Damaged Goods Page 10

  She moderated her tone. ‘What’s up, Jack?’

  He pushed a sheet of paper across the desk to Lilly.

  I, Millicent Mitchell, of 62 Meadow Hawk Way, Clayhill Estate, Ring Farm, make this statement further to my statement of 8 September in which I stated that on the previous night I saw Kelsey Brand go to the door of number 58 on two separate occasions.

  I have thought about that night long and hard and I now wish to add that about five minutes after the second occasion when Kelsey went to number 58 I heard voices and so I went to my window again.

  I saw Grace Brand answer the door to Kelsey, who followed her mother inside. I then saw them both in their kitchen and they looked as if they were arguing.

  I went to turn down the television so I could hear what they were saying, but when I got back to the window they were no longer in their kitchen.

  I confirm that the contents of this statement are true and that they may be used as evidence in a court of law.

  ‘This is crap,’ said Lilly, and pushed the statement away in disgust. ‘I’ve been in her flat and I’m pretty sure you can’t even see into Grace’s kitchen from there. Max is the man you want.’

  Jack steeled himself to tell her he could no longer pursue that line of inquiry when Lilly looked at her watch.

  ‘Shit, I have to collect Sam, but I’ll meet you on the Clayhill later.’

  ‘I can’t do it, Lilly.’

  ‘Of course you can.’

  ‘The Gov is on my back,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll prove to you that Mitchell has got it wrong,’ she retaliated.

  Before Jack could mention expenditure and resources Lilly had dashed out of the station.

  Lilly was damn sure guilt had played a part in David’s agreement to look after Sam, but whatever the reason, as soon as he arrived Lilly pulled on her shoes.

  ‘Where are you off to in such a hurry?’ he asked.

  ‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’

  He walked with her to the door and crumbled the rotten wood of the frame in his fingers.

  ‘This is dangerous. You need a new one.’

  ‘Can’t afford it, David.’

  He opened his mouth but didn’t press it. She was glad as she could spare neither the time nor the energy on an argument.

  Money was always an issue between them, or, more precisely, the lack of it. David made a generous payment to Lilly each month, but over half was swallowed by Sam’s school fees. Lilly, who had never wanted a private education for her son, would have happily let him take a place at the local village school, but David wouldn’t hear of it. He had attended an all-boys boarding school and attributed much of his tenacious personality to his time there.

  By the time Lilly had paid the mortgage and other household bills on the cottage there was hardly anything left for luxuries, like a car with a fully operational gearbox or a front door that actually locked.

  At first she’d tried to reason with David and pointed out that there were only ten children in each class at the local primary, which was a better teacher–child ratio than Eton or Harrow. David remained unmoved, so Lilly changed tack, arguing that Sam would always be the poor kid at Manor Park, which she knew from her own experience was not a comfortable position.

  When that failed she threatened David with court action, but they both knew that most judges would have shared David’s background and would be hard to convince that school fees were not money well spent.

  She had been furious for months and seized every opportunity to voice her complaint. Now she was resigned to her situation, worn down by it.

  ‘You should ask Rupinder for a pay rise,’ said David.

  ‘I already have.’

  Max was vexed. Things were not going the way he’d planned. First that stupid girl had got herself nicked by McNally, and now this. He hated the lack of control.

  Grace used to call him The Captain because he needed to be in charge, whereas she didn’t care, in fact she preferred not to make decisions.

  ‘I go with the flow, me,’ she used to say.

  Max tried to put her out of his mind. Although things were simpler now she was gone, the thought of her still burnt him. Alone in the world they had found sanctuary in each other. Or that’s how it had seemed to Max at the time.

  ‘You watch my back and I’ll watch yours,’ she’d said again and again.

  As a boy, Max had been overwhelmed by the idea of having someone on his side, someone who cared. He dreamed of running away with Grace, of marrying her. Instead, she fell in love with a wanker, went on the game and fell pregnant.

