A Place Of Safety Read online

  ‘Are you saying we should have just left him to die?’

  The paramedic had strapped Tony onto a stretcher. ‘Some might say you’d have been doing us all a favour.’

  If Caz has overdosed today would there be anyone there to dial 999?

  ‘You can’t OD when you’re tooting, only with needles,’ she’d told him. But was that right?

  ‘A gang of us are off to a squat party in Camberwell, why don’t you come with us?’ says Long Tall Sally. ‘It’ll cheer you up to get off your head.’

  ‘Thanks, but I’m heading up to Waterloo to meet Caz,’ says Luke.

  Sally cocks her head to one side, her dreads shivering like snakes. ‘I’m not sure she wants to see you right now.’

  Luke frowns. ‘Why would that be?’

  ‘I’m saying nothing, mate, but we all have things we like to keep to ourselves.’

  Luke watches her leave with a group of boys who already look halfway to being drunk. If he thinks about it, Long Tall Sally is right. Caz is obviously keeping something from him. The way she disappears with no explanation before or after. At first it made him sad, but now it makes him angry. They’re friends, so why can’t she trust him?

  He’s still racking his brain when he jumps the barrier at Leicester Square station.

  ‘Oy,’ roars the guard, and chases him down the steps.

  Luke jumps them two at a time and races down the platform. A train is just about to leave. ‘Please mind the gap,’ warns the mechanical voice. Luke leaps into a carriage as the doors close and the guard is left slapping the glass with the palm of his hand.

  People stare, so Luke pulls his hoodie back over his head and looks at the floor as the train pulls away.

  Lilly poured herself a glass of Chablis. She was keen to draw a line under what had been a taxing day.

  She had known Rupes would react badly to the current bail arrangements, but hadn’t expected her to lock herself in her room. Lilly had felt the resentment seeping from under her door every time she crept past. Another round of bellowing would have been preferable.

  Anna, on the other hand, had been a revelation, tidying Lilly’s workspace and filing the snowstorm of loose papers. Sheila had tossed her tight perm and sniffed in disgust, but Lilly could tell even she was impressed.

  It might have all ended relatively peacefully if the package from the CPS hadn’t arrived. Lilly would have gladly slid the manila envelope into her bag and dealt with it at home but not today. No doubt it was to outshine their newest member of staff but Sheila insisted on following office policy. She opened the package with her knife and slid the photographs onto her desk to be date-stamped on the back.

  As soon as Lilly saw what they were, she flung herself on top of them—but not before Anna had seen the corpse of Charlie Stanton.

  ‘Autopsy,’ said Lilly ‘Standard stuff.’

  Anna nodded, her face as pale as the body in the photo. Then she vomited across the desk.

  After that, Sam’s tantrum about extra time on his Nintendo seemed almost to be expected.

  ‘You never think about what I want,’ he raged, and they both knew he wasn’t referring to Super Mario.

  Now, with Sam and Anna both in bed, Lilly would have a quick drink and get an early night herself.

  Ring, ring. The doorbell.

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’

  Lilly yanked open the door and found Milo standing in the rain. He held up a pink plastic rucksack. ‘I found this in Anna’s room.’

  ‘And that?’ asked Lilly, pointing to a box in his other hand.

  ‘I shave your front entrance,’ he said.

  Lilly choked so hard that Milo dropped both items and clapped her on the back.

  Lilly gasped for air, tears coursing down her cheeks. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘It’s a lathe.’ Milo knocked the warped door frame with his knuckle. ‘I shave this so it opens more easily.’

  Still coughing, Lilly ushered him inside and poured him a drink.

  ‘I have spoken wrongly?’ he asked.

  Lilly wiped her face with the back of her hand. ‘No, no. I just swallowed something too quickly.’

  He smiled up at her, obviously relieved. His hair was damp and the curls on his forehead were more pronounced.

  ‘That happens to me,’ said Lilly. ‘When mine gets wet.’

  He touched his finger to his black coil. ‘Kissing curls.’

  He looked directly into her eyes, the green as startling as ever.

  Lilly took a gulp of wine.

  ‘Things are okay?’ he asked. ‘With Anna?’

