Broken

by Martina Cole

  Michaela tossed back her thick golden hair and answered him in the same fashion. ‘I could ask you the same bloody thing, mate.’

  PC Black walked into Grantley Hospital with an air of righteous authority. He made his way through the A&E department and up five flights of stairs to the children’s ward. WPC Hart was sitting outside an office there, drinking coffee. She smiled as he approached.

  ‘What’s happening then?’

  ‘I have two witnesses who put Miss Regina Carlton and her son at the site at six-thirty this morning. One is a woman, a cleaner for Kortone Separates. She parks there and gets a lift to work with a friend. Another is a man who walks that route every morning for his paper. It seems she dumped the kid there.’

  Joanna Hart frowned. ‘Why would she bother getting in touch, then?’

  Black shrugged. ‘Perhaps she thought he’d be dead by then. They were about to demolish the building where he was found.’

  ‘Oh my God! We’d better get in touch with plainclothes. ’

  ‘Already done it. They’ll be here shortly. Let’s see the slag get out of this one.’

  He sounded pleased and Joanna was reminded of why she didn’t always like him very much. He saw the look and shrugged.

  ‘Attempted murder, ain’t it?’

  ‘Depends on whether she did it in her right mind. You can’t convict her without all the facts.’

  PC Black shook his head pityingly.

  ‘You just don’t see it, do you? She is so chemically enhanced she’s in danger of being named as the first genetically modified human being in history. Yet you still try and defend her. All the times we’ve been to her drum for fighting, drinking and general arseholiness, and you can still find it in your bleeding heart to give her the benefit of the doubt?’ His incredulous laughter was loud in the confines of the corridor.

  ‘She has three kids, for Christ’s sake, and this morning one of them was nearly buried under rubble and killed. How can you defend that? She needs locking up, mate. If it was left to me I’d throw away the fucking key.’

  ‘I am sure you would, dear.’ Robert Bateman appeared in the corridor behind them, his voice surprisingly firm. ‘She also comes from a much worse background than her children’s, believe me, and is trying to get herself together. Whatever Regina may be, she loves her kids in her own way.’

  PC Black shook his head once more.

  ‘Preach to the converted. As far as I’m concerned, she’s a piece of scum. Those kids would be better off out of it. She’s on the bash, she’s an habitual drug user and she leaves them in situations that are downright dangerous. Her flat stinks . . .’

  ‘You can’t lock people up just for having a dirty flat.’ Joanna’s voice was high-pitched with annoyance.

  ‘. . . her flat stinks and her kids walk around like rag bags. Every time we go there they’re either in bed or just got out of it. Their lives are a nightmare, poor little sods.’

  Robert Bateman sighed heavily. ‘You’re on your soapbox early this morning. Get out the wrong side of the bed, did we?’

  Heels clicked down the corridor and they all turned towards Detective Inspector Kate Burrows who smiled lazily at them.

  ‘So what’s the score?’

  She closed her eyes tightly as the three of them all began to talk at once. Holding up her arms for them to pipe down, she insisted, ‘For Christ’s sake, one at a bloody time, eh?’

  As they all stared at her in annoyance, Kate sighed. What had started out as a bad day was slowly but surely getting worse.

  Book One

  He healeth those that are broken in heart: and giveth medicine to heal their sickness.

  - 147:1 Prayer Book, 1662

  Chapter One

  Patrick Kelly looked around him and sighed again. He hated it when people did this to him, though Kelly being who he was, people did not often let him down without so much as a phone call. He saw all the other diners taking surreptitious looks at him as he sat alone, with only a mineral water and a resigned expression on his face.

  He was such a good-looking man, although he didn’t realise it. His dark hair was well cut and conditioned, with just enough grey to make him look interesting, his deep-set blue eyes and excellent bone structure made both women and men take a second look. He had the build to match his looks; taller than average, he wore his clothes well. He was always immaculately turned out and he had the air of a man who knew what he wanted and would get it whatever it took.

