Monday, 14 September
White light, hard and sharp, filled the room. Lilly felt feverish but staggered from the sofa.
Under orders to keep her throat dry for at least a week she abandoned a shower and made do with a strip wash with a damp flannel. Her mother had called it top-and-tailing and they had often resorted to it when Lilly was a child and there was no money for the immersion heater. Sniffing her armpits, Lilly acknowledged today what she had always suspected. It didn’t get you clean.
Sam brought a glass of orange juice to the bathroom. He looked pale with concern. Lilly ruffled his hair and took the glass.
‘I’m okay, big man.’
‘Should I call Dad?’ he asked.
Lilly spoke too quickly. ‘No, no, no.’
‘Why not? He could come over.’
‘He’s busy with Cara.’ Lilly swallowed the juice. The acid burnt her mouth. ‘She’s not very well.’
Sam sniffed. ‘No one’s tried to chop her head off.’
‘And no one’s tried to chop off mine. Now go and get ready for school, we’re late as it is,’ said Lilly.
Unconvinced, Sam sloped off to his room.
Lilly got dressed without looking in the mirror, afraid of what she might see.
When Lilly arrived at Manor Park she checked in the boot for her ‘safety bag’, an old plastic carrier that contained an emergency stash of stationery, a spare pair of shoes and an umbrella. It was gone, yet she couldn’t remember taking it out. Since none of the doors locked properly it was more than likely someone on the Clayhill had helped themselves.
Suddenly, she realised she had left the car outside Grace’s block. So how on earth had it appeared outside the cottage this morning? Jack must have got someone to collect it for her. She smiled to herself, saw she had a full pad of paper on the back seat, looked into the cloudless sky and decided everything would be fine.
She dropped Sam into his classroom and avoided the enquiring looks from the other mothers. She wished she’d worn a scarf, too tired for explanations today. She almost sprinted to her car but was dismayed to see a gaggle of women congregating around the car next to hers.
Snakelike, she slunk past them and opened the driver’s door.
‘I think that MP’s got it right,’ said Luella. ‘We can’t let people do what they want just because they’re poor. If someone commits a crime they should be made to pay, whatever their circumstances.’
‘I agree,’ said another. ‘The girl shouldn’t be let off the hook just because she’s had it a bit tough.’
Penny’s tone was soft. ‘I think she had it more than a bit tough.’
‘Whatever,’ dismissed Luella. ‘These days people think being underprivileged excludes them from all social responsibility.’
To Lilly’s surprise Penny held her ground. ‘No one’s saying that, but there seems to be little evidence that the girl actually did anything. The police have only pursued it because of the pressure from Hermione Barrows.’
‘There’s no smoke without fire,’ said Luella.
Lilly had hoped to sidle into her car unnoticed during the exchange, but had somehow managed to drop her car keys under the passenger seat. She leaned over the gear stick, arm outstretched, and felt a stab of pain in her neck.
‘Shit!’
The neighbouring group turned as one towards Lilly, who gave them a weak smile. The women exchanged embarrassed glances and dispersed. Only Penny was left. She opened the passenger door, picked up the keys and handed them to Lilly.
‘Don’t mind them, they wouldn’t understand the concept of justice if it dressed up as Brad Pitt and bit them on the bum.’
Lilly pushed her hair out of her eyes and tried to laugh, but she was too exhausted.
‘Frankly there’s more chance of Brad Pitt biting them on the arse than Kelsey seeing any British justice,’ she said.
‘Things not looking good?’ asked Penny.
Who could say? Lilly thought. Maybe Jack had already charged Max, and Kelsey would get a foster family to love her by the end of the week. There again, maybe not.
‘I’m on my way to the station to try to persuade the police to see sense,’ said Lilly.
‘If anyone can do it, you can,’ said Penny.
‘I wish I shared your confidence in my abilities.’
Penny shrugged and smiled shyly. ‘You care about this girl, and people who care always make a difference.’
‘Not always,’ Lilly murmured.
Penny waited for Lilly to continue but she didn’t have the energy.
‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘I’m having a little gathering at my house and you must come.’
Right now Lilly couldn’t think of anything worse. ‘Thanks.’
‘Nothing fancy.’ Penny’s tone was bright. ‘A few glasses of fizz and some nibbles.’
Lilly could just imagine the banquet that would be laid out on a pristine linen cloth.
‘Oh, and a lady’s coming over to do our colours.’
Lilly frowned. ‘Colours?’
‘You know,’ said Penny. ‘She’ll advise on our skin tones and what suits us.’
Instinctively, Lilly checked her reflection in the mirror. Her mood darkened when she saw the pallor of her skin. Even her lips were white. Worse still, the wound on her neck had torn and a few drops of blood had trickled down to her breastbone, its path a violent scarlet against her translucent flesh. There was no other way to describe it: Lilly looked like hell.
Penny’s laugh tinkled like wind chimes and she offered Lilly a tissue for her throat. ‘I think we could all use a little help.’
The place was a mess, the air thick as syrup. Max kicked the takeaway containers across the floor. Days-old jerk chicken and rice scattered around the room and landed among the discarded Coke cans full of cigarette butts. It was disgusting. Like some lowlife junkie lived there.
Everything was getting out of control. Last night had been a disaster. Max had only intended to warn off the redhead but she’d put up a fight. When she’d tried to escape he’d lost his head and had been ready to finish her off. Then out of nowhere McNally arrived. Man, that was some fucked-up scene. Max had hidden under the bed and listened to Jack whispering into the woman’s ear,
‘Please don’t die, please don’t die.’
When the paramedics arrived, Max had been sure someone would search the place, but the electricity was off so everything was in darkness – and McNally, well, he was away with the fairies.
Max had slipped away as they were getting the woman into the ambulance, but it would only be a matter of time before she identified him to the police.
Should he run? He needed to think straight, and reached for his pipe.
* * *
Max ground his teeth as he exhaled the last of his third rock. Everything was clear now and he knew exactly what he had to do.
He smiled at his pipe like an old and trusted friend. People like Grace who let the drugs take over were losers. LOSERS. The creative ones, like himself, those with vision, knew that narcotics were a tool to set the mind free. Think John Lennon, Jimi Hendrix. And what about those old poets, Shelley and Byron, weren’t they all dope fiends?
When he heard the police ram the door, Max merely smiled.
Jack led Lilly through the bowels of the station to the canteen, where a styrofoam cup of coffee awaited her.
‘You look okay,’ Jack lied. ‘Considering.’
‘I look like an extra from Night of the Living Dead,’ she answered, and fell upon the coffee.
He smiled to himself. Actions could speak louder than words.
‘But it’s under control,’ she said. ‘I’m having my colours done.’
What was she talking about? Maybe the loss of blood had affected her brain.
He changed the subject. ‘You’ll be glad to know we nicked Hardy this morning and he’s in custody.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Here?’
He could see that the thought of Max in the same building unnerved her.
‘In the cells.’ He swept his arm to the side to emphasise the distance and nodded in the direction of a smiley twenty-two-year-old with shiny hair and a healthy smattering of freckles. ‘WPC Spicer will take your statement.’
Lilly rubbed at the dried blood on her throat with the now disintegrating tissue. ‘Can’t you do it, Jack?’
‘I’m a witness myself, so I’d better not. I don’t want any smart-arse lawyer pulling it apart later,’ he said.
If Lilly had understood the joke she didn’t react.
Jack softened his voice. ‘You were attacked, Lilly. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.’
He saw the surprise in Lilly’s eyes when she registered he understood, so he topped his rendition of all- round good guy by pulling from his pocket not flowers but a king-size Twix. This emotional empathy thing wasn’t so hard after all.
‘You on a promise?’ asked the custody sergeant, picking the wax out of his ear.
‘Behave yourself,’ answered Jack.
‘Well, something’s put a smile on your face, cos let’s face it, you’re usually a miserable bugger.’
Jack shook his head and wrote his suspect’s details on the whiteboard.
NAME CELL TOA OFFENCE COMMENTS
Max Hardy 4 9.22 hrs Attempted Interviewing
murder in video suite
He ignored the sarge, who was whistling ‘Always look on the bright side of life’, and collected the paperwork.
