Authors: Helen Black
‘It’s not common,’ said Sheba. ‘Studies show that most paedophiles aren’t violent. When questioned about why they want to have sex with children they describe it as an orientation as opposed to a choice, much like being straight or gay. Those who commit murder generally do so to cover up what they’ve done, rather than to gain satisfaction.’
‘So he’s not likely to be our man,’ said Lilly.
‘It’s not likely but it’s not impossible. There are plenty of sites on the web dedicated to hurting children and women, and murderers such as Ian Brady certainly gained enjoyment from torturing their victims. Hurting and killing were as important as the sexual act in his pathology.’
They went into the garden for Sheba to smoke. Lilly was fairly liberal on the subject but Sam was a nicotine nazi and called in the SS to deal with anyone found lighting up within the castle walls.
Sheba gazed out into the fields beyond Lilly’s garden. ‘It’s a lovely spot.’
The smell of lemon balm filled the night air.
‘It needs a lot of work,’ said Lilly, and kicked an old paving stone which immediately crumbled.
‘I suppose a legal-aid lawyer’s salary doesn’t go far,’ said Sheba, ‘at least not around here. I dare say you could make it stretch back in Yorkshire.’
Lilly smiled. She’d considered moving back a thousand times. Sam would go to school with his half-cousins, Lilly would get a job in Leeds, and they’d live like kings.
‘I left home at eighteen and I’ve never been back except for births, deaths and marriages. I’ve lived more of my life in the south and Sam has only ever lived here.’
‘But you don’t fit in,’ said Sheba. It was not meant to be hurtful or critical, just a bald statement of the facts as she saw them.
‘I can’t think where I would,’ said Lilly.
Sheba exhaled slowly. ‘My father was a Polish Jew who came to England after the war. He married my mother, a good East End girl, and had two strange-looking children. As a child I would wail that I was neither Eastern European nor a cockney. “I don’t belong,” I’d yell, “I’m not one thing or the other.” And my father would always answer in exactly the same way. “Bathsheba, just be yourself.”’ She flicked her cigarette into the hedge. ‘Now let’s get on with some work.’
They fanned the case papers out and reread every sheet. Sheba made meticulous notes with a silver-ink pen. Lilly chewed the end of a pink felt-tip.
‘There’s another problem with my theory,’ said Lilly.
‘Just the one?’ asked Sheba.
‘If the man in the films did kill Grace to keep her quiet, then how did he know she intended to say anything? I can’t believe Max told him. He wouldn’t want to admit to a chink in his armour, but who else knew?’
Sheba returned to the papers and pushed one sheet across the table. It was the letter Grace had written to her MP.
Thursday, 24 September
The Winnie Mandela Community Centre shared its time with Tiny Town Tumble Tots, Over-55s First- Aiders and a Thursday morning session of Bums and Tums.
Lilly had never been to an MP’s surgery and had expected something grander.
There was no appointment system, just a list on a clipboard to which you added your name on arrival.
Lilly took her place in the queue in a grey corridor. The woman in front leaned heavily against the wall, her wheezing punctuated by short blasts from the inhaler she kept permanently in her hand. She wore a man’s shirt pulled tight over her pregnant belly, the sleeves rolled up in thick folds above her elbows.
‘This weather ain’t doing me any favours,’ she said, rubbing her bump.
When her name was called she dragged herself into an upright position and lumbered through the door, her shoulders heaving the beat to some asthmatic dance. Seconds later she emerged with a smile.
Before Lilly could ask what instantaneous magic the politician had spun, her own name was called.
Hermione Barrows spoke without looking up from the note she was finishing.
‘Could you tell me your full name?’
‘Lilliana Valentine, I’m the solicitor for Kelsey Brand.’
Hermione put down her pen and appraised Lilly quizzically, no doubt comparing her to the rain-drenched swamp monster as seen on TV. She stretched out her hand.
‘You look very different in real life.’
Lilly took the hand in her own and noticed that Hermione, although elegantly dressed in oatmeal-coloured trousers and crisp cotton shirt, was less slick without professional makeup. She seemed much older, much more tired. ‘So do you, Mrs Barrows.’
Hermione’s hand flew to her cheek. Lilly had hit a nerve.
‘If you’ve come to berate me about my campaign, Miss Valentine, then you’ve wasted your morning. I stand by what I said, though of course I am sorry it transpires your client is ill.’
‘It’s a shame you don’t focus on our shameless system that has mentally ill children locked away,’ said Lilly.
‘I intend to, Miss Valentine.’
‘You mean the inquiry.’
Hermione raised an eyebrow that seemed thin without the brown pencil to give it substance.
‘You’re very well informed, but I can’t talk about that just yet, and something tells me that’s not what you’re here for.’
Lilly had already considered what would be the most efficient way to approach this. She figured Hermione would offer no information unless cornered, and so went on the offensive.
‘Why didn’t you tell the police you had had prior dealings with Grace Brand?’
She didn’t know for sure that Hermione had not volunteered this information but her suspicion proved correct.
