Damaged Goods (5 page)

‘They’re all on the torso,’ said Jack unnecessarily.

Cheney smirked, clearly aware of his friend’s efforts to redirect both his words and his gaze. ‘Yes. Nothing on the face or neck. Our assailant wanted to make his point but he didn’t want to rip her apart. There’s a degree of respect shown that’s intriguing.’

Now they were getting somewhere. ‘Maybe the killer knew Grace, had feelings for her,’ said Jack.

‘That’s highly probable. There was no sign of a forced entry or a struggle and there are no defensive injuries. It seems she let the killer in, suspecting nothing,’ said Cheney.

Lilly shook her head. ‘Isn’t it just as likely the killer was a punter? She was expecting him, she lets him in, he gives her the money, she turns round to count it, and bam.’

‘Why cut her up?’ asked Jack.

‘Who knows what people get off on? Some like shagging dogs, some like being whipped. Men are a curious breed, maybe some like cutting people up,’ said Lilly.

Dr Cheney considered this for a moment. ‘That would be a good theory, except the body has no evidence of any sexual activity, nor were any traces of semen found at the scene.’

Lilly snapped open the top button of her suit and scratched her throat, leaving vicious welts. Jack resisted the temptation to move her hand.

‘Surely we’re looking at a man? From a purely practical point of view he’d need to be strong enough to kill her outright and then move the body,’ said Lilly.

‘The blow to the head could have been caused by anyone strong enough to swing a pan or a hammer, male or female. It’s the density of the weapon that proved fatal,’ said Cheney, ‘and I’m afraid the deceased weighed only six and a half stone when she died.’

‘Junkies don’t eat much,’ said Jack.

Cheney nodded. ‘Anyone could have dragged the body out of the kitchen.’

‘Even a fourteen-year-old girl,’ said Jack.

Lilly jumped to her feet and shook Cheney’s hand. ‘Bloody marvellous.’

Then she left without giving Jack so much as a sideways glance.

Cheney reached for his gloves and chuckled. ‘If you were hoping for your leg over, Jack, I think you can forget it.’

‘Don’t I know it.’

At 7 p.m. Miriam arrived at the Batfield Arms to meet Lilly. She bought two gin and tonics at the bar and made for their usual table.

Lilly gratefully accepted the drink. It was her fourth. She took a long gulp and pushed the letter across the table.

‘This is a copy so I’m assuming you have the original.’

Miriam shook her head slowly. ‘It was sent to Kelsey’s mum at her request.’

‘You took a copy for your records and sent one to me with the other documents relating to her time in care,’ said Lilly.

Miriam nodded. ‘Standard procedure.’

‘Has anyone else seen it?’

‘No.’

Lilly put her forehead on the sticky table. Part of her had hoped social services, the police and the pope himself had already seen it.

‘It doesn’t mean she did it,’ Miriam said.

‘No, it doesn’t, but it’s material evidence that points in her general direction.’

‘I think it’s just a bit of ranting from a distraught child.’

Lilly banged her head repeatedly against the hard wood of the table. ‘Of course you do, Miriam, which is why you’re so brilliant at what you do. You see the good in all these lousy kids no matter what they’ve done.’

A look of deep sadness followed by quiet resignation fell across Miriam’s face. ‘Someone has to.’

‘But not me. I have to remain objective. I went to see the pathologist today and there’s no good reason why Kelsey couldn’t have done it. In fact, it’s likely there was a close bond between murderer and victim. I have to imagine what other people will make of that, coupled with a letter that looks like a bloody confession,’ said Lilly.

‘Do they have to see it?’ asked Miriam.

Lilly sighed. ‘It might not be down to me. The police might find the original.’

‘This is a murder investigation, the police will have been through everything in the flat. My guess is the mother destroyed it.’

They sat in silence. Lilly knew that Miriam had destroyed her copy as well. She drained her glass and accepted that the ultimate decision did indeed lie with her.

‘I would never ask you to do anything wrong, Lilly, but you know what this would mean,’ Miriam said.

Lilly squeezed her eyes shut and imagined the aftermath of disclosing this piece of evidence. The police would have enough to pursue Kelsey. With Mrs Mitchell’s statement they might even secure a conviction. A child locked away with adult criminals. It was a pressure some kids couldn’t bear.

‘My duty to the court in care proceedings overrides everything else. If information comes my way that may affect the child’s wellbeing then I must disclose it. It’s then a matter for the judge whether or not the evidence is passed to the police.’

