Thursday, 17 September
Lilly arrived at the prison ten minutes late. She had nagged the appointments office for an early slot and had planned to meet with Kelsey before the psychiatrist arrived. She wanted to assure herself that the girl was holding up. Any sign of meltdown and Lilly would break down the governor’s door herself. But Sam had wanted a dozen hugs before settling into his class and Lilly could not bear to deny him. Kelsey had failed to make the priority list again.
The conflict for Lilly as both a lawyer and a mother had yet again bubbled to the surface. It must surely be right to put Sam first, but it didn’t stop Lilly from feeling guilty.
HMP Parkgate had been built in the early Nineties to house the overspill of women increasingly receiving custodial sentences, in response to Michael Howard’s draconian policies at the time. Ultra-modern at its conception, it already looked dated and housed three times as many prisoners than had been originally planned.
Unlike the old jails in London – such as Brixton and Highgate – that were situated only feet from the local community, Parkgate was constructed on some wasteland well out of town. Apart from those visiting at designated times there was no reason for anyone to go there and the site seemed to stand almost in a vacuum. The only positive aspect for Lilly was the acres of empty car park.
Lilly approached the entrance and saw a woman outside taking the unmistakable deep pulls on her last cigarette. Her face seemed familiar although Lilly was sure they had never met. The woman caught her staring.
Lilly was flustered. ‘I’m sorry, you look like someone I know. Well, I think I know, or …’
‘You must be Lilly,’ said the woman. ‘I’m Sheba Lorenson.’
Lilly had expected a petite blonde with a creamy complexion, the sort of professional woman an alpha male like Jez would go for, but Sheba was gorgeously buxom, with midnight hair and a radiant smile. A Fifties starlet with scarlet lips.
‘You seem so familiar,’ said Lilly.
Sheba threw back her head and laughed, the sound full of sensuality. ‘It’s Jez, I’m his sister. Didn’t he tell you?’
Lilly shook her head.
‘Figures,’ said Sheba.
Lilly wondered why Jez had failed to mention it, and why Sheba would assume that he hadn’t. She also wondered why they didn’t share a surname. Lilly noted the absence of a wedding ring, but didn’t feel like she could pry into Sheba’s romantic history five minutes after meeting her. Besides, Sheba didn’t look the sort of woman to countenance cross examination, and as Lilly watched her bottom sashaying through the doors she simply trotted along in her wake.
Together with the usual throng of shoplifters and council-tax evaders the prison housed Category A prisoners, so security was tight. A woman serving twenty-eight days was not likely to organise a breakout, but a lifer might.
Photographs, palm prints and retinal scans were taken of everyone trying to get in, while three male officers took brief written descriptions.
‘What colour are your eyes, madam?’ the youngest asked Sheba.
‘Some say they’re green but others say they’re hazel,’ she gurgled. ‘What do you think?’
He peered into them wistfully and smiled.
‘Definitely hazel,’ he said, and turned to Lilly. ‘Yours?’
‘Grey,’ she said flatly.
Having established that they were not about to help Kelsey escape it was time to ensure that no contraband was to be passed. Since all prisons were awash with drugs, and attacks among inmates regularly took place with weapons assembled from prison detritus, Lilly considered the whole process futile. If she knew that packages of heroin were passed by mouth to the inmates by their visitors’ kisses then the authorities must be aware. Lilly suspected the women were easier to handle out of their heads and it was in no one’s interest to be too vigilant.
Sheba passed through the framed metal detector and engaged the guards in banter as they patted her down. Lilly set the machine off four times and ended up removing her shoes, watch, belt and earrings. By the time she made it through she was sweating.
There were no designated rooms for official visits at Parkgate, as the overcrowding meant the space had long since been turned into extra cells. The exceptions were those set aside for closed visits with Cat X prisoners, the mad and the bad. Lilly would not countenance speaking with Kelsey through a Perspex shield à la death row, so their meeting would have to take place in the optimistically named ‘Friends and Family Centre’, which was in fact a poorly ventilated room with worn carpet tiles, and empty aside from row upon row of tables. It reminded Lilly of the school hall in which she had taken her O-levels.
A guard showed them to a table and asked them to wait while the other tables filled around them. The noise level was deafening and the room soon filled with a dense cloud of smoke. Children jumped around excitedly as they waited to see their mothers, fuelled by the sweets and crisps provided by their dads and grandmas who had dragged them along.
