Sunday, 13 September
Sundays spent in the office were anathema to Lilly, but Rupinder had made it clear that the other partners were placing her under pressure to ‘do something about the northerner’. Guilt about her boss’s position rather than fear for her own made Lilly agree to spend the day at her desk. Miriam had taken Sam to the cinema so there was no excuse not to put in a full one.
By three thirty Lilly poked her head around the door to Rupinder’s office.
‘I’m going to meet McNally.’
‘You have other cases,’ Rupinder grumbled.
Lilly waved her mobile phone as if Rupinder could read the text from her position at her desk. ‘He said it was important.’
‘I’m sure he did, but you must put time aside to catch up on paperwork,’ said Rupinder.
‘Yes, boss.’
‘I mean it, Lilly, even if I have to tie you to your desk.’
‘Easy, tiger.’
Rupinder went back to her work. ‘I’m ignoring you now.’
Lilly was too preoccupied to worry about the mountain of forms and memos screaming for her attention. She just hoped Jack needed to see her about something he’d got on Max, something that would help Kelsey’s case. After she’d caught up with Jack she would head straight back to Tye Cross to track down Angie, who also knew something about Max.
Things were looking up, and Lilly felt excited and buoyant.
Jack was waiting for her at the entrance to the station.
‘Are you arresting me, McNally?’ Lilly teased. ‘I’m not coming quietly.’ She held out her hands to him. ‘You’ll need to cuff me for starters.’
Jack said nothing but steered her through the security door to one of the evidence rooms inside the station.
‘As for the strip search …’ she continued.
‘Shut up and sit down, woman.’
Lilly moved a box of trainers from a plastic chair. Each shoe was separately bagged in clear cellophane and labelled. Maybe one held a vital piece of information, a clue as to who had committed a burglary, a rape or some other crime. It occurred to her that investigations were like jigsaws, sometimes one piece would reveal the whole picture. Again she thought of the letter and how pivotal it might be if she revealed it to Jack. Although she felt bound by her client’s right to confidentiality, it did nothing to make her feel less disingenuous.
She moderated her tone. ‘What’s up, Jack?’
He pushed a sheet of paper across the desk to Lilly.
I, Millicent Mitchell, of 62 Meadow Hawk Way, Clayhill Estate, Ring Farm, make this statement further to my statement of 8 September in which I stated that on the previous night I saw Kelsey Brand go to the door of number 58 on two separate occasions.
I have thought about that night long and hard and I now wish to add that about five minutes after the second occasion when Kelsey went to number 58 I heard voices and so I went to my window again.
I saw Grace Brand answer the door to Kelsey, who followed her mother inside. I then saw them both in their kitchen and they looked as if they were arguing.
I went to turn down the television so I could hear what they were saying, but when I got back to the window they were no longer in their kitchen.
I confirm that the contents of this statement are true and that they may be used as evidence in a court of law.
‘This is crap,’ said Lilly, and pushed the statement away in disgust. ‘I’ve been in her flat and I’m pretty sure you can’t even see into Grace’s kitchen from there. Max is the man you want.’
Jack steeled himself to tell her he could no longer pursue that line of inquiry when Lilly looked at her watch.
‘Shit, I have to collect Sam, but I’ll meet you on the Clayhill later.’
‘I can’t do it, Lilly.’
‘Of course you can.’
‘The Gov is on my back,’ he said.
‘I’ll prove to you that Mitchell has got it wrong,’ she retaliated.
Before Jack could mention expenditure and resources Lilly had dashed out of the station.
Lilly was damn sure guilt had played a part in David’s agreement to look after Sam, but whatever the reason, as soon as he arrived Lilly pulled on her shoes.
‘Where are you off to in such a hurry?’ he asked.
‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’
He walked with her to the door and crumbled the rotten wood of the frame in his fingers.
‘This is dangerous. You need a new one.’
‘Can’t afford it, David.’
He opened his mouth but didn’t press it. She was glad as she could spare neither the time nor the energy on an argument.
Money was always an issue between them, or, more precisely, the lack of it. David made a generous payment to Lilly each month, but over half was swallowed by Sam’s school fees. Lilly, who had never wanted a private education for her son, would have happily let him take a place at the local village school, but David wouldn’t hear of it. He had attended an all-boys boarding school and attributed much of his tenacious personality to his time there.
By the time Lilly had paid the mortgage and other household bills on the cottage there was hardly anything left for luxuries, like a car with a fully operational gearbox or a front door that actually locked.
At first she’d tried to reason with David and pointed out that there were only ten children in each class at the local primary, which was a better teacher–child ratio than Eton or Harrow. David remained unmoved, so Lilly changed tack, arguing that Sam would always be the poor kid at Manor Park, which she knew from her own experience was not a comfortable position.
When that failed she threatened David with court action, but they both knew that most judges would have shared David’s background and would be hard to convince that school fees were not money well spent.
