DAMAGED GOODS

Helen Black

Copyright

AVON

A division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2008

Copyright © Helen Black 2008

Helen Black asserts the moral right to

be identified as the author of this work

Extract from A Place of Safety © Helen Black 2008. This is taken from uncorrected material and does not necessarily reflect the finished book.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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Source ISBN: 9781847560704

Ebook Edition © JANUARY 2006 ISBN: 9780007281862

Version: 2018-05-24

Dedication

To Andrew

There are over 60,000 children being ‘looked after’ by the state in the UK.

One third of the homeless in this country were raised in care.

Sixty per cent of young offenders in this country have been through the care system.

Dear Mum,

I can’t believe you did this to us. You always said that no matter how bad it got we’d have each other.

You said we’d always be together.

We did everything we had to.

I even kept my mouth shut when I knew I shouldn’t.

And what was it all for? You’ve thrown us away like rubbish so that’s how they treat us. We’ve been split up and I’m not even allowed to see the babies.

I can’t tell you how much I hate you for what you’ve done, and if I ever see you again I’ll cut you to pieces.

Kelsey

Contents

Cover Title Page Copyright Dedication Epigraph Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twent-one Acknowledgements About the Author About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

Grace worried the kitchen surface with the corner of a J-cloth, trying once again to remove a mark made years before by a hot spoon. The phone call had unnerved her and her hands shook. She bent over the cooker and lit another cigarette on the gas ring, hoping it would calm her. It didn’t. What she needed was a hit. A £10 bag would do, just enough to put her in a better place, just enough to allow her to explain things properly. To make herself clear. Just one hit to get through this.

She checked her watch. Five past eight. That should give her ten minutes, enough time to race downstairs to the dealer on the ground floor. He charged over the odds but what could you do?

The tap on the door was soft but Grace jumped all the same. No time to get the brown now, this was one conversation she would have to do straight.

She took a last deep drag on the cigarette and answered the door. ‘Oh, it’s you.’

‘Who were you expecting?’

Grace shrugged.

Outside, a dog scratched and barked.

‘Get out of it,’ Grace yelled.

‘It’s probably hungry.’

‘Aren’t they all,’ said Grace, and turned on her heels. ‘Shut it behind you, it’s fucking freezing.’

‘Hardly. Are you clucking?’

Grace rubbed her arms, their skin barely able to support the scars that ran like the rungs of a ladder from shoulder to wrist. ‘Not really.’

‘I thought you’d be back on the gear.’

‘Sorry to disappoint you.’

‘I don’t really care one way or the other.’

Grace sighed and picked up her cigarettes. When this was over she’d have that hit, get completely out of it. She clamped a cigarette between her lips and turned to the cooker. In one sweeping and familiar action she bent over the front gas ring, one hand holding back her hair, the other reaching for the ignition. But before her finger pressed the button she felt the back of her head explode.

Grace was confused. Had she finally got her hit? Funny, she couldn’t remember cooking up. She anticipated the melting sensation that the drugs would bring when they moved through her bloodstream.

Instead, the back of her neck felt warm and wet. As dazed as she was, she knew it was blood.

‘Why did you …’

There was another explosion and everything went black.

CHAPTER ONE

Monday, 7 September

Lilly Valentine thumped the photocopier. ‘Stupid piece of shit.’

‘You’ll break that.’

She yanked at the tray where her document was stuck.

Her boss floated to Lilly’s side. ‘I said you’ll …’

‘It’s already sodding broken.’

Rupinder’s deft fingers removed the tray in a tinkle of bangles and dislodged the offending piece of paper. ‘You’re late,’ she said.

‘I operate on Indian standard time,’ Lilly said. ‘As you’re so fond of telling me.’

Rupinder opened the front door. ‘Which is fine in Delhi …’

Lilly struggled outside, balancing three files, a mobile phone and her bag. She tossed her head to move the curtain of curls that had fallen into her eyes.

Rupinder shook her head and tucked the loose tendrils behind Lilly’s ears.‘… but this is Hertfordshire.’

Lilly winked at her boss and stumbled towards her car.

She sped through Harpenden towards Luton. Bespoke shoe shops and upmarket gastro pubs soon gave way to pawnbrokers and kebab shops. The women on the streets no longer carried designer handbags and all-white floral arrangements, instead they pushed double buggies laden with bumper packs of nappies. Further still into the sprawling housing estates of Ring Farm and windows were boarded, overgrown gardens housed old sofas, and cars stood on bricks.