The prisoners began to arrive, waving and shouting at their guests. Only Kelsey shuffled in, eyes downcast, her shoulders hanging. She was wearing the prison uniform, which was not obligatory for an unconvicted prisoner. There was, of course, no one to bring in her own things and Lilly cursed herself for not doing so.
The adult-sized sweatshirt dwarfed Kelsey and to Lilly she looked even paler and thinner, if that were possible.
‘You look well, Kelsey,’ said Lilly, her voice unnaturally bright.
She didn’t receive a reaction. She didn’t expect to.
Kelsey sat down and pressed her white hands on the table, the fingers splayed. Lilly was about to place her own on top when Sheba did it first.
‘I’m Sheba Lorenson, Kelsey. I want to help you.’
Her tone was soothing and Kelsey looked up.
Sheba gave an irresistible smile. ‘Hello.’
Kelsey kept eye contact and nodded.
Lilly was gobsmacked. The woman was a hypnotist.
‘The judge, quite rightly, won’t let you out of here until he knows it’s safe,’ Sheba continued. ‘So that’s what I’m here to find out.’
She deftly took out paper and pen with one hand, not letting go of Kelsey’s fingers with the other.
‘I think the best way to find out about a person is just to ask them.’ Sheba placed the pad in front of Kelsey in a gentle but deliberate motion that courted no argument. ‘So describe yourself to me, Kelsey. Tell me what you’re really like.’
Kelsey picked up the pencil and began to write. Sheba caught Lilly’s eye and gave a sly wink. Lilly was impressed and couldn’t hide it.
Half an hour passed, and Lilly, finding herself redundant, went in search of tea. A small counter was set up in an annexe at the end of the room and sold drinks, biscuits and sweets. It was run by the red bands, inmates sufficiently trusted to deal in hot water and plastic spoons without starting a riot. They were named for their red sashes, which distinguished them from the masses. The prisoners, especially the regulars, vied for the privilege that at least got them out of cells that would otherwise house them for up to twenty-three hours a day.
Lilly surveyed the bars of chocolate and hoped she could get away with two.
‘I thought it was you,’ said the red band on duty.
The woman was chalky and plain in her prison outfit of sludge brown. Her hair was tied back off her face with a rubber band, her dark roots an unpleasant halo, but the accent was unmistakable.
‘Angie. What on earth are you doing here?’ said Lilly.
Angie laughed. ‘I like the peace and quiet and the food’s just great.’
‘How long are you in for?’ asked Lilly.
‘Six weeks. I told them I’d pay the bloody fines if only they’d let me work instead of arresting me all the while,’ said Angie.
‘You need to work from a flat instead of the streets, then the police would leave you alone.’
‘Aye, but the first three tricks would go for the rent and these days I’m lucky to do six or seven a night.’
The plight of the aging pro, out-priced and out-spiced by girls literally half her age. Lilly couldn’t even guess at what Angie would do when she and the work dried up altogether.
‘How did you land this job on such a short sentence?’ she asked.
Pouring tea might not seem such a great little number but in jail such positions were hotly contested. Women had died for less.
‘Better not to ask,’ said Angie with a smile and changed the subject. ‘Did you ever find Max Hardy?’
Lilly rubbed her throat. ‘Afraid so, but he didn’t kill Grace.’
Lilly looked over at Kelsey. She was shaking her head and writing furiously on her sheet of paper.
‘Can’t you get the wee girl out of here?’ asked Angie, without any trace of recrimination or criticism.
‘We’re doing our damnedest.’
‘Some of us keep an eye out but we can’t be everywhere,’ Angie confided.
‘How’s she doing?’ asked Lilly, afraid of the answer.
‘Hard to say. Most think she’s batty and steer well clear, but there’s always one wanting to dish out the aggro. This is no place for a kiddie, especially that one.’
‘I need to find out who killed Grace,’ whispered Lilly. ‘I thought it was Max, but it’s not. It could be a punter, someone who likes knives. Did you hear of anyone like that?’
Angie thought for a moment. ‘There’s a girl just started a six stretch for robbery. She’s got terrible scars down her back where a punter cut her up.’
‘Do you think she’d talk to me?’ asked Lilly.
Angie seesawed her hand. ‘I’ll ask.’
Lilly finally bought three bars of chocolate, one for each of them. She rubbed her finger along the smooth contour of her Breakaway. She could scoff it down in one bite and half-hoped Kelsey’s mouth would be too sore to eat or Sheba would be on a diet so that she could also set upon the other two.
