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.
‘Our listeners want to help, Hermione, what can they do?’ he asks.
This is her last chance to make an impression. She pictures her mother and goes for it. ‘Take responsibility, not just for your own lives but for those of our fellow citizens. Don’t bury your head in the sand, be watchful of what goes on around you. Take action to protect your neighbourhood and start today. If anyone has any information about this brutal murder they should contact the police.’
‘Because Grace deserved better.’
‘Yes, she did.’ Only those listening very closely would be able to detect the hint of a wobble in her voice. ‘We all do.’
Hermione allows a smile. She knows she did well. She is her mother’s daughter after all.
Mrs Mitchell turned off her radio and nodded. ‘That politician makes a lot of sense.’
Her husband mumbled something to himself but she didn’t so much as look at him. Instead, she picked up her telephone.
The Chief Superintendent pressed the pause button and froze the scene in the interview room. Kelsey’s face filled the screen, her eyes wide in terror, her chin held tight in Lilly’s fingers, her mouth, an uneven crust, moving through red, brown and yellow.
Jack and Bradbury looked anywhere but at the screen.
‘Jesus Christ, she made mincemeat of you,’ said the Chief Superintendent.
‘Yes, Sir, she did,’ said Bradbury, his calm entirely returned.
‘Can we get rid of the lawyer and have another crack?’ the Chief Superintendent said.
‘On what basis?’ asked Jack.
The Chief Superintendent glared at him. Obviously there were ways and means Jack didn’t know of.
Bradbury smoothed his tie, something Jack had seen him do throughout the interview. Perhaps it was his way of keeping control. Not a bad tactic, thought Jack, it stopped the man from fidgeting, gave him a second to think and looked thoroughly smooth. Jack resolved to give it a try in his next difficult interview, then remembered he never wore ties except to attend funerals and court hearings – two places he avoided like salad.
‘Even if we were able to do that, Sir, we wouldn’t be able to use a confession. It would simply prove that Valentine was right, and without the right protection the girl’s vulnerable,’ Bradbury said.
‘Can we charge her without a confession?’ the Chief Superintendent asked.
Bradbury nodded. ‘There’s nothing to stop us, but we don’t have enough evidence to secure a conviction.’
‘Does that matter?’
‘We don’t want to be seen to be pushing this because we’re bowing to political pressure.’
The Chief Superintendent wagged a cautionary finger. ‘But we do want to be seen to be taking it seriously.’
Jack kept his silence as the other men considered the problem. Clearly, there were issues here from which he was excluded not only by rank.
Bradbury spoke first. ‘We could send the case papers to the CPS for advice, and make that public.’
Jack was surprised. ‘Can’t we just run it past the rep here at the station? They’ll give us an answer on the spot.’
Bradbury shook his head. Clearly, a speedy response was not what they were looking for.
‘I think someone senior should deal with a case of this importance. Maybe the DPP herself.’
The Chief Superintendent clapped his hands. ‘Excellent. We’d still be taking action, but the ultimate decision not to do anything wouldn’t be ours.’
‘In the meantime we could look into the other suspect Valentine mentioned, so we’ve got legitimate ongoing inquiries,’ said Bradbury.
‘And we can’t be accused of backing one horse.’
The two minds working together mesmerised Jack, and he wondered what it would be like to be included in the plan. He was about to find out.
‘Jack, you investigate the other body,’ ordered the Chief Superintendent.
‘Yes, Sir.’
Jack found Lilly by the vending machine banging the side with full force.
‘You’ll break that.’
‘Don’t you start.’
He pressed a couple of buttons and out came a can of Diet Coke. She held the can against the side of her face for a second, opened it and took a grateful drink. The condensation had left a silver film on her cheek.
‘What’s the score, Jack?’
‘We’re asking for advice,’ he said.
‘Can I speak to the rep?’
Jack shook his head gingerly. ‘This is too big for that. We’re sending the papers to the DPP.’