Eventually she pulled into a cul-de-sac overshadowed on three sides by granite tower blocks. Even on glorious days like today, at the height of a summer stretching into autumn, scarcely any sunlight fed through and The Bushes Residential Unit for Young People existed in permanent gloom.

Lilly parked in the shadows and pulled out the relevant file from the pile stacked beside her on the passenger seat.

BRAND, K. – CARE PROCEEDINGS

Kelsey Brand, eldest of four girls. Their mother, a heroin addict who funded her habit by prostitution, and was unable or unwilling to clean up, had finally given up the distracting charade of parenting and placed all four girls in care.

So far so familiar.

Lilly reached for some chocolate. She’d sworn to restrain herself to a bar a day, two in dire emergencies, in an attempt to stop the slide from sexy size twelve to pleasantly plump. As she bit into her first Twix of the day she smoothed her hands over her hips. Still the right side of curvy. Just.

She skimmed the pages in search of the ETF. Every case had one. An especially awful aspect that lawyers like Lilly looked for. Something to set their client apart, to prevent them from becoming ‘just another kid in care’. Something to remind the professionals that although they dealt with these stories every day of the week they weren’t commonplace.

She found it on the last page – her search made easier by the lack of detailed notes – and it was tremendous. An all-singing, all-dancing Extra Tragedy Factor. Kelsey Brand, at fourteen years of age, had tried to kill herself by drinking a bottle of bleach.

Lilly closed her eyes and swallowed the chocolate. It stuck in her throat with a peppery sting as she tried not to imagine how Domestos might taste. She pictured herself instead as a corporate lawyer in a smart office overlooking St Paul’s Cathedral in the heart of the city. Dressed in a black Armani suit, which fitted snugly but not tightly over her hips, she crossed a plant-filled atrium, her high heels clicking on the marble floor. Tap, tap, tap.

The heels dissolved as Lilly focused on the doughy twelve-year-old who was rapping day-glo talons against the car window.

‘You on drugs?’

Lilly ignored her and got out.

‘Got any fags?’

‘Not for you,’ answered Lilly.

The girl spat on the ground, inches from Lilly’s feet.

Lilly appraised her with practised cool and nodded at the silver boob tube which threatened to release a small pair of spotty breasts. ‘Been auditioning for a porn movie, Charlene?’

‘You’ve got a big mouth.’

‘All the better to eat you with, my dear.’

When Lilly got to the door she tossed a packet of Marlboro Lights to the girl.

‘You ain’t so tough,’ Charlene said.

‘Wanna bet?’

Lilly stepped inside the unit. It was buzzing. Most of its residents had just returned from their ‘morning education session’, along with all the pupils that had been excluded from every school in the area. Nearly all the kids in The Bushes went there for a couple of hours a day – if they learned anything it was a bonus. Lilly, who had represented at least half of the young people in The Bushes, was greeted with waves and requests for cash or cigarettes.

‘Who’re you here for, Miss?’

‘Kelsey Brand,’ said Lilly.

‘Nutter,’ came the chorus, and several boys pretended to drink from imaginary bottles.

‘Enough of that.’

‘She’s well weird,’ a boy in a baseball cap shouted, his left eye quivering in its socket.

Lilly rubbed his shoulder in long strokes to soothe away both the twitch and the habitual beatings he had suffered at the hands of an alcoholic stepfather, now serving life for setting the boy’s mother on fire while she fed their six-week-old baby.

‘We’re all weird here, Jermaine, it’s why we get on so well.’

Despite her bravado Lilly felt trepidation as she passed along the corridor to room twelve. Self-abusers didn’t usually threaten Lilly’s equanimity. Headbangers, cutters, anorexics, Lilly had worked with them all, but drinking bleach was so extreme. The girl must have been in the depths of wretchedness to punish herself like that.

The last kid in room twelve had been Irina, the daughter of a deported asylum-seeker. Attractive and well-educated, she had been easy to place with a middle- class foster family. Lilly fingered the soapstone pin she wore at the back of her lapel. It was smooth and cool to the touch. Irina had given it to Lilly on the final day of the court hearing when she learned she was not being sent back to a village torn apart by civil war.

Would the present occupant be so lucky? There was nothing to be done about Kelsey’s family. If the mother didn’t want her kids then no one could force her to take them back. Getting her out of The Bushes and fostered would be the next best thing, but placements for those fond of cleaning fluid were hard to come by. Lilly would give it her best shot but the question was whether her client would have the stomach for the road ahead.