She had been furious for months and seized every opportunity to voice her complaint. Now she was resigned to her situation, worn down by it.
‘You should ask Rupinder for a pay rise,’ said David.
‘I already have.’
Max was vexed. Things were not going the way he’d planned. First that stupid girl had got herself nicked by McNally, and now this. He hated the lack of control.
Grace used to call him The Captain because he needed to be in charge, whereas she didn’t care, in fact she preferred not to make decisions.
‘I go with the flow, me,’ she used to say.
Max tried to put her out of his mind. Although things were simpler now she was gone, the thought of her still burnt him. Alone in the world they had found sanctuary in each other. Or that’s how it had seemed to Max at the time.
‘You watch my back and I’ll watch yours,’ she’d said again and again.
As a boy, Max had been overwhelmed by the idea of having someone on his side, someone who cared. He dreamed of running away with Grace, of marrying her. Instead, she fell in love with a wanker, went on the game and fell pregnant.
Kelsey had been a sweet baby. Hardly ever cried and always had a big smile for Max. He’d have married Grace and looked after them both if only she’d asked. But she never did. She stayed on the game, and then came the drugs.
Max hadn’t touched anything but weed in those days and had watched Gracie’s nosedive into addiction with horror. She’d lost weight and all her sparkle. She never went anywhere or did anything else, her life revolved around getting drugs, taking them, then getting some more.
Even so, she’d continued to watch his back, he had to give her that.
As the years progressed she’d often spoken of getting clean, and each time she fell pregnant he thought she might. It was weird how she finally did it at the end. How she finally tried to change her life.
Silly cow, she knew Max couldn’t let anyone get in his way.
He cleared his mind and walked towards the club. The man at the door greeted him with a nod.
‘The man’s expecting me,’ said Max.
‘You’re late.’
Max shrugged. ‘I had things to do.’
It wasn’t true. Max had waited around the corner for ten minutes. He didn’t like being summoned by Fat Eric and refused to behave like an underling. Instead he strolled through the door as if he were passing by and had decided to stop for a drink with an old mate.
He ordered a bottle of tepid beer from the bar and, propped against one elbow, casually surveyed the scene. The girl on the stage wrapped herself around a metal pole and snaked her way to the floor. The spotlights reflected in her hair, which undulated past her shoulders. A looker, right enough.
About twenty men sat at the tables in front of the stage. Some were alone, others sat in groups, drinking and laughing. Most were accompanied by one or more of the girls working the club, who encouraged money out of wallets with their white smiles and black underwear. Occasionally, a girl would lead her client to the VIP room in the back, where hard cash bought hard sex.
‘You’re impressed by my girls?’
Max had not noticed Fat Eric’s approach. He shook his hand warmly.
‘What’s not to like?’
‘No junkies, no drinkers, no thieves. This is the best way to make money, no?’ Fat Eric nodded gravely to emphasise his point. ‘Anyway, my friend, come to the office. We have things to discuss.’
Fat Eric’s office was no more than a dirty, windowless room used to store crates of beer and spirits. A small desk was placed to the side, its surface littered with papers, ashtrays and empty glasses. The air was thick with smoke.
‘Drink?’ asked Fat Eric, already reaching for clean glasses behind him.
Max noticed that the other man was not fat at all, and although his frame was large he had good muscle definition. He probably spent hours at the gym parading like a peacock.
Fat Eric opened a drawer and took out a bottle of vodka. Not the commercial kind found in bars and supermarkets, but imported from Sweden at over £30 a time.
He held up his glass to Max.
‘Prost.’
Both men emptied their glasses in one easy swallow.
‘We go back quite a few years, you and I,’ said Fat Eric, pouring more vodka.
It was true. Max remembered when the Russian had first arrived in Luton with only two girls in tow. His name had been Gregor in those days, but somewhere along the line he had acquired his new title along with several clubs and over 100 girls.
When Max first started his porn business he had sometimes used Eric’s girls, but Eric charged too much and it had eaten into Max’s profit margin. Later he used some women Gracie knew. They expected little but their habits made them unreliable and in close-ups they looked like shit.
These days he expended nothing on his stars except TLC and the odd £10 bag.
‘We’ve both diversified, Max, and I cannot say I appreciate the way in which your line of work has gone. But business is business, I don’t judge,’ said Fat Eric.
I should think not, man. Your girls are no better than slaves, so don’t get ideas that you’re higher up the food chain.
Max flashed a smile. ‘So what can I do for you, Gregor?’
‘A woman has been round here asking questions about you. She spoke to Mandy on the net and then tracked her down to the club.’
‘Police?’
Fat Eric shrugged. ‘I doubt it. Social services maybe.’
Max forced himself to remain calm but a prickle of fear was spiking the base of his spine. ‘What did she want?’