Lilly threw up her arms in exasperation, showering herself with Coke. ‘The DPP? What for? You know what she’ll say. Without a confession you’ve no evidence.’ She licked the spilled Coke from her forearm. ‘I suppose Bradbury didn’t want to let it go. These fast-track wankers love the big ones.’
Lilly rummaged inside her bag for a tissue and Jack took the can before she could spill any more.
‘He’s a good copper, Lilly. He doesn’t want to hound Kelsey but he understands how things work.’
‘His type are ambitious,’ she said, dabbing her shirtfront.
‘What’s wrong with that? He doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life nicking fourteen-year-olds for joyriding, and I can’t say I blame him.’
He took a swallow himself and handed the can back to Lilly. She put it straight to her lips. The gesture seemed intimate, almost sexual, but Jack was sure he was reading too much into it.
‘Don’t underestimate what it is you do, Jack. Small things matter to people’s lives. We can’t all change the world.’
‘No, but we can try.’
Back in the custody suite the sergeant had given up on the fans. Sweat poured down his face and pooled under his chin before falling in fat drops onto his paperwork. He ran a damp fist across the soggy sheet and smeared Lilly’s name into a blur.
Kelsey stood before him and he spoke to the crown of her head. ‘You’re not being charged at this time, love, and you’ll remain on police bail until the CPS have looked at your case. Do you understand?’
For the first time that day Kelsey reached for the pen and pad Lilly had given her and scribbled a few words. She tore off the sheet and handed it to her solicitor. Tears welled in Lilly’s eyes as she read it. Finally, she placed it on the desk.
AM I GOING TO JAIL NOW?
The faded sofa was deliciously comfortable. Miriam leaned back and sipped her wine. She loved Lilly’s cottage, with its bowed ceilings and scuffed wood floors. Every inch of it ran amok, bursting with books, toys and photographs, the very antithesis of her own place, which was pared down to the brittleness of its bone.
When Lewis had died she’d wanted to rid herself of everything frivolous or futile, but the clearout became a purge until she could no longer allow herself any comforts.
Looking at the warm chaos around her she knew she was denying herself the most basic of things – a home. It was the ultimate punishment, which she inflicted on herself and gladly suffered.
Lilly stumbled from the kitchen with a tray piled high with food. Miriam helped herself to the dips and salads her friend had rustled up in less than ten minutes. Damn, that girl could cook.
‘You did good at the station,’ said Miriam. ‘We both did.’
Lilly slavered purple putty onto some flatbread and spoke through a mouthful. ‘Not good enough, girlfriend. The CPS will hang on to it for at least a month, and in the meantime there’ll be a media frenzy. Whatever the outcome, no one will foster this kid.’
Miriam was ever the optimist. ‘You don’t know that for sure. There are some great people out there.’
‘Which is the next problem. If Kelsey is guilty then other people need to be protected, particularly saintly foster mothers with four kids of their own,’ said Lilly.
Miriam licked her fingers. The tang of yoghurt and fresh coriander was exhilarating in an evening still crushed by the heat. ‘She says she didn’t do it and that’s enough for me.’
Lilly gave a half-smile. Evidently she couldn’t agree.
One last piece of tomato sat in the empty bowl. Lilly stuffed it in her mouth and sighed.
‘I’ve been through all the files and there’s nothing to incriminate Max. I can’t even find his website.’
Miriam pulled a buff folder from her rucksack. ‘That’s because you’re looking in the wrong place.’
Lilly took the papers from her friend. They were dog-eared and dirty. ‘Where’d you get them?’
Miriam shrugged that it was better not to ask, so Lilly began reading the social services file for Maxwell Hardy, dated 1989.
Lilly offered a finger of Twix to Miriam, who took it and went back to her half of the paperwork.
‘Anything?’
‘Nah. Quiet kid,’ said Lilly. ‘No background of violence, just a couple of cautions for TDA.’