He opened the door to the video suite and beamed at Max, who was straddling a chair like a cowboy in an old film, all swagger and attitude. To his left sat Ben Dunwoody, the young duty solicitor who was evidently intimidated by both his client and the gravitas of the crime with which he had been accused. Jack estimated he was around twenty-four and had never been on the sharp end of anything more serious than an ABH.
‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ said Jack.
‘Top o’ the morning to ya, Paddy,’ answered Max in a poor imitation of Jack’s accent.
Jack chuckled. ‘I’m from Northern Ireland, Max, but well tried anyway.’
Max smirked in return but Jack knew he had expected a greater reaction. He turned on the video recorder and explained the procedure for the interview.
‘What camera is that, man?’ asked Max.
‘I forgot you were into films, Max.’ Jack turned to the solicitor. ‘You may not be aware, Mr Dunwoody, that your client is involved in the film industry.’
‘No, I wasn’t,’ the young man stammered.
‘Pornography, mostly,’ said Jack.
Dunwoody’s eyes were as round as saucers.
‘Ain’t no crime in that,’ shouted Max.
‘Maybe we should get on,’ suggested Dunwoody. The poor kid was desperate to get this over with.
Jack shrugged as if he didn’t care one way or the other. ‘Tell me about last night, Max.’
It was Max’s turn to shrug.
Dunwoody coughed. ‘Perhaps it would help if you were a little more specific.’
Jack nodded thoughtfully, as if it was an excellent idea and he was carefully weighing his words. ‘Tell me about the attempted murder of Lilliana Valentine.’
‘I didn’t attempt to murder no one,’ spat Max.
‘You might know her, Mr Dunwoody, she’s a solicitor with Fulton, Carter and Singh. She represents children in care, very worthwhile stuff,’ said Jack.
Dunwoody blushed. ‘I think I’ve heard of her.’
‘She’s an excellent lawyer, one of the best,’ Jack added needlessly.
Max, as Jack anticipated, couldn’t bear the lack of attention and exploded.
‘I don’t care who or what she is. I didn’t try to kill no one.’
Jack remained calm, his voice low in stark contrast to his suspect. ‘You cut her throat and left her to bleed to death, what was that, a birthday present?’
Max smiled and wagged his finger at Jack. ‘You’re good, McNally, you always were.’
‘So let’s stop pissing about and tell me what happened last night,’ Jack said.
‘I was round Gracie’s flat,’ Max replied.
‘Why?’
‘I’m keeping an eye on it.’
‘Very public-spirited of you,’ said Jack.
‘Yeah, well. There’s a lot of junkies on that estate and I don’t want them nicking her stuff.’
‘She’s dead, so I can’t see it matters.’
‘The girls might want something. It’s their right.’
It always irked Jack when people like Max talked about their rights, but he refused to bite and folded his arms across his chest. ‘You’re the guardian of Gracie’s children now? Quite the hero.’
Max jabbed his thumb in his chest. ‘Those kids are like family to me, I just want to see they get what’s theirs.’
Jack motioned for Max to continue.
‘Like I said, I was keeping an eye on the flat when I sees someone breaking in.’
‘Why didn’t you call the police?’ asked Jack.
‘It would have taken them half an hour to get there. The estate’s very low on their priority list, according to Hermione Barrows.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought you were into politics, Max.’
‘The woman chats sense,’ he said. ‘You must have heard what she’s been saying about you lot.’
The two men stared at each other across the table in an uncomfortable silence. It was Max who broke first.
‘I went up there myself to take a look. I went into the hall and shouted that whoever was in there had better get out.’
‘Did anyone answer?’
‘Not a word, which gave me a bad vibe. I’m thinking a junkie would have just legged it. So I opened the bedroom door and I saw a shape.’
‘A shape?’
‘The electricity were cut off and the curtains were shut so it’s like pitch black in there, and all I could see was this shape coming at me.’ Max slapped the side of his head. ‘Then it hit me.’
‘The shape?’
‘Nah, the idea of who it was. Just like a light bulb going on, I think to myself it’s Gracie’s killer.’
Jack could see where the story was going but tried to sound incredulous. ‘And why would you think that?’
‘You’re a copper, man, you’re supposed to know what murderers do.’
‘Enlighten me.’
Max spoke slowly as if explaining a difficult concept to a child. ‘They go back to the scene of the crime. It gives ’em a buzz to, you know, relive it. Some of ’em, serial killers and that, take whatsits, hair or fingers.’
‘Souvenirs.’
‘Yeah, that’s it, souvenirs. So they can remind themselves whenever they like.’ Max dropped his voice to a stage whisper. ‘So they can relive the moment again and again and again.’
Max paused to emphasise his point then burst into laughter. ‘It’s sick but I don’t make the rules.’
Jack shook his head at the theatrics. ‘But it wasn’t a serial killer, was it, Max? It was a perfectly innocent woman.’
‘I didn’t know that. I mean, what’s a perfectly innocent woman doing breaking into a flat? And not just any flat, but one where someone’s just been topped. If you had been there you’d have thought exactly the same as me.’
‘I doubt that.’
Max ignored the remark. ‘I’m not ashamed to say I were shitting it, man.’
‘Really?’
‘Serious. I’m thinking: Maxi, you gotta do something or this crazy motherfucker is gonna carve you up.’
‘And what “something” did you decide upon?’
‘I pulled out my knife, which I know I shouldn’t have, but a lot of shit happens on that estate, and a man’s got to protect himself. I shouts, “Stay away from me, I’ve got a knife” – well, maybe not those exact words but you get my meaning.’
‘And?’
‘He’s still coming at me, man, as if he ain’t heard me or he don’t care. I’m thinking it’s my time and sure as shit I ain’t ready, so I waves the blade in front of me.’
Max stood and swiped an imaginary knife in front of him from left to right. Dunwoody looked ready to faint.
‘I wasn’t even sure if I’d caught him until he falls backwards onto the bed, but that’s enough for me, man, I’m gone.’
‘Why didn’t you check whether Miss Valentine was alive?’ asked Jack.
‘I didn’t know it was her, I’m still thinking it’s the one that carved up Gracie. I ain’t getting close enough to check his pulse, you fool.’
‘So you left?’
‘Too right. I ran all the way to my wheels. Then I starts to get vexed, I’m thinking this serial nutter needs to be banged up. I mean, I don’t like to involve the police in my business, the Feds bring nothing but trouble for my kind, but I figure I ain’t got no choice so I picks up my mobile and I’m about to dial 999 when you arrive. I see you going into the flat like a gift from God.’
‘Why didn’t you stick around?’
‘I don’t trust the police. I’m thinking you ain’t never gonna believe I did what I did in self-defence, thought you’d try to pin it on me and – surprise, surprise – I was right.’
‘It’s an interesting story, Max.’
‘It’s the truth.’
‘Tell me, then, why does Miss Valentine say in her statement that you followed her, forced her into the flat and attacked her?’
Max paused, his eyes glittering. Both he and Jack knew this was the crux of it. ‘She’s probably in shock, maybe she’s confused.’
‘Her statement’s very clear. She says you tried to kill her. Why would she lie?’
‘You should ask her that, McNally, and while you’re at it ask her why she’s been snooping round my business. It seems to me that this wifey has got it in for me.’
Lilly needed some fresh air and asked WPC Spicer to let her out of the station. She agreed to stay within a ten-minute radius and keep her mobile on.
‘Just in case Jack needs to check something,’ said the policewoman.
Lilly was surprised to find the sky had darkened. Since the station canteen was in the basement she hadn’t seen the banks of cloud roll in. For the first time in days the sun’s glare was diluted to a comfortable beige. The relief was like being spoon-fed apple crumble. Lilly felt her shoulders relax until her mobile let out its high-pitched yelp to tell her she had a text. It was from Spicer.
GET BACK 2 STATION. NOW.
Jack sat with his arms crossed. He wore an expression that he hoped conveyed a mixture of contempt and boredom. Max’s story had hung well, too well, but Jack’s body language conceded nothing.