‘I don’t know and I don’t care, except that maybe she come back and next time not on her own,’ said Eric.
Yes, you bastard, you wouldn’t want immigration turning up here, would you?
‘I’ll look into it,’ said Max.
‘Sort it out, my friend. Make sure no one comes here again or I will take my own action.’
Max tried to sound indignant. ‘Like what?’
Fat Eric smiled. Despite Max’s machismo they both knew who was in charge. ‘Like asking you, very politely, to shut down your business.’
‘I need a pay rise,’ said Lilly.
Rupinder sighed.
‘I don’t want to be a pain. You know me, Rupes, I just want to get on with my cases, but I can’t manage on what I’m getting.’
Rupinder sighed again. Publicly funded cases brought little revenue to the firm. The hourly rate paid by the government was less than most plumbers charged. The other partners felt they were loss-makers and that the firm should concentrate its resources on private matters and get rid of the foul-mouthed Yorkshire pudding, but Rupinder had argued that to keep both Lilly and her small number of public cases was a way of providing a service to the vulnerable. Lilly teased Rupinder and called her a ‘do-gooder’ but she knew that her boss had always put her money where her mouth was.
‘You earn more than most childcare lawyers, Lilly. I can’t justify more.’
Lilly slumped into one of the chairs. ‘I know, but you can’t blame me for trying.’
Rupinder pushed a tiny wisp of midnight hair back into her plait. ‘There is a way round this, Lilly.’
‘A paper round?’
‘You’d never get up in time,’ Rupinder laughed, ‘but you could change your case load and take on some private work.’
Lilly scowled. ‘Divorces.’
‘And other things. Custody cases, adoptions, and so on. Don’t look at me that way, Lilly, the charge-out rates are good and I could pay you more.’
Lilly knew she couldn’t do it. ‘Rich couples arguing over the contents of the hoover bag. I’d top myself within a week.’
‘You could still do your care work, just split your time fifty-fifty. Think about it at least,’ said Rupinder.
Half an hour later, on her way to Tye Cross with £1.27 in her current account, Lilly was indeed thinking about it. She knew it made sense but still balked at the idea.
When David had left she’d drowned in misery and antidepressants. The divorce and subsequent arguments over the house and maintenance had left her unable to breathe. To come to work each day, not to escape, but to jump into other people’s oceans of despair, filled her with horror. She didn’t think she would be able to bear the gloom.
‘Whereas this case is just such fun!’ she said aloud.
She pulled her car over and got out. Was it her imagination or was it getting hotter as the night wore on?
It was past ten when Lilly entered the all-night café and ordered a can of Coke. She had walked half the length of Tye Cross in search of Angie, but the sticky night air was intolerable. She hoped Angie would head inside for a cool drink at some stage.
Lilly sat at the same table as last night, which afforded her a view of the street. Everything was still. Without a breeze the rubbish lay motionless on the pavement and in doorways. The girls leaned against walls or sat on the kerbs waiting for the few men who could be bothered to buy sex in the heat.
Lilly wondered what her own life would have been like had it not been for her mother’s determination that her only daughter would succeed. When her father walked out, leaving only his dirty washing and a mountain of debts, they had lost their home and moved to a council estate in Leeds city centre.
Why had he done that? Why had he left his daughter to live in a shit-hole? How could he sleep at night? He had put it and her out of his mind, that’s how. No wonder she had never seen him again.
Elsa, Lilly’s mother, was made of sterner stuff. She had taken one look at the decaying comprehensive only four minutes from the end of their new street and determined that Lilly would continue to attend St Mary’s, a small all-girls Catholic school run by the formidable Sister Joan. An eight o’clock start to catch two separate buses across town and the incidental fares did not discourage Elsa, who worked as a machinist in a textile factory and as an office cleaner in the evenings.
Lilly had raged against her mother’s decision and longed to mix with the local girls who smoked Embassy Regal and scrawled the names of their boyfriends on their bags. They didn’t care about trips to museums and ballet lessons on Saturday mornings. They didn’t have to do their homework, and if anyone had called them ‘council house scum’ they would have punched them in the mouth.
Immune to Lilly’s pleas, Elsa would not give in.
‘You’re a bright girl and I won’t give up on you.’
At the time, Lilly had not understood what motivated her mother to expose her to the uncharitable opinions of her classmates and their parents, but later she saw that Elsa had wanted more for her daughter than a life in the factories and worse. If Lilly was ridiculed for her shabby coat then so be it. A small price to pay for a better future.
On the morning Lilly left home to take up her place at Cambridge University, Elsa had pecked her daughter on the cheek as if she were going no further than the corner shop, but as Lilly climbed onto the train with her huge rucksack Elsa had let the tears come and shouted,
‘This is your chance, Lilly.’
Three days after Lilly graduated her mother died. Elsa’s work was finished and she needed to rest.