Miriam shook her head. ‘Taking and Driving Away? He’s not exactly a master criminal, is he?’
Lilly nodded at Miriam’s pile. ‘What about that lot?’
‘No social problems beyond what you’d expect of a kid in care,’ said Miriam. ‘School describes him as a persistent truant and an underachiever. Blah, blah. Good at music and art. Actually, he won a prize for a film he made in Media Studies.’
She handed the certificate to Lilly, who took one look at it and walked over to her computer.
‘Sorry to bore you,’ Miriam called after her.
Lilly tapped the name of the film into her search engine. ‘Let’s see if this thing is on the net.’
‘A school music video? I don’t think so,’ said Miriam.
‘Maybe he still uses the name.’
‘After all these years?’
‘In a life full of crap maybe it’s the only thing he’s ever had to be proud of.’
Bingo. Up came the site: www.maximum exposure.co.uk.
Lilly and Miriam huddled together in front of the screen, which had been catapulted into inky black. They looked at each other expectantly and then back to the blank screen. At last, red banners began to emerge.
Check out our live webcam girls. Uncensored xxx action.
see the ladies play in the pool
get hot hot hot in the sauna
or get down to some dirty action in the bedroom.
‘On a night like tonight it’s got to be the pool,’ said Lilly, and clicked the mouse.
Two buttocks separated by a sliver of leather thong appeared in the left-hand corner, their owner unprepared to show herself until she saw the colour of her viewer’s money.
Hi, I’m Randy Mandy and I’m dying to talk to you live on my webcam. Sometimes it makes me so HOT I have to take off all my clothes.
‘So turn down the central heating, girl,’ said Miriam.
Lilly trudged through the security and confirmed that, yes, she was over eighteen, yes, she understood that the site contained nudity and items of a sexual nature which some may find offensive, and, most importantly, yes, she would agree to the call being charged to her at a whopping £1.87 per minute.
Hurry, caller, Randy Mandy is getting uncomfortable and is dying to get naked with you.
‘A pair of knickers that fit might help,’ said Miriam.
Finally Lilly confirmed she was the person who paid the phone bill and access was granted. ‘Shut up, now, Miriam.’ Lilly adjusted the microphone on her own computer. Randy Mandy would be able to hear them but not see them. ‘If she susses us too soon she’ll lock us out.’
A few more minutes at premium rate were wasted with banners proclaiming this to be the wildest live site in the UK with the most beautiful babes on the net.
Our action will not disappoint.
‘What action?’ said Miriam.
Lilly shushed her as the painfully divided cheeks began to swell until they filled the screen.
‘Hi there. What’s your name?’ came a detached voice.
Lilly guessed the woman was from Russia or somewhere in Eastern Europe.
‘Miriam,’ said Lilly, and winced as her friend elbowed her in the side.
The bottom retreated from the camera and a slender woman came into view. She stood in front of a cloth backdrop on which was painted a crude approximation of a beach and a swimming pool. Her flat stomach and smooth thighs were almost girlish but her bleached hair, cut in a poor imitation of Marilyn Monroe, and sallow complexion made her seem much older. She looked directly into her camera, and in the half-reality that is live webcam Lilly saw that she had startlingly green eyes.
‘Well hello, Miriam, I am having to tell you I am just loving some girl-on-girl action.’
She ran her hands over her baby-pink shirt, so tight the buttons strained to keep the woman contained.
‘Tell me, baby, what do you like me to do?’
Lilly turned to her friend in horror and mouthed ‘What shall I say?’, but Miriam could only bite her hand to suppress laughter.
‘Come on, baby, don’t be shy. Do you like me to unbutton my top?’
Lilly coughed. Her voice was dry and small. ‘Er … yes.’
Randy Mandy’s laugh tinkled as she ripped open her shirt and let it fall out of shot. A huge pair of gravity-defying breasts, utterly incongruous on such a small frame, were revealed.
‘What do you think, Miriam? Do you like my body?’