Angie took the money and pocketed half of it with a wink. ‘It’s a shame about Max, I’d love to see that bastard put away. He’d not last five minutes in a place like this.’
‘Did you ever work for him?’ asked Lilly.
‘I told you, I don’t have a pimp.’
‘What about his films, were you ever in one?’
Angie gave a derisive snort through her nose. ‘I’m too long out of nappies for his stuff, if you get my drift.’
Lilly’s brain began to tick and she raced back to Kelsey. ‘Could you give me a second, Sheba?’
Sheba made it clear that she didn’t take kindly to the interruption, but she didn’t resist and moved away.
Lilly stared hard at her client. ‘Tell me about the videos.’
Kelsey shrugged.
‘Don’t give me any crap, Kelsey. Was your mum in them?’
Kelsey shook her head.
‘Was that because she was far too old?’
Kelsey nodded her head once and returned her chin to her chest.
I kept my mouth shut when I shouldn’t have.
Kelsey retreated so far into herself that Sheba abandoned the rest of the interview and the two women made their way out.
Sheba’s pursed lips and straight back told Lilly she was furious.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Lilly, ‘but I had to ask her something.’
‘Can you tell me what?’ asked Sheba, her tone clipped.
‘Not today, but I do think it’s important, that’s why it couldn’t wait.’
‘If it pertains in any way to Kelsey’s emotional state then I’m going to need to know. I can’t present the court with half a picture.’ Sheba fixed Lilly with a glare. The girl with soft eyes and a luscious mouth was gone. ‘I won’t do this with one hand tied behind my back.’
Lilly nodded her assent. ‘I wouldn’t expect you to.’
The hint of a scarlet smile returned. ‘I need to make some calls, then I’ll give you my first impressions this afternoon.’
She turned towards her car and Lilly watched Sheba’s bottom undulate with a mixture of envy and admiration.
Lilly had been back in her office guiltily shuffling her paperwork for half an hour when Sheba called.
‘So tell me, did Kelsey kill her mother?’
Lilly was only half joking. Angie’s news had sent her into freefall as she tried to assess whether it made Kelsey more or less likely to have committed the murder. Kelsey knew about the films and had covered for her mum. When that still wasn’t enough and Grace put her into care how angry would that have made Kelsey? Angry enough to kill? Lilly needed some evidence to point away from her client. Something positive from a shrink would be as welcome as Christmas.
‘It’ll be some time before I can give you my opinion on that one,’ laughed Sheba, ‘and we’ll never know for sure.’
‘I suppose the mind isn’t black and white,’ said Lilly.
‘Most of the time it’s not even grey. Unlike the body, which is much less difficult to assess, which is why I checked whether Kelsey had had a medical upon her arrival at Parkgate.’
‘And did she?’
‘Yes. Given her age and the gravity of the situation the prison doctor was very thorough and found that Kelsey’s larynx and trachea were discoloured but no longer excoriated.’
‘In English please.’
‘Kelsey’s throat is better. She can speak.’
Lilly, however, found that she had been struck dumb, her mind racing ahead to the possible implications.
‘How long has she been able to?’ she asked at last.
‘The doc reckons about a week.’
A week!
Lilly went over the events of the last week. The interview with Bradbury. The hearing in court. And all the time Kelsey could speak.
‘There are, of course, two possible explanations as to why she hasn’t yet spoken,’ said Sheba. ‘The first is that she’s still in shock. Her body may be ready but her mind may not be willing. The second – well, you know what I’m about to say.’
‘That Kelsey’s been taking the piss.’
Lilly relived every exchange she had had with Kelsey during the last week – the scribbled notes, the bowed head. Could it all be bullshit? And if Kelsey could be that manipulative, what else might she be capable of?
* * *
Max leaned against the window of Pizza Hut. He was far too hot in the Armani jacket he’d purchased this morning in the Arndale Centre but he couldn’t resist. He had seen it in the window of a gloomy little boutique that specialised in overpriced tat with the odd designer label thrown in to raise its game.
Max had again broken into the money given to him by Barrows, and justified it on the grounds that he would need to look smart to make it in the States. In a country where image was everything such a jacket wouldn’t be an asset but a necessity. When the money started to roll in he might even be able to write it off against tax.
He saw her walking towards him through the town centre, checking her reflection in the window of British Home Stores. Her face was drawn into a scowl. She looked small and vulnerable, despite the tough-girl glower.