‘But you have a different duty in criminal proceedings,’ Miriam pointed out.

‘The client’s confidentiality is paramount in those cases. I’m not obliged to assist the prosecution in any way. I certainly shouldn’t actively help them build their case,’ said Lilly.

‘That’s a pretty heavy conflict,’ said Miriam.

Tears stung Lilly’s eyes. ‘At the moment this is a care case so I ought to show the letter to the judge …’

‘But,’ said Miriam.

‘But I get the feeling it won’t be long before the police make their involvement official.’

‘Arrest her?’ asked Miriam.

‘Bound to,’ said Lilly. ‘And I wouldn’t want to make matters worse by waving around a letter they’ll just use against her.’

She had no idea what to do.

Finally she sniffed and said, more to herself than to Miriam, ‘Maybe the police will find out who killed Grace before I have to decide.’

CHAPTER FIVE

Friday, 11 September
 

Lilly arrived at The Bushes at 10 a.m. with the sun already soaring high and clear. After the discomfort of the previous day she’d dressed in a T-shirt, but when she got out of the car she rubbed her arms as the chill of the shadows greeted her.

Her plan was to find out what her client knew. Although the law made it clear that the child’s welfare was paramount, Lilly wasn’t about to abet a serial killer. Some straight talking was called for. She checked herself. Kelsey, of course, couldn’t talk.

In Lilly’s bag were a paper and pen. Not great, but it would have to do.

Lilly looked down at the photograph. It was a police mugshot taken a year before Grace’s death, when she was picked up in a sweep of the red-light district. The mother of four had been twenty-nine when she died but looked nearer to forty. Her face was thin with eyes buried deep in their sockets, her skin pulled taut over her cheekbones. She had spots and wrinkles, the remarkable combination a result of long-term abuse, both physical and emotional. Her name was Grace, but never had a person been so misnamed.

Lilly wondered whether the poor soul had ever been truly happy.

She thought of the photograph taken by the sea, of the picture pinned to the fridge. It didn’t need a detective to realise the only thing of any worth in Grace’s life had been her family.

She pushed the photo towards Kelsey, who sat in silence at the other side of her bed, a notepad and pen beside her. All Lilly’s harsh thoughts subsided. This was a child, and a traumatised one at that.

‘Tell me about your mum.’

Kelsey shrugged and began to pick the scabs around her mouth, lifting the edges with the nail of her little finger.

‘Okay, tell me about your sisters. Were you close? Did you fight?’ Lilly asked.

Kelsey couldn’t smile because of the scabs but a light danced in her eyes. It was the first Lilly had ever seen there and it answered both questions.

‘Big families are like that. My brothers used to beat me up every afternoon so they could watch their programmes on the telly,’ said Lilly, who was an only child.

Kelsey’s nod was emphatic.

‘I bet you used to let the little ones get their own way in the end.’

Again, the twinkle in her eyes was fleeting but it was there.

‘Did you have to help out a lot?’

Kelsey put out her hand and rocked it to and fro.

‘I suppose everyone had to chip in?’

The girl nodded.

Now for the hard one. ‘Someone killed your mum, Kelsey, and the police think it was you.’ Lilly swallowed. ‘Did you kill her?’

Kelsey shook her head very slowly. Lilly watched intently for any sign of deceit.

‘So who did?’

Kelsey looked down and went back to the scabs.

‘How about a punter, did they ever come to the flat?’ Lilly asked.

The girl held up her hand and seesawed it again.
Sometimes
.

‘Were they ever strangers?’

Kelsey frowned and shook her head vigorously.

‘So the only punters allowed at the flat were regulars – and the others, where did she service them?’

Kelsey picked up the pen and scribbled the word
message
.

‘Message?’ Lilly shook her head. ‘I don’t understand.’

Kelsey put down her pen and stroked her arms and legs.

‘You mean massage! Your mum saw clients at a massage parlour,’ said Lilly.

Kelsey nodded.

‘Do you know which one?’

Kelsey spread her arms wide.

‘Lots of different ones.’

Lilly wasn’t surprised. Working girls often spread themselves thinly.

‘Now tell me about Max,’ said Lilly. ‘Was he your mum’s pimp?’

A single but firm shake of the head. A definite no.

‘What then? A friend?’

Kelsey shrugged.