Lilly sighed. Elsa would have made a fantastic granny for Sam, with all the time in the world for stories and jigsaws. Lord knows what she would make of Lilly leaving him with every Tom, Dick and Harry so that she could sit in this Godforsaken place waiting for a prostitute. Maybe she would have understood what Lilly was trying to do. Maybe not.
‘I suppose you’re waiting on me.’
Lilly looked up and smiled at Angie.
Angie winced as she sat down and her tea sloshed into the saucer. ‘Shite.’
‘You okay?’ asked Lilly.
‘Got a rough one earlier,’ said Angie.
Lilly nodded but could only guess at the injuries suffered by the other woman.
‘Yesterday you said you knew Max Hardy.’
Angie lit a cigarette. ‘Aye. A waste of space if ever there was one.’
Lilly didn’t respond, letting Angie fill in the details.
‘A drug dealer and a pimp, making money from misery. The lowest of the low.’
Lilly showed her the photograph of Grace. ‘Did you know this woman?’
Angie nodded and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Again, Lilly waited.
‘I worked with her in a massage parlour a while back, but the owner hiked up his cut so I left. Greedy bastard.’
‘Did you know she’d been killed?’ asked Lilly.
‘Aye. It’s a terrible shame,’ said Angie.
‘Were you surprised?’
Angie poured the spilled tea from the dirty saucer back into her cup. ‘It happens. Sometimes you get a headcase.’ She slurped a mouthful and continued. ‘She’d a habit as well so maybe she owed money to one of the dealers.’
‘She was clean when she died,’ said Lilly.
Angie raised her threadbare eyebrows. ‘Aye? She talked about it a lot, giving up the drugs. That’s why I liked her, I suppose, not like the others who’re only happy if they get a hit. She wanted to get away, make a new life.’
‘I should tell you, Angie, that I’m a solicitor. I have nothing to do with the police or social services. I represent one of Grace’s daughters,’ said Lilly.
Angie nodded as if she’d thought as much. ‘The one that drank the bleach? God love her, she was like a second mother to the little ones. I mean Grace was no angel, she talked about a new start but she was out of it a lot of the time. Sometimes the eldest would meet her to get some money for the kids’ tea before Grace blew the lot.’
Angie had confirmed what Lilly suspected from the start, that Kelsey had been integral in keeping the family together, but that simply strengthened her motive for killing Grace when she dismantled what Kelsey had fought to preserve.
‘Was Max Grace’s pimp?’ asked Lilly.
‘She said not, but there was something between them.’
‘Was he violent to her?’
Angie stretched for the ashtray, the movement making her scowl. She left it out of her reach and tapped her ash on the floor.
‘Only once as far as I know, and that was recent. She came to work black and blue after a real beating. I asked her who’d done it and she said Max, but that it was her fault. He found out she was trying to move away and got nasty, started smashing up her flat.’
‘Why?’ Lilly asked.
‘Didn’t want her to leave, I suppose. Grace told him she didn’t care what he thought about it and if he tried to stop her she’d shop him.’
‘For what?’
Angie shrugged and ground out her dog-end under her toe.
‘I just bloody well swept up,’ the owner shouted from behind his greasy counter.
With her back still to him, Angie gave him the finger. ‘Whatever it was must have been pretty serious cos Grace said he lost the plot and cleaned the floor with her face.’
‘Did she go to the police?’ Lilly asked.
‘Nah. The next I heard she’d put the kids in care.’
That dirty Russian motherfucker. What gave him the right to make threats?
Max felt as if his body were on fire as the fury coursed through him. He reached into his pocket for his knife. The blade felt smooth and cool in his palm. He’d show Eric what happened to those who crossed him.
He’d cut him like a pig if he ever tried it again.
Max breathed hard and reached into another pocket. The rock was wrapped in cling film and had a slight bluish tinge, like a fresh bruise. He rolled it between his thumb and his forefinger.
A few weeks before she died, Grace had told him to knock it on the head. ‘You think you can take it or leave it, but you can’t. It takes over.’
Another one who thought she could tell him what to do. But she learned the hard way that nothing and no one controlled Max Hardy.
The pipe was still hot when Max put it back into his pocket. The effects of the crack were already wearing off and he would happily have smoked another but he only ever carried one rock at a time. It was a golden rule, and discipline was easy for the strong-minded. Only the weak were out of control.
Through the windscreen of the BMW he saw one of Fat Eric’s girls leave the club and head over the road to the all-night café. She remained in the eye-line of the man on the door at all times. When she flicked her hair out of her eyes he could see it was Mandy.
He waited for a few minutes until she came out, clutching a sandwich half wrapped in a paper bag.
‘Hey, Mandy,’ he called.
The woman looked up and smiled but she didn’t approach the car.
‘Come here a second, baby,’ he said.
Mandy hesitated and glanced up at the silent observer on the door of the club. He had turned away momentarily to speak to a group of drunken young men trying to gain access to some pliant women.