As the woman fondled herself Lilly caught sight of the telltale half-moon scars. She shuddered.
‘How about my pussy, do you like to see that? I am shaving especially for you.’
Lilly spluttered into her microphone.
‘You haven’t done this before, have you, sweetie?’ said Randy Mandy.
‘No,’ Lilly admitted.
‘Don’t worry, there’s a first time for everything.’ Mandy’s voice was honey. ‘Why do you decide to come to this site?’
The sex worker’s question may have been posed to put her nervous client at ease, or perhaps to waste a few premium-rate moments, but Lilly seized her opportunity.
‘I knew a working girl called Grace Brand, she told me about Maximum Exposure.’
A shadow of recognition fell over the woman’s face but she quickly plastered her smile back in place.
‘Did you know her?’ asked Lilly.
‘That’s enough talk now, baby,’ said Mandy. ‘Let’s get hot, yes?’
Lilly wasn’t about to give up. ‘She got killed last week. It was in all the papers, you must have heard about it?’
Randy Mandy shook her head and tossed her lifeless hair over her shoulders. The breasts remained static.
‘What about Max Hardy? You must have heard of him?’
Mandy’s smile vanished. She seemed to age ten years.
‘Doesn’t he run this site?’ asked Lilly.
‘Not any more. He move on.’ Mandy frowned and picked up her shirt. ‘If that is type stuff you want you don’t find here.’
‘What type of stuff?’ asked Lilly.
Mandy covered her breasts with her shirt and leaned towards her camera. ‘I go now.’
The screen went dead. She had locked them out.
‘Well, that’s it, she’s not going to talk to you again,’ said Miriam.
Lilly smiled at her friend, a twinkle in her eye. ‘If the mountain won’t come to Mohammed …’
Barrows watched his wife work the crowd. She shook hands with the party faithful and accepted their support and congratulations with aplomb. Hermione was the hero of the hour and she sparkled with a new sense of purpose, her smile broader, her step lighter.
He waved to her and mouthed ‘well done’. She waved back, but when their eyes met he didn’t find warmth. Instead he saw something colder and darker.
He reaches for a glass of water and gulps it down together with his fear. He’s being ridiculous, of course. She doesn’t know. How can she? In all the years he’s known her she hasn’t been able to work out how to programme the video recorder let alone the blackest recesses of his mind.
Hermione curses herself as she walks towards the car. She had been taken over by the adulation and let her guard down. She had let her husband see beyond her façade, and he would now know that she saw beyond his. After twenty years of pretence they would have to confront the truth.
Barrows drove his wife home in silence. The woman beside him, who he thought he knew, who he thought he controlled, was beyond his reach. Does she know?
And if she did–what would she do now? Would she hand him over to the police? And ruin her newly ascendant star? He thought not. Even when he’d met her at Oxford she had lived life as if she were being watched. While the other students danced and drank with abandon, Hermione felt that what she wore, what she read, what she ate were matters of grave importance. She had waited her whole life to be somebody, she wouldn’t blow it now. Instead she would insist it stop, insist he give up the hobby.
He pictured his life without it and rage began to swell in his temples.
He sped faster and faster through the streets of Luton, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly they hurt. He considered unlocking her seatbelt and slamming on the brakes so she would hurtle through the windscreen. He’d seen it done in a film and knew he had the guts. He had never allowed anything to stand in his way before.
He glanced at the locking mechanism. Hermione’s hand rested on top and held her belt in place. A coincidence, or could she now anticipate his every move? He imagined she could read his thoughts, then berated his paranoia.
Eventually he swung the car onto their drive, a crunch of gravel beneath the tyres. He killed the engine and they sat for a few seconds, side by side, both staring straight ahead. His heart was pounding so loudly he was sure she could hear it.
‘Do you have something to say, darling?’ he asked, his voice stagey.
Hermione took a deep breath. ‘I don’t think so, William.’
Barrows was shaking but he had to know. ‘I disagree.’