God, this was hard going, but Lilly tried not to show it.

‘How did they meet?’

Lilly was shocked when Kelsey pointed to the floor and to the walls.

‘Here! Grace knew Max when he lived here?’

Kelsey nodded.

‘Did she visit him here?’

Kelsey looked puzzled and shook her head.

Lilly tried to grasp where she’d gone wrong. ‘Not here. Your mum didn’t visit Max here.’

Kelsey knitted her brow. She was adamant. Grace had not visited Max in The Bushes. She picked up the photograph of her dead mother and pointed to the bed.

‘I don’t understand,’ said Lilly. ‘Write it down for me.’

When Kelsey finished scribbling Lilly almost shouted out.

Mum was in care as well
.

Grace had lived here too. She and Max went back years and had stayed in touch all that time. Could this be the close relationship Dr Cheney had described?

‘Was he ever violent to your mum?’

Kelsey nodded then shook her head. Her eyes were bright with tears as if the truth were unfathomable.

Lilly wanted to shake Kelsey. Couldn’t the kid see how important this was? But one glance at Kelsey told Lilly she didn’t see that at all. She had lost her mum and everything else was of no consequence.

Lilly leaned over and gently moved Kelsey’s hand from her mouth, which had started to bleed.

‘I am truly sorry about your mum. It must be the worst thing that has ever happened to you.’

Kelsey held Lilly’s gaze then picked up the notebook again.

The worst thing was when we got split up
.

Charlene scrambled through the contents of her rucksack to locate her phone. Another text had come through, the fourth in so many days. When she had received the first she thought he was taking the piss but she had been wrong, he meant what he was saying. She reread all four and glowed. Apart from him, no one had ever said she was special.

Max parked his car across from the market. He wound down his window and waited for the girl to arrive.

He’d sent numerous texts but it wasn’t a prearranged meeting. Most of the kids from The Bushes headed down here at lunchtime to mooch around the stalls and eat chips from white polystyrene trays.

He and Grace had done it themselves, laughing hysterically, arms linked, sharing their food if they were skint, which they were more often than not. If Gracie’s dad had had any luck on the horses he’d send her some cash and she’d treat them both to a battered sausage and chips. Since Grace could never manage more than a few mouthfuls before handing on her tray, Max would end up with a lunch fit for a sumo wrestler.

‘You’ve got hollow legs,’ she’d tease, trying to pinch the skin around his ribs.

Max had often wondered why Grace didn’t live with her dad, since he obviously loved his daughter enough to share his good fortune, even if he was a bit handy with his fists.

‘It’s better this way, for him and me,’ she’d say. ‘And I couldn’t leave you on your lonesome, could I?’

Max dragged himself from his memories and ordered himself not to think about her. Grace was dead. Grace was gone. And anyway, the bitch had betrayed him, just like everyone else.

He turned his thoughts to Charlene. If she turned up he’d grab her while he had the chance, if not he’d try again tomorrow. It was a total pain but he couldn’t risk meeting her at the unit. Not with Kelsey there. He didn’t think he could face her, not now.

Several residents got off the bus and made straight for Big Lynne’s burger van. Most looked over at Max and admired his gleaming BMW. He’d have been just the same at their age, impressed by the bling of a luxury car, not noticing it was nine years old and worth about a grand.

He watched them larking around throwing chips at each other. Charlene wasn’t with them. Maybe she hadn’t come. He waited until they’d finished their lunch and set off to the arcades.

He’d been hanging about for nearly an hour and was itching for a toot. He was about to give it up and head back to the estate to score when he saw her. She was on her own, as usual, fingering a rack of cheap trousers, the sort that hung too low on the hips. Crap like that would cost a fiver at the most so he got out of his car and approached, intending to buy them for her.

Unaware that she was being watched by Max or anyone else, the girl slipped the trousers into her bag. As she turned to leave, the burly stallholder, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, caught her by the arm and a scuffle ensued.

Charlene struggled to get away and clawed at the man until her false nails began to snap off one by one, sounding like popcorn in a hot pan. She screamed that she was being attacked, but the stallholder clung on, his cigarette in place, one eye closed against the plume of smoke. A crowd began to gather, amused by the spectacle, glad for a reason to put down their shopping bags on such a warm day. They pointed and tittered; even Big Lynne put down her spatula and leaned her not inconsiderable girth over her greasy counter to see what the fuss was about. She gave a fleshy thumbs-up to her fellow market worker who seemed to have the situation under control until the girl gave her captor a swift kick in the groin.

