Damaged Goods (23 page)

‘How was Cara?’ Lilly asked.

Sam pulled a face. ‘Fat. She went to bed at about seven cos her heart was burning.’

Lilly allowed herself a smile. The thought of Cara in maternity clothes and chugging on a bottle of Gaviscon was maliciously satisfying.

When they arrived home, Miriam was sitting on the doorstep.

She waved two carrier-bags groaning with food. ‘I come bearing gifts.’

The two women laid out the food in companionable silence while Sam set the table.

‘You okay?’ Miriam asked at last.

Lilly nodded. They were friends. Miriam didn’t need to spell out her worries, the fact that she was here, that she’d brought food said it all. It was enough.

‘And what about you, Sam, how’re things?’ Miriam asked.

‘Cool. I’m going skiing after Christmas.’

While Sam was in the kitchen collecting more cutlery Miriam turned to her friend. ‘How the hell are you going to pay for that?’

‘I’m thinking of selling a kidney.’

They ploughed their way through a feast. Taut black olives glistening with oil, cherry tomatoes and firm avocados sliced onto salty cheeses. Three different types of bread hot from the oven.

‘Fantastic,’ announced Lilly, and undid a button.

Sam nodded his assent and crammed in a herby slice of focaccia. ‘Did you make it yourself, Auntie Miriam?’

‘She never cooks,’ said Lilly.

‘Never?’ asked Sam in astonishment. ‘Mum cooks all the time.’

‘I’m much busier than your mum,’ said Miriam.

Lilly threw a crust at her friend. A shower of crumbs got stuck in her braids.

‘There is one thing I always cook,’ said Miriam, and produced a packet of popping corn. Sam whooped with excitement.

She curled her lip at Lilly. ‘Bet he doesn’t react like that to your home-made pies, girlfriend.’

While Sam settled himself into a battle between a blue plastic mutant-something and a red plastic mutant-something- else, Lilly and Miriam slumped peacefully in front of the television, a bowlful of warm salty popcorn between them.

The local news was awash with stories of the hosepipe ban until the saga of the Brands, heralded by Hermione Barrows, raised its carefully highlighted head.

‘What do you have to say to the news that Grace’s daughter has been committed to a mental institution?’ asked the reporter.

‘That’s not even true,’ shouted Lilly.

‘Shhh,’ Miriam admonished her friend with a wave.

Hermione Barrows filled the screen. ‘Like everyone else I’m shocked and saddened. Shocked that a young person could be so ill under the eyes and ears of the authorities and saddened that nothing was done to help.’

‘Do you blame social services?’ asked the reporter.

‘I’m not one for laying blame, it really doesn’t help, but of course questions must be asked and lessons learned. I’ve already asked the Director of Luton Social Services to begin an investigation into their involvement with this family, and I will of course be keeping a personal eye on its progress. I for one will not allow this matter to be simply swept under the carpet.’

‘Of course you won’t, Kelsey’s your ticket to fame and fortune,’ Lilly yelled.

‘Shame on you, Barrows,’ muttered Miriam.

Sam was only mildly interested in the sight of his mother and his adopted auntie throwing popcorn at the television. Frankly, he’d seen it all before.

When night fell the two women stepped outside to cool their minds and sip their wine.

‘You did very well today,’ said Miriam.

Lilly didn’t reply.

‘You don’t think so?’ asked Miriam.

Lilly sighed. ‘I did. I was over the moon when I knew we could get the kid out of Parkgate.’

‘And now?’

‘I have doubts about this whole thing.’ Lilly looked Miriam in the eye. ‘If Kelsey murdered her mother can we really be sure that the other children in Leyland House will be safe?’

Miriam rolled her eyes. ‘She didn’t kill her mother.’

‘We can’t be sure of that, at least I can’t be. Mrs Mitchell says she saw her the night Grace died, and then there’s that bloody letter.’

‘You said yourself the neighbour’s evidence is poor, and the letter is just a silly threat from an unhappy girl,’ said Miriam.

‘Or a serious threat from an unhappy girl,’ said Lilly.

The slight breeze of earlier had picked up pace and Miriam’s T-shirt rustled gently in time with the whispers of the trees. ‘She’s better off getting proper treatment whether or not she’s guilty.’

It was true of course. Nothing would persuade Lilly that Parkgate Prison was right for any child, whatever they had done, least of all one with psychiatric problems.