She spoke looking away from him, so that her voice sounded distant although they were only inches apart. ‘I have known for some time now about your other life.’
He tried to sound surprised. ‘Whatever do you mean?’
He wondered how she would put it. Would she use careful, deliberate language or the gutter expressions of the tabloids she loved to court? If she called him a child molester he would punch her until she could speak no more. He balled his fist, ready.
‘Cut the crap, William, we both know you’re gay.’
Barrows didn’t speak, didn’t dare to breathe.
Finally Hermione got out and turned to face him. ‘We’ll have to find some way to work it out.’
As she closed the door behind her he let out an audible sigh of relief.
‘This is beyond stupid,’ said Miriam.
‘Way beyond,’ Lilly agreed.
She wrote down her mobile number for the babysitter and felt a pang of guilt that if Sam woke up he wouldn’t find his mother at home, but she needed to act quickly. If Max had sold his site it would be to someone local – Lilly doubted the man had ever even left Luton. That meant Mandy was probably still working in the area, but in a week’s time, or even a couple of days, that could change. Girls moved parlours and brothels with ferocious speed, trading with whoever would pay the most. Websites opened and closed on an almost daily basis. Loyalty was in short supply for women in the oldest job in the world.
‘Have you considered how we’re actually going to do this?’ Miriam asked.
Lilly picked up her car keys and ushered Miriam out of the cottage into the humid night. ‘We’ll head for Tye Cross. Someone will know her.’
‘We can’t just go to the nearest brothel and say, “Excuse me, we’re looking for Randy Mandy. Do you know her? Blonde hair? Big boobs?!”’
‘Why not?’ said Lilly.
‘Because they’ll want to know who we are and why we’re asking.’
Lilly put the car into gear and set off. ‘We’ll say we want you-know-what.’
Miriam looked at them both, a black dreadlocked woman in her early fifties with half-moon glasses and Birkenstocks and her colleague still in her now-dishevelled work suit and trainers.
She sounded unconvinced. ‘A pair of lesbian sex tourists.’
Lilly gave her friend a wink. ‘Just say you’re after some girl-on-girl action.’
Tye Cross was synonymous with sex. Everyone in the area knew that this was the place to find a prostitute. Lilly had seen the name appear in numerous court papers, as many of her young clients had mothers working there. Some of them went there themselves, particularly if the lure of drugs had already sucked them into a black hole. Lilly, however, had never actually been to Tye Cross and was surprised to discover what amounted to little more than a few dingy streets dotted with sex shops and strip-clubs. In between were flats where customers prepared to pay a bit extra could satisfy themselves in the comfort of a bed rather than the back seat of a car. A couple of pawnbrokers, an Indian takeaway and an all-night café were the only other signs of life.
Several prostitutes lingered in doorways or wandered along the kerbside and peered into passing cars.
‘Looking for business, love?’
Taking a deep breath, Lilly approached a prostitute standing alone outside a disused sari shop.
Everything must go. 50% discount, declared the peeling posters above the girl’s head. Up close she seemed impossibly thin, and even tonight, when the temperature had not dropped below 65, her legs were mottled with purple honeycomb and she wrapped an oversized cardigan tightly around her tiny frame.
‘I’m looking for a girl,’ said Lilly.
The woman didn’t respond but blew smoke in Lilly’s direction.
‘Her name is Mandy,’ Lilly added.
The girl shivered, flicked her cigarette at Lilly and walked away.
Another woman, older and almost plump, called to them from her spot further up the road.
‘Don’t mind her, darling, she’s waiting on a fix.’
She smiled at Lilly’s blank expression. ‘He’s late tonight, the man that sells them young ones the drugs.’
Lilly nodded her comprehension. ‘I’m looking for a girl called Mandy.’
‘Oh aye.’
‘Blonde, early twenties, I think she’s foreign.’
The woman became distracted as a car pulled to a halt only a few feet away. ‘They’re all foreign these days, honey.’