‘Ooh,’ cried the audience as one.

In an effort to protect himself the stallholder let go of the girl’s arm and she instantly fled, unchallenged by the shoppers until another man caught her around the waist.

‘Jack Mc-fucking-Nally,’ she shouted.

‘Charlene Clarke,’ he answered.

At the sight of the policeman Max cursed and slunk back to his car. 

Hermione stirs her coffee but doesn’t drink it. She already feels giddy with power and caffeine might send her over the edge.

When central office had suggested she request a meeting with the Chief Superintendent she had not shared their confidence that he would have any interest in hearing her views, but less than twenty-four hours later here they are in his office. The inner sanctum.

She wishes she had someone to tell, to share in the excitement. She is forty-six and doesn’t have a friend. She has never had a friend. Colleagues yes, associates plenty, acquaintances by the truckload, but no special friend.

Even at boarding school, forced to spend twenty-four hours a day with the same set of girls, she didn’t forge any firm bonds. She wasn’t bullied nor deliberately excluded, just overlooked. In the dorm the other pupils would share her tuck and copy her prep, but she was never invited to birthday teas or slumber parties. During the school holidays the others often visited one another but Hermione was never asked. She supposes she should have done the inviting, but home was always fraught, with her father’s ceaseless moans about money and her mother’s demands that he get a better job.

Hermione recalls one summer when her mother had told every guest passing through that her daughter had been all-round winner at sports day with a special commendation for gymnastics. When the vicar had implored the singularly un-athletic Hermione to strut her stuff she’d been forced to perform a ludicrously cack-handed cartwheel.

‘Actually,’ said her mother to the embarrassed assembly, ‘Hermione has sprained her wrist, but she’s too polite to say.’

For the remainder of August her mother had suggested Hermione might like to sport a bandage.

Hermione sighs. She would have loved to share today’s good fortune with her mother. Still, she has William.

The policeman smiles politely. ‘You’ve been somewhat critical of the police in recent days, Mrs Barrows, and I’m wondering where you’re going with it and whether you’ve considered how damaging your comments could prove.’

She gives him credit for his efforts to backfoot her, but William had predicted this tactic and warned against any platitudes on her part. ‘Stay on the offensive, darling.’

‘My comments reflect the views of my constituents, the people you and I serve. Your failure to act upon those views is damaging the police, not my rhetoric,’ she says.

He steeples his fingers and taps his nose. She simply waits, her smile sanguine. She has outwitted more complex characters than him before. She has kept her cool in situations more difficult than this.

‘Does central office know you intend to pursue this issue?’ he asks.

‘Of course. But you already know that,’ she answers.

He feigns innocence. ‘How could I?’

Time for them both to lay their cards on the table.

‘Your press office called mine this morning. If I was skiing off-piste they would have whipped me back in line and we wouldn’t be having this meeting. Since I have party backing you are obliged to take me seriously.’

‘What’s your next move?’ he asks.

‘Interviews with the press in the next hour,’ she replies. ‘Tell me you intend to investigate the girl and what I say will be more palatable.’

‘She’s not fit to be interviewed at present,’ he says.

‘Then we’ve nothing to discuss.’ She stands up and smooths her jacket from collar to hem. When she reaches the door, she turns. ‘This is a huge mistake.’

When he is sure she has left he picks up his phone.

‘Get me Jack McNally.’

Miriam did something she hated and shut the door to her office. A closed door meant she was off limits, too busy to speak, and when people had no one to speak to bad things happened.

‘Did she do it?’ she said.

Lilly shrugged. ‘She says not.’

‘Do you believe her?’

‘What the hell do I know, Miriam, I’m not a shrink.’

Miriam watched her friend and colleague run her fingers through her hair. She knew how seriously Lilly took her job and could see how tortured she was feeling. She also knew from the fatigue etched around Lilly’s eyes that old memories, and bad ones at that, were forcing their way into this mess.

‘Go home and get some rest.’

Why bother saying it when she knew Lilly couldn’t do that. Despite what her friend thought Miriam
had
kept a copy of Kelsey’s letter and was bound by no professional rules on disclosure. She could hand it over to Jack and put Lilly out of her misery. Let the authorities decide what should happen to Kelsey. It seemed such a sensible course of action, and yet she would never do it.