Lilly knocked three times and waited. She gave the girl sufficient time to hide any contraband and let herself in.

‘Hi there. I’m Lilly Valentine.’

The girl sat on her bed and hugged her knees. Her chin was tucked into her chest and her lank hair, the colour of pee, fell like a greasy mask, obscuring Kelsey’s face. Her frame was so slight she reminded Lilly of a small bird hiding under her wing.

Lilly smiled and gestured to the bare walls. ‘I love what you’ve done to the place.’

No reaction.

Lilly softened her tone. ‘Can I sit down?’

The nod was almost imperceptible but Lilly caught it and sat on the bed next to her client.

‘I’m sure someone’s told you that social services have applied for a Care Order because your mum can’t look after you.’

Kelsey retracted further. It was as if she were trying to implode.

‘When we go to court it’s my job to tell the judge what you want,’ Lilly said.

Kelsey didn’t move.

‘I have to at least know that you understand what’s happening to you,’ said Lilly. ‘If you can’t face going to court that’s fine. We can just write it all down in a statement.’

She reached towards her client, slid her fingers under Kelsey’s chin and gently lifted her face.

What Lilly saw made her reel. The bleach had burnt off most of the skin from Kelsey’s lips and chin and revealed a red-brown layer like days-old meat. Lilly flinched, but forced her gaze to remain on the child’s damaged face.

‘I can do all the talking, Kelsey.’ She swallowed hard. ‘But you have to tell me what to say.’

As her eyes locked with Kelsey’s, Lilly flinched again. In fifteen years of practice she was unable to remember the last time she had seen such utter hopelessness.

‘Speak to me, please.’

The noise when it came was somewhere between a choke and a sob. A strangled sound from the depths of Kelsey’s throat. Lilly’s heart beat loud in her chest as she realised her client could not speak.

Lilly shut the door to room twelve and hurried towards the kitchen to make coffee. She could still taste the cold void in Kelsey’s eyes and needed to warm her mouth. Her chest was pounding as she filled the kettle. How the hell was she going to help Kelsey?

She opened the catering-sized tin of instant granules that sat on the otherwise empty and clean work surface. Presumably it was too big to fit in any of the cupboards. When she opened one she couldn’t help but smile. The mugs, although a ragtag band of misfits, stood to military attention. When Lilly removed one, the space it left jarred to such an extent that even Lilly was moved to rearrange the others. In this place of chaos and ripped lives order was paramount; the comfort it gave immeasurable.

Lilly smiled again. It was going to be a hard case but she’d find a way. She always did.

Behind her someone was eating a bowl of cereal. The crunching was deafening. Lilly turned and saw Charlene, Rice Krispies dotting her pubescent cleavage.

‘Don’t you want some milk on those?’ Lilly asked.

‘I’m a vegan,’ answered Charlene.

‘What?’

‘It means I don’t eat animal products.’

‘I know what it means.’

Crunch, crunch.

‘I didn’t know you were into animal rights,’ said Lilly.

‘I’m not. I just like to piss ’em off.’

Lilly chuckled and crossed the hall to the cramped and untidy manager’s office, where a middle-aged black woman was hunched in front of a computer. She was typing laboriously with two fingers.

‘You’re too old for this crap, Miriam,’ the woman said to herself.

‘And I thought you were only twenty-one,’ said Lilly.

Miriam looked up and smiled. ‘How’d you get along with Chatty Cathy?’

‘Laugh a minute,’ said Lilly.

‘Get anything out of her?’ Miriam asked.

‘A bit tricky considering she can’t speak.’

Lilly collapsed in the chair next to Miriam. ‘To be honest I don’t know how I’m going to do this.’

‘She can write stuff down.’

‘I can think of easier ways to work,’ said Lilly.

Miriam shrugged. ‘No one said this job was easy.’

‘True,’ said Lilly. ‘Anyway, I don’t want to push too hard too soon.’

The approval in Miriam’s smile forced Lilly to add, ‘But I’ll have to at some stage.’

Miriam’s smile was intact but the approval had gone. Or at least that was how it seemed to Lilly. ‘She needs time. She hasn’t come to terms with what’s happening to her yet.’

‘Angry?’ Lilly asked.

‘More shocked.’

‘Hasn’t this been on the cards?’