‘You want to know what I think?’ asked Max.
‘I’m all ears,’ said Jack.
‘You ain’t been using the grey matter, McNally.’ Max pointed to his crotch. ‘You been listening to the little man downstairs.’
‘Is that right?’
Max laughed lasciviously. ‘I expect you’re having a little t’ing with the redhead.’
He paused and cocked his head to one side. ‘Nah, not even that. You just want her, man, and she knows it, so when she comes to you saying I tried to kill her, you accept it, no questions asked. She’s played you good.’
Jack kept his expression intact but he could feel a tiny muscle near his eye beginning to pulsate. ‘Nobody plays me.’
‘Don’t feel bad about it, man, it happens to the best of us,’ said Max.
‘Who played you, Max? Grace Brand?’
Max snorted in derision. ‘That junkie whore!’
Jack flicked a glance at Dunwoody. A seasoned brief would smell what was coming and deflect the blow, but he wasn’t Lilly and the young man concentrated on his notes, too nervous to look up let alone join the fray.
‘She wanted to get away from you, didn’t she? She got clean and was planning a new life. The junkie whore was going to leave you behind and you couldn’t stand it.’
Max kissed his teeth but Jack continued.
‘You beat her up real bad but that didn’t stop her. So, come on, what did you do next? A big man like you had to do something.’
Max shook his head, his breath quickening.
‘Come on, Max, you needed to teach her a lesson, had to make sure no one else got out of line, so what did you do?’
Max began to bang his head on the table. Dunwoody looked frightened, but Jack pressed on.
‘I think you went round there to make sure she stopped her nonsense for good.’
Max jumped up, kicking the chair behind him. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Jack stood up and placed his face a few inches from Max. ‘So tell me how it was? Did you plan to kill her or did you just lose your temper?’
The two men remained motionless, glaring into each other’s eyes, mouths close enough to touch.
‘What I don’t understand is why you cut her up,’ said Jack. ‘Was it just for the hell of it?’
Max balled his fist and drew back his arm.
‘Sit down, Mr Hardy,’ Dunwoody squealed.
‘Shut up,’ Max screamed at the solicitor, spit flying in his face.
Jack had him now. Out of control and unable to measure his words or actions. ‘And if he doesn’t shut up, Max, what will you do? Take out your knife and carve your name on his back?’
Max roared and leaped over the table towards Jack, who fell back.
‘I didn’t kill Gracie. I didn’t kill her.’
Jack backed away. He was probably the stronger of the two, but he knew that when men lost their minds they could tear another man apart. He looked at Dunwoody; the poor kid looked terrified.
‘Hit the button,’ Jack shouted.
Dunwoody didn’t move. He looked from Jack to the panic strip and back to Jack again.
Jack felt Max’s strong hands around his throat. ‘Hit the fucking button.’
Dunwoody began to cry and Jack knew he was in trouble. The solicitor was paralysed with fear.
Jack prised the fingers from around his throat sufficiently to take a rasping breath.
‘You’re going down,’ he said to Max.
Max smiled and shook his head, his fingers still wrapped around Jack’s windpipe. ‘Riddell, 46329,’ he whispered.
‘What?’ said Jack.
‘PC John Riddell, shoulder number 46329, arrested me at 2.25 p.m. on the seventh of September and brought me in for questioning.’ Max roared with laughter. ‘When Grace was meeting her maker I was banged up in here.’
Jack knocked on the Chief Superintendent’s door with trepidation. He had been ordered to keep expenditure on the Brand case to a minimum but had somehow managed to use 103 extra man hours, not to mention a whole morning in the video suite. He’d been assaulted for his trouble but suspected the dressing down he was about to receive would be more painful. His heart sank further when he saw DI Bradbury sitting in one of the easy chairs, casually sipping coffee. The prospect of a bollocking in front of a younger, albeit more senior, officer was buttock-clenchingly humiliating.
‘Come in, Jack, take a seat.’
The Chief’s tone was breezy and Jack felt backfooted.
‘We need to make a move on Brand. The Times are planning a retrospective of the Brixton riots including a three-page piece on sink estates in Britain twenty-five years later.’
Jack wondered how the Chief Super could possibly know that, or why a newspaper article aimed at the chattering classes should impact upon the investigation, but he took his lead from Bradbury and simply nodded.
‘The Clayhill Estate is bound to feature heavily,’ the Chief continued, ‘and I do not want the words “no go area” to appear. We must make it absolutely clear that this force will deal with violent crime firmly.’
‘Zero tolerance,’ said Bradbury.
‘Then let’s reassess.’ The Chief Super turned to Jack. ‘Is the second suspect a runner?’
Jack rubbed his neck. ‘No, Sir, he has an alibi.’
‘Is it kosher?’ asked Bradbury.
‘As Passover,’ said Jack.
The Chief Super rubbed his hands as if they were discussing Christmas and not the murder of a prostitute. ‘Excellent. And this second statement from the neighbour?’
‘It tightens things up,’ said Bradbury.
Jack was momentarily tempted to point out Lilly’s assertion that Mrs Mitchell could not have seen into Grace’s kitchen from her window but thought better of it. Why remind the Chief that he had been spending good money, unauthorised money, trying to help the suspect’s solicitor?
‘Then we’re agreed that Kelsey Brand should be charged.’
‘Yes,’ said Bradbury.
Jack just coughed.
‘You let him go?’ yelled Lilly.
‘On police bail,’ answered Jack. ‘I needed some time to decide what I’m charging him with.’
‘The bastard nearly killed me! Try attempted murder.’
She was astounded by this turn of events and wondered why Jack wouldn’t look her in the eye. ‘Talk to me, Jack, tell me what on earth’s going on.’
Jack looked around to check no one could overhear. ‘He came up with a bloody good story.’
He passed a videotape to Lilly. ‘I want you to see what he’s saying before you commit yourself to a trial.’
Lilly took the tape and pushed it into her bag. ‘Are you allowed to do that?’
‘What do you think?’
Lilly ran her hands through her hair and sighed. She knew Jack was taking a massive risk to do her a favour, that he was thinking of her, but she had never felt so drained. ‘I need to go home and get my head straight.’
‘Sorry, but you have to stay,’ said Jack.
Couldn’t he see her mind was about to explode? ‘Jesus, surely the paperwork can wait,’ she shouted.
At last he looked at her properly. ‘You need to be here to represent Kelsey, she’s on her way over.’
Lilly didn’t understand. ‘Why?’
‘She’s being charged with murder.’
The next hour passed in a blur. Lilly caught herself viewing it all from a position of dispassionate objectivity. Kelsey arrived with Miriam and was led to the custody suite. She stood at the high desk with her face buried deep into her chest and listened as the sergeant charged her with the brutal murder of her own mother. Kelsey made no reply.
Lilly watched as they searched the girl, patting her pockets and unravelling her turn-ups. She felt nothing. It was as if she were a spectator in her own life. Unattached. Apart. The events of the last twenty-four hours had been too much and her emotions had shut down. Frankly it felt better that way.
When WPC Spicer led Kelsey into a side room and scraped the inside of her cheek with a white plastic swab Lilly didn’t experience her usual horror at another child being swallowed into the DNA database. Instead she was numb, and it felt good.
Whether through pity for the young accused or fear that her solicitor had suffered some sort of breakdown, the sergeant led Kelsey not to a cell but to an empty interview room.
‘Don’t leave her,’ he said to Miriam. ‘Not for a second.’
It wasn’t clear whether he was referring to Kelsey or Lilly.
They sat in silence, Kelsey staring at the floor, Lilly staring at the wall, and Miriam staring at them both.
At last, Miriam clicked her fingers. ‘Snap out of it, you two.’
Neither Kelsey nor Lilly moved.
Miriam’s voice rose. ‘Look at me, Lilly.’
Lilly tried to focus on her friend’s face. It seemed so distant. Out of focus.
‘I know you’ve had an ordeal.’ Miriam’s voice was firm but not harsh. ‘But this girl needs you firing on all cylinders.’
It was Kelsey that moved first to pick up paper and pen.
I’m sorry he hurt you.