‘Charlene, baby,’ said Max.
She nodded hello. Apparently she had not taken kindly to being drugged during their last encounter, but Max had been doing this for long enough to turn the situation around.
‘Listen, baby, I know you’re probably embarrassed about what went down at mine, but it happens. You got a little crazy but that’s cool.’
He saw her mouth soften to a pout, unsure now as to who was mad at whom.
‘The shoot wasn’t the best,’ he persisted, ‘but I ain’t vexed.’
‘No?’
‘Of course not. Anyway, I’m a pro and I still got a couple of good shots.’
Charlene’s face flushed with pleasure, as he knew it would. ‘Let me see them.’
‘I’ve put them in your portfolio, you can take a look the next time you’re round at mine.’
He eased her into the restaurant, his hand in the small of her back. ‘In fact, an associate of mine has suggested a film might be just the right vehicle for you.’
Her eyes opened saucer-wide. She seemed nearer to ten than thirteen. ‘A film.’
They ate their doughy meal (three slices of margarita and unlimited visits to the salad bar for £3.99 before 5 p.m.) and Max chatted about production companies and distribution rights.
He mentioned his views on agents. Charlene should seriously consider getting one, and indeed he did know at least two with a good reputation, although she might think fifteen per cent a bit steep.
He spoke of trips abroad. Personally, he hated flying, but what could you do, it came with the territory.
All the while Charlene listened and nodded, her mouth crammed with oily cheese, her head filled with previously unimagined plans.
Max was good at this bit: the flannel, the flirting, the fairytale. One night last year when he’d been too strung out to sleep he’d watched a documentary about how some priest had talked a bunch of altar boys into sucking his cock and what have you. Grooming, they’d called it. Max thought that was a stupid word. Like something you’d do to a dog for a show. Whatever it was he had it in spades. After all, he’d learned from a master.
When his mother had finally given up even the pretence of caring for her son and handed him in to the social so she could pursue her favoured pastimes of drinking, smoking and being beaten by whatever lowlife she had most recently taken up with, Max found himself in care at The Bushberry Home for Disturbed Children. One of the men who worked there was not like the others and listened closely to his charges, smiling his wide, warm smile, telling them not to worry. He turned a blind eye to the odd cigarette and gave out little treats of chocolate and fizzy drinks. He wiped away tears and kissed sad cheeks, and if you were one of his special ones you could sit on his knee. Grace had been very special indeed. She’d driven him wild, but it was her fault for being so beautiful. He loved her with all his heart and they’d be together as soon as she was sixteen, but she mustn’t tell anyone. They wouldn’t understand.
Grace was so happy she thought she might burst, and had to, just had to, tell her best friend. She scrubbed the stains out of her knickers and confided in Max that she was going to get married as soon as she turned sixteen.
And Grace was no chump. She’d lived with her dad long enough to spot a scam when she heard one, but she still took it all in.
God how he had hated that man for breaking Grace’s heart; still hated him for what he did.
And yet, Max had to hand it to him, the man could sell sand to Arabs. Yes, the man was a genius.
Lilly arrived home frazzled and starving. A carbohydrate frenzy beckoned. She fancied chips, the way her mother had made them. The potatoes dried in a tea towel on the draining board and submerged in a pan of dangerously hot oil. Delicious, but a cursory glance in the kitchen confirmed the absence of potatoes, clean tea towel or sunflower oil.
Lilly put pasta in a pan and ran a bath for Sam. She wondered what the director of social services would say as she undressed herself and dived into the water with her six-year-old son.
They scrubbed away their days at work and school then dried each other off. For fun, Sam painted Lilly’s toes, each one a different colour.
When Sam, pink and squeaky, lay on his bed with a Scooby Doo comic, Lilly padded downstairs in an extra-large T-shirt that had come free with a six-pack of Boddingtons, and a pair of orange slipper-socks that Miriam had given to her as a joke.
She opened the fridge and pulled out bacon, cream and cheese. She cracked a free-range egg and separated it in her hand, allowing the white to slip through her fingers into the sink. When she had three oily yolks she added a thick dollop of cream.
The phone rang. Lilly swore under her breath, picked up the receiver with her clean hand and held it with her chin.
‘It’s me,’ said David.
‘Aha.’
‘I’ve been thinking about your car.’
‘That must have been thrilling.’
‘I want to pay for the repairs.’
‘I thought you were broke.’