Lilly realised that in one night she’d been called baby, darling, sweetie and honey by women she’d never met before in her life. It was intimacy at its most fake, and the women used these names without thinking.
The woman spoke over her shoulder as she moved towards a potential client. ‘Try the girl on the counter in Sizzle, she knows most of them. Me, I keep my distance.’
Lilly watched her lean into the driver’s window then crossed the road to Miriam, who was embroiled in conversation with two women who seemed to find the whole thing hilarious.
‘Honestly, I’m not from any church,’ said Miriam.
The taller of the two tugged absently at her holdup stockings whose elastic had clearly seen much service and better days. ‘Sure you are, sweetheart, you lot are always round here. Come to save our souls.’
Miriam persisted. ‘No, really.’
‘Never mind our souls, try our bloody arses,’ roared the smaller woman, ‘cos mine’s as raw as a frigging bullet wound tonight.’
The women collapsed into laughter and careered across the road, arm in arm.
Miriam sighed. ‘Any luck?’
Lilly was about to mention Sizzle when she spotted a familiar face. She gestured towards a group of young boys working the other side of the street. When they realised they were being scrutinised all but one scarpered.
The boy pulled down his baseball cap. ‘Fuck it.’
‘Hello Jermaine,’ said Miriam.
‘I ain’t doing what you think, Miriam,’ he said.
Miriam cocked her head to the left. ‘No?’
‘I’m clipping. You know, I’m pretending to work and then taking off with the money.’
Miriam kissed her teeth. ‘I know what clipping is, and I know it’s a stupid boy who thinks he can get away with it before someone gives him a kicking or worse.’
‘Take him home in a cab, I’ll stay a bit longer,’ said Lilly.
‘You going to be all right on your own?’ asked Miriam.
‘Course. I’ve got a lead I need to follow up.’
Sizzle was clean, bright and spacious inside. Lilly had never been in a sex shop and was amused to find neat racks of magazines and ordered rows of videotapes. The assistant eyed her solitary customer without interest and went back to pricing up outfits from a box marked, ‘Fantasy Wear’.
Eventually Lilly made her way to the counter and peered in the glass cabinet displaying a forest of vibrators and dildos, the largest of which was over twenty centimetres and tartan.
The girl spoke through a wad of bubble gum, its saccharine smell filling the air. ‘You want one of those?’
Lilly shook her head. ‘I’m looking for someone.’
The girl’s jaws moved up and down like a piston. ‘This ain’t a dating agency.’
‘She’s foreign. Russian, I think,’ said Lilly. ‘Calls herself Randy Mandy.’
The girl shrugged.
‘Come on,’ Lilly smiled, ‘you must know all the regulars round here.’
The girl wasn’t disarmed. ‘I come in, do my job and go home. End of story.’
‘But you must hear what’s going on? Who’s working which patch?’
‘I make four quid an hour. It ain’t enough for chitchat.’
Lilly took out her purse and pulled out a twenty-pound note. ‘She does a chat room called Maximum Exposure.’
The girl took the money. ‘Most of the Russians work out of Fat Eric’s. I think he’s got a Mandy over there.’
Lilly smiled her thanks and turned to leave.
‘He won’t let you near her,’ said the girl, sliding the banknote into her back pocket, her gum pushed into her cheek like a hamster.
‘Why not?’ asked Lilly.
‘It’s regulars only, so the girls don’t get ideas.’
‘What sort of ideas?’
The girl went back to her uniforms and her chewing.
Outside, the air seemed heavier, and Lilly’s feet stuck to the pavement as she made her way to the small strip-club called Eric’s. The windows were blackened and an enormous man with a strangely small and shaven head sat on a stool in the entrance, one buttock hanging in midair. European disco music filtered through a velvet drape behind him. He was eating an equally colossal sandwich, and Lilly was transfixed by the white film of mayonnaise that covered his entire top lip in an oily moustache. A girl in hot pants and bra pushed aside the drape. She whispered something into the man’s ear and he nodded without taking his mouth from his food. She was just about to disappear inside when she glanced at Lilly. It was the eyes, they were unmistakable.
