Authors: Helen Black
Miriam had her own set of rules that she had adhered to since the death of her son, and they had kept her going so far. To break them now would be a betrayal, not only to Kelsey but to the life that Miriam had created. People admired her unerring commitment to the children in her care, but she was not self-deluded and accepted that without it she would be just another grieving mother, and she was not strong enough to face that prospect. She felt for Lilly, but Miriam had her own ghosts to keep at bay. By protecting vulnerable children she protected herself. What did shrinks call it? Transference? Repression?
She put her hand over Lilly’s and was thinking about what to say when the door opened and Jack poked his head in.
‘Is this a hot girl moment or can anyone join in?’
The tension was broken and Miriam was glad to see Lilly laugh.
‘What can I do for you, Jack?’ asked Miriam.
He pulled Charlene into view. ‘I caught this one on the rob.’
The girl pulled at her dirty boob tube. ‘I didn’t do nothing.’
‘Those trousers just fell into your bag, I suppose,’ he said.
‘It’s a fit-up.’ Charlene pointed a stubby finger in his face. ‘You planted them on me.’
Jack pushed her hand away. ‘You watch too many films.’
‘Go to the television room, Charlene, I’ll speak to you in a moment,’ Miriam said.
Charlene bristled with indignation, but sloped off all the same.
Miriam was glad to be on well-trodden ground. It felt firm beneath her feet. ‘What happened, Jack?’
‘She tried to steal a pair of trousers from the market. Got caught,’ he replied.
‘Damn. The stupid girl’s still on a caution from last time.’
Jack waved his hand. ‘Don’t worry, I squared it with the stallholder. He’s not pressing charges.’
‘You’re a saint, McNally,’ said Miriam.
He glanced at Lilly. ‘Not everyone thinks so.’
Miriam caught the look that passed between them but couldn’t decode it. ‘Let’s read her the riot act.’
Charlene was alone in the television room, the other children not yet back from the market.
‘You lot wanna see this,’ she laughed.
On the television was their MP, Hermione Barrows, her face contorted into something she no doubt called sincerity.
‘From your comments it would seem you believe Grace Brand’s daughter was responsible for her death,’ said the
Look East
reporter.
‘I am not party to the evidence in this case and have no idea whether there is anything to substantiate that. It isn’t my job to say who is innocent and who is guilty. However, it is my job to speak out if I believe the police are not investigating fully.’
Hermione paused and looked directly into the camera. ‘If the police have reason to believe that Grace Brand’s daughter was involved then she should be arrested and charged. If she is guilty then she should be punished. It is time to stop making excuses and make the streets of Britain safer for everyone.’
‘For fuck’s sake,’ said Lilly, and walked out.
Jack and Miriam watched the programme to the end. Spurred by the MP’s comments, the great and the good came out of the woodwork to lend their support, and a spokeswoman for the regional constabulary confirmed that the murder was still very much the subject of an investigation. Finally, the reporter reminded the viewers of other murders committed by children, including Mary Bell and the killers of young Jamie Bulger.
When she heard the sound of the others arriving, Charlene sprinted off to spread the word.
‘It doesn’t look good,’ said Miriam.
‘No,’ answered Jack with a sniff.
‘Lilly’s going to take a lot of heat.’
Jack shrugged.
‘What’s with you two?’ Miriam asked.
‘Dunno.’
Miriam patted his shoulder. ‘You’ve crossed swords before.’
Finally she noticed Jack’s hangdog eyes and the teenage pout. How had she missed it? Had she been afraid of intimacy for so long that she had failed to detect the sexual tension between Lilly and Jack?
‘She won’t even talk to me,’ said Jack.
‘You’re on different sides of the fence right now,’ said Miriam.
Jack shook his head. ‘It shouldn’t be like this. We’ve always worked together.’
