped past. Being skint was such a bummer. Then she thought about Lilly’s cottage, charred and smoking, and how she’d just got out in time. Now was not the time for self-pity.

Lilly’s commitment to Petrescu made Alexia shamefaced. With her world literally in ashes, Lilly hadn’t wept for her home and possessions; instead she’d been more bothered about trying to prove her client had been raped.

When Lilly was finally asleep, Alexia covered her in a blanket. She pulled out her recorder and played the tape. There it was, an exclusive interview with Lilly Valentine. Guaranteed front-page material. She sighed and tossed it in the bin.

She had done a lot of selfish things in her time but had never felt guilt the way she did now. She had led a gang of dangerous thugs to this poor woman’s door, and for what?

She felt angry with herself and sick at the same time. She had to make amends; do something to help. She could use her journalistic skills to help Lilly’s case.

When she got to Theatreland she checked in her pocket and pulled out a photograph of Manor Park Year Eleven. Two rows of teenagers stood on the steps and squinted into the sun. There was Charles Stanton, a pretty boy with great teeth. Next to him was a bigger boy with wild red hair and bad skin. On the other side Lilly had circled a boy’s face. This was Luke Walker. He had witnessed the rape and was the key to Catalina’s salvation.

Alexia would bet her Vivienne Westwood platforms that he was in London. Didn’t every kid think the streets were paved with gold? And when they discovered their error, a lot of them ended up here.

‘The defence calls their first witness, Dr Leyla Kadir.’ Lilly wrapped the robe around her. She had borrowed it from a friend of Jez’s and hoped it covered most of the madness she was wearing beneath.

Dr Kadir looked the epitome of sophistication in a beige jacket that perfectly complemented her dark skin. Her hair was tied in a chignon, not a strand out of place. As was so common for witnesses, she had hung around all day yesterday without being called, yet she hadn’t complained once. She had just worked on her laptop, smiled and worked some more.

‘Dr Kadir,’ said Lilly. ‘Could you tell us what you know about Catalina Petrescu?’

‘I know she is a very damaged person,’ said the doctor.

‘How have you come to that conclusion?’

‘I have read the case papers and had numerous interviews with her,’ said Dr Kadir.

‘Have you been able to make any diagnosis?’

Dr Kadir nodded once. ‘I think she is suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, which has affected the balance of her mind.’

‘Dr Kadir,’ Jez dazzled her with his most charming smile. ‘Tell me a little more about this syndrome. What did you call it—PMT?’

The jury tittered.

The doctor clucked at him as if he were an errant schoolboy. ‘PTSD, Mr Stafford, and you know perfectly well what it is. No doubt you were up all last night researching it on the Internet.’

Jez gave a cheeky grin. ‘I may have been up all night, Doctor, but I most certainly wasn’t working.’

The jury laughed at his brazen flirtatiousness.

‘Your Honour,’ Lilly jumped to her feet. ‘Do we really need the theatrics?’

The judge banged his gavel to bring the mirth to an end. Jez put up his hands in apology.

‘Dr Kadir,’ he continued. ‘Could you enlighten me as to the symptoms of PTSD?’

‘Anxiety sleeplessness, paranoia…’

‘All nasty I’m sure,’ said Jez. ‘But nothing that would make a person start shooting people.’

The doctor eyed him coolly. ‘If you had let me finish, I was going to explain that one of the main symptoms in patients with PTSD is detachment.’

‘And that would make a person load up their gun, would it?’

‘It could mean a patient is so dislocated from reality that he or she may enter into such an action without fully comprehending the implications.’

‘Are you serious, Doctor?’

She nodded gravely. ‘When I myself was suffering with this condition I drove my car into a brick wall. I have a steel rod in my spine, but to this day I do not recall how it happened.’

The jury gasped.

Jez was visibly shocked, but collected himself quickly.

‘What would cause PTSD, Doctor?’

‘The clue is in the name,’ she answered. ‘A trauma.’

‘Such as an accident—a plane crash perhaps?’

Lilly frowned at Jez’s calculated use of recent events.

‘Indeed.’

‘And many Gulf War veterans are suffering with PTSD, are they not?’

Dr Kadir smiled. ‘So you
were
up all night doing research, Mr Stafford.’

Lilly covered her mouth with her hand. Dr Kadir was a consummate professional.

‘And you made your diagnosis of the defendant while she had us all believing she suffered her particular trauma in Kosovo?’

‘I made my diagnosis at that time, yes,’ said Dr Kadir.