‘No.’ Miriam reached for Lilly’s mug and took a sip. ‘They weren’t exactly the Waltons, but not the Wests either.’

‘Physical abuse? Neglect?’

Miriam gulped loudly. ‘Nothing to interest the Daily Mail. Kids fed, clean, went to school mostly. Social worker says it was a watching brief.’

Lilly retrieved her drink and scowled at the bitter dregs. ‘It must have been the gear.’

‘You’d think so, but Kelsey’s adamant her mum had been clean for nearly three months. It doesn’t add up.’

Lilly had been in this game long enough to know that logic and reason didn’t often play a part in her clients’ lives. ‘Who knows what goes through someone’s mind the day they give their children away.’

‘Yes, baby, come to Daddy.’

The girl didn’t move or even register his words.

He raised his voice, his expression firm but cajoling. ‘Pretty baby, come over here.’

Her heavy lids flickered but she remained on the sofa, unable to focus. Although his smile was fixed, the man’s impatience grew visibly and he patted the space on the sofa next to him.

‘I’m waiting,’ he said, though he clearly had no intention of doing so any longer and pulled the girl to him.

He pressed his lips to her ear and sang her name. ‘Tilly, Tilly, Tilly.’

She didn’t answer, didn’t even blink.

He removed her grubby underwear, fumbling on the frayed lace, and turned her around to front the camera. He stroked the pale contours of her torso, starting at the hip and snaking upwards. Her breasts were not yet developed, just tiny buds.

‘You are so beautiful,’ he cooed.

The girl parted her lips.

‘Tell Daddy what you want him to do.’

The lips parted again and the girl exhaled audibly.

When the man spoke again there was an edge to his voice. ‘Tell Daddy what you like.’

The lips opened yet again and for a second it looked as if the girl might speak. The man held his breath, his anticipation palpable. Instead, a drop of saliva escaped from the girl’s mouth and dribbled down her chin.

‘This is hopeless,’ spat one of the two men watching the video. ‘She’s drugged out of her mind.’

The young man opposite snapped off the television.

‘I need to see some sense of her wanting it,’ the older man said. ‘Or not wanting it, if you get my drift.’

His attempt at inclusion sickened the younger man, and he shuddered. ‘This ain’t what I’m into.’ He gestured to the stack of cassettes beside him. ‘This stuff is just my product, Mr Barrows. Money in the bank, understand?’

‘I do, but you understand this: your “product” is not satisfactory, and if you think I will buy inferior goods you really don’t know me.’

Oh I know you. I know you better than you think.

‘I’ve got some more I know you’re gonna like. How about I drop them round tomorrow.’

A spark shone in Barrows’ eyes. ‘Young?’

‘Very.’

CHAPTER TWO

Tuesday, 8 September

Lilly sniffed at the milk, which was two days past its sell-by date, and poured it over some cereal.

‘What’s that?’ asked Sam.

‘Special K.’

He turned the empty packet around in his hands as if it were the latest must-have electro gadget. ‘Can I have some?’

‘There’s only enough for me.’

‘Please.’

Lilly kissed the crown of her son’s head. ‘Frankly, I don’t think you need to lose weight.’

Five minutes later Lilly picked at some Shreddies while Sam polished off the bowl of Special K.

‘What time is it?’ Lilly asked.

Sam squinted at his new watch.

‘Put your glasses on,’ said Lilly.

Sam sighed and rummaged through his pockets. Lilly was about to point out how much better it would be to keep them in their case when she saw her own pair lying lens down on the draining board.

‘Bart is pointing to eight and Homer’s nearly on six.’

‘Shit!’

‘That’s a bad word,’ said Sam.

‘Thank you, Mary Whitehouse.’

‘Who?’

Lilly scrambled across the kitchen to the cupboard above the fridge to shove the cereal boxes back inside. ‘Never mind. We’re late, get your shoes on.’ In her hurry she tripped over the Lego fortress set up last night, banged her elbow against the fridge and scattered Shreddies across the tiled floor.

‘Uh oh.’

‘Hurry!’ Lilly yelled, and crunched her way to the door.

The school grounds were deserted, devoid of the usual melee of babbling mums vying for a place to park. Had everyone been and gone? Surely they weren’t that late? As she wondered, Lilly cast around for a plausible explanation to appease Mrs Thomas, the omnipotent Head of House, and checked the time on her mobile. Five past eight.