Miriam bit her lip. Apart from a couple of uninspiring and guilt-inducing flings, Lilly had been on her own since the divorce. Jack was just the sort of honest and decent man she’d want for her friend, so why wasn’t she happy for her? Why instead did Miriam want to turn this situation to her advantage? She could dress it up as commitment to her cause, but she accepted that calling it manipulation was closer to the mark.
‘Lilly doesn’t believe Kelsey killed her mother. Maybe you should take her seriously and look into this Max thing. He and Grace had a history you know.’
‘Does Lilly have any evidence about this? Has Kelsey said anything?’ asked Jack.
‘That’s a matter for Lilly and her client, Jack, you know that, but maybe he’s the one you’re looking for,’ Miriam answered.
Jack got up to leave. ‘I can’t chase maybes.’
Miriam nodded, but could see she’d steered him in the right direction. Lilly was his Achilles heel and she had just touched the spot.
Jack left the unit and got into his car. Miriam had a point. Recalling Kelsey’s tiny frame, bent over so he couldn’t see her eyes, wasn’t it more likely that Max had murdered Grace? He was a pimp, a user, a lowlife. Checking him out made perfect sense; at the very least he could find out where he was on the night in question. And it would surely cheer Lilly up. Not that that would be a priority in the murder case, more a happy by-product.
‘You, Jack McNally,’ said Becca, ‘can make anything right in your own mind.’
Becca was Jack’s last serious girlfriend. His only serious girlfriend, if truth be told, although he’d had a few short-lived flings. She had imparted this piece of wisdom whenever he blamed hangovers on bad pints and dodgy curries. And she’d repeated it, more vociferously, when he told her she was better off without him on the morning he’d left Belfast for good.
He pulled out his mobile to tell Lilly of his plan when he noticed he’d had a message. He was shocked to hear the voice of the Chief Superintendent in person.
* * *
The drive from The Bushes to Sam’s school took less than twenty minutes, but Ring Farm and Manor Park existed in parallel universes. Within five miles Lilly had left behind the grey tombs of the sink estates and arrived in the countryside. She avoided Harpenden and took the winding lanes through the villages which danced round it.
She always felt Harpenden and Ring Farm were both soulless in their own way, but the villages were alive. Cottages and houses jumbled around a post office, a newsagent and a couple of pubs. Each dwelling was incongruous and bubbled with its own personality.
Not for Lilly an estate of any variety, even those where every home had five bedrooms and a double garage.
Lilly’s mother had hated uniformity. When the council had painted every door on the estate brown she had got up an hour early and sprayed it silver before heading off for work.
‘The joy of life is its twists and turns,’ her mother had always said, and Lilly couldn’t agree more.
As she neared the school, the trees that flanked each side of the lane stretched over to meet, their branches entwined like limbs. Only dappled light fell through the canopy. Lilly enjoyed the calm of this living tunnel before she pulled into the school gates.
She parked and then stood in the bright sunshine and waved at Sam. He giggled and chatted with a friend as he made his way towards her.
‘Can Toby come to tea?’ he asked.
Oh God. Lilly had hoped to throw a pizza in the oven and let Sam eat in front of
Star Wars
while she got on with some research.
‘I’ll ask his mum,’ she said.
She wandered over to the shiny 4X4, where Penny was feeding apple segments to her other children.
‘Sam wondered if Toby could come to tea.’
Penny pushed her hair behind tiny ears.
‘I’m sure it’s too little notice for you,’ said Lilly.
‘Not at all. I’m sure he’d love it. I was just wondering what day it was,’ said Penny.
Lilly was puzzled. ‘It’s Friday.’
‘I mean is it a ballet, tennis or piano day,’ said Penny with a musical laugh.
Lilly held strong views on the middle-class obsession with extracurricular activities. ‘Ah,’ she said.
‘But it’s not. So by all means take him with you.’
Lilly got Toby safely belted into the car. He looked disconcerted by the muddy seats and the debris in the footwells.
‘Are you hungry?’ asked Lilly.
‘We usually have some fruit on the way home,’ the boy whispered.