‘Whatever makes you think I had any dealings with her?’
‘You saw her here on September the third. If you check the list for that day I’m sure you’ll find I’m right.’
Hermione opened a ring-binder and found the list. She traced the row of names with her finger, the nail painted the exact same colour as her trousers. ‘Grace Brand, yes, she was here. How strange that I never put two and two together.’
Too strange, thought Lilly.
‘Let me see what she wanted,’ said Hermione and pulled out a notebook. ‘I remember now, she’d made a number of applications to transfer her tenancy, which had all been turned down.’
Lilly tried to read Hermione’s handwriting upside-down, realised she couldn’t and decided to bluff it. ‘She told you she was being threatened, that she and her children were in danger.’
‘She said a great many things.’
‘She told you she needed to escape from a paedophile.’
Hermione smiled. ‘Her story was pretty wild.’
‘You didn’t believe her,’ Lilly said.
‘I asked her to substantiate her claims, which I think was reasonable in the circumstances.’
‘Reasonable?’
‘She was a drug addict and a criminal. I see quite a number and, believe me, they will say anything to get what they want. I can’t take action without evidence.’
‘Did she give you any evidence?’
‘She said she would come back and prove to me that everything she was saying was true.’
‘But she was dead before she got the chance.’
Lilly wondered if Hermione felt any remorse at having ignored Grace’s plea and the chain of events that could have been averted. Probably not.
‘I think the story was true,’ said Lilly, ‘and I think whoever was involved killed Grace. Did you tell anyone about your meeting?’ she asked.
Hermione looked away. ‘To my shame I did not.’
Lilly couldn’t be sure, but for the first time during their meeting the MP seemed genuine.
Max watched the girl sitting next to him out of the corner of his eye. She was nervous but not frightened. That was good, very good.
‘There’s something for you in the glove compartment,’ he said.
Charlene opened it and took out the gift. A fluffy toy dog with a pink diamante collar.
‘I know you ain’t a kid, but I saw that cute face and straight away I thought about you.’
She hugged it to her, beaming. ‘I can put it in my handbag, like Paris Hilton does! Where are we going?’
‘I got this flat where I do all my shoots.’
He let it sink in that he had another property. ‘It ain’t fancy but the light is perfect.’
‘Will the man be there? The one who wants to put me in a film?’ she asked.
‘Definitely, so you have to be nice to him, baby, real nice.’
The Bushes was quiet when Lilly arrived. Most of the kids were watching MTV. Miriam made coffee and they settled in the empty kitchen.
‘Did the powers that be pronounce you A1 and shipshape?’
Miriam scowled. ‘They’ll send me their report in due course.’
Lilly helped herself to a biscuit. ‘I went to see Hermione Barrows.’
Miriam’s eyes widened.
‘You’ll be pleased to know she looks like crap in real life,’ said Lilly, her mouth covered in crumbs.
‘What did she say?’ asked Miriam.
Lilly wagged a half-eaten coconut ring. ‘That Grace
did
go to see her and
did
tell her all about what was happening at number 58, but she didn’t do anything about it or tell anyone else.’
‘Do you believe her?’
‘I can’t see why she’d lie.’
Miriam kissed her teeth. ‘Were her lips moving? She’s a politician, girl, it’s second nature.’
‘I’ve also worked out who visited Kelsey in prison.’
‘You have been busy.’
‘It was Charlene.’
‘What has that girl got herself mixed up in? Let’s go and talk to her.’
They looked in all the bedrooms but Charlene wasn’t there, and she wasn’t in the television room with the others.
‘Has anyone seen Charlene?’ asked Miriam above the din.
No one answered so she snapped off the picture with the remote. The ear-ripping hip hop was replaced by a cacophony of protests.
‘Has anyone seen Charlene?’ Miriam repeated
‘I seen her go off in a car with some black geezer,’ said Jermaine, and punched the programme back to life.
Earlier that day the man on the news had confirmed that Kelsey was back inside and Max was relieved. He loved Kelsey and that, but he needed her out of the way. He’d been back to the flat first thing and set up his equipment inside. It was not until he pulled up outside the stairwell that he wondered whether the girl would know whose house it was. Maybe she’d seen it on the telly and would recognise it. He watched her anxiously for any reaction and relaxed a little when he saw none.
Barrows’ car was parked in his usual spot at the foot of the stairs, which meant he was already inside. He preferred to get there first, which didn’t bother Max, who was glad to spend as little time as possible doing the thing.
In thirty minutes, an hour at the most, he’d have a ticket to LA. He was on his way.
‘You seem pleased,’ said the girl.
Max hadn’t realised he was smiling. ‘Of course I am, baby, this is your moment and you’re gonna shine like a star.’
He reached for a bottle of Bacardi Breezer lying on the back seat, took what looked like a swig himself and handed it to the girl. ‘Dutch courage.’
She giggled and put it to her lips, unaware of the valium he’d slipped inside.
