Broken (47 page)

He wondered if Willy’s body would ever turn up and if it did, what would be her reaction.

Duane, who had until recently taken his mother completely for granted, had finally realised just how much she did for him, just how much he needed her. Loved her even. Silly old bag she was, he hated seeing her so down and lonely.

When the doorbell rang, Maureen didn’t move from the settee. She had the TV on and Ricki Lake was ridiculing a bunch of women who had had babies by their sons’ friends.

In the old stained and ripped candlewick dressing gown she seemed to live in these days, and with a Superking dangling from her lips, Maureen shouted, ‘Get that, Duane. And tell whoever it is to fuck off, I ain’t in the mood.’

He sighed heavily and walked to the door.

Two minutes later he watched as his mother’s face sagged in shock, seeing Willy standing in the doorway like a bruised and battered ghost. She shot from her seat like a bullet from a gun and hugged him to her as if her life depended on it. Her voice was drenched in tears as she repeated his name over and over again like a mantra.

He finally pushed her away from him and said gruffly, ‘Fuck me, girl, you do look rough!’

Maureen wiped the tears from her cheeks and said loudly, ‘You ain’t looking exactly the dog’s knob yourself, mate!’

Duane saw that Willy was in pain and pulled his mother away, helping the big man to the sofa.

‘Shall I run you a bath, mate, and get you a bit of scran?’

Willy nodded gratefully. ‘That would be a touch, son, thank you.’

Duane went out to the kitchen and put the kettle on, feeling extraordinarily pleased to be doing these mundane tasks for Willy. Just seeing his mum’s happy face and hearing her running a brush through her tangled hair was payment enough for him.

Unlike all the others his mum had taken up with over the years, Duane had a feeling Willy Gabney was going to stick around.

Girlie Girls was packed again. Boris looked around him at the women who were paying hard-earned cash to have a young man dance at their table.

One of the bouncers was joking: ‘Give me the blokes any time. They have a fight and that’s it. But the women . . . they’re like animals!’

Boris smiled. He had heard it all before.

As the women squealed with delight at the young men in thongs and baby oil he pushed his way through to the offices. Inside he was greeted by Pascal, Patrick’s runner. He was keeping the club ticking over until Kelly could formally agree to sell it to the Russians. Boris had no doubt that Patrick would agree to the sale. After all that had happened he would see that it made good business sense.

Boris knew that everyone was amazed at his taking over the operation but he also knew they would not question him about it. He was too well connected these days.

Pascal was going over the books with his usual worried expression. It was a look he had perfected over the years to keep anyone from guessing what was going on in the razor-like mind he kept carefully concealed, just as he hid his sharp eyes behind thick-lensed glasses.

He, unlike most of the people in the club, did not see Patrick Kelly just rolling over and handing his club to the Russian. It didn’t add up. If Patrick ever got up and about again he’d want what was his, in Pascal’s opinion. And that included the club. So he was doing two sets of books, one for the Russian and another for Kelly.

It was the least he could do, and whatever happened he wouldn’t lose out. But he would rather keep books for Patrick - he felt more relaxed with him. These Russians made you feel that if you pushed them in any way at all you were finished, in more ways than one.

So Pascal worked out the real earnings and the buncedup earnings and what the difference was and where it was to go. A foot in each camp - the safest option until things were finally sorted out.

 

Kate was amazed to see Golding standing outside the entrance to the ward. He looked nervous and she hurried out to meet him. It was 6.35 in the morning and she was still half asleep after spending the night dozing in a chair.

He smiled at her and she smiled warmly back. He had come up trumps lately and it had shaken her that she could have been so wrong about someone.

‘Sorry to barge in like this, ma’am, but we have another murder and another missing child.’

She closed her eyes in distress. ‘Who?’

‘A little bird called Bernice Harper. Pro, works in a massage parlour. Kid called Mikey, another one that was borrowed. She’d been stabbed to death. Twice in the belly, but the one between the shoulder blades seems to be the one that did the trick. Her kid is three and he’s gone missing. She was another one who was under supervision. She had a record, mainly for petty offences - obtaining money by false pretences, kiting and shoplifting, and the regulation ones for soliciting. The first soliciting offence goes back to when she was thirteen. Pretty girl and all. Shame really.’