  Kelsey had been a sweet baby. Hardly ever cried and always had a big smile for Max. He’d have married Grace and looked after them both if only she’d asked. But she never did. She stayed on the game, and then came the drugs.

  Max hadn’t touched anything but weed in those days and had watched Gracie’s nosedive into addiction with horror. She’d lost weight and all her sparkle. She never went anywhere or did anything else, her life revolved around getting drugs, taking them, then getting some more.

  Even so, she’d continued to watch his back, he had to give her that.

  As the years progressed she’d often spoken of getting clean, and each time she fell pregnant he thought she might. It was weird how she finally did it at the end. How she finally tried to change her life.

  Silly cow, she knew Max couldn’t let anyone get in his way.

  He cleared his mind and walked towards the club. The man at the door greeted him with a nod.

  ‘The man’s expecting me,’ said Max.

  ‘You’re late.’

  Max shrugged. ‘I had things to do.’

  It wasn’t true. Max had waited around the corner for ten minutes. He didn’t like being summoned by Fat Eric and refused to behave like an underling. Instead he strolled through the door as if he were passing by and had decided to stop for a drink with an old mate.

  He ordered a bottle of tepid beer from the bar and, propped against one elbow, casually surveyed the scene. The girl on the stage wrapped herself around a metal pole and snaked her way to the floor. The spotlights reflected in her hair, which undulated past her shoulders. A looker, right enough.

  About twenty men sat at the tables in front of the stage. Some were alone, others sat in groups, drinking and laughing. Most were accompanied by one or more of the girls working the club, who encouraged money out of wallets with their white smiles and black underwear. Occasionally, a girl would lead her client to the VIP room in the back, where hard cash bought hard sex.

  ‘You’re impressed by my girls?’

  Max had not noticed Fat Eric’s approach. He shook his hand warmly.

  ‘What’s not to like?’

  ‘No junkies, no drinkers, no thieves. This is the best way to make money, no?’ Fat Eric nodded gravely to emphasise his point. ‘Anyway, my friend, come to the office. We have things to discuss.’

  Fat Eric’s office was no more than a dirty, windowless room used to store crates of beer and spirits. A small desk was placed to the side, its surface littered with papers, ashtrays and empty glasses. The air was thick with smoke.

  ‘Drink?’ asked Fat Eric, already reaching for clean glasses behind him.

  Max noticed that the other man was not fat at all, and although his frame was large he had good muscle definition. He probably spent hours at the gym parading like a peacock.

  Fat Eric opened a drawer and took out a bottle of vodka. Not the commercial kind found in bars and supermarkets, but imported from Sweden at over £30 a time.

  He held up his glass to Max.

  ‘Prost.’

  Both men emptied their glasses in one easy swallow.

  ‘We go back quite a few years, you and I,’ said Fat Eric, pouring more vodka.

  It was true. Max remembered when the Russian had first arrived in Luton with only two girls in tow. His name had been Gregor in those days, but somewhere along the line he had acquired his new title
along with several clubs and over 100 girls.

  When Max first started his porn business he had sometimes used Eric’s girls, but Eric charged too much and it had eaten into Max’s profit margin. Later he used some women Gracie knew. They expected little but their habits made them unreliable and in close-ups they looked like shit.

  These days he expended nothing on his stars except TLC and the odd £10 bag.

  ‘We’ve both diversified, Max, and I cannot say I appreciate the way in which your line of work has gone. But business is business, I don’t judge,’ said Fat Eric.

  I should think not, man. Your girls are no better than slaves, so don’t get ideas that you’re higher up the food chain.

  Max flashed a smile. ‘So what can I do for you, Gregor?’

  ‘A woman has been round here asking questions about you. She spoke to Mandy on the net and then tracked her down to the club.’

  ‘Police?’

  Fat Eric shrugged. ‘I doubt it. Social services maybe.’

  Max forced himself to remain calm but a prickle of fear was spiking the base of his spine. ‘What did she want?’

  ‘I don’t know and I don’t care, except that maybe she come back and next time not on her own,’ said Eric.

