Broken (23 page)

‘We have photographs of the kids and I’d lay money there are videos too, somewhere,’ Kate told the silent room. ‘We need to track down Blankley’s brother and check that out. The Met are getting back to me on him. I am picking up the social reports at long bloody last this morning. I will get them copied and then you will all be able to see what the social workers think of the clients and what we can gather from that.

‘The child from the dump is still unidentified. We’re contacting Interpol and trying to establish if he might be from abroad. As you all know that’s not in the least uncommon. Two years ago, fifty-five foreign children, mainly Romanian, were found in Amsterdam being used in pornographic literature. A few kids even turned up here. Christ knows there can’t be more than one P-ring in Grantley - at least I bloody well hope not!’

Kate looked at her team and told them: ‘I want you all to dig as deep as possible into the backgrounds of these women and their families and friends. We have to find something -
have
to. As for the witnesses, we’ve all seen what can happen to them, haven’t we? That’s why I want more and more evidence. A witness can be confused by a good brief, can be made to look unreliable. You all know this. I want to make our case as watertight as possible.’

Everyone nodded and murmured their agreement and she smiled.

‘Right now I need some volunteers to help collate everything on computer. We want to try and put the mothers together at some time. I want to be able to prove that some of them knew one another, just in case this is a conspiracy of Ps and their victims.’

At this point Jenny broke in.

‘And I want to hear from known sex offenders so I’d like to see if we can locate any from Grantley and try to get anything from them about these mothers and kids. The fathers are another worry as are grandparents. We have no idea who they are and the girls aren’t telling. Now maybe they don’t know who the fathers are, but maybe they do. We have to try and see if we can put any names about that might give us an inkling of how deep this ring goes and exactly who may be involved in it. Personally I think the kids aren’t linked as such though some of the mothers are guilty as hell. But thinking and proving are two different things. One area where we can link them is the paedophile activity, but that is separate at the moment from the murder and attempted murder enquiries.

‘This is deep, hard as fucking hell and confusing, but that is par for the course with this kind of case. Bear in mind that unlike blaggers, burglars, et cetera, paedophiles have more reason than any to keep themselves out of clink. They are as hated in there as they are out here. Fear keeps them quiet. Also, though paedophiles come across as passive, they are aggressive with one another, and use fear on the kids and also on the people they recruit to help them. Some groups use initiation ceremonies where a new recruit is filmed without their knowledge and then blackmailed afterwards. We will eventually uncover layer after layer of deceit, lies and confusion. This is how they work, and this is why it is so hard to pin anything definite on them. But if we persevere we will come out on top.’

‘We’d better, ma’am. This is sickening me and everyone else. These women are fucking scum . . .’ broke in a red-faced DS.

Kate took over. ‘We have to keep an open mind, remember. A woman who neglects her kids must not necessarily be seen as someone who is capable of violating them. Remember that. Don’t let your emotions muddy your thinking. Now, you all have an objective today. See if you can achieve it.’

Ten minutes later the women stared at one another glumly across the empty briefing room.

‘Listen, Kate, this always happens,’ Jenny assured her, ‘so don’t worry. It’s the harshness of the case that causes this general depression. Once they make another breakthrough everyone will start to feel better. Take it from me, I see it all the time.’

‘They’re a good team, Jen, the best.’

Jenny smiled. ‘I know, and they’re learning something new which will stand them in good stead for the future. Now, we need to interview Caroline and get some information from her. She’s hiding something and has been from the off. I intend to find out what she’s so scared of and see if we can’t put it into perspective for her.’

 

Jacques Vignon opened the back of the curtain-sider with a flourish. He had always regarded himself as having a special nose for smugglers. As he opened the door the driver looked nervous, but that wasn’t unusual with the English. With all the trade wars going on between the two countries it was only to be expected.

But when he heard the little cries coming from the back of the lorry Jacques was amazed. By the light of his powerful torch he saw a young child sitting among the boxes of freight, his face streaked with dirt, snot and ink. He was clearly terrified.

