Damaged Goods (14 page)

Jack shrugged a confirmation and Lilly took Miriam’s hand as well, so they all three sat as if at a séance waiting for a sign.

‘Like I said, there’s no reason to be frightened.’

Nancy Donaldson checked her watch and was surprised to note she had forgotten to eat lunch. Many of her peers often missed their breaks and worked well into the evenings, but being Hermione Barrows’ assistant brought little in the way of stress or constraints upon her time. Until now. The last few days had seen Hermione catapulted into the public eye, and Nancy had been fielding a nonstop stream of requests for comments, interviews and meetings.

Nancy, who had been considering an escape from politics into journalism, found herself enjoyably busy. The other PAs made way for her at the front of the queue to the photocopier, acknowledging that the frisson her boss was creating propelled Nancy along with it.

She relished her advancement up the parliamentary pecking order and wondered if she would get a pay rise should Hermione ever make the cabinet.

‘I’m whacked,’ declared the MP from the other side of the room.

‘I’ll get someone to fetch coffee,’ answered Nancy. Her new status must, she assumed, preclude her from wasting time in the cafeteria.

Hermione yawned. ‘Don’t bother. I think I’ll go home.’

Nancy hid her disappointment. Surely they had to keep the momentum going or Grace Brand would become yesterday’s news. She toyed with the idea of airing her concerns, but instead answered the phone. She listened intently, making copious notes, to the information she was being given, then turned to Hermione and smiled.

‘Never mind the coffee, let’s crack open the bubbly.’

‘Good news?’ Hermione asked.

‘They’ve charged the girl. She’s being taken to court right now.’

‘Have the press got hold of it?’

At that moment, Nancy’s phone, Hermione’s mobile, the fax machine and the email sprang into life.

‘I’d say they just heard.’

DI Bradbury took Kelsey to the Youth Court himself. Jack and Miriam went with them. Lilly elected to drive over alone on the pretext that she needed some thinking time. In fact she wanted to search her handbag and briefcase for stray cosmetics in the hope of painting some semblance of life onto her now ashen face.

She found an old lipstick, which she smeared on her cheeks and mouth, and a black kohl pencil that produced a thick ring around each eye. The look was more panda than Biba.

Lilly had started the short journey across Luton when spots of rain began to hit the windscreen. Fat and oily, they soon covered the glass. She berated herself for not changing the wipers, which had worn too thin and never fully cleared the left-hand side. As the water came faster and heavier she perched on the end of her seat, trying to peer through the torrents that would not be pushed aside. She pulled alongside the court and parked entirely by memory since she could no longer see anything beyond two feet. She heard the distinctive crunch of metal against concrete. She hoped she had driven over a can but feared she had hit the bollard that had been erected to stop court users from parking so close to the entrance, and was intended to force them to use the new car park to the rear that had cost the taxpayer £100,000 and was consistently empty.

The first clap of thunder boomed as Lilly opened her door. She reached behind her for an umbrella and winced as she remembered the stolen safety bag.

She’d settle back and wait for it to stop, these summer storms never lasted long. Then the voice of the newsreader crackled from the radio:

Information has just reached us that the police have now
charged a teenage girl with the murder of Grace Brand.
While the police are unable to confirm whether the girl
in question is Kelsey Brand, Grace’s eldest daughter, they
have confirmed that they are pleased with how the investigation
has proceeded and are very hopeful of a conviction.

The MP for Luton West, Hermione Barrows, who has
campaigned tirelessly for Grace’s death to be taken seriously
by the authorities, had this to say:

‘I hope that it was clear I took no pleasure from the
knowledge that the police suspected a young girl of this
brutal crime; similarly, I see no cause for celebration when
that young person has been brought to justice. It cannot
bring Grace Brand back. However, it can and does send
out the plain message that the people of this country will
no longer tolerate the way in which young people have
been literally allowed to get away with murder.’

Lilly could listen no more. She snapped off the radio and struggled out into the deluge. A dirty river lapped her feet; unable to find its way through a heap of rubbish into the drain it was happy to seep into Lilly’s shoes.