Lilly set off before Miriam had even fastened her seat belt, and they shot across town. It was a busy lunchtime at the Clayhill Estate and women trudged along the dirty pavements, their bags bulging with produce from the market. Young men huddled in packs, many with their hoods up despite the heat.
The sight of an eight-year-old Mondeo with its bumper hanging off, careering along at seventy, caused barely a blink.
Lilly slammed on the brakes next to an equally ancient BMW parked at the bottom of the stairwell. She jumped out without locking the door and vaulted the stairs two at a time. She could hear Miriam breathing heavily close behind. She stopped outside number 62, her view of the Brands’ flat obscured by a pillar, and cursed Mrs Mitchell and her half-truths. Then she ran to the end where the walkway bore right. She stopped in her tracks so suddenly that Miriam ran right into her.
There was Max opening the door to number 58, his arm around Charlene’s shoulders, steadying her as she swayed.
‘Get over here now, Charlene,’ Lilly shouted.
Both Max and Charlene looked up. Lilly saw Max recognise her instantly, but Charlene seemed to take a moment to focus.
‘You can’t tell me what to do,’ said Charlene, her voice fuzzy around the edges.
‘Do as you’re damn well told, the police will be here any minute,’ Lilly answered, her voice steely.
Charlene turned to Max, who gave the tiniest nod of his head, and she walked away from him, each step becoming more of an effort.
When Miriam had got Charlene secured around the waist Lilly turned back to Max, who hadn’t moved.
‘I know what you do.’
He smirked, sending a fearful tingle to the base of her skull. She remembered his face inches from hers, leering at her when he had pulled her into the flat.
‘You know nothing,’ he said.
Jack McNally stood outside The Bushes with his hands on his hips. His scowl confirmed he was unimpressed with Lilly’s behaviour. ‘You should have called the police.’
It took both Lilly and Miriam to drag a flaccid Charlene out of the car.
‘I did,’ said Lilly, ‘I called you.’
Jack threw his hands skyward. ‘Not until it was over. Jesus, he could have killed you.’
Charlene’s head lolled from side to side and her knees buckled.
‘Are you going to stand there wagging your finger, or give us a bloody hand?’ said Lilly.
He mumbled something Lilly assumed she wasn’t supposed to catch and lifted Charlene, fireman-style, over his shoulder. The girl moaned from the very pit of her stomach and vomited down his back.
Having dumped Charlene unceremoniously onto her bed, Jack removed his shirt and swiped at it with a wad of toilet paper.
‘Have you been working out?’ asked Lilly in her best Californian accent.
‘Is that what you say to that barrister fella of yours?’
Lilly reddened. ‘He’s not
my
anything.’
Jack balled the tissue paper and threw it at the bin. It missed and stuck to the wall with a wet thump.
‘Nice,’ said Lilly.
Jack tried not to smile but it hovered on the edge of his lips. ‘You owe me a drink.’
‘Why don’t I cook you a meal?’
She’d spoken without thinking and instantly regretted how forward it sounded.
She tried to backtrack. ‘I mean if you’d like to, if you’re not too busy or whatever.’
He gave up hiding his smile. ‘I’ll come around after my shift.’
Barrows remained hidden in number 58 for at least an hour. He had heard the shouting from the perfect darkness of the bedroom and expected the police to arrive at any moment. When they hadn’t shown up he’d sat in the grotty room ruminating on what had taken place.
As time wore on his fear turned to anger and, later, to cold fury. Someone had found them out and dared to stand in the way. Her voice was familiar but he couldn’t place it.
He’d called Max and demanded they meet. True to form, the black man was reluctant, whining about getting away. Barrows had pointed out that he still had Max’s means to do just that in his pocket, which had, predictably, changed the other man’s mind.
Barrows unlocked the clinic, aware that he was taking risks. His hunger was making him reckless and stupid.
But no, he’d worked this all out. Hermione thought he was playing ten-pin bowls with a bunch of closet poofs, everything was under control.
‘I don’t know why you want to see me,’ said Max. ‘It’s over.’
Barrows shook his head. ‘Nothing is over until I say so.’
‘If Charlene talks we’re knackered,’ said Max.
Barrows put up his hand. ‘What will she say? That nice Mr Hardy was going to introduce her to a man who was going to make her a star. No crime has been committed.’
Max looked wildly around the room as if searching for something to allay his fears. Barrows would need to act with care. He patted his empty pocket.
‘I have your plane ticket right here. You can call the airline tonight and reserve yourself a seat.’
Barrows assumed correctly that Max had never flown before and had no idea that flights could not be booked on such little information. The stupid man probably didn’t have a passport. ‘It’s business class, of course.’
Life had taught Barrows that no amount of nonsense was too much when selling something that a person already wants. Each exaggerated detail only served to further justify. Reality had no place in the lives of the self-deluded. They wanted – no, needed – the lies, and Max was no exception.
‘That woman, the solicitor, is fucking everything up,’ Max muttered.
So that’s who she was. Barrows remembered seeing her on the television. ‘She’s nothing,’ he said. ‘A minor inconvenience. You can’t let her stand in the way of your dreams.’