‘Mandy,’ shouted Lilly.
The girl looked surprised.
‘We spoke on the net, Mandy,’ said Lilly. ‘About Max Hardy.’
The man jerked back his head and Mandy scuttled back inside.
‘Can I come in?’ asked Lilly.
She heard the too-breezy manner and knew it wouldn’t wash.
The man swallowed a mouthful and shook his head. ‘Members only.’
‘I have plenty of money to spend,’ she said.
The man, who had already taken another bite, spoke through a mouthful of lettuce and chicken. ‘Spend it somewhere else.’
Lilly stood firm. ‘I just want to talk to Mandy.’
The man wiped his mouth with the back of his meaty fist.
‘Please,’ said Lilly.
‘Nobody by that name here,’ he answered and turned back to his supper.
‘Could I at least leave her a message?’ asked Lilly.
‘Listen, love, sling your hook before the boss turns up.’
‘Are you threatening me?’
He sighed and gave her a small push backwards with one slippery hand. Given the difference in their sizes Lilly hurtled across the pavement and landed flat on her back. The man gave her a pitying look and went inside, no doubt to eat his sandwich in peace.
‘You okay, honey?’
Lilly gratefully received a hand to help her to her feet from the doughy prostitute she had met earlier.
‘Something tells me I’m not on his Christmas-card list.’
‘I doubt that bastard’s even got his granny on it.’
Lilly smiled, but as the other woman let go her knees buckled.
‘Where I’m from they’d say you need a stiff drink.’
‘A cup of tea would do.’ Lilly leaned on the other woman’s arm. ‘I’m buying.’
Lilly sipped her tea. It was so strong and sweet she was filled with a longing for her home in Yorkshire. Or perhaps it was the incident outside Eric’s. Vulnerability had always sent her scurrying back up the M1. She’d packed her bags a dozen times since she found out about Cara, only to pour herself a glass of wine and empty them again. How had she ended up here, away from her friends and family? Where she felt out of step with the zeitgeist and often, too often, out of her depth. It was a question she regularly posed, and she knew all the answers, but at times like this they didn’t seem good enough.
The other woman squeezed behind the seat opposite. In the harsh, fluorescent lights of the all-night café Lilly saw the skin of the woman’s stomach peep through the gaping spaces between her buttons. Around her neck hung a necklace with gold letters that spelled out the word ‘ANGIE’.
‘I feel a bit of a fraud,’ said Lilly. ‘I mean, he hardly touched me.’
Angie lit a cigarette and blew the smoke above her head. ‘You’re just shook up.’
She took another long drag and eyed her companion. ‘Can I ask what you’re doing here?’
Lilly knew better than to dive in. If she was to get anything useful from Angie she’d need to strengthen their connection.
‘I could ask the same of you. Is that a Scottish accent?’
‘Aye. Still haven’t lost it in twenty years.’ Was it pride in her voice or nostalgia?
‘What brought you down south?’ asked Lilly.
Angie eyed her suspiciously through the smoke. Eventually she shrugged, perhaps acknowledging that she may as well tell the truth.
‘A fella. I was sixteen and I followed him to London.’
A man. Always a man. Hadn’t Lilly done the same thing herself?
‘What did your parents think to that?’
‘I’ve no idea, but I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t have given a shit as they put me in care at twelve.’
Lilly wasn’t surprised.
‘Once we got to the city we’d no money for rent or nothing so we slept in a shop doorway.’ Angie didn’t court sympathy. These were the plain facts of her story. ‘After a couple of nights a man offered me a fiver for a blowjob and the rest, as they say, is history.’
‘What brought you to Luton?’ asked Lilly, her interest genuine.
‘My man ended up in prison over this way and I got sick of the train ride. Anyways, the brothels were full of foreign girls in London and there was still plenty of work over here.’