‘If she was working last night then maybe the child is still with a neighbour or a friend?’

Golding shook his head. ‘A woman who lives next door said she heard a commotion late last night, crying and everything, but it was par for the course so she didn’t take any notice. But no reports of anyone going in there or being seen nearby. Whoever this is came and went without attracting attention.’

Kate sighed. ‘I’m not surprised. It seems another thing these women have in common is that they all seem to live such complicated lives that nothing they do attracts undue notice.’

He pushed a hand through his sparse hair. ‘We’ve alerted the next-of-kin but the mother didn’t seem too surprised, by all accounts. Didn’t even ask about the child. I took a photo of the lad from the scene and guess what? He’s in the photograph we seized from Kerry’s.’

‘Get me a copy of the pictures and then meet me back here in about an hour, OK?’

‘I have a set in the car, ma’am. Can I drop you home to get showered or anything?’

She shook her head. ‘I have my car.’

He went to walk away.

‘On second thoughts, I’ll meet you at the police station at nine,’ Kate told him. ‘I have someone I want to talk to first.’

‘Fair enough. How is Mr Kelly?’

‘Bearing up, like the rest of us.’

Golding smiled a goodbye and she watched him walking away, her mind already completely focused on the new development.

This was someone who was able to get about completely undetected. That meant they were either very clever or very well known. Well known - meaning frightening. That was all it could be. Gut feeling said Suzy knew who it was, and they were trading together in kiddie porn. It fitted, made sense. But who the hell could it be and how was she to find out with a block put on questioning Suzy?

There was only one person she trusted enough to ask and she was going to do that now, before she changed, washed or ate.

 

Kate could tell that Robert was surprised to see her, but his wide smile of welcome made her feel better about calling so early in the morning.

‘I hope you don’t mind, Robert, but I really need your help.’

He grinned. ‘Come away in. I’d just made some coffee.’

She followed the delicious aroma into his kitchen which was now spotlessly clean. ‘I was up half the night cleaning. I find it so hard to keep up with everything, don’t you? After all these years with my father I can really sympathise with working mothers!’

He poured her a mug of fragrant coffee and she sipped it gratefully.

‘My one extravagance,’ he explained, ‘but I refuse to start the day with crap coffee. And tea! My dear, my stomach has to be awake for at least three hours before I can take it.’

Kate smiled.

‘So, what can I do for you, Miss Burrows, or can I call you Kate?’

‘Kate will be fine. I want to ask you a few things, off the record. We’ve had another murder. Bernice Harper.’

She saw his face pale at her words and his eyes fill with tears.

‘Dear God, not poor Bernice! How did it happen? And how is little Mikey? Shall I arrange care . . .’

His voice trailed off at her expression.

‘Mikey is missing, I’m afraid,’ Kate told him. ‘That’s the second child in a week since Sharon Pallister’s son hasn’t been found yet. For your ears only, we have literally nothing to go on other than Natasha and Suzy - and Suzy has friends in very high places.’

‘I’m not surprised.’ Robert smirked nastily. ‘Always made sure she was covered, did Suzy. I knew her before I came here. I was in Wales years ago, ran a care home for girls there. She was a skinny, ugly kid with a ruthless streak even then. If I told you what she’d do for a Kit-Kat it would blow your mind. But then, her mother was a
thing
. That’s the only description I can give, a positively disgusting
thing
. They were living in Tilbury then. Her mother was the worst kind of Dock Dolly. Take on anything after a few drinks in the Anchor and expected her daughters to do the same. I know Suzy gets up everyone’s nose, but considering how she was brought up, it’s no surprise really. I mean, put yourself in her shoes for five minutes. Where would she learn compassion, caring, how to love, if no one showed her?’

Kate knew he was right but she couldn’t share his feelings. To her, excuses didn’t count when someone was a whoremaster of children.