‘Five past eight? You said it was …’

She looked at Sam.

‘Just joking.’

At 8.45 a.m. Lilly left the school grounds and drove towards the village of Little Markham. She yawned and decided to go back home for a cup of tea. She had an appointment with Kelsey at ten so there was time to spare, even enough to call for a paper, but as she entered the newsagent’s her mobile rang. Lilly checked the number of the caller and her heart sank.

The voice at the other end chirped like one of the budgies Lilly’s nan used to keep. Sammy, Davis and Junior had spent their days pecking Trill and making a high-pitched racket. It was so grating that Nan used to put a gingham cover over the cage in the afternoon to fool the noisy buggers into going to sleep.

‘Hi, it’s me,’ said David. Lilly wished she could put a cover over her ex-husband.

‘Is it about tonight?’

‘Yeah. Cara’s just surprised me with tickets to the opera,’ he said.

Lilly counted to ten. ‘It’s your evening to see Sam.’

‘I know. She must have totally forgotten.’

Of course she did. After all, it must be such a stretch to keep track of her manicures and facials, how could she be expected to remember trivia?

‘I’m supposed to be seeing a client,’ said Lilly.

‘Can’t you get a sitter?’

‘I could, but Sam wants to see his father.’

‘You know I’ll make it up to him,’ said David.

Lilly couldn’t be bothered to argue.

‘I’ll get him a programme,’ David said.

‘La Traviata, I’m sure he’ll be chuffed.’

Lilly paid for three chocolate bars and stalked out of the shop. The assistant waved the newspaper she’d left on the counter but Lilly was too distracted to notice. As he put it back on the rack he shook his head at the headline:

PROSTITUTE BUTCHERED. POLICE SUSPECT SERIAL KILLER.

People today were out of control, he thought.

‘I think I have low self-esteem. Sometimes, when I’m in a room full of people I feel unable to speak. I think they won’t want to listen to anything I’ve got to say. Do you understand, Doctor?’

William Barrows nodded but he wasn’t listening either. He had no interest in her stupid problems. He couldn’t even look at her directly without feeling ill. Her gnarled hands and wrinkled skin repulsed him.

As she droned on he fantasised about hurting her, ripping her apart and causing inexplicable pain. Sometimes he couldn’t contain his fury, but today he internalised it, hid it deep within his core.

As soon as his patient left, Barrows threw open a window to rid his office of her smell. Piss, sweat and halitosis. Even with the air-conditioning on full blast the stench of her decaying body made him gag.

He looked outside to the street below where the nasty little black man was waiting. He wouldn’t come in until he had to, his distaste of Barrows was too acute. Let the fool bake in the sun.

Barrows left the window, sat at his computer and made a swift exit from the site he had last visited. ‘Modern psychiatry in practice’ held little interest. Instead he went to his favourites in the hope of something fresh, but nothing new had been posted since yesterday.

Barrows drummed his fingers. There was insufficient time for what he really wanted, but could he resist? Self-denial had never been a virtue.

He wandered over to the cabinet beside the television and video recorder. He opened the doors and ran his forefinger along the meticulous rows of video cassettes. Each in exact line with its neighbours, each with its title printed neatly on the side. He let his hand hover over ‘Girl Sucking Thumb’ but moved on to ‘Nervous Redhead’.

Decisions, decisions. At last he smiled and selected ‘Shy Princess’.

He always named the films after his co-stars.

Max waited outside the building. He pulled down a baseball cap to shield his eyes from the hard sun and lit a joint. The weed was good, but he yearned for something stronger.

A woman emerged from the clinic, presumably one of Barrows’ patients. Her clothes were smart and her hair shone. She certainly didn’t look mad, but you never could tell. Max guessed she was about twenty-five.

When he could put it off no longer, Max flicked the roach into the gutter and made his way inside.

It was a game. Barrows always waited until he was sure Max had seen what was playing before he turned off the video.

Max knew his discomfort amused Barrows. He pretended not to see the young girl on the screen, her tiara glittering, her vagina exposed, but his flinch gave him away.

He handed two ‘audition tapes’ to Barrows, together with a handful of photographs. If Barrows liked one of the girls he would instruct Max to set the wheels in motion for a film session, and Barrows would pay handsomely.