Jacques, a father of six, was overcome with emotion as the little figure stumbled towards him, arms outstretched. He brought the child out into the salty air, hardly able to contain his emotion as he turned to face his colleagues. They were as shocked as he. In all their years they had never seen anything like this before.

The driver of the lorry looked equally stricken and had to grab the side of his curtain-sider to stop himself from fainting clean away.

‘Where did he come from?’ Jonathon’s voice was higher than usual from shock and fear. He knew what the other men were thinking about him and he wanted to scream a denial. So many people mixed up gays with paedophiles, he knew that from listening to his own father and his cronies up the pub.

As they all stared at him he felt terrified denials springing to his lips, but dared not utter a word. It would only have made him look guiltier.

The child was crying now, loudly and heartily, as if the sunlight and salty sea air had given him a new lease of life. The Frenchmen were comforting him, wrapping him in coats to keep him warm. One even managed to find a bar of chocolate for him. Another gave him a drop of Coke from a can he had in his office. The child was thirsty and starving. He stopped crying to take the sustenance he so desperately needed.

The men all gathered around him, exclaiming at his beauty, his sturdiness and his predicament. Their hearts all went out to him and they looked menacingly at Jonathon as if they were going to lynch him at any moment.

The police eventually arrived in force. Jonathon was detained for questioning, and the child was handed over to a policewoman who spoke good English. He hugged her so fiercely it brought tears to the eyes of the onlookers.

Jonathon was terrified. As he explained that he had come from Grantley with his usual load and had had no idea that he was also carrying a child, he could see that he was not believed. He knew his very campness, which he tried so hard to disguise, was already making him a prime suspect and the thought made him feel sick.

Then a man from Interpol arrived with coffee and sandwiches. He explained that Grantley had been in touch already about missing children and that they really had no option but to try and rule him out of the enquiry. But Jonathon knew that they thought he
was
involved. He was a suspect in a child abduction case. He started to cry then, really cry, and the man let him.

The little boy was cleaned and dressed in borrowed clothes after a thorough examination by a doctor. His large blue eyes seemed interested in what was going on and he kept asking for his mummy. His French rescuers knew what he meant and he was showered with chocolate bars, toys and clothing from kind people who worked at the docks. He loved the attention and ate whatever he was given. He was flown home the same day, and that thrilled him too.

Jonathon, however, was kept in a cell until both the French and the English police had finished interviewing him. He made a statement and was released without charge but he knew it wasn’t over yet. Not by a long chalk. He travelled home in tears, minus his lorry and his self-respect.

He wondered vaguely if he still had a job, let alone a relationship with the man of his dreams.

 

Caroline Anderson, mother of Christian and his murdered brother Ivor, was still vague about her life and lifestyle.

Kate was getting aggressive and lit a cigarette to hide her growing anger.

‘Come on, Caroline, you know more than you are letting on.’

‘I can’t tell you anything about me job . . .’

Jenny interrupted her. ‘Then that makes you more suspect, doesn’t it? I mean, see it from our point of view. What would you think if you were us, and someone was sitting in a cell and not telling all they knew even though it was very important. It was about their kids.’

Caroline bit on her lip, she looked very young and very vulnerable.

Kate’s voice was soft. ‘Just tell us who you work for. We won’t make trouble, I promise.’ She could see Caroline was wavering. Fear was a great incentive, Kate knew that from experience.

‘I know what you think of me and I don’t blame you. But I am more scared of the man I work for than I am of you.’ She was nearly crying. ‘He would see me dead if he thought I had opened me trap.’

‘We could guarantee you protection.’

Caroline shook her head in distress. ‘Not from him.’ She was getting hysterical, her voice rising and her hands shaking so badly she had to put them in her lap. ‘He has the same access as you two. Inside or out he could get to me.’ Caroline was crying, big fat tears rolled down her face and she made no attempt to wipe them away.

