by Lisa Gordon
Gaby had not breathed for twenty seconds. Her eyes were watering, the pain excruciating, but she lashed out again, this time catching Clinton’s temple and left eye. Gaby could not see his expression as her eyes were filled with her sweat and tears and his blood. He momentarily released the pressure on her throat and she was able to gasp a breath. Gaby could hear banging from above at the door. She had assumed it would be Sorin and company; however, although Clinton’s hands were once again tightly strangling her, she sensed indecision. He seemed to lack focus. He seemed, dare she believe it, scared. Gaby thrust the bottle into his face once more at the same time as there was a deafening crash. Gaby could hear someone pounding down the stairs. Clinton’s grip immediately became more ferocious and Gaby knew it was both his last chance and hers. She forced herself to open her eyes and look into his one last time. Their eyes locked in a moment which, in real time, lasted only a split second, but for Gaby and Clinton, time there and then stood still. So focused on Clinton was Gaby, that she did not initially see the flash of blue denim and sparkling white trainers. She only saw the look of panic in Clinton’s eyes. He let go of Gaby and she was able to see that he was himself now in a vice-like grip and he could not fight, the incident on the staircase having caused too much damaged to his back and ribs.
“Oh my God, Robbie,” Gaby was just able to say hoarsely.
“We’ve been working in parallel, Gaby.” Robbie managed a smile.
“How?” uttered Clinton, his face now full of congealed blood. “How?”
“Basic economics: as it turns out, your biggest strength was also your biggest weakness. Renata. She squealed like the pig she is.”
“Chantelle ...” began Gaby anxiously.
“She’s just fine. Another hero like you, Gaby,” beamed Robbie.
Still lying on the floor, Gaby looked up to see a team of police officers filing down the stairs. She looked over to Clinton. How pathetic he now looked, how defeated. She thought of Meagan, Alison and all the other women with great sadness. Justice did not yet taste sweet.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
… aid has been slow in reaching the worst-hit areas of Burma as a result of the onset of the monsoon season.
Sorry to interrupt you, Samantha, but we are going straight to a police press briefing at Paddington Green. This is DI Rook speaking.
We would like to confirm that Mr Clinton Butler has been charged today with the murder of Shelleigh Rice on the 22nd of October 2005. During the past hour, we charged Mr Butler with the murder of a further five women, all of whom he was romantically involved with at the time. I am now able to reveal that Mr Butler has been charged with the murders of Sally Corbett, Trina Walker, Nicola Holding, Jenny Medledev and Melissa Broomhead. In all five cases, the women were previously believed to have died in accidents. In the light of information stemming from this inquiry, the case of Lucinda Simpson who went missing in Norfolk in 1987 has been re-opened. The families have been working closely with the police. Mr Butler will be held pending a bail hearing later next week; he is cooperating and has his solicitor with him.
Kerry Davis, ITN: Do we know anything more about how he murdered the women?
I am not releasing the details at this stage.
Peter Gibson, Channel 4. Is it possible that further charges of murder will be brought?
I can reveal that the police are preparing to charge Mr Butler with the attempted murder of his sister Gabriella and the murder of his sister Meagan in July this year. He is also being questioned about the body of a woman found this week in a flat in Plaistow. He will appear at the Old Bailey for his hearing on the 9th of September.
Royal Leamington Spa
Gaby and Chantelle were the last of the congregation to walk into the sunny back garden of St Andrews, the Gothic Church not far from the centre of Royal Leamington Spa. Gaby walked slowly along the smooth concrete path, watching the eclectic collection of guests helping themselves to the sandwiches, cakes, tea and coffee waiting on the fold-out tables in the neatly kept garden. The hot August sun filtered through the leafy oaks bordering the road. Gaby wore a sleeveless silver-grey linen shift dress and Chantelle a charcoal skirt suit. It was Chantelle who eventually broke the poignant silence. “It was a beautiful day for Meagan’s memorial, Gabs.”
“I know,” agreed Gaby, trying to sound cheerful. “I’m thrilled with the turnout. And thank you for that outstanding tribute you read out. Unlike me, you were really able to bring out the fun, humorous side of Meagan’s character. My own tribute was a little too emotional. Thank goodness you gave everyone a laugh.” Gaby wiped a tear from her eye as she tried to smile.
“Never thought I could stand up in fronta so many people like and speak,” said Chantelle with pride as she slipped her arm around Gaby. “Listen, seein’ all these folks here is a tribute to Meagan in itself; so many people came all the way from Kenya. Sylwia even came from Germany.”
“Po …” Gaby stopped herself and continued, “You are so right, Chantelle.” She pointed to the gathering. “Thanks to Zinzi for chatting away and entertaining everybody; I really couldn’t face speaking to anyone right now. I am too overcome with emotion.”
“I know, I feel rather choked up myself.”
“I still have to thank the Corbetts and the Broomheads and I believe Lilly Page is here somewhere too.” Gaby sounded anxious.