‘As far as I’m concerned, Robert, after that upbringing she should want to make sure that other kids are spared the same experiences.’

‘There speaks the product of a decent home and a decent upbringing. I know everyone thinks I jump on my soap box too readily about my girls but
someone
has to care for them.
Someone
has to try and get through to them and put them on a better path. My job is thankless, I am fucked off out of it twenty times a day. But I keep trying and every now and again I make a small impression. I get a girl to see what she’s doing. Get them to put their kids first. The public give so much money to good causes - the poor kids in Romania, whatever. Yet here two neglected children die per week, with babies more likely to be battered to death than toddlers or school-age kids. We have women who are pushing out kids like a conveyor belt with practically no back-up. Paedophiles find certain council estates havens for their covert activities. Some abuse can be traced back generations to grannies and great-grannies, all of them abused by relatives or a family friend.’

Robert paused for breath and looked at Kate, who was listening intently. ‘I see myself as a small cog in a dirty great big wheel,’ he explained, ‘and I try to help them instead of ridiculing them - make them see their bad points themselves without pointing them out as glaringly obvious like everyone else they come into contact with. I try and make a friend of them instead of treating them like the dirt they are to so many people in this world. In short, I try to give them a bit of self-respect. That, to me, is the key to dealing with society’s rejects.’

Kate had listened to him, but Robert knew he still had not wholly convinced her. But he would carry on doing what he had to do. Someone must help these people and it might as well be him. At least he genuinely cared about them.

‘Are there any more girls you think might be a part of the paedophile ring - who might be allowing their kids to be used?’ Kate asked him.

‘This is off the record, isn’t it?’

She nodded. ‘Of course. I swear I will keep it to myself, but if you can think of anyone at all who might be able to help us, or better still, someone you think might be involved with Suzy . . .’

‘As I said before, look up DI Barker when you can. He had a gang of kids when he was at Grantley. Most of them are still around and he had them well trained. No one could touch him, he made sure of that. Suzy was one of his, and Kerry Alston. Tash when she was a small girl. Quite a few of them. He was pulled over for it, but nothing was ever proved against him. Instead of being ostracised as you might expect would have been the case, he went onwards and upwards. Yes, Barker’s the only common denominator I can think of.’

Kate frowned, realising the enormity of what he had just said.

‘What do you know, then, that isn’t in a file anywhere?’

‘Look back to twelve years ago, when a young girl was raped and murdered. Lesley Carmichael. Off the Bentwood Estate, like the others. See what you think about that.’

The name rang a bell and Kate smiled her gratitude. ‘Thanks, Robert.’

He raised his eyebrows delicately. ‘One tries to help if one can, dear. But that was off the record, remember. I don’t want anyone coming after me for what amounts to gossip really.’

Kate finished her coffee and didn’t refuse the refill he offered her immediately. ‘I knew Barker through some of the girls I worked with in the homes,’ Robert told her. ‘He would visit them. When I came to Grantley I was surprised to see him here, to be honest. But he was on his way out even then.’

He shrugged dismissively. ‘Never liked him but that’s no crime, is it? Being an arsehole, I mean. And he is an arsehole, believe me. Now he’s in Vice he should be able to indulge his passions freely. Eleven and twelve year olds are plying their trade in London as you well know. Though of course he has the lovely Debbie waiting for him at home. What a slag she is.’

Kate heard the weariness in his voice and empathised with him.

‘Barker went deep. There were a good few involved with him - some in the so-called caring professions too. A GP and a director of Social Services. All of them walked away. The GP is still practising in Grantley but the Social Services type took retirement and a pay-off. The usual when things are hushed up. Ratchette, your superior, could tell you more about it than me. He headed the investigation then watered it down and tidied it up like a good boy. It was all internal. The girls who made the complaints were portrayed as liars. Well, they were from “problem” families. Basically they didn’t have a chance. If you talk to Camilla, she’ll tell you who they were. Her father was a beat cop here years ago. He’d know more about it than anyone.’