They watched two younger women enter the café and order coffee at the counter to take away. Both spoke with heavy accents and their dark complexions set them apart.
‘But it’s the bloody same here now. Russians, Turks, Albanians. It’s the United Nations out there.’
‘The girl I was looking for is from Eastern Europe. Russia, perhaps. She works for Fat Eric,’ said Lilly.
‘They’re all from over there in his place. He brings them here himself, or gets his brothers to do it for him. Not one of them girls is legal.’
‘Is that why the man on the door wouldn’t let me in?’
Angie nodded. ‘They don’t talk to outsiders. Poor cows, they work that club sixteen hours a day. If it’s quiet they do the chat rooms and the porn sites.’
‘Where do they sleep?’ Lilly asked.
‘He’s got some flats just outside the Cross. They get taken there after work.’
‘You make it sound like they’re prisoners.’
Angie’s over-plucked eyebrows shot up like speech marks around her forehead and accentuated the thick layer of foundation that had sunk into every crevice. ‘What else can you call it when they’re watched twenty-four seven?’
‘Why don’t they run away? Even without passports they could disappear. London’s so close.’
‘These girls are from small places, villages and that, Eric knows their families. One tried to leg it and her uncle’s throat got cut in front of his kiddies. She soon came back.’ Angie pointed a stubby finger at Lilly, its tip stained an unhealthy yellow, not unlike the colour of Kelsey’s hair. ‘So if you’re here to help Mandy, or whatever she’s called, I’d think twice if I were you.’
‘I’ve never met her, I just wanted to ask her some questions about a website called Maximum Exposure.’
Angie nodded to a silver Volvo that had pulled up outside. It was clean, brand-new, its owner obviously well-heeled.
‘Punter,’ she said, and made for the door.
As Lilly drank the dregs of her tea, Angie turned back.
‘I’ve never heard of that site, but I bet it’s got something to do with Max Hardy.’
Before Lilly could open her mouth, Angie had sprinted to the car with an astounding fleetness of foot and jumped inside.
Jack was working late at the station. He’d pulled out all the old files on Max Hardy, going right back to when he was a kid in care. The man had a sheet as long as the Dead Sea Scrolls.
Lilly was right, he was a nasty piece of work.
Jack remembered the first time he’d nicked him. Max must have been about fourteen, but he was small for his age, and Jack had seen more meat on a spare rib. Jack had let him off with a warning, like he always did, but it was only a matter of months before he was in again for possession, then for thieving cars.
Over the years his name came up time and time again, running girls and drugs. And yet Jack had never had him down as a killer.
During his years in the RUC, Jack had come across heavyweights on both sides of the divide. Hard men who knew what they wanted and how to get it. Shootings, kneecappings, Jack had seen it all, and Max Hardy didn’t fit the mould.
Maybe things had changed.
Jack sighed. Bradbury and the Chief Super had been in a huddle for hours now and he was itching to know what was going on. He’d love to be the one to tell Lilly the case against Kelsey had been dropped.
He tried not to imagine her smile and opened his emails.
To: Sergeant Jack McNally
From: Detective Inspector Marcus Bradbury
Subject: Grace Brand
Here’s the extra piece of evidence we were looking for. Have sent it to CPS today. Technically we don’t need to disclose it to the defence at this stage, but feel free to give a copy to Valentine.
I wish I could be there to see her face.
‘Shit,’ said Jack when he received another message.
To: Jack McNally
From: The desk of the Chief Superintendent
Subject: Grace Brand
By now you should have received the new information in the Brand case. Clearly this casts the situation in a new light, and although we do not wish to be seen to be putting all our eggs in one basket, you should keep resources to an absolute minimum in pursuing the second suspect.
‘Double shit.’
He decided on a text. Yes it was cowardly, but what could he do?
MEET ME AT THE STATION SUN 5 P.M.
YES, LILLY, IT IS IMPORTANT.