Lilly reread the words three times and felt herself being sucked from her place of safety back to the interview room. She tumbled into reality, gagging at the sickly smell of the bin at her feet, deafened by the noise of everyone breathing and shielding her eyes from the onslaught of light and colour all around her. She gasped in pain and held on to the side of her chair to steady herself.
Miriam smiled. ‘Welcome back, girlfriend.’
Lilly grabbed Kelsey’s hand and held it against her chest. ‘I think I know why your mum was killed. I think she was trying to get away from Max and either he or someone working for him wouldn’t let her do that.’
Kelsey nodded. Was it in agreement? Or was she simply acknowledging Lilly’s opinion?
Lilly kept a tight grip on Kelsey’s hand. ‘I won’t let you down. I’m going to find all the answers so don’t be frightened.’
The look on Kelsey’s face confirmed she wasn’t frightened. She was terrified.
There was a tap on the door and Jack poked his head into the room. ‘We’ll take Kelsey to court now.’
Lilly nodded but Miriam was incredulous. ‘This minute?’
Lilly’s tone was resigned. ‘They can’t release her, Miriam.’
‘Why the hell not? They can bail her till next week and I’ll take her to court myself,’ said Miriam.
‘This is a murder rap, not a speeding ticket. I expect Jack has arranged for a late sitting over at the court so the poor kid doesn’t have to stay here in a cell overnight,’ said Lilly.
Jack shrugged a confirmation and Lilly took Miriam’s hand as well, so they all three sat as if at a séance waiting for a sign.
‘Like I said, there’s no reason to be frightened.’
Nancy Donaldson checked her watch and was surprised to note she had forgotten to eat lunch. Many of her peers often missed their breaks and worked well into the evenings, but being Hermione Barrows’ assistant brought little in the way of stress or constraints upon her time. Until now. The last few days had seen Hermione catapulted into the public eye, and Nancy had been fielding a nonstop stream of requests for comments, interviews and meetings.
Nancy, who had been considering an escape from politics into journalism, found herself enjoyably busy. The other PAs made way for her at the front of the queue to the photocopier, acknowledging that the frisson her boss was creating propelled Nancy along with it.
She relished her advancement up the parliamentary pecking order and wondered if she would get a pay rise should Hermione ever make the cabinet.
‘I’m whacked,’ declared the MP from the other side of the room.
‘I’ll get someone to fetch coffee,’ answered Nancy. Her new status must, she assumed, preclude her from wasting time in the cafeteria.
Hermione yawned. ‘Don’t bother. I think I’ll go home.’
Nancy hid her disappointment. Surely they had to keep the momentum going or Grace Brand would become yesterday’s news. She toyed with the idea of airing her concerns, but instead answered the phone. She listened intently, making copious notes, to the information she was being given, then turned to Hermione and smiled.
‘Never mind the coffee, let’s crack open the bubbly.’
‘Good news?’ Hermione asked.
‘They’ve charged the girl. She’s being taken to court right now.’
‘Have the press got hold of it?’
At that moment, Nancy’s phone, Hermione’s mobile, the fax machine and the email sprang into life.
‘I’d say they just heard.’
DI Bradbury took Kelsey to the Youth Court himself. Jack and Miriam went with them. Lilly elected to drive over alone on the pretext that she needed some thinking time. In fact she wanted to search her handbag and briefcase for stray cosmetics in the hope of painting some semblance of life onto her now ashen face.
She found an old lipstick, which she smeared on her cheeks and mouth, and a black kohl pencil that produced a thick ring around each eye. The look was more panda than Biba.
Lilly had started the short journey across Luton when spots of rain began to hit the windscreen. Fat and oily, they soon covered the glass. She berated herself for not changing the wipers, which had worn too thin and never fully cleared the left-hand side. As the water came faster and heavier she perched on the end of her seat, trying to peer through the torrents that would not be pushed aside. She pulled alongside the court and parked entirely by memory since she could no longer see anything beyond two feet. She heard the distinctive crunch of metal against concrete. She hoped she had driven over a can but feared she had hit the bollard that had been erected to stop court users from parking so close to the entrance, and was intended to force them to use the new car park to the rear that had cost the taxpayer £100,000 and was consistently empty.
The first clap of thunder boomed as Lilly opened her door. She reached behind her for an umbrella and winced as she remembered the stolen safety bag.
She’d settle back and wait for it to stop, these summer storms never lasted long. Then the voice of the newsreader crackled from the radio:
Information has just reached us that the police have now charged a teenage girl with the murder of Grace Brand. While the police are unable to confirm whether the girl in question is Kelsey Brand, Grace’s eldest daughter, they have confirmed that they are pleased with how the investigation has proceeded and are very hopeful of a conviction.
The MP for Luton West, Hermione Barrows, who has campaigned tirelessly for Grace’s death to be taken seriously by the authorities, had this to say:
‘I hope that it was clear I took no pleasure from the knowledge that the police suspected a young girl of this brutal crime; similarly, I see no cause for celebration when that young person has been brought to justice. It cannot bring Grace Brand back. However, it can and does send out the plain message that the people of this country will no longer tolerate the way in which young people have been literally allowed to get away with murder.’
Lilly could listen no more. She snapped off the radio and struggled out into the deluge. A dirty river lapped her feet; unable to find its way through a heap of rubbish into the drain it was happy to seep into Lilly’s shoes.
She tried to make a run for it but her path was blocked by a group of reporters, clutching cameras and sound booms. Unlike Lilly they were armed with golf umbrellas and hooded jackets.
‘Are you here for Kelsey Brand?’
How could they know that? But it was late in the afternoon and the court was being opened especially for this case, it stood to reason Lilly must be involved.
‘Can you give us a comment?’
‘Is she guilty?’
Lilly tried to push her way through but her access was barred.
‘Have you heard what Hermione Barrows had to say?’
It was the proverbial red rag to this particular bull. Lilly stood stock-still and looked directly into the camera, the rain soaking her hair and face.
‘It is very easy to take things at face value and score political points without consideration of the effect a court case will have on Kelsey, now and for the rest of her life.’
‘Do you think the police bowed to pressure from Westminster?’
‘The police have almost no evidence and, in my opinion, would not have pursued Kelsey under ordinary circumstances, but the constant barrage of attacks from the press left them with little option but to build a case around her.’
‘If you’re right then she’ll be found not guilty, so what’s the big deal?’
Lilly’s eyes widened. ‘This whole process will take months, and in the meantime we won’t be able to plan for Kelsey’s future, we won’t be able to find her a new family, and we won’t be able to get her the help she needs to deal with the trauma of being dumped in care and having her mother murdered. I don’t know about you lot but I would call that a big deal.’
In no mood for further debate, Lilly put her head down and strong-armed her way inside.
The courthouse was deserted. The various preliminary hearings, applications for bail and pleas in mitigation on the cases of over a hundred children had been efficiently dispensed with by 1 p.m. Trials took place during the afternoons but Mondays were kept free, ostensibly for the magistrates and court staff to catch up with box work, the dull task of processing written applications, letters, statements and reports. In reality, anyone who could got away as early as possible and left the building free for the monumental clear-up that a half-day’s occupation by teenagers necessitated.
Lilly’s work usually took her to the County Court, where judges rather than magistrates decided the fate of her clients in care, but enough got themselves nicked along the way to ensure Lilly often spent an unwelcome amount of time in the Criminal Court.
She entered the advocates’ room, a dingy cupboard of a place where lawyers hid from their clients’ endless questions and requests for cigarettes. She pulled a tissue from a box on the central table that took up most of the available space and wiped her face dry.
At the far end sat a small man in his late fifties, picking his way through an egg and cress sandwich from a Tupperware box. He didn’t look up.
‘Hey, John,’ said Lilly, and pulled strings of wet hair through a rubber band.
She didn’t expect the man to answer. John Lockhart wasted nothing in life, not food, not money, certainly not words. He had worked as a prosecutor since 1973 and pursued each case with neither humour nor imagination. It was rumoured that in all his years of service he had never been promoted and still lived with his elderly mother. Watching him collect every stray crumb between thumb and forefinger, Lilly could well believe it.