Sam brandished two bags of Hula Hoops. ‘We always eat these.’
A smile broke across Toby’s face like a wave. ‘Awesome.’
The boys wolfed down their tea and headed off to play football in the garden. Lilly could hear their laughter through the open door as she logged onto the internet. If she were to help Kelsey she would have to give the police something on Max. Something concrete. Jack had confirmed he was a pimp and a pornographer and Lilly wondered if there would be anything about him on the net.
She entered ‘Max Harding’ and ‘sex’ into the search engine. Nothing exact came up, but the nearest hit was a site called ‘Maximum Hard On’. She checked the boys were still outside and entered the site.
The pixels began to coagulate to reveal a voluptuous blonde sucking a green lollipop. She gave a wave of welcome. Lilly waved back and travelled through the site. Further in, it became more explicit, but there was nothing to link it with her suspect. In any event it was both pedestrian and legal, bog-standard fucking and sucking.
‘Hello there.’
Lilly looked up and was shocked to see Luella next to her desk, looking over her shoulder at the large breasts that filled the screen.
‘You left your key in the door,’ said Luella.
Lilly had been so horrified to see her she hadn’t given a thought to how she had got in.
‘Penny’s stuck at the doctor’s with the baby so I said I’d collect Toby,’ Luella told her.
Lilly looked from Luella to her computer. The blonde was now on all fours, lollipop still in place, while another woman inserted an unfeasibly large dildo into her arse.
Lilly scrabbled to exit the site. ‘Research.’
Luella’s terse smile said it all.
* * *
William Barrows felt his sap rising. The girl –
his girl
, as he was already thinking of her – was taking over. He imagined how she would feel and how she would smell. He could concentrate on nothing else, and it was painfully exquisite.
Then the black man had left a message. The idiot had ‘
experienced some difficulties
’ so the meeting with the girl was postponed.
It infuriated Barrows that he was reliant upon such an imbecile, but he had no choice. It was too dangerous to do the grooming himself. He had done it in the past and enjoyed the process, but he no longer had the access or the patience and sought instead only the thrill of action.
He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted the iron tang of blood. These days, if he encountered any impediment to his ultimate satisfaction he was no longer able to steer himself to a safer path, but instead felt overcome with rage. A rage he needed to satiate.
When the woman answered the door her smell almost knocked him off balance. The foul stench of a thousand fucks and used condoms, drowning in perfume. Oddly, the woman used the old-fashioned kind that came in a glass bottle, which his grandmother had called ‘scent’. Violets and sugar. Barrows gagged.
‘Put it in the usual place, darling,’ she said, and pointed to the dusty bedside table covered in bangles, rings and a snakes’ nest of cheap gold chains.
He opened the heart-shaped box, inlaid with small white shells, and placed eighty pounds inside. The woman was leaning against a chair to remove her baggy leggings, the legs beneath as flabby and shapeless as the trousers. She saw that he was watching, grinned, and ran a hand over her vast backside, as white and pitted as the surface of the moon.
The contents of Barrows’ stomach, a goat’s cheese and vine-ripened-tomato salad, rose in his throat at the thought of even touching this monster.
He inhaled deeply, fingered the damp cloth in his pocket, and reminded himself that he had not come for sex.
Saturday, 12 September
The glare through the windscreen was painful. Lilly pulled at the broken sun-shield and admonished herself yet again for failing to have her prescription put in some sunglasses. It was not yet 10 a.m. but the temperature was already past seventy degrees. Lilly felt the prickle of sweat in her armpits as she pulled into a parking space, and wondered if autumn was ever going to arrive.
She turned to her passengers. ‘Everyone okay?’
Miriam nodded, Kelsey hid her face under a sheet of lank hair, and the three of them made their way into the police station.
The air-conditioning in the custody suite was broken and the desk sergeant was trying to keep the area cool with three rotating fans. As the one on his right swivelled towards him a raft of papers blew to the floor. Cursing, he picked them up and secured them with a cup of cold coffee, which sloshed gently over the rim.