She moved towards the car and bent her head towards Max. Her breath smelled of salty bacon. It made Max feel sick.
‘Someone was asking about me,’ he said.
It was a statement, not a question, which Mandy ignored.
‘Do you know who she was?’ Max asked.
‘Maybe,’ she said.
Max sighed and opened his glove compartment. Inside was a kilo of heroin measured out into clear plastic bags ready to be sold individually for £10. He pressed one into Mandy’s palm and closed her fingers around it.
Although not an addict, Mandy, like most of Eric’s girls, couldn’t resist an opportunity to numb her brain for just a few hours. Anticipating the small taste of freedom it offered, Mandy tucked the brown into the greasy paper bag.
‘I no idea who she is …’
Max kissed his teeth and considered breaking one of Mandy’s fingers.
‘… but she sitting right there.’
Max followed Mandy’s eye-line to the window of the all-night café, where an attractive redhead was getting up to leave.
She was one of those women who don’t try too hard. Who don’t need to.
Max was still appreciating the woman’s good looks when he followed her to her car.
The air from the open window fanned her face. Lilly held up her hair at the nape of her neck and felt the delicious chill as the wind caressed the dampness at her hairline.
She checked the mirror and tutted at the BMW that had been hanging on to her tailgate all the way from Tye Cross.
‘Do you want to sit in my lap?’ she muttered, and pressed the brake to force the driver to slow down and keep his distance.
When she arrived at the Clayhill Estate she sent a text to Jack asking him to meet her at number 58, and began the climb up the stairs, her legs heavy in the heat. The walkway up ahead was empty and silent and Lilly wished she’d arranged to meet Jack tomorrow. She’d been so desperate to prove Mrs Mitchell wrong she hadn’t considered how foolish it was to parade around the estate in the dark. Not long ago someone had been murdered here. She forced herself to turn her mind to the case.
Angie had confirmed that Grace was desperate to get away, but from what? The obvious answer was Max. She wanted to escape from him enough to make numerous applications for a housing transfer and even to threaten Max with the police when he discovered her plan. What was he doing to Grace that he hadn’t done a thousand times before? What was sufficiently bad to stand out in a life already heaped high with crap?
Behind her Lilly heard the sound of breaking glass as if a bottle had been smashed. She turned to the noise and caught sight of a figure darting into the shadows.
‘Is anyone there?’ Lilly’s voice was tight. ‘Jack, is that you?’
She peered into the gloom and tried to make sense of the shapes. She could see nothing but was sure she could hear someone panting.
‘I’m calling the police,’ said Lilly, and waved her mobile as if to prove her intentions.
A dark form inched towards her, the rasping louder. Lilly screamed and dropped her phone as it ran across her path, a tongue lolling in the heat.
A dog. A bloody dog. The estate was full of them, roaming from burger box to bin. Most were left to their own devices but well-loved. Just like the kids.
Lilly laughed at her own stupidity and nervousness. She was from an estate herself and knew that danger didn’t lurk in every corner. St George’s Estate, where she had grown up, had housed every cliché from burning tyres in the play area to the man at 37 who slid from an upstairs window onto the garage door below to evade the police. So regular was his unorthodox exit that Lilly couldn’t remember the door ever being closed.
The locals called the estate ‘The Dragon’, alluding as much to the heroin that was rife on its streets as to any connection to England’s patron saint. Rough it certainly was, yet Lilly had never come to harm aside from the odd wallop for going to the ‘posh’ school.
Her dad had been right, the south was making her soft.
She paused to catch her breath outside Grace’s flat and her thoughts returned to Kelsey. ‘If I find out what you’re up to, Max, I’ll find out why Grace had to die,’ she said to herself.
‘There ain’t nothing to find out, lady.’
Lilly spun round at the sound of the voice behind her. Too late she tried to push past the black man blocking her path. Instead he grabbed her shoulders and leaned into her.
‘Who are you?’ Lilly whispered, her shoulder blades pressed against the door.
As he continued to apply pressure the door gave way and Lilly fell backwards into the flat.
‘I’m your worst fucking nightmare.’
Jack reread Lilly’s text and deleted it. He was determined not to spend the next two hours analysing the six-word message for hidden meaning.
He’d tried to tell her that he couldn’t push this line of inquiry any more but she wouldn’t listen. She never did.
And now she wanted him over there. At this hour. Ridiculous. He went back to the cookery channel, where a gremlin of a presenter in strawberry-pink hot pants jumped up and down while ‘an internationally renowned’ chef called John Something-or-other attempted to make a tasty and nutritious meal for six out of a tin of tomatoes, a bag of frozen peas and a mango.
He switched channels and tried to interest himself in a rerun of University Challenge.
‘In Euripedes’ Hecuba, who killed the Trojan Queen’s son, Polydorus, and threw his body into the sea?’