“Plenty time for that later Gabs,” consoled Chantelle calmly.
“I was thinking of Debs during the service. She played such a valuable role in all this, but, at the same time, I feel that she’s now dead because of us. I mean, we did our utmost to get her involved and we brought her under Clinton’s radar.” Gaby spoke with guilt and regretful tears filled her eyes.
Chantelle rubbed Gaby’s arm in an attempt to comfort her. “Let’s just keep in mind that none of this woulda happened without Clinton. he had to be stopped and you saved lives. Includin’ mine.”
“Hey, girls.” It was Robbie who called out. He was striding towards the two dressed in a black T-shirt with a black jacket and jeans. He was walking alongside Helen who was wearing black with a pearl cross around her neck. Robbie leaned over and gave both women a peck on the cheek. “Beautiful memorial, very moving.”
Chantelle and Gaby acknowledged their thanks with a nod.
“You two make quite a team,” remarked Helen, adding, “If either of you ever fancy a career change give me a call. I’m always eager to interview promising new recruits with a view to training them as detectives.”
“Really?” blurted out Chantelle immediately, surprising Gaby somewhat.
“Really,” reiterated Helen, continuing sternly, “You have my number, but in future you will refer to me as DI Rooke.” She winked and then continued more seriously, “Bit of news, we rounded up the rest of Renata’s gang. Prostitution, drugs, illegal immigration ...”
Gaby listened with interest but was distracted by the sight of Aunt Pen approaching. Taking a deep breath, she excused herself and made her way along the path.
“Aunt Pen.”
“Gaby,” she paused awkwardly. “It was wonderful what you did today. Made me very proud.” Gaby was about to speak, but her aunt held up her hand. “I was very angry that you and Meagan never came to me first, but then I realised that perhaps I was more angry because I know that if I am honest, I would probably not have believed you and that made me really question myself. In fact, this whole thing has made me question everything about my life.”
“As long as you are okay,” said Gaby sympathetically.
“I have something to tell you, Gaby. I have a job in Texas. I will be staying with Aunt Jean out there. It’s the first time I will ever have lived outside Birmingham, but it’s time. Time I had a new start.”
“That’s wonderful news. It will be a great new experience.” Gaby’s voice was filled with warmth.
“You are welcome to join me. Jean would be delighted to have you.”
“I will give it some thought,” ans
wered Gaby gratefully. “I must say that I have not given my future much thought at all. It sort of stretches out in front of me like a desert road in the dead of night.”
“Yes,” agreed Aunt Pen, “I understand your feelings.”
“How is Anne?”
“She has gone up to stay with family in Scotland. She is suffering badly with her nerves as you can imagine,” explained Aunt Pen.
“It’s been a seismic shift emotionally for all of us. I just don’t have words anymore.”
“I will say this: good wins over evil, Gaby. Eventually.”
“Gabs,” called Chantelle who was standing on the street corner as Gaby bade farewell to some of the members of the congregation who were climbing into their cars. “Come over here, there is someone you haven’t thanked yet.”
“Who?” questioned Gaby, spinning around to look at Chantelle with some surprise.
“Over here.” Chantelle beckoned impatiently. Gaby made her way over to the street corner, racking her brain, but failing to discover whom it was she had not thanked yet. Chantelle smiled mischievously as Gaby approached.
Suddenly, as Gaby neared the street corner, someone else came into view. “Piers!” gasped Gaby with astonishment.
“Hello, Gaby.” Piers smiled nervously.
“How ...” She was unable to continue.
Chantelle butted in, beaming with satisfaction as she spoke. “I got in touch with Piers.” She paused as she waved her hand emphatically. “Well, what sort of bridesmaid would I be if I did not help the happy couple to get back togever?” She continued to explain, “I just kept thinkin’ it ain’t right that you guys are apart. It’s high time you cleared up this misunderstandin’. Anyways, I didn’t know where to reach Piers, but at the weddin’ last year I swapped e-mails with Piers’s cousin, Sheri. She wanted advice on gettin’ into glamour modelling. So I wrote to her and she got me in touch with Piers.”
Piers continued, “I saw the news on Clinton and everything fell into place. I wanted to ring you right away, but all your numbers had changed. I know now from Chantelle that you guys had gone into hiding.”
“You came all the way from Australia for the memorial?” asked Gaby, still in shock.
“Actually, I came for a few reasons, Gaby. I had already planned to fly back to see you, then I got news that my father had died suddenly. So I came back on the first flight available. As it happened, I was able to come to Meagan’s memorial as well.”
“I see,” said Gaby quietly, her lips and face white. “I am ever so sorry about your dad. That’s terrible.”
“Gaby,” began Piers, still apprehensive and jumpy, “I am so very sorry I left you and went to Australia. Clinton made me feel unwanted, like you didn’t want me around and that I was no longer welcome. I felt responsible for what had happened to you in a way and I ran away. I was a coward. I really regret how I handled things.”