‘The evidence is very weak, John,’ Lilly ventured. The little man looked up from his lunch but didn’t respond.
‘Don’t you think?’ Lilly said.
Lockhart appeared to weigh his response before stating, ‘It’s not my case.’
‘So who –’ Lilly stopped mid-sentence at the sight of an impeccably dressed barrister arriving at the court.
As soon as she saw him Lilly knew he was Queen’s Counsel, the most senior of barristers.
‘They’ve got a bloody silk,’ she said to herself. ‘You can’t get one this quickly, even in a case like this.’
‘Not usually,’ said Lockhart.
Lilly tried to fight off her fury. ‘They must have had him lined up for weeks. Which means they planned to charge Kelsey all along.’
‘Yes,’ sighed Lockhart, ‘I suppose they must.’
‘This is Brian Marshall, QC, he’ll be prosecuting for us,’ said DI Bradbury.
Jack felt his heart sink. He had known a barrister would be in the pipeline but how had things been organised so quickly? The word ‘stitch-up’ formed on the roof of his mouth. Lilly would be furious, and he just hoped she’d believe that he had known nothing about it.
‘The CPS rep is around somewhere,’ offered Jack.
Marshall clapped Jack firmly on the back. ‘Let’s not worry about him.’
Jack was uncomfortable with the camaraderie, it felt like the boys’ brigade banter he had so detested back home.
‘Jack here knows the case inside out,’ explained Bradbury. ‘He’s spent a lot of time with the defendant and her brief.’
Another clap almost knocked Jack off his feet. ‘Always good to have insider knowledge.’
Jack squirmed at the thought of helping this man against Lilly. And yet this wasn’t about her, it was about Kelsey and whether she had committed a horrible crime. He needed to put aside his personal feelings, and fast.
The air-conditioning in Court 10 had been turned off at the end of the morning’s session and the room was now hot, every window rendered opaque by condensation. Lilly felt a growl of nausea low in her stomach.
Being designed for children, the room was less austere than those used for adult cases. The magistrate sat at a large desk at the front with no elevated position from which to shout at defendants and advocates alike. His clerk sat to his left, leafing through her papers.
In the middle of the room were two further desks, side by side but not adjoined. Brian Marshall sat at one; at the other sat Lilly and Kelsey. At the back on mismatched chairs were Jack, Bradbury, Lockhart and Miriam. The hierarchy was well-established even in these deliberately relaxed conditions.
Marshall got to his feet. ‘May it please you, Sir.’
The magistrate gestured with annoyance for Marshall to sit down. ‘This is the Youth Court, Mr Marshall. No need for ceremonial nonsense here.’
Marshall bowed deeply and sat. ‘My apologies, Sir, but you’ll appreciate that I am not often called upon to appear in the lower courts.’
Touché.
‘Perhaps everyone should introduce themselves,’ suggested the clerk, who had confided in Lilly earlier that she was excited to be involved in such a high-profile murder case, but did not want matters to extend beyond 5 p.m. when she had booked an Ashtanga yoga class. A spat between an arrogant QC and her already annoyed colleague was to be avoided if at all possible.
Marshall spread his arms as if the answer to who he might be was obvious. ‘I am Brian Marshall, Queen’s Counsel, and I appear for the Crown. I am accompanied today by Mr Lockhart of the CPS and the officers in the case, DI Bradbury and his assistant Sergeant McNally.’
Lilly could imagine the grimace on Jack’s face at his description. She bit her lip.
‘I am Lilly Valentine, Sir, and I represent the defendant, Kelsey Brand. Also present is Miriam Zander, who is the manager of The Bushes Residential Unit where Kelsey is currently staying.’
The magistrate nodded. ‘Perhaps, Mr Marshall, you would outline briefly what the Crown have to say.’ He peered over his glasses. ‘Very briefly.’
The barrister, who was clearly more at home with a jury before whom he could prevaricate at length and gesticulate dramatically, drew himself up as far as the constraints of remaining seated would allow.
‘Put simply, the Crown say that on the seventh of September this year, Kelsey Brand murdered her mother, Grace Brand, by a fatal blow to the back of her head. A crime of this magnitude must naturally be transferred to the Crown Court for the case to be listed for a Preliminary Hearing at the earliest opportunity.’
‘That’s fair, wouldn’t you say, Miss Valentine?’ asked the magistrate.
Lilly nodded, she could scarcely argue that the matter was trivial.
‘And what about bail?’ The magistrate’s question was directed to Marshall.
‘I can’t pretend it’s not a difficult issue, Sir,’ he answered. ‘While Ms Brand is, of course, a juvenile, she is charged with an offence that almost never attracts bail.’
The magistrate snapped off his glasses. ‘I am well aware of what is and what is not usual, Mr Marshall. What I wish to know is what the Crown has to say in this particular case.’
Marshall paused as if weighing the issues. When he spoke it was with a pantomime gravitas that reminded Lilly why she hated using barristers.
‘If Ms Brand did commit this offence, as the Crown believes, then not only did she kill her own mother but she mutilated the body in a manner so meticulous and macabre that it is most certainly not safe to allow her to wander the streets unchecked.’
Lilly dived in. ‘My friend has hit the nail on the head, Sir. If she is guilty then she should be incarcerated, but that is a big “if”. Kelsey Brand adamantly denies her guilt in this matter and the evidence the Crown have produced so far is flimsy to say the least. I’m no QC but I know this case won’t get past first base.’
‘That may be so, Miss Valentine, but the papers are not available to me to evaluate,’ said the magistrate.
Marshall cleared his throat. ‘The second point I was going to make before my friend interrupted was that this offence carries a mandatory life sentence, which must make the defendant at risk of absconding.’
Lilly shook her head in exasperation. ‘If my friend knew the first thing about the law involving children he would know that life sentences do not apply.’
‘That’s true,’ said the magistrate, ‘but this crime would carry a lengthy term of imprisonment so the point remains valid, if clumsily made.’
‘A fair point, but the reality here is that Kelsey has nowhere to go. Nowhere to run.’ Lilly took her client’s hand, she was not above a few theatrics of her own. ‘She has lived on the same estate all her life and has left the area only once on a daytrip to the seaside. Her mother is dead and her sisters are in care; sadly, she has no one else.’
‘She could take to the streets, she wouldn’t be the first,’ spluttered Marshall.
‘Yes, I’m sure a life alone in a shop doorway sounds enticing to Kelsey,’ Lilly answered, ‘but the proof of the pudding is in the eating. Kelsey has known about these charges for some time but has made no attempt to evade the police.’
Kelsey gripped Lilly’s hand, her nails digging into the fleshy palm, while the magistrate thought about his decision.
‘I am in a very difficult position today as I do not have all the facts. The police and the Crown appear to have rushed over here without due preparation. I feel that the issue of bail should be brought before a Crown Court at the earliest opportunity.’
Lilly allowed her shoulders to relax.
‘However, in the meantime I must err on the side of caution and remand Miss Brand into custody.’
Lilly and Miriam watched in silence as Kelsey was bundled into the back of a white prison van. It would be full of women chained to the bar behind their seat. Kelsey would be squeezed in among them then chained herself. The journey onwards would take about an hour in the rush-hour traffic. The windows were placed deliberately high so Kelsey would have no idea where she was being taken.
This is not Rochene. This is not Rochene. Lilly whispered the mantra under her breath, her heart thudding.
Lilly felt the heat of Jack’s presence behind her before he spoke. She drank in the smell of damp leather. He must have got caught in the downpour too.
‘You’ll get a priority hearing at the Crown Court,’ he said.
‘Not today, Jack,’ Lilly sighed.
‘She’ll be all right.’
He didn’t sound convinced.
‘She’s being taken to jail, Jack. A child has no business being locked up with addicts and thieves and Christ knows what,’ said Lilly.
‘She’s seen it all before,’ he said.
‘She’s still a child,’ admonished Miriam, but her tone wasn’t stern. She knew what he was trying to say. ‘And a child has no business being locked up twenty-four seven with adult criminals.’
‘You’ll get no argument from me,’ he replied. ‘But remember, this isn’t Rochene.’