‘What have you got for me, McNally?’ the sergeant asked as Jack came in.
Jack motioned to Kelsey, who was flanked by Lilly and Miriam, and sat on a wooden bench to the left.
‘CID want to interview the girl on an SAO.’
The sergeant sighed. A Serious Arrestable Offence always meant extra bloody paperwork. ‘Nobody bothered to tell me. Will you need the video room?’
Jack nodded.
‘God help you, it’s like an oven in there,’ said the sergeant.
Lilly glared at Jack as he arrested and searched Kelsey. ‘Got you doing the dirty work, have they?’
He ignored her and completed the paperwork.
‘I’ll need your details, Miss Valentine,’ said the desk sergeant. He pointed to the relevant space on the custody sheet and offered her a chewed biro.
Lilly ignored the pen and slapped her card into his hand so he could copy out the necessary information himself. It was a petty gesture that she instantly regretted.
‘I’m sorry if I seem curt, but I object most strongly to this course of action.’
The sergeant turned to Jack for enlightenment.
‘Li— Miss Valentine is of the opinion that Kelsey isn’t fit to be interviewed, given that she recently tried to harm herself.’
‘Given that she swallowed a bottle of bleach only two weeks ago,’ Lilly interjected, ‘and shortly afterwards found out her mother was brutally murdered, it is my professional opinion that dragging her here for questioning is entirely wrong, and Miriam Zander, the appropriate adult, is of exactly the same opinion.’
The sergeant looked close to sixty and was probably only months from retirement. Lilly guessed he would have no desire to be cited in a case for wrongful imprisonment of a minor.
He turned to Jack. ‘What do you say, mate?’
‘Interesting though it might be to hear what McNally has to say,’ announced a voice from behind, ‘it’s not his case.’
They turned as one to see a formidable figure striding towards the desk. In one deft movement he collected up all the papers.
‘This case is mine, and I say Ms Brand is fit to answer some questions.’
Lilly scowled at the man sitting opposite, pristine in an expensive suit and antique silver cufflinks. She hated these fast-track police officers with their public-school accents and degrees in philosophy. How old was he? Thirty at most, and in charge of a murder rap.
He angled the camera towards Kelsey, who sat next to Lilly, her chin tucked into her chest, her arms crossed tightly around her stomach.
‘I assume you’ve advised your client that interviews for serious offences such as this are sometimes recorded visually as well as orally.’
Lilly’s tone was polite. ‘Of course.’
‘And she understands the procedure?’ he asked.
‘I’ve no idea, Officer, I’m not a psychiatrist, nor am I a clairvoyant,’ Lilly replied.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jack biting his lip.
The younger man took off his jacket and hung it on the back of his chair, releasing the smell of his freshly laundered shirt. Lilly wished that she could do the same but knew there were dark circles under each of her arms.
‘Kelsey, I’m going to begin recording, so please look up,’ he said.
Kelsey buried her head even further into her collarbone. The camera picked up only the crown of her head.
The policeman’s smile didn’t slip. ‘First, let me explain, for the sake of the tape, who everyone is. My name is DI Bradbury; the officer in the corner is Jack McNally. Also present is your solicitor.’ He smiled at Lilly. ‘Could you give your name please?’
‘I’m Lilly Valentine and should say, at this stage, for the sake of the tape, that this interview should not, in my view, take place.’
Bradbury opened his mouth to speak but Lilly wasn’t finished, not by a long way. She put up her hand as if to shush a small child.
‘You stated in the custody suite, Detective, that you believe Kelsey is fit to be interviewed, and I’d be grateful if you could expand on that position, given you’ve never met her before today.’
His smile remained intact. ‘This isn’t a forum for you to question me, Miss Valentine, this is simply the preliminary stage of the interview where we all introduce ourselves. If you’re unsure of the procedure I’m happy to help you as we go along.’