  Glad to be on safer ground, Lilly see-sawed her hand. ‘I’ve got to get to grips with the evidence. Work out what our case is.’

  Milo shrugged. ‘She didn’t do it.’

  ‘I wish it were that easy.’

  ‘It is simple. She didn’t kill that boy’

  ‘Technically that’s true,’ agreed Lilly. ‘But why was she there? Why did she have a gun? She can’t give me any explanation for that.’

  Milo put down his glass, his face thoughtful. ‘Sometimes you just do what you’re told to do.’

  ‘What? Someone says here’s a gun, now come with me, and you don’t ask what’s going on?’

  Milo rubbed the stem of his glass. ‘When I left Bosnia I spent eleven days in the container of a lorry. It was pitch black. I did nothing at all but sit there. I had put my life in the hands of the driver. I ate when the driver told me to eat, drank when he told me to drink. I even make toilet when he tells me.’

  ‘Would you have taken a gun if he’d asked you?’

  ‘My life was his to save or not.’ Milo wiped his hands across his face as if washing something away. ‘I would have done whatever he asked of me.’

  Without a second thought, Lilly leaned towards Milo and embraced him, one hand around his shoulder, the other around his head. She breathed him in as if she could inhale his pain. As she moved her hands through his hair she felt the distinct jolt of attraction and knew that if she did not move away she would kiss him.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, and moved to the sink.

  Milo laughed. ‘Always you apologise. Do you think I mind when a beautiful woman tries to kiss me?’

  ‘I didn’t try to kiss you.’ Lilly rinsed her glass. ‘I was sorry for what had happened to you.’

  ‘Not a kiss then,’ he laughed. ‘What you English call a mercy fuck.’

  Lilly put her hands on her hips. ‘First, what just happened then was not a…I mean, not even close to…not even in the same hemisphere as a…’

  ‘Milo got up to leave and smiled. And second?’

  ‘Second, I would never, ever sleep with someone out of pity, and if you think that then you are a very poor judge of women.’

  He paused at the door, amusement still playing around his mouth. ‘So what would be a good reason?’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘To sleep with a man.’

  Lilly’s mouth opened and closed like a trout. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Come on, Lilly, you have an answer to everything.’

  ‘Okay, he’d need to be sexy and clever,’ said Lilly. ‘And funny.’

  He went outside into the night and the rain. ‘A tall order.’

  ‘I’m choosy,’ she said, and closed the door, thinking of all the men in her life who hadn’t come even close to what she’d just described.

  An hour later she was still shaken. She told herself that nothing had happened with Milo. He’d got the wrong end of the stick, nothing more. So why did it feel so deliciously dangerous? Please God, let David be wrong about her deliberately jeopardising her relationship with Jack.

  She poured another glass of wine and forced herself to turn her mind to the case. What Milo had said about following orders rang true. When Lilly had last spoken to Artan he’d certainly been menacing. Perhaps Anna was afraid of him? But was she fearful enough to do whatever he asked?

  Lilly needed to know
what had been in Anna’s mind. She ripped open a packet of peanuts with her teeth and emailed an old friend.

  When Luke arrives at Waterloo it’s dark and raining again. He swears to himself and sets off to The Black Cat, a café that lets the homeless hang out as long as they buy the crappy food and keep their fights outside.

  There’s quite a crowd, what with the crap weather, and the air hangs thick with condensation and grease.

  ‘Either come in and shut the door or fuck off,’ shouts the man behind the counter.

  ‘Just looking for someone,’ says Luke.

  ‘Well, now you’ve looked, so make up your mind.’

  Luke gives him the finger and leaves.

  He heads over to the NCP. Most of the cars are gone by nine when the crack-heads and homeless take over the lower levels. Caz mostly steers clear at night.

  ‘Can’t bleedin’ sleep with all that wailing and grunting,’ she said.

  ‘But isn’t there safety in numbers?’ asked Luke.

  ‘Oh, yeah, soft lad, safe as houses with every psycho in London sleeping two feet away from us.’

  But sometimes she makes an exception and goes over there when she’s got something to sell.

  A couple of fires are burning in old braziers but the place is still as gloomy as hell. Literally. It smells of piss and glue and the cold, catch-in-the-throat stench of crack.