‘How can anyone have that much power?’ Jenny’s voice was sceptical and that seemed to penetrate into Caroline’s brain.

‘Fucking think about it, lady. Don’t you think I
want
to tell you?’

Jenny laughed gently. Then she said sarcastically, ‘You’re good, Caroline - I’ll give you that much. You can act, love. You missed out on your vocation. Are you trying to insinuate it’s a copper then?’

‘I am not insinuating anything, and I ain’t saying a word. I’ve probably said too much already. But you can lock me up, you can throw away the key. Put me on the fucking rack if you like. I
will not
utter another word.’

She refused to answer anything after that statement. Just sat and sobbed quietly. Later, when she had been removed back to her cell, Kate said to Jenny, ‘She was trying to tell us something.’

But the other woman dismissed it with a wave of her hand.

‘All people accused of child or adult sex crimes try on the Old Bill stance. If I had a quid for every time I heard an accusation like that I would be a millionaire by now. It’s common practice. I mean, think about it. She has thrown the ball back into our court, hasn’t she?’

Kate didn’t answer and Jenny pointed out, ‘Look, she has you wondering. So she’s achieved her objective. While we wonder who the Filth is, we stop querying her on the real issues, such as
why
she doesn’t want to discuss where she was that night. I mean, was she in on what happened to those kids? Does she
know
what occurred? Attack is the best form of defence, remember that, love. Especially when it concerns
us
, what we are, what we believe in.’

‘I can see the logic, but we can’t dismiss it out of hand. Something is stopping her from talking . . .’

‘A hard nut is what is stopping her from talking. Nothing more and nothing less. Some villain, some piece of shit who uses and abuses kids. That is what is stopping her from talking. Some porn master, some scum making money from the degradation of others.’

‘A paedophile isn’t like a villain, Jenny. Normal criminals hate paedophiles and rapists, don’t they. That’s why they segregate them in prisons.’

They were silent for a few seconds. Kate realised that she was defending Patrick and his lifestyle, and the knowledge upset her. But Patrick like most of his ilk had an almost pathological hatred for what he termed ‘nonces’.

But Jenny had hit a nerve. A painful nerve that Kate knew would always be exposed while Patrick Kelly was in her heart. The fact she was defending him spoke volumes.

Quiet now, they were both lost in their own thoughts.

‘This is getting weirder by the day, Miss Burrows.’ Robert Bateman’s voice had lost its usual bantering tone.

‘Well, I have a feeling it will get weirder still before we’re finished,’ she replied drily. ‘Can you enlighten me further on any of the women?’

He shook his head. ‘I only really have anything to do with poor Regina these days although I have to keep abreast of what’s happening with the rest of my team’s clients. You’d be better talking to the actual social workers themselves, I know they’ll help all they can. But, like I said, they will protect other clients. It’s in our code of conduct.’

Kate smiled and hugged the client files to her chest.

‘I understand that. Have there been any other cases of abuse recently that we are unaware of? Or have any of the teams maybe thought there was abuse but couldn’t prove it? You know what I’m talking about, Robert, I’m sure.’

‘ ’Course I do, dear, and this is strictly off the record, right?’ He went to the door and shut it theatrically before saying in a hushed voice, ‘Kerry Alston and Jackie Palmer were mates at school. Both were accused of sexually assaulting another girl, but nothing was ever proved against them. The girl dropped the charges and moved away from the area. I remember because I was new here at the time and I was quite shocked by it all. I mean, two girls practically raping another one.’ He paused for effect.

‘The thing is, though, it was reported to the police and then nothing ever came of it. They were all minors, you see. Plus they said that the girl, whose name, if I remember rightly, was Pauline Barker - ring any bells? - had actually approached
them
. It was all very, very strange. I mean, these were little girls, love - eleven or twelve years old. But you won’t find it on record anywhere.’

Kate was nonplussed. ‘Why not?’