  Standing up abruptly, he walked from the busy room and made his way out to the foyer then through to the bar. He looked cross. Consequently no one approached him for a good while. Eventually he summoned a waiter and ordered a large Scotch, then taking out his mobile he punched in a number.

  Two women sitting nearby watched the handsome man as he barked into an answering machine somewhere. ‘Patrick Kelly here. You, Micky, have fucking blown it.’

  The waiter placed his Scotch before him together with a bucket of ice.

  ‘Bring me a ham sandwich and a newspaper,’ barked Patrick.

  The boy nodded and backed away.

  One of the women, a petite redhead with toning table and fake tan written all over her body, called huskily, ‘How can you get a ham sandwich in here? We couldn’t.’

  Patrick Kelly didn’t even glance at her as he answered abruptly, ‘Easy, darlin’. I own the fucking drum.’

  The woman raised her eyebrows at her friend in a shocked manner and they resumed their conversation, while both keeping a beady eye on Patrick Kelly.

  Patrick, for his part, had forgotten they even existed. As he wolfed down his sandwich he wished his Kate was with him. She calmed him, and today he needed calming. Though he wondered if even she could relax him after the morning he’d had.

  The redhead tried one last time to get his attention. ‘Do you eat here every day?’ Her voice was coquettish, friendly, with a hint of promise. He stared at her blankly for long moments before rolling his eyes at the ceiling and then abruptly leaving the restaurant.

  The redhead shrugged at her friend’s shocked expression.

  ‘Well, it was worth a try.’

  They both laughed together to cover her embarrassment.

  Regina looked into Kate Burrows’s face and shook her head slowly.

  ‘I wouldn’t do that. I admit I might be a bit slapdash with them now and again, but I would never, ever hurt my kids. Least of all my Jamie.’

  ‘Two people put you there early this morning.’

  ‘They can say what they like, I was in bed at home with me bloke.’

  Kate Burrows stared hard at the girl. ‘This is the same bloke you met two nights ago in a local pub?’ She held up a hand so she could continue uninterrupted. ‘His name’s Milo something or other - your words, not mine. And he was with you till this morning. You jacked up together late last night, and were out of it until then.’

  Regina nodded. ‘That’s about the strength of it, yeah.’

  Kate looked at the effeminate man sitting beside his client and raised her eyebrows slightly. ‘And you are the social worker?’

  Robert Bateman smiled faintly. ‘I am. And I believe her, Miss Burrows.’

  ‘Let’s take a break and have a cup of tea, eh?’

  Kate walked from the small interview room followed by Bateman. He accompanied her to the canteen and didn’t speak until they were seated.

  ‘I know how it looks, but she didn’t do anything to that child. She wouldn’t.’

  He watched Kate’s reaction and grinned.

  ‘She gives them Valium sometimes to make them sleep so she can go out working. Now, to me and you that’s awful, shocking, but to her way of thinking she’s putting them safely to sleep so they don’t wake up and go wandering off somewhere or start a fire. As she sees it, she is still sort of taking care of them, see?’

  Kate shook her head. ‘No, actually, I don’t. On top of everything else she gives them prescription drugs to take - is that what you’re telli
ng me?’

  The man nodded. ‘But, you see, Miss Burrows, you’re looking at all this from a normal person’s point of view whereas Regina is not normal. She is an habitual drug user. Her life is chaos. Complete and utter chaos. She stumbles from one major disaster to the next. But - and this is the big but - she loves those kids. Her eldest, Michaela, actually looks after her mother. Keeps the other two in hand and tries in her own sweet little way to be a help. To make her mother’s life that bit easier. They love her. Whatever we think about the situation, we have to think first of those kids.’

  Kate smiled. ‘My own thoughts entirely, and the sooner they’re away from her the better.’

  The social worker closed his eyes and sighed heavily. ‘Away from her means in care. Split them up and they’ll be unhappy. Don’t judge everyone by your own standards, Miss Burrows. It never works, you know.’