She tried to make a run for it but her path was blocked by a group of reporters, clutching cameras and sound booms. Unlike Lilly they were armed with golf umbrellas and hooded jackets.

‘Are you here for Kelsey Brand?’

How could they know that? But it was late in the afternoon and the court was being opened especially for this case, it stood to reason Lilly must be involved.

‘Can you give us a comment?’

‘Is she guilty?’

Lilly tried to push her way through but her access was barred.

‘Have you heard what Hermione Barrows had to say?’

It was the proverbial red rag to this particular bull. Lilly stood stock-still and looked directly into the camera, the rain soaking her hair and face.

‘It is very easy to take things at face value and score political points without consideration of the effect a court case will have on Kelsey, now and for the rest of her life.’

‘Do you think the police bowed to pressure from Westminster?’

‘The police have almost no evidence and, in my opinion, would not have pursued Kelsey under ordinary circumstances, but the constant barrage of attacks from the press left them with little option but to build a case around her.’

‘If you’re right then she’ll be found not guilty, so what’s the big deal?’

Lilly’s eyes widened. ‘This whole process will take months, and in the meantime we won’t be able to plan for Kelsey’s future, we won’t be able to find her a new family, and we won’t be able to get her the help she needs to deal with the trauma of being dumped in care and having her mother murdered. I don’t know about you lot but I would call that a big deal.’

In no mood for further debate, Lilly put her head down and strong-armed her way inside.

The courthouse was deserted. The various preliminary hearings, applications for bail and pleas in mitigation on the cases of over a hundred children had been efficiently dispensed with by 1 p.m. Trials took place during the afternoons but Mondays were kept free, ostensibly for the magistrates and court staff to catch up with box work, the dull task of processing written applications, letters, statements and reports. In reality, anyone who could got away as early as possible and left the building free for the monumental clear-up that a half-day’s occupation by teenagers necessitated.

Lilly’s work usually took her to the County Court, where judges rather than magistrates decided the fate of her clients in care, but enough got themselves nicked along the way to ensure Lilly often spent an unwelcome amount of time in the Criminal Court.

She entered the advocates’ room, a dingy cupboard of a place where lawyers hid from their clients’ endless questions and requests for cigarettes. She pulled a tissue from a box on the central table that took up most of the available space and wiped her face dry.

At the far end sat a small man in his late fifties, picking his way through an egg and cress sandwich from a Tupperware box. He didn’t look up.

‘Hey, John,’ said Lilly, and pulled strings of wet hair through a rubber band.

She didn’t expect the man to answer. John Lockhart wasted nothing in life, not food, not money, certainly not words. He had worked as a prosecutor since 1973 and pursued each case with neither humour nor imagination. It was rumoured that in all his years of service he had never been promoted and still lived with his elderly mother. Watching him collect every stray crumb between thumb and forefinger, Lilly could well believe it.

‘The evidence is very weak, John,’ Lilly ventured. The little man looked up from his lunch but didn’t respond.

‘Don’t you think?’ Lilly said.

Lockhart appeared to weigh his response before stating, ‘It’s not my case.’

‘So who –’ Lilly stopped mid-sentence at the sight of an impeccably dressed barrister arriving at the court.

As soon as she saw him Lilly knew he was Queen’s Counsel, the most senior of barristers.

‘They’ve got a bloody silk,’ she said to herself. ‘You can’t get one this quickly, even in a case like this.’

‘Not usually,’ said Lockhart.

Lilly tried to fight off her fury. ‘They must have had him lined up for weeks. Which means they planned to charge Kelsey all along.’

‘Yes,’ sighed Lockhart, ‘I suppose they must.’

‘This is Brian Marshall, QC, he’ll be prosecuting for us,’ said DI Bradbury.

Jack felt his heart sink. He had known a barrister would be in the pipeline but how had things been organised so quickly? The word ‘stitch-up’ formed on the roof of his mouth. Lilly would be furious, and he just hoped she’d believe that he had known nothing about it.

‘The CPS rep is around somewhere,’ offered Jack.

Marshall clapped Jack firmly on the back. ‘Let’s not worry about him.’

Jack was uncomfortable with the camaraderie, it felt like the boys’ brigade banter he had so detested back home.