  Four boys suck on their pipes, eyes wide, shoulders stiff. They don’t seem to have noticed the old man lying feet away in a pool of cheap cider. A woman sits on a roll of carpet, an aerosol tucked into her sleeve, its nozzle peeping out like a friendly mouse. She mumbles to herself, tears streaming down her face. Not long ago Luke would have been horrified by the concrete slap of her emotion. He would have looked the other way and passed quickly by. Tonight he just marches up to the poor woman.

  ‘I’m looking for Caz,’ says Luke. ‘A girl from Liverpool.’

  ‘The woman looks up at him, her eyes red and hot. All the girls is up that end.’

  He nods his thanks and peers down into the shadows.

  Two figures are silhouetted in the firelight by the door to the stairs. One is clearly a man, with tall, broad shoulders. The other is slight. Could it be her?

  ‘Caz?’ he calls.

  There’s no reply but it is her. He can see the dirty parka hanging off her shoulders.

  ‘Caz!’

  If she hears him she still doesn’t answer. She’s deep in conversation with the man. He is trying to pull her by the arm but she is shrugging him off. What’s going on? Luke can’t make out the words but they are definitely arguing.

  As the voices become more heated the man manages to pull Caz into the shadows, out of sight.

  ‘Stop,’ Luke shouts, and starts to run. He splashes through the pools of water and knocks over a plastic crate acting as a table. Candles fly into the air and land with a hiss in a puddle.

  A head peeps out of an overcoat, completely swathed in a scarf like a dirty blue bandage. ‘Watch what you’re doing.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Luke grabs the sodden candles and plonks them back on the crate. ‘I think my friend’s in trouble.’

  ‘We’re all in fucking trouble here, mate,’ says the man.

  Luke sets off again, swerving in and out of groups of addicts. At last he reaches the door but there is no sign of Caz.

  His heart pounds in his chest. What if the man were trying to rob her? Caz would be just the sort of person to fight back. Luke’s mum always says, ‘If a mugger attacks you, give him what he wants. Nothing’s worth getting killed for.’

  Caz has hardly anything worth taking, but what is hers she will defend with her last drop of blood.

  He hears a strange wheezing sound coming from the stairs. He can see them both now. The man is behind Caz, pushing her into the wall. Is he strangling her? Please God, she’s still alive.

  Luke lunges at the man and drags him backwards. He is much bigger but has been taken by surprise. Luke launches him back through the door and into the main body of the car park until the man hits the bonnet of a blue Porsche some city tosser has been too pissed to drive home. The alarm shrieks and the man slides to the floor.

  The man is stunned, his eyes wide, but he has enough presence of mind to reach for his cock, which is hard and exposed, and tucks it back into his trousers.

  Luke looks from the man to Caz, who is staggering after him, her knickers around her ankles, a skirt Luke has never seen before hitched over her bare arse.

  Luke feels the fury spread through his body like liquid fire. The dirty bastard was raping Caz. His mind whips back to the night when that poor girl had laid there, shocked and terrified. Luke hadn’t helped her. He was too scared, too pissed, too confused. But tonight he was none of those things.

  Luke pulls back his leg and kicks the man in stomach. ‘You fucker.’

  The man shrieks and pulls himself into a ball.

  Caz yanks down her skirt. ‘What are you doing, Luke?’

  Luke looks at his friend, so tiny and thin, and pulls back his leg. This time he aims at the man’s head and feels the soft thud of his trainer as his foot connects.

  ‘Stop it,’ screams Caz.

  ‘I’m going to kill him,’ says Luke, and at that moment he means it.

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ she says.

  ‘He’s a rapist,’ says Luke, and steadies himself to take another shot at the man, who is moaning softly. ‘It’s what they all deserve.’

  ‘Oh, Luke,’ she says, her eyes gleaming with tears. ‘He wasn’t raping me.’

  ‘What?’

  She looks down at the man, blood pouring from a gash above his eye. ‘Come on, we have to get out of here.’

  The familiar smell of Chanel No. 5 filled the air.

  ‘Thanks for coming over,’ said Lilly. ‘You look fantastic.’

  Sheba wrinkled her nose. ‘I look fat.’

  Admittedly Lilly’s friend was heavier than the last time they’d met during a case at the Old Bailey, but she still retained her old-school glamour.