Lilly could feel her colour rising but kept her face serene in case she was in shot.
Bradbury, clearly pleased to have scored a point, pressed on. ‘Also present is Kelsey’s appropriate adult. Could you state your name please?’
Miriam said nothing.
‘Could you …?’
‘Oh, you mean me. I thought you said the appropriate adult should state their name, and I wondered who you meant,’ said Miriam.
DI Bradbury looked puzzled. Lilly knew she could rely on Miriam. The women had done this many times before and were a class double-act. Jack had been on the receiving end of their treatment enough times to know what was coming, and Lilly half-expected him to intervene. She risked a glance in his direction and saw him chewing his lip even harder. Bradbury was on his own.
‘Since this interview is entirely inappropriate I can’t really call myself an appropriate adult,’ said Miriam. Then she snapped her fingers as if something had just occurred to her.
‘How about this? My name is Miriam Zander and I’m the inappropriate adult.’
Bradbury smoothed his tie. ‘This is ridiculous.’
Miriam nodded. ‘Yes, it is. It’s my job, you see, to make sure a vulnerable person receives the extra protection afforded to them by the Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984, and in order to protect this particular vulnerable person I am asking that this interview doesn’t take place.’
‘If you’re unsure of the implications of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984,’ added Lilly, ‘I’m happy to help as we go along.’
If Bradbury was ruffled he didn’t show it. He was good, very good.
‘You’ve had your say, ladies, and made your views abundantly clear, but on this occasion I’m going to overrule you and proceed with the interview.’
‘It’s open to you to ignore us,’ Lilly interrupted, ‘but it’s for a judge to adjudicate if we’re wrong and ultimately to overrule us. Still, I’m sure he’ll be glad to learn you decided for him in advance which pieces of evidence were admissible and which were not.’
Bradbury ignored her. ‘Kelsey, as you know you have been arrested on suspicion of murdering Grace Brand. You do not have to say anything when questioned but it may harm your defence if you do not mention something now which you later wish to rely upon in court. Do you understand?’
All four adults watched her, but she remained motionless except for the soft rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed.
The silence was broken by Bradbury. ‘I know how hard this must be for you, Kelsey,’ his voice was a study in calm and reason, ‘but you need to answer some questions.’
‘Not so, Detective. That thing we mentioned earlier, the Police and Criminal Evidence Act, provides for a person’s right to remain silent. Kelsey is under no duty to answer your questions,’ said Lilly.
‘You’re quite right, Miss Valentine, but, as you also know, a person’s decision not to answer relevant questions can be the subject of comment at a later stage,’ he answered.
Lilly smiled benignly as she handed Bradbury a spade. ‘You mean a jury may infer her guilt because she chooses not to speak now.’
‘Exactly,’ he said, and leaned towards his suspect. ‘You see, Kelsey, a jury might find it pretty strange that you don’t want to set the record straight.’
‘True enough, Detective, but I shall be more than happy to explain to any court why it was not the right time to speak today,’ said Lilly.
‘Me too,’ added Miriam.
Lilly could sense the DI’s discomfort but it was still thickly masked.
‘Once again, ladies, your position is very clear, but once again I intend to continue. Kelsey, where were you on the night your mother was killed?’
Kelsey was curled so tightly he was speaking to her shoulder blades.
‘When people see this video they’re going to think it very strange that you wouldn’t even answer that.’
Lilly sighed as if exasperated. ‘No they’re not, Detective.’
Bradbury, cut off at every avenue, snapped. He banged his fist on the table, making Lilly and Miriam jump.
‘Don’t tell me. You’ll explain to the jury how terrible the police were. How they shouldn’t have even dreamed of investigating the murder of a woman beaten to death with a hammer in her own home.’
Lilly eyed him coolly. ‘On the contrary, I think you
should
be investigating who did this, rather than looking to my client. There are plenty of alternative suspects and I’ve already suggested one name to Officer McNally.’