‘And surely’, Miriam continued, ‘it’s far more likely that Grace was killed by a deranged client.’

Lilly finished her wine and enjoyed the sensation of the cool wind on her damp lips.

‘I said I wouldn’t do this any more.’

‘Beat yourself up?’ asked her friend.

‘Drink alcohol.’

Miriam chuckled and filled both their glasses. ‘Tell me about you and Jack.’

‘Nothing to tell,’ said Lilly. ‘Yet.’

‘It would be less complicated to wait until after this case,’ said Miriam gently.

‘Without another suspect the case will go to trial sometime next year,’ said Lilly. ‘He could be married by then.’

‘Better hurry up and solve the mystery, then, Sherlock.’

Lilly nodded. Although Miriam was joking Lilly knew that it was exactly what she had to do.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Monday, 21 September

The following morning Jack waited outside HMP Parkgate. Too hot to sit in the car he leaned against the bonnet sipping a cup of tepid coffee that one of the guards had brought out to him earlier. A rare gesture of goodwill.

Eventually Kelsey appeared, squinting into the daylight and carrying an almost-empty clear plastic sack marked ‘Her Majesty’s Prison Service’. She was handcuffed to a guard at least twice her size.

‘Is that necessary?’ Jack asked.

The guard scowled. ‘Too right. You can do what you like at the next place but we’re not losing her on my shift.’

Throughout the journey Kelsey stared out of one window, the guard out of the other. Jack stared straight ahead and drove. He vowed once again to make more effort to get a promotion.

When they arrived at a small parade of shops, Jack turned into Leyland Road and was surprised by the pleasant surroundings. In a leafy part of North London it was a quiet cul-de-sac, with a Victorian mansion house at the very tip flanked on all sides by well-tended gardens.

‘This looks nice, Kelsey,’ he ventured.

She didn’t look in his direction and the guard sniffed his disquiet, no doubt disgruntled that a violent killer was ending up in a house bigger than his own.

Inside, the unit was bright and comfortable, the walls clean and the paintwork fresh. The sound of a piano filtered down the stairs.

‘We’ll take it from here,’ said a member of staff, and indicated the handcuffs which the guard snapped off. Both he and Kelsey automatically rubbed their wrists.

As Jack watched Kelsey being led away he felt a sense of relief. Whatever happened now, the poor kid would get some help. When he got to the door he took a look over his shoulder and was startled to find Kelsey doing the same. It was the first time she had ever looked him in the eyes and he didn’t like what he saw.

Once outside, Jack checked his watch. It would take him at least an hour to get back to the station and he was already parched. He’d leave the car here and amble up to the corner shop for a can of Coke.

On his way back down he swirled the liquid around his mouth and wondered how much overtime he’d have to put in to afford a house like the ones on Leyland Road. He sighed. No one went into police work for the money.

As he approached his car the door to Leyland House was thrown open from the inside and the same woman who had led Kelsey away bolted into the garden.

Jack had seen enough panic in people’s faces to know something was seriously wrong.

‘What’s happened?’ he shouted.

The woman’s eyes were round with fear. ‘Kelsey’s barricaded herself in. I think she’s going to jump.’

Jack followed the woman’s eye-line to the windows on the first, second and third floor.

‘Which one is she in? How can she open it?’

‘She’s taken the fire extinguisher.’

Jack was about to ask how that might help when the sound of smashing glass pierced the air and shards rained down.

The woman covered her face with her hands and ran inside with Jack in hot pursuit.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

The woman was breathing hard but managed a nod. It was all Jack needed to sprint past her and up the stairs.

On the first landing were four doors. Shit! Which one? If Kelsey died he would never forgive himself. And as for Lilly …

He flung open the first door and found an enormously fat boy sitting on his bed. He was stark-naked, his penis hidden under rolls of flab.

‘Can I help you?’ he asked, seemingly unperturbed by Jack’s wild entrance.

‘Sorry, wrong room.’

Jack slammed the door and opened the next.

A small Chinese girl was feeding a goldfish at the far end of the room. Her response to Jack was less relaxed than her neighbour and she screamed.

‘I’m looking for Kelsey,’ said Jack.

The girl continued to scream.

‘The new kid,’ said Jack. ‘Which room is she in?’

The girl’s scream continued at an alarming decibel but she pointed upwards.

‘Thanks,’ said Jack and ran for the stairs. The wailing reverberated after him like a dog at his heels.