  He looked deep into her eyes, his gaze penetrating. She glanced away.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Bateman. I appreciate you’re trying to help your client but frankly I think that away from her is about as good as it’s going to get for those children.’

  He pushed his hair away from his face in a surprisingly female gesture.

  ‘Regina’s mother was a university lecturer in Ethics.’

  He nodded at her surprise.

  ‘She also systematically abused her two children by burning them, humiliating them and starving them. When Regina was nine she was found in a large detached house with a quarter-of-an-acre garden. She was suffering from malnutrition and her younger brother had been dead for five days. Their mother had left them to go on a trip to Finland of all places. There was no food in the house, nothing. But the children were too frightened to use the phone and get help. They were found by accident. A neighbour had come by to drop off some gardening catalogues of all things.

  ‘That memory is what Regina lives with every day of her life. Now I’m telling you, Miss Burrows, she would not harm her kids intentionally. She can’t cope with the day-to-day running of her life - being a normal person is beyond her - but I tell you again, she would never hurt a hair of those kids’ heads. Believe me, I know.’

  Pushing his chair back gently, he walked from the canteen.

  Kate watched him go. He looked burdened down. It was in his walk, his eyes, his whole demeanour. But, unexpectedly, she found herself liking Regina Carlton’s social worker.

  Patrick Kelly sat in the back of his Rolls-Royce and listened to Willy Gabney, his driver and confidant, expounding on the advantages of having a girlfriend. As usual. Willy had been seeing a woman for a few weeks now and was happier than Patrick had ever known him. He looked almost handsome nowadays which for a man as ugly as Willy had to be a miracle.

  Patrick let him prattle on; it saved having to answer any questions. He lay back against the leather upholstery and sighed. He wanted to get home and inside Kate as soon as possible. He smiled at the thought.

  Just then, his mobile rang. ‘Kelly here.’

  He listened for a few seconds then, turning off the phone, yelled at Willy to turn round and drive back towards the West End. His face was like thunder.

  Willy saw immediately that he had had bad news. ‘Everything all right, Pat?’ Silly question.

  Kelly shook his head. ‘No, Willy. Everything ain’t all right.’

  Estelle Peterson was not young though she looked it. Long black hair, dyed and conditioned to within an inch of its life, actually made her look quite innocent instead of hardening her features. It was a look the other women were jealous of though none of them envied her her large nose, squinty eyes set too close together and child’s rosebud mouth.

  She was also very short-sighted so that she habitually peered at people, making her seem interested in what they were saying - which she never was, unless it was a pimp or a customer.

  Today, though, she looked frightened. She sat in the empty lap-dancing club, hands shaking as she sipped at a very large brandy. Her mascara had run into her eyes, giving her a clown-like appearance.

  Tommy Broughton was staring at her as if he had never seen her before. She shuddered again, looking frail and haunted.

  ‘I want to go, Tommy. I ain’t getting involved with Old Bill.’

  He topped up her glass and nodded. ‘Kelly will be here soon. We’ll take our lead from him, OK?’ He tried to sound reassuring, but it was obvious to both of them that he was more frightened than she was.

  ‘Can’t you cover him up at least?’

  Tommy sighed. ‘As I said, it’s best not to touch anything until Kelly gets here.’

  Estelle started to cry again and he walked towards the phone.

  ‘I’ll ring him. See how long he’ll be. OK?’

  Estelle nodded, her eyes firmly fixed on the glass in her hand.

  Regina looked terrible and Kate guessed that she would usually have had a little something to lift her by now, had she not been under arrest in the police station.

  ‘Are you a registered addict, Regina? If so, I can get a medic to give you something to bring you up a bit.’

  Regina stared at her blankly a moment before speaking.

  ‘Listen to me, Burrows. I don’t care if my own mother put me by that building site this morning - I wasn’t there.’