Lilly smiled to herself. The man had ESP. The rain had stopped, the temperature had dropped. Jack was one of the good guys, and this wasn’t Rochene.
Max checked his watch. As soon as the police had let him go he had sent a text to the girl telling her to come to his place tonight. Then he had raced home to clear up. He knew from experience that the right accessories were everything. A surround-sound TV, an expensive music system, Gucci aftershave in the bathroom. These were things that would impress her, never mind that he lived on the fourteenth floor of one of the most ugly tower blocks in the country.
He watched her now as she fingered the latest iPod he’d left casually but conspicuously on the sofa. A kid from round the estate had robbed it the day before and offered it to Max to clear off the debt from his ever-increasing habit. Normally Max accepted nothing but cash, but he’d fancied the iPod and made an exception. It stored thirty hours of music, which would come in handy on the long flight to LA. He smiled to himself at the thought of his forthcoming trip.
Time to get to work.
‘You have a very pretty face, Charlene,’ he said.
She blushed and tugged at the frayed edge of her boob tube. ‘Nobody’s ever said that before.’
Max waved his arm to the side in derision. ‘Trust me, you have just what I’m looking for.’ He moved towards her. ‘I am gonna make you a star.’
He took her face in his hands and turned it to the side. ‘Take it off.’
Charlene looked startled and shrank away.
‘Your makeup, take it off.’ He held out a bottle of cheap lotion. ‘I need to get a shot of you totally natural. All the top agencies will want one.’
Relieved at her mistake, she took the bottle from him.
‘You’re real cute, baby, but I’m a professional, I don’t take advantage of my position,’ he assured her.
Predictably, he caught the fleeting look of disappointment in her eyes and whispered, ‘But you can always take advantage of yours.’
Charlene beamed and removed her makeup to reveal a pasty and pimply complexion.
‘Peaches and cream,’ Max purred, and pulled her hair into two pigtails held high and tight on each side of her head. He chose glittery hair-bands to keep them in place.
Charlene checked her reflection and pouted. ‘I thought I was supposed to be a model. I look bleeding twelve.’
Max rubbed the top of her arm and smiled in reassurance. ‘You look perfect. You’re just nervous, everyone is the first time.’
‘Really?’ she said.
He pulled out a small plastic bag containing four pills. ‘All my girls need something to relax them before a shoot.’
‘I ain’t no junkie,’ said Charlene.
Max pretended to be hurt. ‘Of course not, baby. These are just for fun, to get you in the mood. Kate Moss and all those supermodels take them.’
Charlene held out her hand. ‘Kate Moss!’
Half an hour later the girl was sprawled on the sofa giggling as Max took some Polaroids.
‘I thought you’d have a proper camera with a tripod and that,’ she slurred.
‘We use those for studio sessions,’ said Max. ‘These are just shots for your portfolio. To get people interested.’
‘Do you think anyone will be interested?’ she asked.
He flashed a smile. ‘Definitely. I know one man who’ll be chomping at the bit.’
Pleased with this information, Charlene allowed Max to rearrange her arms above her head and didn’t even notice that her pants and one breast were exposed.
When the girl had passed out Max sat beside her on the sofa. The photographs were good but Max didn’t feel pleased. Disgust was beginning to well in the pit of his stomach, threatening to make him retch. He reached for his pipe. He’d have just a few toots to settle himself. Wouldn’t anyone need it in these circumstances?
He nodded to himself as he took the first deep breath and finished the whole rock in seconds.
Now he could look at the last Polaroid and smile.
‘Yeah, baby, I know someone who will love this. And when he pays what I ask you’re gonna be in the movies.’ He turned to Charlene. ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’
He shook her hard. ‘I said you’d like that, right?’
She was comatose.
‘Jesus,’ he muttered, and pushed her off the sofa. The fall woke her momentarily but she curled foetus like on the dirty carpet and went straight back to sleep.
Lilly parked outside her house. She staggered to her door and noticed the dent in the left-hand wing of her car. Then she saw that the bumper was hanging off and the headlight was smashed. Clearly she had more than tapped the bollard outside court.
Part of her divorce settlement was that David would give her a car and keep up the insurance payments, so she would have to call him with the details to make a claim. It was the last thing she needed, far behind having a bath and a bottle of red wine. Thank God that Sam was at karate club and wouldn’t be home for a few hours.
She poured a generous amount of lavender oil into the stream of the hot tap, its heady yet soothing aroma immediately filling the tatty little bathroom. The doctor had told her to ensure her wound stayed dry, but given her earlier soaking Lilly declared his advice null and void.
She slipped beneath the unctuous film into the gloriously hot water below. It was enough to make her skin pink and her mind quiet. She closed her eyes and sighed.
Too soon Lilly’s sanctuary was invaded by an annoying but persistent prickle in her throat. She instinctively rubbed the offending spot and immediately it stung. Whether the problem was the water or the oil was a moot point, but it caused Lilly to leap out of the bath like a scalded cat. In the mirror she could see the wound was red and angry; a steady trickle of blood dribbled down and pooled between her breasts. Even dabbing it with a towel was agony.
As Lilly searched for cotton wool the phone rang. It was David.
‘I’m glad it’s you,’ she said.
‘It’s nice to speak to you too.’
‘No, no, I’m not glad because it’s you per se,’ she said, ‘but I’m glad because I need to speak to you.’
‘Whatever, Lilly, I’m just glad you’re glad.’
There was an awkward silence which David eventually filled. ‘So what did you need to speak to me about?’
Lilly swallowed her pride. ‘I pranged the car.’
‘Ah.’
Lilly stepped outside and surveyed the damage. ‘It’s quite bad, well, not really bad, but bad enough.’
‘Ah.’
‘I’ll need to make a claim.’
‘Who are your insurers?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know, you’ve got the paperwork.’
‘Why would I have it?’
Lilly wondered if he was being deliberately obtuse but his tone sounded genuinely baffled.
‘You sort out the insurance, so everything comes to you. I probably have a copy somewhere but I can’t put my hand on it,’ she said.
‘We talked about this a couple of months ago, Lilly. I can’t afford to keep up the insurance payments.’
Lilly nodded, she remembered the conversation, one of a million they had every week about money or the lack of it. ‘You said you’d ask Cara to shop around for something cheaper but I guess she was too busy having her toes waxed.’
David sighed. ‘She called umpteen other companies but they were all as expensive. Perhaps if you didn’t have quite so many accidents …’
‘Well, she didn’t call me,’ Lilly interrupted, in no mood to discuss her checkered motoring history.
‘Ah.’
Lilly pulled the towel around her. The air felt cool on her wet skin.
‘What the fuck does that mean, David?’
‘You don’t need to swear.’
‘Yes, actually, I do.’
Another maddening silence; again it was David who cracked. ‘Since we couldn’t find anything more economical, I reverted to the premise of the original conversation.’
‘Which was what?’
‘That you would have to pay it yourself.’
He coughed in embarrassment and Lilly finally understood what he had done.
‘You bastard! You total, utter bastard! You cancelled my insurance.’
‘I couldn’t afford it, Lil,’ he said.
Lilly raised her voice to a roar. ‘I’ve been driving around in an uninsured car.’
‘Cara was supposed to tell you.’
‘I don’t suppose she cares that I’m ferrying around my son, your son, in an illegal vehicle. That, I imagine, is low on her list of priorities.’
‘That’s not fair, she hasn’t been feeling a hundred per cent.’
‘Nothing too trivial, I hope.’
‘Actually, she’s pregnant.’
This time the silence was broken by Lilly hanging up.
The doorstep was hard and cold. It was almost five and Lilly was still sitting motionless, gazing at the state of her car. She adjusted the damp towel that was wrapped round her and took a sip of wine from the glass in her right hand and a bite from the Snickers bar in her left. She tried to ignore the throbbing in her throat and concentrated on the damage. Even on the cheap it would cost more than a month’s salary to repair.
Tears stung Lilly’s eyes but she didn’t swallow them, she let them roll down her cheeks and drip off her chin. Soon, her shoulders heaved.