He reached the top and headed to the room directly above the banshee. He tried the door. It wasn’t locked but something was blocking the way. Kelsey had put something against it.

He rattled the handle with one hand and slammed the wood with the heel of his other.

‘Don’t do this, Kelsey,’ he roared. ‘Please don’t do this.’

There was nothing for it but to force the door. He just hoped he was in time.

Jack took two steps back and charged with his shoulder. He felt the pain jolt through him like an electric current but the door didn’t give.

Again he took a step back, and this time he kicked with his full force.

‘Jesus Christ.’ He wished he’d worn his police-issue boots rather than Converse trainers. Both his left arm and leg were numb with pain. Jack felt like he’d had a stroke but he kicked again. This time the door flew open.

‘Kelsey!’

She was perched on the ledge, her tiny body framed by jagged glass.

‘It’s two floors up,’ said Jack. ‘You might not die but you could spend the rest of your life in a wheelchair.’

A look passed between them and Jack held his breath. Did this poor kid have anything left to lose?

‘Sorry,’ said Kelsey, and jumped.

Jack crossed the room in a second, his arm outstretched in a desperate attempt to catch her. Too late.

‘You poor kid,’ he said, and hardly dared look down. When he did he was shocked.

Kelsey had landed on a pile of pillows and duvets and was scrabbling to her feet. She dived across the lawn and headed up Leyland Road.

Kelsey hadn’t tried to kill herself. She’d escaped.

The station was like the
Marie Celeste
. A body from uniform had been promoted to the Drug Squad and everyone was down the pub. Jack sat at his desk and waited. He just hoped he could get this done before the hordes returned, noisy and stinking of drink.

At last Bradbury arrived and they headed to the boss’s office. Gone was the calm confidence and bonhomie between Bradbury and his superior; instead the Chief was pacing.

‘You wanted to see us, Sir,’ said Bradbury.

The Chief stopped his march and leered at them from his side of the desk. ‘Not really, no. What I actually want is for my officers to run cases efficiently and quietly. I want the minimum of fuss and the minimum of press attention. But what do I get?’

Both Jack and Bradbury knew better than to risk a response. The Chief was in full throttle.

‘What I get’, he ranted, ‘is an almighty cock-up.’

‘I don’t think we’re to blame for this, Sir,’ said Bradbury.

Jack admired his courage. He himself was saying nothing.

‘Our defendant has absconded. So who do you think is to blame?’

Bradbury paused and smoothed his tie. ‘I think circumstances were beyond anyone’s control.’

It was too much for the Chief, who exploded with a fury Jack had never before seen.

‘Do you think the press will give a monkey’s left bollock about the circumstances?’

‘No, Sir,’ said Bradbury.

‘No indeed. Together with that bloody politician they’ll crucify us.’

The Chief turned his back in disgust. ‘I don’t care how you do it, just find Kelsey Brand.’

Lilly picked up another form and began to fill it in. Her day had started well. She’d awoken feeling so different from the day before it was as though cold Perrier was skipping through her veins. She’d wolfed down two croissants and arrived at work early to go through Kelsey’s case again. Maybe she was missing something.

But as soon as the office opened Rupinder had ushered Lilly down to her office and locked Lilly’s door behind her.

‘You are not leaving until at least half of that paperwork has been processed,’ came the voice from the other side of the door.

‘What if I get hungry?’ wailed Lilly.

‘I’ll push a sandwich under the door at lunchtime.’

‘What if I need the loo?’

‘Use a vase.’

‘What if there’s a fire?’

‘Dial 999.’

Lilly glared at the twin towers on top of her cabinet and threw a pen at them.

Five hours later, Lilly was not even halfway through the first pile.

‘Somebody save me,’ Lilly said to her desk.

‘In hell no one can hear you scream.’

Lilly looked up and saw her boss in the doorway. She hadn’t even heard the door being unlocked.

‘This is contrary to the Human Rights Act. It’s a crime for which you will be punished.’

‘Better that than listen to my partners going on about this little lot,’ said Rupinder.

‘Has anyone called?’ asked Lilly.

‘Yes.’

‘Who?’

‘Sheila’s taking messages.’

Lilly jumped to her feet.

‘Sit,’ the boss barked. ‘I’ll give them to you later.’

‘There could be something important,’ said Lilly.

‘Believe me, there is nothing more important than my sanity, which can only be preserved by you finishing your paperwork.’

Lilly opened her mouth to argue.