Hmmm.
Anyhow, Lilly only wanted to prove the old battle- axe at number 62 was lying, and bang on some more about Max Hardy. Frankly he could do without it. The Chief Super had explicitly said to keep resources to a minimum, which definitely ruled out overtime on a Sunday night.
Jack slapped his forehead repeatedly and picked up his car keys.
‘McNally, you are one big eejit.’
Lilly landed on her back and a pain jarred her spine.
‘I don’t have any money,’ she said.
The man leered at her, his mouth pulled back from his teeth. ‘You think I’m a mugger? Baby, you’re gonna wish that I was.’
Lilly shuffled backwards through the hallway, following the trail of bloodstains left by Grace as her body was dragged from the kitchen to the bedroom. ‘So what do you want?’
The man followed her, his large frame blocking the way, blotting out the light. Eventually, Lilly could go no further and was pressed against the door to the bedroom.
‘What do you want?’ Lilly repeated.
The man leaned over her, the heat of his breath filling her face.
‘You should have stayed out of my business,’ he said.
Lilly’s mind raced. This wasn’t some kid desperate for his next fix, he was a man, easily thirty, smart, clean and well-dressed. Was he a dealer? Had she stumbled into something she wasn’t supposed to see?
‘I don’t know who you think I am but you’ve made a mistake. I don’t know you and I don’t care about your business,’ she said.
‘Is that so?’ asked the man.
Lilly nodded her head with the vigour of a toddler.
‘So tell me,’ he said, his mouth so close to her ear she could feel as well as hear his words, ‘what were you doing at Tye Cross asking about me?’
Lilly’s voice was barely above a whisper. ‘Max.’
She froze, but only for a second. This was the man who had killed Grace. She launched herself towards him with a force from deep inside her and toppled Max from his feet. He fell back with a crash that Lilly hoped would stun him for long enough for her to jump over him and head for the door. She rose to her feet and leaped. The door was only feet away and she was sure she could make it. She let out a roar of anticipation that turned to a howl when she felt strong hands grabbing at her legs and bringing her to the ground.
She scrabbled with her hands, reaching towards escape, but her body was held tight.
She tried to struggle free but Max was far too strong and pulled her down the hall. Holding her around the waist he forced them both towards the bedroom, kicked open the door and threw Lilly inside.
She landed on her back again and screamed in pain.
‘Keep quiet or I’ll kill you,’ said Max, and pulled out a flick knife.
Lilly had always considered herself to be one of life’s fighters. As a child she’d been bewildered to learn that the band played on as the Titanic sank into the black waves of the Atlantic. She would have made a boat out of the string section and paddled to safety on a cello.
If yesterday she’d been asked what she would do when faced with an armed attacker she would have envisaged herself kicking, scratching and biting. Instead she found herself paralysed by fear. She didn’t even scream, but held her breath, her eyes locked onto the blade arching towards her.
He was going to kill her. He was going to cut her open and she was going to die here, just like Grace had died.
She heard the pounding of her blood in her head and felt the sharp pain as the knife cut into her throat before everything went black.
Jack lumbered his way up the stairs to number 58 and found the police tape broken, the door wide open. Damn the woman. She shouldn’t be in there on her own, it was a crime scene for God’s sake. Authorised entry only, she knew that.
‘Couldn’t you just wait for me to get here?’ he called through the door.
He waited for the smart-arse reply but none came. In fact he could hear nothing at all.
‘Lilly?’
No answer. She’d been and gone and hadn’t even shut the door behind her. Was that bare-faced cheek or ineptitude?
Then he saw it. Lilly’s bag lay on the floor in the hallway, its contents escaping onto the carpet. A lipstick ground into the carpet, bright red and oily on top of an inky stain of Grace’s blood.
At the bottom of the hall the bedroom door was open. Jack crept towards it and peered through. Everything was dark. He waited until his eyes adjusted and he could make out a shape on the base of Grace’s bed.
He moved closer, his heart pounding. It was a body. It was Lilly.
‘No, no, no,’ he howled and sprinted forward.
Her neck and chest were sticky with warm blood. He held her head in both hands to find the wound but he couldn’t see a thing. The heavy velvet drapes obscured the daylight and Jack did not dare move to open them.
‘Oh my God, oh my God,’ he chanted as he searched his pockets for his mobile, his hands locating his wallet, his warrant card, a packet of chewing gum, anything but his phone.
At last he felt it deep in an inside pocket. He grabbed for it but his hands were slick and it fell from his fingers and landed on the side of Lilly’s face.
‘Ouch,’ she muttered, and passed out again.
Disoriented by the brightness of the neon strip directly above her and the violent way in which her aching body was being thrown from side to side, Lilly realised she was no longer at the Clayhill Estate.
She uttered the immortal lines. ‘Where am I?’
‘Could you not think of anything more original than that?’