  Yes, you bastard, you wouldn’t want immigration turning up here, would you?

  ‘I’ll look into it,’ said Max.

  ‘Sort it out, my friend. Make sure no one comes here again or I will take my own action.’

  Max tried to sound indignant. ‘Like what?’

  Fat Eric smiled. Despite Max’s machismo they both knew who was in charge. ‘Like asking you, very politely, to shut down your business.’

  ‘I need a pay rise,’ said Lilly.

  Rupinder sighed.

  ‘I don’t want to be a pain. You know me, Rupes, I just want to get on with my cases, but I can’t manage on what I’m getting.’

  Rupinder sighed again. Publicly funded cases brought little revenue to the firm. The hourly rate paid by the government was less than most plumbers charged. The other partners felt they were loss-makers and that the firm should concentrate its resources on private matters and get rid of the foul-mouthed Yorkshire pudding, but Rupinder had argued that to keep both Lilly and her small number of public cases was a way of providing a service to the vulnerable. Lilly teased Rupinder and called her a ‘do-gooder’ but she knew that her boss had always put her money where her mouth was.

  ‘You earn more than most childcare lawyers, Lilly. I can’t justify more.’

  Lilly slumped into one of the chairs. ‘I know, but you can’t blame me for trying.’

  Rupinder pushed a tiny wisp of midnight hair back into her plait. ‘There is a way round this, Lilly.’

  ‘A paper round?’

  ‘You’d never get up in time,’ Rupinder laughed, ‘but you could change your case load and take on some private work.’

  Lilly scowled. ‘Divorces.’

  ‘And other things. Custody cases, adoptions, and so on. Don’t look at me that way, Lilly, the charge-out rates are good and I could pay you more.’

  Lilly knew she couldn’t do it. ‘Rich couples arguing over the contents of the hoover bag. I’d top myself within a week.’

  ‘You could still do your care work, just split your time fifty-fifty. Think about it at least,’ said Rupinder.

  Half an hour later, on her way to Tye Cross with £1.27 in her current account, Lilly was indeed thinking about it. She knew it made sense but still balked at the idea.

  When David had left she’d drowned in misery and antidepressants. The divorce and subsequent arguments over the house and maintenance had left her unable to breathe. To come to work each day, not to escape, but to jump into other people’s oceans of despair, filled her with horror. She didn’t think she would be able to bear the gloom.

  ‘Whereas this case is just such fun!’ she said aloud.

  She pulled her car over and got out. Was it her imagination or was it getting hotter as the night wore on?

  It was past ten when Lilly entered the all-night café and ordered a can of Coke. She had walked half the length of Tye Cross in search of Angie, but the sticky night air was intolerable. She hoped Angie would head inside for a cool drink at some stage.

  Lilly sat at the same table as last night, which afforded her a view of the street. Everything was still. Without a breeze the rubbish lay motionless on the pavement and in doorways. The girls leaned against walls or sat on the kerbs waiting for the few men who could be bothered to buy sex in the heat.

  Lilly wondered what her own life would have been like had it not been for her mother’s determination that her only daughter would succeed. When her father walked out, leaving only his dirty washing and a mountain of debts, they had lost their home and moved to a council estate in Leeds city centre.

  Why had he done that? Why had he left his daughter to live in a shit-hole? How could he sleep at night? He had put it and her out of his mind, that’s how. No wonder she had never seen him again.

  Elsa, Lilly’s mother, was made of sterner stuff. She had taken one look at the decaying comprehensive only four minutes from the end of their new street and determined that Lilly would continue to attend St Mary’s, a small all-girls Catholic school run by the formidable Sister Joan. An eight o’clock start to catch two separate buses across town and the incidental fares did not discourage Elsa, who worked as a machinist in a textile factory and as an office cleaner in the evenings.

  Lilly had raged against her mother’s decision and longed to mix with the local girls who smoked Embassy Regal and scrawled the names of their boyfriends on their bags. They didn’t care about trips to museums and ballet lessons on Saturday mornings. They didn’t have to do their homework, and if anyone had called them ‘council house scum’ they would have punched them in the mouth.