‘And no doubt he’s looking into that. In the meantime, I want to ask Kelsey some questions and, frankly, if my mother had been murdered I’d want to set the record straight, wouldn’t you?’ Bradbury shouted.
She had him on the run. ‘What I would or wouldn’t do is irrelevant. The point that I was trying to make to the custody sergeant before you burst in like Batman, and the point I’ve been trying to make since the start of this interview, is Kelsey
cannot
answer your questions today.’
Bradbury was on his feet, towering over Lilly and her client. ‘Why the hell not?’
Lilly grabbed Kelsey’s chin and brutally displayed her damaged face.
‘Because she can’t fucking speak.’
The Hart of the County FM may not be
Question Time
, but it has 12,000 listeners, most of whom care nothing for politics but are happy to hear the sad saga of Grace Brand. The weekly current-affairs magazine usually draws a smaller audience than
Gardeners’ Half Hour
, but today is different. Today they expect numbers to rival
Drive Time Love In
, when members of the public share their tales of eyes meeting across dance floors dripping in cheap lager and puke.
Cashing in on a story run in the local
Standard
, which compared, inaccurately but salaciously, the current murder investigation to that of the Yorkshire Ripper, The Hart of the County is using the entire slot to discuss the subject.
Had Grace’s life of prostitution led her to such a tragic end?
Was an international drug ring involved?
Are the good citizens of the Clayhill Estate safe in their beds?
Hermione is waiting to be interviewed. She wonders whether the pathetic creature Grace had been in life would have approved of all this publicity. No doubt she would have relished her fifteen minutes of fame.
The presenter’s young assistant signals that Hermione will be needed in three minutes. Hermione avoids looking at the huge bulge of her stomach, the breasts rounded and ripened by pregnancy. She takes a deep breath in preparation but her mobile rings.
‘Mrs Barrows?’
‘Yes.’
‘This is the Chief Superintendent, do you have a moment?’
‘Literally that, Officer, I’m at the radio station for an interview.’
‘Then you’ll be glad to have up-to-date information. I wouldn’t want you to make a fool of yourself,’ he says.
She is tempted towards a clever retort, something William might say, but nothing comes to mind.
‘I’m listening,’ she says.
‘Kelsey Brand has been arrested and is being questioned about her mother’s death as we speak.’
As Hermione walks towards the studio, the ‘on air’ sign lights up in fluorescent green, and she can’t contain a smile. Is it this easy to take control, to make things happen? If power begets power she’d be in the cabinet by the end of the year, and everything she’d gone through, everything she’d done, would be justified.
‘Look, John – may I call you John?’ Hermione asks, her voice just above a whisper, more like a purr but as resonant as glass.
‘Of course,’ he answers.
‘I’m not saying this girl should be hung. I’m not on a witch hunt. I simply want justice to be done and to be seen to be done.’
‘But you’re pleased that she’s been arrested?’ says the presenter.
Hermione pauses for just the right length of time. Enough to denote serious consideration of the question without any suggestion of indecision.
‘No, John, I’m not happy that the police have found it necessary to arrest a child for such a terrible crime. I wish our children played hopscotch and ate penny chews on their way home from school. I wish they read Enid Blyton and respected their elders, but this is a very different world to the one in which you and I grew up.’
‘Kids run pretty wild these days,’ he says.
‘Yes, they do, John, and we as a community must put a stop to it.’
‘Rumour has it the kid is pretty deranged,’ he says. ‘A source at the local hospital tells us she was admitted for drinking bleach. Is that true?’
Hermione clucks. ‘Now, John, you know I can’t discuss the details of this case.’
She doesn’t dispute it, of course.
‘Not the sort of kid you’d want running around the place, wouldn’t you agree?’ he says.
‘The case is very worrying,’ she replies.
The assistant rolls her hands. It is time to wrap up and cut to the break. The presenter nods and holds up a finger to Hermione. One minute left.