The money was everything to Max, the only way out of this shit-hole of a life. For as long as he could remember he’d been trying to save up enough to leave the estate, to put distance between himself and the filth he saw all around him. Thieving, dealing, pimping, he’d done the lot, still did if an opportunity came his way. But this stuff, the kids and Barrows, made good money, more than the rest put together. It was his ticket to freedom. Of course, he still squirmed when Barrows played the tapes and ran his fingers over the Polaroids, and he still felt relief for those girls Barrows rejected. But business was business.

‘I wasn’t sure I should come. Maybe we should both be keeping our heads down,’ said Max.

Barrows was dismissive. ‘The woman’s dead. Problem solved.’

He discarded the first tape within seconds, but the second retained his attention. His top lip trembled in appreciation of the girl larking about on a swing, nervously pulling at her silver boob tube.

Max wanted to smash every bone in Barrows’ body, but contented himself with smashing the man’s arrogance.

‘Grace may be dead, but the daughter ain’t.’

Satisfied with Barrows’ reaction, he left.

Max sat in his car. He’d enjoyed the look on that sicko’s face. He knew full well that Kelsey would never grass, but Barrows didn’t. The switch of power felt good, and yet it was not enough to expel the inevitable dread he felt as he anticipated the introduction of another child into Barrows’ world.

As a child himself, Max had known he was dirty and unworthy of anyone’s love. And as the years wore on, the layers of filth increased, until they were all that held him together.

He placed a small rock of crack cocaine into a pipe, put the flame of his lighter to it and inhaled as deeply as he could. The smoke rushed through him, minty cool yet white hot. It cleansed him from the inside out and peeled away the layers to reveal the man beneath. A pure man. A fearless man. A man without blood on his hands.

He bared his teeth at the world around him and laughed out loud. ‘You can’t touch me.’

All too soon the effects lessened and the dirt began to seep back into him until his pores were clogged and the layers had re-established themselves. He bit down hard on his bottom lip to recover some feeling, and pulled out his mobile phone to send a text to the girl in the video. After all, she was no angel, she knew the score, so no harm done.

Anyway, this was his last one. Barrows didn’t know it yet but he was going to pay double for the girl in the boob tube, and Max would have enough money to get the hell out of here.

Lilly laughed to herself when she arrived outside The Bushes. The scene was a classic. Kids milled in and out of the unit, beside themselves with excitement. Others leaned out of their bedroom windows and shouted to those below.

Surprisingly, Miriam stood apart from the throng. Perhaps she had decided to let the furore run its course. A risky tactic given how easily and regularly things got out of hand. The presence of Jack McNally’s squad car confirmed Lilly’s suspicions that something had really kicked off.

‘Trouble in paradise?’ she asked Miriam.

Miriam didn’t smile. ‘Kelsey’s mum is dead.’

‘Shit.’

‘You need to talk to Jack.’

‘Has he told you what happened?’ asked Lilly.

‘Not much, just that the police want to speak to Kelsey.’

Miriam placed her hand in the small of Lilly’s back and steered her towards the building. ‘You need to get moving.’

Lilly eyed her friend. Where was the fire? ‘I’m not sure what I can do except hold the poor kid’s hand.’

‘Bugger that. She needs a solicitor and preferably one with her head screwed on.’

Miriam’s tone worried Lilly. The beloved and almost soporific calm had vanished, and in its place was something Lilly didn’t recognise, at least not in Miriam.

‘Is Kelsey all right?’ Lilly asked.

‘Wake up, girl, they’re saying she did it. The police think Kelsey murdered her mum.’

* * *

Lilly was always pleased to see Jack. Among the myriad professionals she worked with in child protection he could be relied upon to let common sense prevail and, like her, see the funny side of things.

They’d met on Christmas Eve, five or maybe six years ago, when Jack nicked one of her clients for stealing three tins of Roses from Woolies. The kid had denied it even when Jack played the CCTV footage showing the tiny figure tottering out of the door, his mountain of chocolate swaying precariously, his Santa hat askew.

As Lilly began to fear ever leaving the station, Jack had sent the kid packing with a telling off and a fiver.

Since then their paths had crossed so often they felt like old friends.

It didn’t hurt that he looked so good either. Tall and thin with the dress sense of Boris Johnson wasn’t every woman’s dream, but Jack’s thick dark hair, perfect skin and soulful eyes did it for Lilly. A mild flirtation with a handsome man eased the endless hours waiting in courtrooms. Harmless, yet highly effective.

He greeted her warmly, but they both understood that the gravity of the situation made their usual banter inappropriate.

‘What’s the story, Jack?’ she asked.