  ‘Then how did your son get out of the house and over to the other side of town? How did he climb up inside a building that was falling apart and which had no real staircases? He had to have been lifted bodily from floor to floor. So, if you didn’t take him, Regina, who did? Now you say that even at two he’s streetwise - but not that streetwise, surely?’

  Regina began pulling at her hair, physically tearing at it in terror and distress. ‘I don’t fucking know! Someone must have taken him . . . I don’t fucking know!’

  She was crying now, a painful animal sound, repeating over and over, ‘I don’t know! I don’t know!’

  Kate Burrows stared down at the girl and unexpectedly her heart went out to her.

  ‘Were you higher than usual last night? Could you have done this and not realised what you were doing? Was there anyone else at your place other than the man you’d picked up at the pub? Does anyone else have a key? Can you give me one reason not to believe you knowingly took that child and left him in a dangerous situation which could easily have led to his death but for the keen sight of a young girl?’

  Regina looked up at her tormentor and shook her head. ‘I don’t know what happened. I swear to God, I really don’t know how he got there.’

  Kate looked into the haunted face. The eyes were pleading for understanding. The girl’s whole body language screamed out, trying to make Kate believe what she was saying. Her hands, nails bitten to the quick, were trembling visibly as she attempted to light a cigarette.

  And for a few seconds, Kate Burrows was inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt. But only for a few seconds. She had encountered liars of Olympic standards over the years. Had heard what she considered every story in the book.

  This girl’s story didn’t add up at all, which was why Kate couldn’t understand why she had not even tried to change it over the last four hours. Most people changed their story over and over. Others came well prepared and changed their story as and when a hole appeared in it. Regina just kept repeating hers over and over, different words but never deviating from the main point.

  As far as she was concerned her kids had been in bed asleep. She had no idea how her son had managed to get to the building site. She was so out of it, she could not have walked across town, let alone carried her two-year-old son. She was also strung out, weirded out and tired.

  Kate was wondering how she herself was going to get on with interviewing the boyfriend. She needed caffeine and nicotine soon. Her head was thumping, her eyes were aching and all she wanted was to wrap this case up and get home.

  But it wasn’t going to be that easy. She had a feeling that Regina was going to stick with her story, as implausible as it was, and that this was going to be one
hell of a long day.

  Patrick Kelly walked into his night club, Girlie Girls, at just after one in the afternoon, his face set into a mask of anger. Manager Tommy Broughton was sitting at the bar nursing a large brandy. At this hour the whole place looked rundown. No club ever stood up to the harsh light of day.

  Tommy nodded at Patrick, his face ashen, teeth tightly clamped. Patrick walked through to the small back bar and stared down incredulously at the battered body of his old mate Micky Duggan. One hand over his mouth, he shook his head sadly.

  Micky had been savagely beaten to death. His mutilated body would not have looked out of place at the scene of a train wreck or some other terrible accident. But lying in a pool of his own blood, face stuck to the plush carpet, he looked wrong. All wrong. His neck had been snapped, one savage twist of bone and muscle by a strong man the only explanation.

  But why?

  Everyone liked Duggan. He was a crack, a laugh. Hard enough when he had to be but basically a nice person. His main fault had lain in his natural talent for aggravation. With a drink in him he got lairy.

  ‘Fuck me, Pat, he looks rough!’ Willy Gabney’s voice was high with shock. ‘Do you reckon he’s dead?’

  Patrick took a deep breath and said through gritted teeth, ‘Unless he’s thinking of walking around with his face looking at his arse, I’d say he is dead, Willy, yes.’

  His driver was offended and it showed. ‘I was only asking, Pat.’

  Patrick sighed heavily. Willy was loyal to a fault but about as intelligent as a gnat, and at times like this - especially at times like this - it could be wearing.

  ‘Do you reckon he was murdered?’

  Patrick did not even bother answering that one. Instead he sighed heavily again and walked back to Broughton and Estelle.

  Regina’s boyfriend was a scruffy, ignorant young man called Milo Bangor. As Kate looked at him she marvelled at the way people somehow always lived up to their names.