  Immune to Lilly’s pleas, Elsa would not give in.

  ‘You’re a bright girl and I won’t give up on you.’

  At the time, Lilly had not understood what motivated her mother to expose her to the uncharitable opinions of her classmates and their parents, but later she saw that Elsa had wanted more for her daughter than a life in the factories and worse. If Lilly was ridiculed for her shabby coat then so be it. A small price to pay for a better future.

  On the morning Lilly left home to take up her place at Cambridge University, Elsa had pecked her daughter on the cheek as if she were going no further than the corner shop, but as Lilly climbed onto the train with her huge rucksack Elsa had let the tears come and shouted,

  ‘This is your chance, Lilly.’

  Three days after Lilly graduated her mother died. Elsa’s work was finished and she needed to rest.

  Lilly sighed. Elsa would have made a fantastic granny for Sam, with all the time in the world for stories and jigsaws. Lord knows what she would make of Lilly leaving him with every Tom, Dick and Harry so that she could sit in this Godforsaken place waiting for a prostitute. Maybe she would have understood what Lilly was trying to do. Maybe not.

  ‘I suppose you’re waiting on me.’

  Lilly looked up and smiled at Angie.

  Angie winced as she sat down and her tea sloshed into the saucer. ‘Shite.’

  ‘You okay?’ asked Lilly.

  ‘Got a rough one earlier,’ said Angie.

  Lilly nodded but could only guess at the injuries suffered by the other woman.

  ‘Yesterday you said you knew Max Hardy.’

  Angie lit a cigarette. ‘Aye. A waste of space if ever there was one.’

  Lilly didn’t respond, letting Angie fill in the details.

  ‘A drug dealer and a pimp, making money from misery. The lowest of the low.’

  Lilly showed her the photograph of Grace. ‘Did you know this woman?’

  Angie nodded and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Again, Lilly waited.

  ‘I worked with her in a massage parlour a while back, but the owner hiked up his cut so I left. Greedy bastard.’

&nb
sp; ‘Did you know she’d been killed?’ asked Lilly.

  ‘Aye. It’s a terrible shame,’ said Angie.

  ‘Were you surprised?’

  Angie poured the spilled tea from the dirty saucer back into her cup. ‘It happens. Sometimes you get a headcase.’ She slurped a mouthful and continued. ‘She’d a habit as well so maybe she owed money to one of the dealers.’

  ‘She was clean when she died,’ said Lilly.

  Angie raised her threadbare eyebrows. ‘Aye? She talked about it a lot, giving up the drugs. That’s why I liked her, I suppose, not like the others who’re only happy if they get a hit. She wanted to get away, make a new life.’

  ‘I should tell you, Angie, that I’m a solicitor. I have nothing to do with the police or social services. I represent one of Grace’s daughters,’ said Lilly.

  Angie nodded as if she’d thought as much. ‘The one that drank the bleach? God love her, she was like a second mother to the little ones. I mean Grace was no angel, she talked about a new start but she was out of it a lot of the time. Sometimes the eldest would meet her to get some money for the kids’ tea before Grace blew the lot.’

  Angie had confirmed what Lilly suspected from the start, that Kelsey had been integral in keeping the family together, but that simply strengthened her motive for killing Grace when she dismantled what Kelsey had fought to preserve.

  ‘Was Max Grace’s pimp?’ asked Lilly.

  ‘She said not, but there was something between them.’

  ‘Was he violent to her?’

  Angie stretched for the ashtray, the movement making her scowl. She left it out of her reach and tapped her ash on the floor.

  ‘Only once as far as I know, and that was recent. She came to work black and blue after a real beating. I asked her who’d done it and she said Max, but that it was her fault. He found out she was trying to move away and got nasty, started smashing up her flat.’

  ‘Why?’ Lilly asked.

  ‘Didn’t want her to leave, I suppose. Grace told him she didn’t care what he thought about it and if he tried to stop her she’d shop him.’