Jack slouched in the door frame, his battered leather jacket thrown over his left shoulder, the collar hooked under his thumb. ‘We need a word with Kelsey.’

Lilly smiled. If anyone could play things down it was Jack. The Irish melody of his voice lent itself to a light mood.

‘No can do. She swallowed a bottle of bleach and her mouth is burnt to shit, she won’t be able to speak for a few weeks.’

‘She can write her answers,’ he reasoned.

‘Is that any way to conduct an interview with a traumatised fourteen-year-old kid?’ she asked.

Jack sighed. He’d obviously anticipated this line of attack. ‘Not my call, Lilly.’

When he said her name it sounded like a song and she had to fight the urge to plant a kiss squarely on his lips.

‘Don’t talk rubbish. You’ve got enough clout at the nick to stop some smart arse in CID from hounding children,’ she said.

‘This is a murder investigation, Lilly, no one’s interested in my opinion,’ he replied.

It was Lilly’s turn to sigh, and Jack seemed to take this as confirmation that she knew it was futile to argue.

‘This whole thing will be less painful if you cooperate,’ he said, his eyes shining not with triumph but with relief at Lilly’s apparent acquiescence.

She pushed past him and went inside. ‘Bullshit.’

Lilly opened the bedroom door. Kelsey was sitting in exactly the same position Lilly had left her almost twenty-four hours earlier. It was if the child hadn’t moved. Lilly felt again the enormity of the situation. How can you represent a kid who can’t tell you anything? Avoidance tactics were her best bet.

‘Kelsey, this is Jack McNally. He’s a copper.’ Lilly flashed a charming smile. ‘He wants to ask you some questions.’

Jack returned the smile. His voice was low and deliberate. ‘That’s right. I’ll drive you to the station myself.’

‘So you’ll need to get a psychiatrist,’ Lilly said.

‘What?’

Lilly shrugged as if her proposal were obvious. ‘There must be a question mark over Kelsey’s stability and whether she’s able to sit through an interview.’

‘On what basis do you say that?’ he asked.

‘Oh, I don’t know – perhaps because Kelsey drank a bottle of bleach a couple of days ago and she’s just been told her mother’s been murdered.’

Jack stiffened. ‘Are you saying you won’t allow an interview to take place until she’s been certified fit?’

‘Not at all. You know as well as I do that I can’t stop you doing anything. I’d just be surprised if an experienced child protection officer like yourself would speak to a juvenile before assuring himself that to do so wouldn’t be harmful.’

‘A few questions aren’t going to hurt,’ he said.

‘Are you sure?’

Lilly glanced at the miserable creature sat at the end of her bed. Her head was buried in her chest, the crown, thick with dandruff, the only thing visible. Jack had walked right into this one.

‘Has she said or done anything to lead you to believe that now is a good time, Jack?’

‘I’ll call the Gov.’

Ten minutes later, Lilly stirred a coffee and placed it in front of Jack. ‘What did he say?’

‘We can’t get a psychiatrist today.’

Lilly already knew that the official police shrink was in court giving evidence on one of her other cases and that his assistant was sitting one of her final exams.

Jack gave a half-smile. ‘We managed an educational psychologist.’

‘Totally inappropriate,’ Lilly said.

‘Figured you’d say that and told the DI to send him home.’

Lilly couldn’t resist a smile but could see Jack’s patience was wearing thin.

‘This isn’t a game, Lilly,’ he said.

‘No shit.’

He fixed her with a hostile glare. ‘Grace was found in her flat by another prostitute hoping to borrow some money. The poor girl’s still in shock.’

‘Cause of death?’ Lilly asked.

‘Her head had been smashed and her body was covered in knife wounds,’ he said.

‘There goes my OD theory.’

Jack drew himself up. Lilly’s attempts at humour were patently annoying him. He rummaged in his bag, pulled out the scene-of-crime photos and slapped them onto the table between them.

‘Whoever did this is dangerous.’

It was Lilly’s turn to be annoyed. The attempt to get her on side was a parlour trick.

‘Goodness, Officer, now you’ve shown me what a monster my client is I’ll advise her to confess.’

‘No one’s looking for a confession,’ he said.

‘Of course you are, Jack. You’ve got no evidence.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘If you’d anything strong to say Kelsey did that,’ Lilly gestured to the photographs, ‘none of us would be sitting here. The DI would have nicked her himself and the first I’d have heard about it was when she got her phone call from the station.’