‘Well, given that was a lie, Doctor—that there was no trauma in Kosovo—how do you think this defendant got PTSD?’

Lilly sucked in her breath and crossed her fingers. This was such a vital point. One with so much mileage for Jez.

‘It has always been my contention that the incident that triggered Catalina’s condition was not necessarily the war in Kosovo,’ said Dr Kadir.

Jez ratcheted up the pressure. ‘Tell us then, Doctor, what else could possibly excuse the defendant’s wicked actions?’

‘It is not for me to say whether Catalina’s PTSD excuses what happened.’ Dr Kadir turned to the jury. ‘It is for the jury.’

‘Just so,’ said Jez.

She levelled him in her sights again. ‘But, as I said, it has always been my contention that the factor which pushed Catalina into detachment was not Kosovo but the rape.’

Noise erupted from the gallery.

Jez played to the crowd and somehow managed to address Dr Kadir, the jury and the gallery at the same time. Lilly wished she had even half his skill.

‘Ah, the alleged rape,’ he said. ‘The unreported rape?’

‘Thousands of rapes go unreported every year, Mr Stafford.’

‘But we are only interested in this one,’ he replied. ‘And how can we expect intelligent men and women to believe it without any evidence whatsoever?’

Lilly pushed herself to her feet. ‘Your Honour, that is a ridiculous question. How can Dr Kadir answer for the jury’s expectations? She is a psychiatrist, not a palm reader.’

The judge wagged his finger. ‘It was clumsily put, Miss Valentine, but it is valid nonetheless. Dr Kadir must substantiate the basis of her diagnosis.’

‘I cannot say that the rape was real or not real. I was not there,’ said Dr Kadir.

Jez turned to the jury with open palms. Lilly was almost expecting him to say, ‘Told you.’

‘However,’ said Dr Kadir. ‘My medical opinion, my
expert
opinion, remains the same.’

She gestured first to the jury and then to Catalina, ensuring each eye fell on the pathetic creature in the dock.

‘This girl is suffering with PTSD, and my instincts as a professional say to me that it is as a result of a brutal rape.’

Six lousy quid.

Luke kicks the box aside in disgust.

They’ve been begging for hours and have hardly got enough for a Happy Meal, let alone what they really need. It’s been impossible to find a spot with the police crawling around everywhere, some of them armed.

Caz is by his side, shivering, her nose running.

There’s a reason they call it ‘doing your rattle’—every bone is shaking inside her, like coins in pockets.

‘I can’t take this,’ she says.

He scoops up the change. ‘Let’s get a coffee.’

‘I don’t want any coffee.’

Luke knows what she wants, but they don’t have enough.

‘I’m going to get some money,’ she says.

Luke turns away. He can’t bear the thought of it.

‘Don’t,’ he whispers.

‘C’mon, soft lad, it’ll only take half an hour.’

‘Please.’

She pleads with her eyes. ‘I’ve got to get some gear, Luke.’

He pushes his hand through his hair. It is slick with grease and rain.

‘Let’s try to get the money I’m owed from the Black Cat,’ he says.

Caz shakes her head. ‘That bitch won’t give you a penny.’

‘Then I’ll have to make her.’

‘It’s going very well.’

Milo smiled at Lilly as they descended to the cells.

‘As well as I could expect,’ said Lilly. ‘Given the circumstances.’

‘The doctor says Catalina has a problem with her brain,’ said Milo. ‘The jury will have to accept it.’

‘The jury don’t have to accept anything, Milo.’

‘But she’s a doctor, an expert.’

Lilly waited for the guard to swing open the door. ‘The jury will make up their own minds.’

*  *  *

Catalina was standing in the far corner of her cell, the only colour against the grey bricks.

‘You’re going to have to take the stand,’ said Lilly.

Catalina pressed against the wall as if she were trying to dissolve into it.

‘You have to tell your story,’ Lilly continued.

‘I don’t think I can.’

Lilly went over to the bench and sat. Her robe fell open, revealing the bizarre outfit underneath.

‘There’s no other choice,’ said Lilly. ‘I have to make the jury believe you were raped, and I have no evidence at all.’

There were signs of the homeless in every doorway. An empty bottle of cider, a dirty sleeping bag. But catching one of them was like shooting rabbits—as soon as you approached, the buggers scarpered.

Alexia managed to corner one man who was too drunk to run away, but he wouldn’t even look at the photograph and buried his head in his jumper.

What she needed was some money. Anyone could be bribed to tell you things with ten-pound notes, particularly if they were cold and wet and desperate.