“Time is measured in days, weeks and years, but sometimes it is better measured in the amount of water under the bridge. There has been an awful lot of water under our bridge, Piers, and I don’t blame you. What happened was extraordinary. It’s time to put this all behind us now and move on.” Gaby smiled, at first shyly, and then she mentally stubbed out any reservations and took a step forward in order to embrace Piers. She then stood back again. “I have to move on.” She frowned and her gaze wandered out towards the sun which was melting like a scoop of tangerine ice cream into the buildings of the town. “I’m not the same person I was last year this time, Piers.” Her tone was designed to convey a gentle warning of sorts. “I don’t think I was even a person last time this year: I was a thoughtless gonk who went around with rose-coloured glasses thinking everything was wonderful. I thought I was my family and my job. I was merely a controlled extension of my family and my work, and had no idea who I really was.”
“Gaby,” Piers stated firmly, “I was the same. It’s the way we all are when we are young. We change and grow up and all of us tend to change our perspective on our history or background to some degree. You have shown the world who you are these past few months. Don’t over analyse this. We’re moving on now and I feel our relationship will be stronger for what we have been through.”
“But you didn’t go through it, Piers. You ran away from it. We are both moving on, but in different directions.”
The wave of turbulent emotion made Gaby feel nauseous. She knew Chantelle would be disappointed to hear the outcome and she could read the sadness and sincere regret in Piers’s eyes, but there was only one way for them all to go and that was forwards and not backwards.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
West London
Robbie and Gaby sat on the terrace of Shibutzia Bar sipping the pink champagne Gaby had ordered. “Congratulations to us,” she said happily.
“So tell me about the new job,” encouraged Robbie as he readjusted his shades, fag in hand.
“I start at Fair Trials Abroad next month. It is so much more in line with the kind of law I’ve always felt so strongly about, I can’t wait.”
“I still can’t picture Chantelle as a cop.” Robbie shook his head and laughed.
“Ha ha! I don’t think she’s quite ready to hang up her thong and balcony bra and quit glamour modelling yet, but she’s young. I think she’ll make a great detective one day.”
“A double scoop for the Met: with her on the force, recruiting young men won’t be a problem anymore.”
They began to laugh heartily.
“Speaking of partnerships, I don’t think your investigative talents should be going to waste either.” He looked at her expectantly as he raised his flute of tourmaline-coloured liquid to his mouth once more.
Gaby smiled even more broadly. “You never know. I’m sure we can pool resources in the future,” she winked.
“Talking of work,” started Robbie eagerly, “had a bloody interesting call yesterday.” His eyes were alive. “You heard about the plane that went down over the Atlantic, right? Got a call from the wife of one of the passengers. She says she had a call from his mobile at 8 a.m. GMT, but they say the plane went down at 5 a.m. GMT.”
Gaby’s jaw dropped. “What did he say to her?”
“She missed the call as she was in the car. It was her phone that logged the call. I’m meeting with her later.”
“I can’t wait to hear more.”
Urban Slang Glossary
Pro’s: professional hookers
beaked up: high on drugs
on ‘The Game’: in the profession of prostitution
Curbie: curb-crawler
nose candy: cocaine
sandwich: police car
APPENDIX
As I was going to press with this book; two stories were breaking about the issue of secret courts and forced adoption.
DAILY MAIL 17th Jan 2014
At last! Victory on secret courts: Rulings in family cases to be made public after Mail campaign
Family Court and Court of Protection judgements will now be made public
Expert witnesses, including social workers, are to be named
Councils applying to take children into care can no longer claim anonymity
New rules laid down by President of the Family Division Sir James Munby
Daily Mail has exposed a series of major scandals over the past year
These have resulted from justice being conducted behind closed doors
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2540919/At-Victory-secret-courts-Rulings-family-cases-public-Mail-campaign.html?ITO=1490&ns_mchannel=rss&ns_campaign=1490
THE TELEGRAPH
18th Jan 2014
Australia’s scandal of forced adoption is happening here in Britain
The forcible removal of children by social workers in Australia between the 1950s and the 1970s has parallels with what is happening in British courts today
“What is astonishing about this, of course, is the reaction of the Today journalists. They are clearly completely unaware t
hat similar events to those they found so shocking are occurring here in Britain every day of the week. The latest figures show that applications to take children from their parents into care continue to break all records – nearly 1,000 a month in England and Wales alone – and far too many of these child-snatchings have no more rational or humane justification than those for which Ms Gillard was belatedly apologising.
For some years now a handful of journalists, including Camilla Cavendish on The Times, Sue Reid of the Daily Mail and several writers on The Sunday Telegraph, including me, have been trying against all the odds to lift a tiny corner of the veil of secrecy that hides what is routinely going on in our social-service departments and family courts. Our own forced adoption scandal is a tragedy just as terrifying as anything that happened in Australia all those years ago.”