‘I’m a woman on the edge, Valentine, so don’t push me.’

Lilly knew she was beaten and went back to the forms.

An eternity later, Sheila came down with a handful of yellow slips. Each note set out who had called and at what time and had a small space for a comment such as ‘will try again after three’, but Sheila kept everyone entertained with her own colourful interpretations of what had been said. ‘Rude wanker said he’d top himself if he doesn’t win his case. Good luck I say,’ was not unheard of, so Lilly simply laughed when she read: ‘
Jack somebody – weird Scottish accent – wants a
word on the bland case
.’

She dialled his number. ‘Jack, it’s Lilly, what’s up?’

‘Jesus, woman, I called you hours ago, where’ve you been?’

Lilly glanced ruefully around her room. ‘Don’t ask.’

‘Okay, I won’t, but you need to know Kelsey’s legged it,’ he said.

Lilly gasped. ‘What?’

‘It’s a total disaster. She smashed a second-floor window and got through it,’ he said.

Lilly had to sit down, she couldn’t believe this. ‘She jumped from the second floor! She must have broken her neck.’

‘You’d think so, but she chucked two duvets out before her to soften the fall.’

Lilly paused for a second to let it sink in. ‘Where do you think she’s gone?’

‘I was going to ask you the same question. Looks like we underestimated wee Kelsey.’

* * *

When Lilly explained what had happened, Rupinder didn’t argue as Lilly dashed out of the office. Even she knew not to step into the path of a hurricane.

Lilly drove without caution straight to The Bushes, where Miriam was waiting.

‘Has she been in touch?’ asked Lilly.

‘What makes you think that?’ replied Miriam.

‘I don’t know. These young people tell you things, they trust you,’ said Lilly.

Miriam shook her head so wildly her braids danced round like the snakes of Medusa. ‘You’re wrong. They don’t tell me anything. I have no idea when they’re feeling desperate or when they’re taking drugs.’

Lilly reached out to touch Miriam’s arm but she pushed it away.

‘They don’t trust me at all or I’d be able to stop them doing terrible things to themselves,’ Miriam shouted.

‘Listen,’ whispered Lilly in an attempt to calm her friend and restore the equilibrium, ‘not everyone wants to talk about their feelings or their problems, but when these kids do want to talk you’re always here for them. Always.’

She reached out to Miriam who, this time, accepted a comforting squeeze.

Miriam’s eyes glinted with tears. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘since Lewis died I always think the worst.’

Lilly said nothing. The tragic death of her friend’s son almost never came up, and when it did Lilly felt she should simply listen. What platitudes could she offer anyway? ‘Don’t worry.’ ‘It could be worse.’ The truth was it could not be worse. Lewis’s suicide was shocking, painful and unfathomable. Lilly couldn’t imagine how Miriam must feel or how she managed to keep going every day, and she wouldn’t patronise her by saying that she could.

When Miriam had gathered herself and wiped her eyes she went straight back to business. ‘We’ve got to find her before the police or they’ll revoke her bail without a second thought.’

‘They’ll probably revoke it anyway,’ said Lilly.

‘Not when we explain the circumstances.’

Lilly wondered how she was supposed to explain a dive through a second-storey window but could see now was not the time to argue with Miriam.

‘You’re right,’ said Lilly, ‘but where on earth could she have gone?’

Things were right on track for Max Hardy. The girl was well under his grubby thumb, pretty much gagging for her starring role. They sometimes got stage-fright at the last minute but a small bag of something usually helped the proceedings along. The trick was to give them just enough to make them sparkle but not so much that things got messy.

Barrows had paid double. Max had known he would, the sick bastard. It was more money than Max had ever seen in one hit, and although Max had to admit he’d dipped into the pot a few times he reckoned he still had enough for a plane ticket to freedom. He’d planned to take a little back-up cash with him but now he’d have to hit the ground running. No sweat, a man with his talent wouldn’t let anything get in his way.

He parked his BMW and walked up the stairwell to Gracie’s flat. Like always, he checked the nosy bat at number 62 wasn’t twitching her curtains, then ripped the police tape from the door of number 58. For a split second he wondered if the council had changed the lock, but no, his old key slid in just fine. By the time they finally got round to it he’d be long gone.

Everything felt so familiar. He could almost see Grace sitting at the kitchen table, smoking fag after fag.

‘Get on with it,’ she’d say as he traipsed through to the living room, tripod over his shoulder.