‘I am, we are, but Cara should have told you about the insurance.’
‘Yes, she should.’
‘So you should send the bill to me. But you’ll have to take over the premiums.’
‘Okay.’
‘Okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘Right, well, I’ll be off. Things to do. What about you?’
‘Cooking.’
Lilly could almost hear his ears pricking.
‘Anything nice?’
‘Carbonara,’ she deadpanned. It was David’s favourite.
‘Heavy on the parmesan?’
Lilly reached for the grater. ‘I’m shaving that baby now.’
She smiled to herself. Cara wouldn’t eat cheese. She was lactose-intolerant. She knew what he was implying but Lilly wasn’t going to make it easy for him. ‘Where’s the salad-muncher?’
‘She’s out,’ he said.
‘Having a seaweed body wrap, no doubt.’
He didn’t rise to the bait, such was the power of Lilly’s food. ‘Something like that.’
Lilly relented. ‘Want to eat?’
‘Give me twenty minutes.’
The doorbell went in ten.
Lilly pulled at the door. ‘Did you take the Harrier jump jet?’
It wasn’t her ex-husband. ‘Jack!’
He looked embarrassed. ‘You’re expecting someone else.’
‘No. Yes. Sort of. Come in.’
Lilly became instantly aware of her appearance. A downmarket Bridget Jones.
‘Let me get you a drink. Beer or wine?’
‘Whatever’s cold. It’s bloody roasting out there.’
‘I know. It’s ridiculous for September. An Indian summer, I suppose.’ Lilly could hear herself gabbling about the weather. ‘My nan used to predict one every year, and when it rained on the first or the second of September she’d say it was good for the roses and would then predict the coldest winter on record.’
Jack laughed politely.
Lilly went for the drinks and pulled off the day-glo socks, although Sam’s pedicure was hardly an improvement. She bolted down half a glass of Sauvignon blanc in the kitchen and filled another for Jack.
Back in the sitting room, Sam was perched at the end of the sofa appraising Jack with studied cool.
‘What are you doing up?’ asked Lilly.
Sam kept steely eyes on the intruder. ‘I heard a man’s voice. I thought it was Dad.’
‘Afraid not, wee man. I’m Jack and I work with your mum.’
‘He’s a policeman,’ added Lilly, who knew how Sam would react.
‘Wow,’ Sam shouted, ‘have you got a gun?’
‘Not with me,’ said Jack.
‘Did you ever kill anyone?’ asked Sam.
Lilly saw a strange look creep into Jack’s features, a flicker of something dark. Not more than a shadow, but definitely something.
‘Of course not, love, he looks after children,’ she said.
Sam made no effort to hide his disappointment.
‘I once caught a bank robber,’ countered Jack.
The child’s enthusiasm returned. ‘How?’
‘Let’s go back up those stairs and I’ll tell you all about it.’
Lilly watched in amazement as Jack led Sam back to bed and wondered what Jack would think if she changed into something less shapeless. Jeans and a vest top might set the right note, casually sexy but not obvious. Hmm. Maybe obvious would be better.
She was weighing up the option of a short satin robe she had optimistically bought on sale at Agent Provocateur but had never worn, when David walked in.
‘Tell me it’s massive,’ he said.
‘What?’ asked Lilly.
‘The bowl of pasta.’
‘Pasta?’
David shook his head and laughed. ‘You can’t have forgotten already.’
Jack entered the room.
David looked him up and down in much the same way as Sam had done. ‘But I see you have other things on your mind.’
‘I’m just leaving,’ said Jack.
‘You don’t have to,’ said Lilly.
They looked at each other for an excruciating moment.
‘I’m just leaving,’ Jack repeated and drained his glass.
As he left, Lilly shut the door behind him.
‘What was that about?’ asked David.
‘I have absolutely no idea.’
Jack continued to cringe until he had put a good mile between himself and Lilly. What was he thinking turning up on her doorstep? It had served him right when the husband arrived. They were obviously still involved or he wouldn’t still have a key, and she wouldn’t have been dressed like that, in only a T-shirt, her legs long and bare and smooth.
Stop it, man.
But she had been pleased to see him. She’d invited him in for a drink, introduced him to her son. Maybe there was something there.
He played bat and ball with the idea all the way home and decided to find some spurious reason to call her first thing in the morning and ask her outright if she liked him. Back home he ate a piece of unbuttered toast and drank three cans of warm lager knowing full well he would do no such thing.