‘Whatever’s the matter?’
Lilly looked up and saw Penny at the gate.
She swiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Thanks for the welcome,’ Penny laughed. ‘You seemed in a bit of a state this morning so I thought I’d just check everything was okay.’
‘If the mothers have been twittering behind my back you can tell them not to worry. I’m not having a breakdown.’
Penny laughed again. ‘Don’t be so suspicious, Lilly. This isn’t a delegation. I just wanted to know you were okay.’
Lilly instinctively felt uncomfortable that someone saw her as anything other than tough. She fought for something funny to say to deflect Penny’s concern but nothing came to mind.
‘Everyone needs a friend from time to time,’ said Penny.
Lilly’s eyes welled again. She had friends, didn’t she? She wasn’t lonely, was she?
Lilly gasped between sobs, ‘I crashed my car.’
Penny surveyed the damage and prodded the wing with the toe of a pristine tennis shoe. She sat down next to Lilly and put her hand on Lilly’s knee. ‘Now why don’t you tell me what’s really wrong?’
For nearly an hour Lilly set out Kelsey’s case. How she had been adamant that Max had killed Grace, but now couldn’t even be sure that Kelsey hadn’t killed her mother. She admitted that the uncertainty was tormenting her and the responsibility weighed too heavily on her shoulders. She mentioned Jack and her feelings for him. She doubted he would ever forgive her if he found out about the letter. Indeed, Lilly would never forgive herself if Kelsey went on to hurt other innocent people.
Finally, she admitted how shocked she had been on hearing of Cara’s pregnancy.
‘It’s not that I want him back but I still feel hurt. For all the crap that went on between us we still had this special bond because of Sam, and now he’ll have that bond with someone else as well.’
Lilly hung her head, embarrassed to have said so much. ‘God, I am so pathetic.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, everyone thinks you’re dynamite,’ said Penny.
‘Do they?’
‘A single mum holding down a hugely demanding job, I should say so,’ she laughed. ‘In fact I’m quite relieved to see you in this state and know you’re human after all. No one likes a Percy Perfect, do they?’
Penny delved into her handbag and pulled out a packet of Marlboro Lights. She lit one and blew smoke contentedly into the air.
The two women sat in companionable silence, one drinking, one smoking. Eventually Penny took her last drag and ground out the end under her heel.
‘Look, Lilly, I’m no expert in the law – or anything else for that matter – but from what you’ve told me it’s pretty obvious that Grace was killed by a mad client and not her daughter.’
Lilly nodded without conviction.
‘And you can’t hand the letter over even if you wanted to,’ said Penny.
‘It’s protected by client confidentiality,’ said Lilly.
Penny smiled. ‘There you are then.’
‘I could breach it.’
‘That’s not an option, you’d be struck off and you have to think beyond this case.’
‘Do I?’ asked Lilly.
‘Absolutely. You can’t jeopardise your livelihood on the basis of what may or may not have happened to one prostitute.’
Lilly winced.
‘I’m sorry to sound harsh,’ Penny said, ‘but it’s a fact. As for this Jack, he’s a professional so he’ll understand. Business, as they say, is business. He wouldn’t really expect you to hand over information to the police, would he?’
Lilly shook her head. Of course he wouldn’t.
‘So that just leaves the ex and his new tart. Again, I’m going to be harsh and tell you to get on with your own life. You’re divorced and you shouldn’t be relying on him for anything. Obviously he has a responsibility to his son, but you should cut yourself off from him entirely, lead your own life.’
Lilly knew she was right. What the hell had she been doing allowing David and his silly girlfriend to sort out her car insurance?
Finally, Lilly walked Penny to her car, which was parked in the lane beyond Lilly’s gate.
‘Thank you so much.’
Penny shrugged, as if giving advice on murder cases was commonplace. ‘You can do me a favour.’
‘Name it,’ said Lilly.
‘Get me some information on how to become a foster carer.’
‘You want to apply?’
Penny shrugged again. ‘I’m thinking about it. Getting to know you has made me think about how privileged we all are and I’d like to spread a little good fortune if I can.’
Lilly was both shocked and impressed.
‘So wash your face,’ said Penny, ‘and be at my house for eight.’
‘Actually, you can do me another favour,’ added Penny.
‘Go on.’
‘For God’s sake don’t tell Luella that I smoke.’
William Barrows looked around the table and drank in the faces of his wife’s dinner guests. He hated each one of them, with their delusional self-importance. One of them made a joke and the braying of the others hurt his ears. He supposed he should pity their mundane lives, filled only with ego. Not one of them would ever know the beauty and the joy of the hobby.
The photograph was burning a hole in his pocket so he excused himself and made for the bathroom. The horrid black man had posted it through his letterbox earlier today with a letter demanding twice the usual amount, but written in his usual poorly educated slang ‘… as things is tricky, what with the police and that.’
Barrows’ first reaction had been to laugh in the other man’s face and tell him to keep his little bitch, but then he had seen the girl giggling into the camera in the way only children did and he knew he had to have her.
He locked the door and pulled out the Polaroid. Though unprofessional, the image was crisp and clear, the girl’s skin white and hairless against the grubby leather of the sofa on which she lay. He brought the photograph to his face and kissed the girl’s breast, which she clearly did not know was exposed.
He sighed, the soft hiss of a grass snake, and stroked his erection. How would she smell, this woodland elf? Would her laugh be the sea lapping pebbles? Would she smile as he penetrated her or would she cry like the rest?
‘Bill, have you fallen asleep in there?’ came a voice from outside.
Barrows cursed the interruption. ‘Just a second,’ he laughed through gritted teeth.
‘Hermione’s on the telly, you don’t want to miss it.’
Barrows placed the photograph safely in his wallet and rearranged his penis. When he opened the door he was surprised to see the woman who’d spoken was still there. Her name was Margaret and she was something or other to do with PR for the party. Her husband was a High Court judge, which made them a heavy-hitting couple, in Hermione’s eyes at least.
‘She’s been very clever to manoeuvre herself into this position.’ Margaret’s eyes glittered seductively and she took his arm. ‘I suspect your sticky fingers in it.’
Barrows thought for a moment. Apart from the initial introduction, he’d had no part to play. As strange as it seemed, Hermione had grasped the wheel in both hands and steered the ship exactly where she wanted it to go.
‘No,’ he said. ‘She’s her own woman.’
‘Then you’re a very lucky man, Bill. You don’t mind me calling you Bill, do you?’
Barrows loathed it. ‘Of course not.’
When he and Margaret entered the room, arm in arm, deep in private conversation, Hermione gave the beatific smile of a wife with nothing to fear.
Margaret feigned embarrassment. ‘We were just saying how clever you are, Hermione, weren’t we, Bill?’
Hermione raised an amused eyebrow.
Barrows knew the woman’s flirtations meant nothing to his wife. How could they? He opened his arms magnanimously. ‘My wife knows everything about everything.’
They had excluded Margaret so perfectly that Barrows could see she now felt genuine unease. He enjoyed her discomfort and imagined his wife did too.
‘Oh Hermione, you look wonderful,’ exclaimed Margaret, rescued by the sight of the politician on the television.
‘The television does make one look so fat,’ said Hermione.
‘You do not look fat,’ Margaret replied.
Next was a shot of Valentine, the daughter’s lawyer, standing in the torrential rain and sounding off at the police as her makeup slid down her face.
Margaret shrieked in delight. ‘My God, it’s the exorcist.’
‘Poor thing,’ said Hermione, but giggled all the same.
Barrows’ attention was brought back to the table by Margaret’s husband helping himself to his seventh glass of Burgundy. Glasses clanged and wine spilled onto the cream table linen.
‘Bloody hell,’ roared the man, and dabbed ineffectually at the stain.
‘Not a problem, Hugh,’ said Barrows. ‘This case has unnerved everyone.’
‘I’m sure it’s confidential,’ said the judge, ‘but I’ve been given the nod that this blasted affair is going to make it onto my list.’
Margaret wagged a chiding finger as if he were a child telling tales out of school. ‘Hugh.’
He waved a dismissive hand. ‘I’m sure Hermione knows more about this damned nonsense than I do.’