‘You’re a cynic,’ he said.

‘I’m a realist,’ she replied. ‘Kelsey’s a suspect for no other reason than she’s family and has a motive. The fact that the DI sent you tells me the interview is important. Softly softly catchy monkey. If Kelsey squeals there’s to be no room for me to object because you’ll need to rely on it.’

Jack’s shoulders drooped as the truth of what she was saying hit him. His naivety reminded Lilly that he was one of the good guys.

‘You should use your influence to put an end to this,’ she said.

‘Like I said, it isn’t my case.’

Lilly stared out of the window into the darkness surrounding The Bushes and wondered if the world beyond was still sizzling. Jack was right, this wouldn’t be the end of it. The police had their hooks into Kelsey and would keep picking until something began to unravel. It would be virtually impossible to find a foster placement for Kelsey with this hanging over her.

Lilly was exhausted and on the brink of a killer headache. She pulled a plastic bottle of warm water from her bag. Sam would be starving when she collected him but cooking was not an option. It was strictly fish and chips after a day like today.

Miriam’s voice pervaded the unit. Her lilting accent had returned, the anxiety of earlier banished, for now at least. Didn’t the woman ever get tired of it all? Lilly would ask her one day, but not today.

‘Miriam, I need fifteen quid,’ came a familiar yell.

Lilly poked her head around the door. Jermaine stood on the stairs, his arms wrapped around him in his best gansta pose, glowering down at Miriam.

‘I’m not deaf, Jermaine,’ said Miriam.

‘I need fifteen quid,’ the boy repeated, almost as loudly.

‘For what?’ Miriam asked.

‘A haircut.’

Miriam pushed a stray braid behind her ear and laughed. ‘You must think I’m mad.’

‘Why?’ Jermaine shouted.

Miriam reached up, knocked off his hat and revealed his number-one cut. Jermaine kissed his teeth and disappeared.

‘Kelsey okay?’ asked Lilly.

‘The poor kid’s shattered. I don’t know why the hell they think she killed her mum.’

Lilly shrugged. ‘Most murders are by family members. Kelsey must have been pretty mad when her mum dumped her in here, so that gives her a motive.’

‘That’s not much to go on,’ Miriam said.

‘Which is why Jack’s buggered off,’ Lilly replied.

Miriam stepped out of her battered sandals and lowered herself into the chair next to Lilly. ‘Kelsey didn’t do it.’

Lilly passed over her bottle. ‘Who else has a motive?’

‘Come on, that lifestyle is dangerous,’ said Miriam between sips. ‘Working girls get beaten all the time.’

‘Yet according to Kelsey her mum was clean, so why would she even be with a punter?’ said Lilly.

‘Old habits die hard.’

Lilly conceded the point. ‘True, and maybe some misogynist did bash her head in cos she wouldn’t take it up the trap door, but why mutilate the body?’

Miriam raised her eyebrows. They both knew people got their kicks in the strangest ways. Most of the kids in The Bushes could testify to that.

The inhabitants of southern England had communally declared it too hot to cook and the fish and chip shop was full. Its owners bellowed at each other in Turkish, throwing their arms around them like Basil Fawlty on acid. Their young assistant fried the cod, his face glistening with sweat and hot fat, and ignored both his employers and the customers.

Eventually, a parcel of food was unceremoniously dumped onto the counter. Lilly’s Auntie Val, who had run the Castle Wall Fish Palace for thirty-six years and knew every regular order by heart, would have turned in her grave.

The wrapping paper steamed and smelled of vinegar.

‘What do you think we got today, big man?’ asked Lilly.

Sam giggled in anticipation. It was like a Christmas present, you never knew what was inside until you opened it. The poor service annoyed Lilly but Sam lapped it up.

‘Did you ask for a sausage?’ he asked.

‘Three times, my love,’ Lilly replied.

‘So it’s probably a fish cake.’

Lilly’s mobile rang. She ruffled her son’s hair and checked the caller ID.

‘Hi Jack. Sorry if I seemed a smart arse today, just doing what I thought was right.’

‘Me too,’ said Jack. ‘Which is why I’m giving you a heads-up on this.’

Lilly left the correct money on the counter and scooped the greasy packet into the crook of her arm. ‘Go on.’

‘On the night Grace was murdered a neighbour saw Kelsey entering the flat on two separate occasions. She can also vouch that no one else visited that night.’

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