‘Jack here knows the case inside out,’ explained Bradbury. ‘He’s spent a lot of time with the defendant and her brief.’

Another clap almost knocked Jack off his feet. ‘Always good to have insider knowledge.’

Jack squirmed at the thought of helping this man against Lilly. And yet this wasn’t about her, it was about Kelsey and whether she had committed a horrible crime. He needed to put aside his personal feelings, and fast.

The air-conditioning in Court 10 had been turned off at the end of the morning’s session and the room was now hot, every window rendered opaque by condensation. Lilly felt a growl of nausea low in her stomach.

Being designed for children, the room was less austere than those used for adult cases. The magistrate sat at a large desk at the front with no elevated position from which to shout at defendants and advocates alike. His clerk sat to his left, leafing through her papers.

In the middle of the room were two further desks, side by side but not adjoined. Brian Marshall sat at one; at the other sat Lilly and Kelsey. At the back on mismatched chairs were Jack, Bradbury, Lockhart and Miriam. The hierarchy was well-established even in these deliberately relaxed conditions.

Marshall got to his feet. ‘May it please you, Sir.’

The magistrate gestured with annoyance for Marshall to sit down. ‘This is the Youth Court, Mr Marshall. No need for ceremonial nonsense here.’

Marshall bowed deeply and sat. ‘My apologies, Sir, but you’ll appreciate that I am not often called upon to appear in the lower courts.’

Touché.

‘Perhaps everyone should introduce themselves,’ suggested the clerk, who had confided in Lilly earlier that she was excited to be involved in such a high-profile murder case, but did not want matters to extend beyond 5 p.m. when she had booked an Ashtanga yoga class. A spat between an arrogant QC and her already annoyed colleague was to be avoided if at all possible.

Marshall spread his arms as if the answer to who he might be was obvious. ‘I am Brian Marshall, Queen’s Counsel, and I appear for the Crown. I am accompanied today by Mr Lockhart of the CPS and the officers in the case, DI Bradbury and his assistant Sergeant McNally.’

Lilly could imagine the grimace on Jack’s face at his description. She bit her lip.

‘I am Lilly Valentine, Sir, and I represent the defendant, Kelsey Brand. Also present is Miriam Zander, who is the manager of The Bushes Residential Unit where Kelsey is currently staying.’

The magistrate nodded. ‘Perhaps, Mr Marshall, you would outline briefly what the Crown have to say.’ He peered over his glasses. ‘Very briefly.’

The barrister, who was clearly more at home with a jury before whom he could prevaricate at length and gesticulate dramatically, drew himself up as far as the constraints of remaining seated would allow.

‘Put simply, the Crown say that on the seventh of September this year, Kelsey Brand murdered her mother, Grace Brand, by a fatal blow to the back of her head. A crime of this magnitude must naturally be transferred to the Crown Court for the case to be listed for a Preliminary Hearing at the earliest opportunity.’

‘That’s fair, wouldn’t you say, Miss Valentine?’ asked the magistrate.

Lilly nodded, she could scarcely argue that the matter was trivial.

‘And what about bail?’ The magistrate’s question was directed to Marshall.

‘I can’t pretend it’s not a difficult issue, Sir,’ he answered. ‘While Ms Brand is, of course, a juvenile, she is charged with an offence that almost never attracts bail.’

The magistrate snapped off his glasses. ‘I am well aware of what is and what is not usual, Mr Marshall. What I wish to know is what the Crown has to say in this particular case.’

Marshall paused as if weighing the issues. When he spoke it was with a pantomime gravitas that reminded Lilly why she hated using barristers.

‘If Ms Brand did commit this offence, as the Crown believes, then not only did she kill her own mother but she mutilated the body in a manner so meticulous and macabre that it is most certainly not safe to allow her to wander the streets unchecked.’

Lilly dived in. ‘My friend has hit the nail on the head, Sir. If she is guilty then she should be incarcerated, but that is a big “if”. Kelsey Brand adamantly denies her guilt in this matter and the evidence the Crown have produced so far is flimsy to say the least. I’m no QC but I know this case won’t get past first base.’