Lilly turned towards the voice and focused on the face to her left. Soft lines and dark hair. It was Jack.
She shook her head, still confused.
‘You’re in an ambulance on the way to Luton General.’ His voice was gentle now. ‘I found you in Grace’s flat.’
Suddenly the mist lifted and Lilly could see the equipment all around her and could hear the wail of the siren outside.
She wasn’t dead, she was in an ambulance. Max had tried to kill her but somehow she wasn’t dead. Her system flooded with adrenalin, making her heart quicken and her skin prickle. It felt good.
She struggled to sit up. ‘Did you go to Mrs Mitchell’s flat?’
‘What?’
Lilly tried to clear the rasp in her throat. ‘Did you check out what she’s saying? I’m telling you she’s lying about seeing Kelsey with Grace.’
‘Jesus, woman, I was a bit busy to worry about that,’ said Jack.
‘You’ve got to arrest Max.’
Jack rubbed his head; he looked confused, frightened even. ‘Lie down, Lilly, you’ve lost a lot of blood.’
She instinctively felt the wad of bandages that had been taped over the wound under her chin.
‘He tried to kill me, Jack. It was him. He followed me to the flat and attacked me.’
‘We’ll discuss it when you’ve been seen by a doctor,’ Jack said.
‘He cut me open, Jack, just like Grace.’ Lilly’s voice began to fade. ‘He killed her, ask him.’
‘I will.’
The momentary high was gone and Lilly felt hot and sick. She let her head flop back down. As she looked up into Jack’s face she tried to smile but her facial muscles seemed frozen.
He lifted his hand and reached over to her face. She thought he was going to touch her cheek and longed for the contact but instead he patted her head.
‘I’m glad you’re all right.’
Yes, yes, yes. Lilly noted her doctor’s concern at her intention to discharge herself. Yes, she understood that she had suffered a serious injury. Yes, she realised that they would rather observe her progress through the night. Yes, she appreciated that she needed to rest.
She signed the forms precluding her from blaming anyone if she died in the next twenty-two years, collected her prescription of antibiotics and a flyer for a ‘victims of violent crime’ support group and called a taxi to collect her. More than anything in the world she wanted to see her son.
Jack poured himself a large glass of Jim Beam. He hardly ever drank spirits. Christmas and New Year perhaps, but his hands were still shaking and, despite three attempts to scrub them with a wire brush that had scraped skin away, his fingernails were still encrusted with dried blood. Each cuticle was outlined like a perfect black rainbow. He held the glass with both hands and swallowed its contents in one gulp.
The sight of Lilly slumped on Grace’s bed played in his mind again and again.
He’d seen many dead bodies before. During his police training, at home, in Belfast, he’d come across worse, much worse. But this time it was different. This time he’d been terrified.
When he’d realised she was still alive he’d held her unconscious body in his arms until the ambulance had arrived, not wanting to let her go even then. As the medics stemmed the bleeding and inserted a drip he had continued to stroke her hair.
‘Leave her to us now, mate,’ said a paramedic, gently but firmly removing Jack’s hands.
But on the way to the hospital his tenderness had failed him and he couldn’t even bring himself to touch her.
What was that about? he wondered. He really was an eejit.
‘I’m glad you’re all right.’
What sort of a thing was that to say? He might as well have shaken her hand.
‘He’s a cold fish, our Jackie,’ his father used to say.
But it wasn’t true. His feelings were the same as anyone’s, he just couldn’t let them out.
Later, when he’d spoken to the doctors and gathered himself, he had so many things to tell Lilly, but she’d already discharged herself. To be honest, he was relieved.
Jack topped up his glass and picked up the phone. He wanted to call her now but what would he say? ‘I’m sorry I was such a tosser but I really am glad you’re all right.’
He was so bad at this stuff. For him actions always spoke louder than words.
But what exactly did he intend to do? It had better be good, because no actions and no words were all Lilly was getting right now.
He abandoned the glass and swigged straight from the bottle. Max Hardy was what he would do. He’d arrange for uniform to drop Lilly’s car back at her home, pick the bastard up first thing in the morning and nail him before lunch.
Lilly opened the cottage door and wondered if the doctors hadn’t been right. She felt like a deflated balloon, devoid of energy.
David opened his mouth in shock at the sight of her. ‘What happened?’
‘Don’t ask.’
‘That’s ridiculous, tell me,’ he said.
Lilly looked up at him, and her eyes pleaded with him to leave it. ‘I can’t, I just need to sleep.’
She crawled to the sofa and lay down. The worn linen of the cushion felt like home beneath her cheek. It smelled of moss, berries, wine and wood. Most of all, it smelled of Sam. David nodded that he wouldn’t pursue it tonight, but his eyes told her it wasn’t over and he would want an explanation in the morning. It was the look her mother had worn when Lilly came home from parties too drunk to stand, her shoes covered in vomit.