‘I owe it to those involved to be well-versed,’ she said.
‘Do you really believe that?’ asked the judge.
‘Passionately,’ she lied.
The judge slurped his wine. ‘I’m not sure I want to know anything about it.’
‘It’s good to have these high-profile cases,’ said Margaret.
‘Humph.’
‘Perhaps Hugh feels their responsibility too gravely,’ suggested Barrows.
The judge burped. ‘Not really, old boy, I just hate the press sniffing around, watching my every move. The case is bound to come up soon for a prelim and the defence are bound to make an application for bail. Lord knows what I’m going to do. I can release the girl and take the heat from the justice lobby or keep her inside and get it in the neck from the liberals. Can’t bloody win.’
He drained his glass and pointed unsteadily towards his host. ‘You’re a shrink, what would you do?’
Barrows looked thoughtful and uncorked a bottle of port. ‘Since I haven’t even met the girl I can’t give a reasoned view, only my own opinion.’
‘Of course,’ said the judge, and reached for his digestif.
Barrows dug a hole and planted the seed. ‘She’s damaged goods, a danger to herself and maybe to others. Either way, she can’t be unleashed on an unsuspecting public. You need to hear from a properly qualified person before you can be expected to make any decisions.’
The judge gratefully accepted his life-raft. ‘She needs a psychiatric assessment.’
‘Nice gaff,’ said the taxi driver.
‘Yes,’ said Lilly.
‘North of a mill, I’d say.’
Lilly shoved a ten-pound note into his hand and got out.
She’d forgotten all about the party at Penny’s house and had been deeply engrossed in Grace’s autopsy report when Penny rang to say the cab was on its way.
‘Just getting ready,’ said Lilly, and flung her work bag over her shoulder.
Now, standing at the electric gates, hurricane lamps lighting a winding drive in the dusk, Lilly wished to God she was a better liar.
‘Come in, come in,’ said Penny, relaxed and gorgeous in pristine white yoga pants and vest, and ushered Lilly through an entrance hall so vast Lilly’s cottage would have fitted inside it.
‘Pimms okay?’ Penny brandished a jug.
Lilly hadn’t drunk it since university when it was unleashed every summer, brown and herby, strawberries bobbing about or, worse still, cucumber.
‘Lovely,’ she said.
The sitting room was ablaze with more lamps and at least a dozen church candles burned in the fireplace. If anyone farted the place would go up like Pudding Lane.
‘You know everyone, of course,’ said Penny.
Lilly nodded and smiled at the women she had studiously avoided for four years.
There was Luella and her sidekick, Tanya, whose son Daniel had a nose that ran constantly and who attended learning support for his maths.
‘He’s really very bright,’ she’d once told Lilly. ‘Gifted, in fact. It’s just that he’s a kinsthetic learner and you know how they are.’
At the far side of the room, scrolling down her BlackBerry, was Christina. She managed hedge funds and drove a Porsche. Lilly only ever caught sight of her on sports day when she spent the day trying to get a signal in the playing fields. Her kids, two beautiful girls with honey-coloured hair, were looked after by a rather sullen nanny from Azerbaijan who picked her teeth with a match.
The other women were a blur. Abbey, or Annie someone, husband in banking. Oh, and Lauren, her house was on the common and she was extending it.
‘Don’t you already have seven bedrooms?’ asked Lilly and gulped down her drink.
When Penny finally stopped fussing and settled into a chair each woman reached into her handbag and produced a gift.
‘Just a little token,’ said Luella, and placed a Diptyque candle in her lap.
Just what the place needed, more candles.
The others showered Penny with a selection of essential oils, perfumed drawer liners and soaps shaped like roses. There was even a small gardening fork and trowel decorated with tiny white hearts.
Lilly was mortified. How was she to know that she had to bring something? She rummaged in the dark recess of her bag. Among the case notes and autopsy papers she found a Dairy Milk and a Creme Egg, which she placed with great ceremony among the other goodies.
Tanya and Luella exchanged a look.
‘I prefer truffles, myself,’ said Tanya.
‘Organic for preference,’ said Luella.
Lilly opened her mouth in mock horror. ‘But what about your carbon footprint?’
The two women exchanged a nervous glance. These were the sort of women who went through their trash like Peruvian litter pickers.
‘Imagine how many miles chocolate from Belgium has travelled. The CO2 emissions must be catastrophic. Whereas this’, Lilly opened the bar, ‘was made in the UK.’
She broke off a large chunk and handed it to Luella. ‘Think of it as an act of eco activism.’
She watched with pure joy as the thinnest woman she had ever met was forced to put at least four hundred calories into her mouth and swallow.
At last a thickly-set Australian with a train-track brace arrived and set down a vanity case full of swathes of coloured polyester.
Lilly poured herself another Pimms. ‘I’ll go first.’
The woman smiled and sat Lilly in front of a huge mirror, a pile of Mongolian shaggy cushions crowding round her like a herd of sheep.
‘Now, let’s pull back your hair,’ she said, and dragged Lilly’s curls into a band.
‘Instant face-lift,’ said Lilly.
The woman didn’t smile. ‘And we need to lose the scarf.’
There was a collective gasp as Lilly’s wound was revealed.
‘Cut myself shaving,’ said Lilly, and emptied her glass.
The Australian draped swathes of material around Lilly’s shoulders, the static crackling like popcorn.
‘Definitely not a winter,’ said the woman.
Several women shook their heads in sympathy.
‘I’m sensing a problem,’ said Lilly dryly.
‘No jewel colours,’ said Luella.
‘And worse,’ said Tanya, her eyes wide in horror. ‘No black.’
At last the Australian was ready.
‘Spring,’ she declared.
The women nodded their assent. Clearly they had suspected as much from the start.
‘So what happens now?’ asked Lilly, hoping she could go home.
The Australian looked grave. ‘You buy clothes only in your palette.’
Lilly laughed. It was obviously a joke.
‘In fact,’ said the colour-fascist, ‘I recommend going further and throwing away everything that is wrong for your season.’
‘Throw away perfectly good clothes?’ asked Lilly.
The woman picked up Lilly’s scarf. ‘This has to go.’
Lilly snatched it back like a small child. ‘I love that. My friend gave it to me.’
The Australian smiled at her audience. ‘I see this one needs the full treatment.’
Lilly held the scarf against her chest. ‘What do you mean?’
‘This lady will come to your house,’ said Penny, ‘and turf out all the stuff that doesn’t suit you.’
‘For a fee, of course,’ said the Australian.
Lilly picked up a cushion and rubbed the fur against her cheek. ‘Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas any more.’
The next hour passed slowly. Lilly tried to make her escape, but whenever she thought the coast was clear someone engaged her in conversation about property prices and collagen injections. She drank another three glasses of Pimms and ate an entire bowl of designer crisps.
She was starting to feel queasy and desperate.
If she could just reach her bag and back out of the room perhaps no one would notice.
‘Not leaving us, are you?’ the Australian boomed.
‘I’ve got a bit of work to do,’ said Lilly.
‘Haven’t you always,’ said Luella.
Lilly reddened. ‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘I just think it’s a little rude to rush off when Penny’s gone to so much trouble,’ she said. ‘After all, it’s not as if you do something like Christina.’
Lilly glanced at the hedge-fund manager now glued to her mobile and felt anger swelling. ‘I may not earn a fortune but I think what I do is pretty important. Certainly more important than having Ten Ton Tessa there tell me I can’t wear blue.’
‘If that’s how you feel I think you should go.’ Luella thrust Lilly’s bag towards her, and the momentum, coupled with an unhappy amount of alcohol, sent her off her feet. The contents flew into the air. Pens, pencils, chocolate wrappers and loose change showered down onto the crudités. Lilly scrabbled to collect them before stopping in her tracks. The autopsy report and pictures were strewn among the polyester, and Penny’s guests were rooted to the spot, each eye wide at the sight of Grace’s dead body on the mortuary slab.
With as much dignity as she could muster Lilly pushed past the Australian and picked up the photo. ‘I don’t know about you but I’d say she was an autumn.’