Damaged Goods Page 24

  Barrows managed to squeeze out a conspiratorial laugh. Bathsheba Lorenson was the stuff of most men’s dreams. He thought her gross, like an overblown lilo. He’d once had the misfortune of sitting next to her at a conference on transference and her smell was so nauseating he’d actually vomited during the lunch break. He felt a similar feeling creeping into the pit of his stomach now. If the girl was out of jail the black man would panic, he might call everything off.

  ‘Where have they sent the girl?’ he asked.

  ‘Some new centre for mad children, run by a hotshot called Collins,’ said Hermione.

  His stomach muscles relaxed. Collins had set up a new centre called Leyland House. It was a secure unit; the Brand girl was as good as in prison.

  Hermione slapped her forehead with her open palm. ‘I don’t know what to do about it. They’ll start asking for a comment any second. If I condemn the courts for letting her out, Hugh and Margaret will never speak to me again.’

  ‘And you’ll look as if you’re hounding a sick child,’ Barrows added.

  Hermione’s face betrayed the fact that she hadn’t thought of that; nor had the idea of hounding a sick child caused her any concern.

  ‘So how shall I deal with this, William?’ she pleaded.

  ‘Give a statement to the press saying you know they’ll be interested in your views but you really don’t want to hound a child who obviously needs help. She’s clearly in the best place, blah, blah,’ he said.

  ‘But I don’t want the story to sink and me with it.’

  Barrows smiled. ‘You could also point out how the whole saga does raise questions as to why social services allowed a child, with whom they were involved for so long, to remain untreated. Some would say they put both the girl and others at risk.’

  ‘I don’t know, William, turning the tables on social services might make me look petulant,’ she said, sticking out her bottom lip.

  ‘Not at all, people like to give them a good roasting. They need someone to blame for this mess,’ he said.

  ‘But I thought I’d been championing collective responsibility.’

  William patted her knee. ‘That was last week, darling.’

  Lilly left Jack at St Paul’s to finish his fifth cup of coffee. He’d clearly forgotten the previous day’s debacle and had chatted openly with Lilly about his life in the RUC before he moved to England. That was one of the things Lilly most liked about Jack: he didn’t try to evade uncomfortable topics or attempt to reinvent history, he simply acknowledged what was what and moved on. She also liked his laugh. Full and throaty, it filled his whole body and cast an infectious spell on those around him. At least it did on Lilly. She had to admit that there was not very much she didn’t like about Jack McNally.

  She could have had the day to herself but she decided to see Sam. Lilly never had been able to stomach any bad feeling between them.

  ‘Never go to bed on a row,’ her mother used to say.

  As she approached David’s house, Lilly worried how her abandonment of Sam might have affected him. She needn’t have, he’d had a fine old time, he told her. Dad had agreed to go halves on the trip to Austria and Sam had thrashed him three times at Battleships.

  ‘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.’