David fetched the duvet from her bed, placed it around her and smoothed it over her back. Then he tucked something into her hand. It was a Kit-Kat. The gesture brought a sob to Lilly’s throat.
‘I can’t stay, Lil, Cara’s been ringing. She’s under the weather herself,’ he said.
Lilly nodded and turned over. When she heard the door shut behind him she let the tears come.
Tonight someone had actually attempted to murder her, and here she was alone. David couldn’t wait to get away, and Jack – well, ‘I’m glad you’re all right.’ That spoke volumes.
Lilly wiped her eyes and nose on the end of the quilt.
She was a sad woman. She had alienated everyone and the result was that she had no one.
‘Mum?’
Sam stood in the doorway to the hall, his hair askew and eyes full of sleep. Lilly lifted the duvet and her son jumped in beside her. He looked puzzled by the dressing.
‘I had an accident but I’m fine,’ she said.
They shared the chocolate under the covers.
‘We should brush our teeth, Mum,’ said Sam.
‘I suppose we should.’
Neither made any attempt to get up, instead they snuggled their sugary faces into the sofa cushions. Lilly shushed her son back to sleep and lay stroking his hair and kissing his head until her misery subsided.
Things would work out. They always did. Whenever there had been no money in her mum’s purse and no food in the fridge they had looked down the back of the comfy chair and in every pocket in the house until they gathered enough for a tin of chicken soup. Elsa never gave up and they had never starved. Tomorrow was a new day and Lilly would go back to work, all guns blazing, and Jack would arrest Max and this mess would be sorted out.
Lilly let her heavy eyelids close, and for the third time that night gave herself up to the darkness.
William Barrows smiled as his last patient left. These weekend appointments were excruciating, but many of his clients had to work in order to pay his fees. Inconvenient, really.
As he turned off his computer he caught himself humming a silly tune he had heard this morning on the radio. Even the leaden density of the night air didn’t dampen his spirits.
At the conference he had thought his wife knew about the hobby and that catastrophe was close, but he had given Hermione too much credit. She lacked both the wit and the imagination to understand him. Just when Barrows thought his most dissolute secret had been discovered she announced that she had known all along that he was gay. He laughed at the memory.
To be fair, it was an intelligent guess on her part. He and his wife rarely had sex, and when they did succumb he could hardly be described as an enthusiastic participant. No amount of lacy underwear and spicy pillow talk could produce an erection and Barrows usually resorted to spending twenty minutes in the bathroom beforehand for him to emerge with a penis hard enough to make intercourse possible. He recalled one occasion when Hermione had begged him to kiss her ‘down there’ and he’d been physically sick afterwards.
It was a testament to the woman’s ego that she didn’t blame herself for her husband’s lack of virility. Many women would have questioned their allure and vowed to lose half a stone.
Since Barrows made no attempt to hide the fact that he found other women, of his own age at least, even more repulsive than his wife, it had been safe for her to assume he wasn’t having affairs. In the circumstances his being a closet homosexual was not at all far-fetched. She must have suspected for years. Presumably she didn’t care as long as no one else knew.
Over supper the previous evening Hermione had spoken of her desire to keep the marriage alive.
‘Surely we can continue as we have always done?’
Barrows had nodded vigorously. ‘Most definitely.’ He speared a piece of salmon and held the coral flesh in front of his mouth, its smell reminding him of that singular and monstrous attempt at cunnilingus.
‘In fact,’ he added, ‘things will be better.’
‘How so?’ Hermione asked.
‘There will be no deceit between us.’
He blocked off his nose, swallowed the salty fish and looked deeply into his wife’s eyes.
‘I love you dearly, Hermione, and it has been unbearable to have this huge dishonesty between us.’
‘Why did you never tell me? Homosexuality is hardly a crime.’
I never thought of it, you stupid bat. In fact it’s such a good idea it’s really quite shocking that you thought of it before me.
‘For fear that you would leave me, of course.’ He put down his knife and his eyes filled with tears. ‘That was something I could never have lived with.’
She put her hand over his, and her palm felt cool, almost cold. ‘We are a good team, you and I, and I don’t see why we shouldn’t remain that way.’
His eyes filled again with what Barrows hoped looked like something akin to gratitude. Hermione coughed as if embarrassed by the emotion of the moment and turned her mind to practicalities.
‘Our situation isn’t uncommon and we should be able to manage it with some delicacy.’
‘I agree,’ he said.
‘The onus will be on you to behave with absolute discretion. I want to know nothing.’
‘I would never want to hurt you, my dear.’
Hermione pushed away her plate, her appetite clearly gone. ‘Sod that, William, if this comes out I’m in the clear and you’re on your own.’
As he remembered her parting shot he was once again surprised by how calculating she could be, but he was too elated by his good fortune to dwell on matters further. He was free to lead a double life and he would never have to have sex with his wife again.