  ‘How many months?’ asked Lilly.

  Sheba traced a ruby nail across her bump. ‘Five.’

  ‘It suits you.’

  ‘No, darling, six-inch heels suit me, but it’s kind of you to say.’

  Lilly proffered the bottle of wine. ‘A splash to be sociable?’

  Sheba sighed. ‘I suppose that’s all right.’ She picked up her half-empty glass and eyed it with suspicion and irritation. ‘Six units a week and no fags at all, not really me, is it?’

  Lilly laughed. She had to admit that it was strange not to see Sheba attached to a double gin and tonic and a Marlboro Light.

  ‘Physician heal thyself.’ Sheba swallowed the wine in one gulp. ‘So what’s this all about, Lilly?’

  ‘I have a case.’

  ‘Of course you do.’

  Lilly sipped her own wine. ‘A girl, an asylum seeker. She’s been charged with conspiracy to murder.’

  Sheba threw up her hands. ‘Not the shooting at the boarding school?’

  Lilly nodded.

  ‘I’ve seen it all over the telly.’ Sheba wagged her finger. ‘You’re going to be famous. Again.’

  ‘They don’t know her name or who’s representing her.’

  ‘Yet.’

  Lilly winced.

  ‘Hold on,’ said Sheba. ‘I thought you were steering clear of these cases? That you’d sold your soul for a new car and a set of fish knives.’

  ‘I did, I have.’ Lilly laughed. ‘This one kind of fell in my lap.’

  Sheba filled her glass from the tap. ‘Snowflakes fall in your lap, Lilly, or apples at a push. Cases have to be accepted, you have to sign on the dotted line.’

  She took a sip and seemed so disgusted by the water that she filled Lilly’s glass with more wine. ‘One of us may as well enjoy it.’

  ‘The thing is,’ said Lilly, ‘I felt duty bound.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re not Jewish?’

&nbs
p; ‘Catholic.’

  ‘I rest my case,’ said Sheba. ‘Next you’ll be telling me you’re adopting this kid.’

  Lilly looked up at the ceiling to the room above, where Anna was sleeping.

  ‘You’re not serious,’ said Sheba.

  ‘It’s not for long.’

  Sheba sloshed more wine into Lilly’s glass. ‘How do you do it?’

  ‘It’s a knack,’ said Lilly. ‘Like crashing cars and forgetting your tax returns. Not everyone is good at it, you know.’

  ‘So what do you need?’

  ‘Help.’

  ‘No shit.’

  ‘Professional help.’

  Sheba nodded and pulled out her attaché case. Inside were reams of cream paper, held together with a paperclip. She laid out a sheet and smoothed it with her hand. The top right-hand corner was embossed with her initials.

  Lilly scrabbled for a brown envelope and a biro.

  ‘My client, Anna, came here from Kosovo. I won’t tell you the whole story, but suffice it to say she lost her family and was smuggled to England.’

  Sheba said nothing, her face impassive. Both she and Lilly had seen and heard a lot about human suffering in their careers.

  ‘She took up with another refugee, a lad, and by all accounts he was pretty unbalanced,’ Lilly continued. ‘He was the shooter.’

  ‘And where did Anna come in?’

  ‘That I don’t know. She had a gun but was quickly disarmed. She seems utterly traumatised by everything that’s happened to her and terrified of the shooter. I can’t be sure she had any real understanding of the situation.’

  Sheba put down her pen. ‘You think she lacked the mental capacity?’

  ‘I think she may have acted without question.’

  ‘That would be very hard to prove,’ said Sheba. ‘Crap things happen to a lot of clients, but that doesn’t excuse murder.’

  ‘But this is more than the usual horror story: this was a war.’

  ‘It could be Post Traumatic Stress Disorder,’ said Sheba. ‘You’ll need an expert.’

  ‘Why do you think I asked you over? Your scintillating conversation?’

  Sheba stuck out her tongue and wrote down a number. ‘Give this woman a call. She specialises in this sort of thing.’

  ‘Will she know where I’m coming from?’

  Sheba emptied the rest of the bottle into Lilly’s glass. ‘She’s a Kurd. She lost her husband in Iraq.’