Broken

by Martina Cole

  He would have to look over his shoulder for the duration.

  When the cell door opened he jumped with fright. He was pleased to see it was a woman, an attractive one with sad dark eyes and a tall slender figure.

  Jeremy smiled tremulously. She looked him over as if he was so much dirt and her voice when she spoke frightened him with its intensity.

  ‘I am Detective Inspector Kathryn Burrows and I am going to put you away for so long, Mr Blankley, that you will never again see the light of day unless it is through a barred window. Do you understand what I am telling you, you filthy piece of shite?’

  Jeremy nodded, his eyes trained on the floor. He could no longer meet hers which were filled with contempt and hatred.

  ‘Whatever prison you go to on remand, I’ll make sure they know all about you. That is a promise, Mr Blankley, from my heart.’

  She was quiet for a few minutes then and the silence crashed in on him as painfully as any noise.

  ‘You had better think long and hard about what you are going to tell me in the next few hours, and you’d better get a damn good brief because I am going all out to get you, and I will. I don’t care if you have friends in high places - I don’t care who you think might be able to help you. I will have you, boy, and I’ll enjoy doing it.’

  She left the cell as quietly as she’d entered it.

  The duty sergeant looked Jeremy over before shutting the door and then he heard a voice next door shout, ‘Is he a fucking nonce? Am I celled up next to a nonce?’

  Utter loneliness and desolation washed over him like a wave.

  Kate sat in her office going over the files from Robert Bateman’s office. She was amazed by the things social workers considered acceptable; the conditions in which they left young children because they were in the care of a so-called parent. Well, she would collate it all, and somehow she was going to match up these mothers and put them together in such a way that they would lose both their children and their liberty.

  She wasn’t so sure now that Jackie Palmer was innocent. It was beginning to look like some kind of conspiracy. Something that tied them all together . . .

  As she stared at the reports and read the appalling things that had happened to the women she was looking at putting away, the memory of Patrick’s near-lifeless form overlaid everything.

  She exhaled sharply, shaking her head as if she could physically remove the image. She rubbed at her eyes, feeling the mascara crumble beneath her fingertips and not caring.

  She would throw herself into work as she knew Ratchette would use any excuse to dismiss her from this investigation. Patrick Kelly was dying and the Chief Inspector wanted to distance himself from their association as fast as possible.

  She didn’t blame him; even understood him. He was like all rats that deserted sinking ships: he was looking after number one. Patrick would have applauded it, not taken it in the least personally, so why should she?

  Now they had Jeremy Blankley she would concentrate on him, and what he was capable of, and what she knew he had already done. Every time she thought of those photographs she felt sick. That anybody could do that to a child, could want to do that to a child, was beyond her comprehension.

  She pictured Patrick again and wondered if the Russian had any idea of the mayhem he had caused by his actions? She knew that Patrick had got into something that was over his head. That the lap-dancing club had proved a viper in his bosom. She wanted to do something about it all, but what?

  Willy was missing, and there was skulduggery of Olympic standards going on all around her, and it all led back to Patrick Kelly. But she could not get involved, not officially. Unofficially she intended to find out as much as she could. But even then she could not let this investigation suffer.

  These children came first - had to come first. Patrick himself would have insisted on that.

  She stood up and stretched.

  She was more than ready for Jeremy Blankley.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Kate looked into Jeremy Blankley’s frightened eyes and grinned.

  ‘You look worried, Mr Blankley. What on earth could be wrong?’

  This woman terrified him. It was as if she could see right through him and read his mind. As if she knew everything about him. As if every dirty little deed he had ever committed was written on his forehead in a code that only she could decipher.

  He lit a roll-up and his hand shook so much he had to grasp his own wrist to stop the trembling. ‘Ever heard of the expression “innocent until proven guilty”, Miss Burrows?’ he said hoarsely.

  Kate smiled, an easy, sarcastic smile. ‘Save it for the jury, they’re the ones who have to believe that shit. I’m going to make a case against you so tight a duck’s arse will look like a gaping hole in comparison.’

  She fanned out the photos on the desk before him in a theatrical gesture. ‘Recognise anyone, Mr Blankley?’ She grinned. ‘Other than yourself, of course.’

  He pulled smoke deep into his lungs and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Are you offering me a deal?’

  She shook her head. ‘Never in a million years, mate. I want you put away as quickly as possible and for as long as possible. I just want you to cut the crap.’

  Even the PC in the interview room was shocked by her aggression.

  Jeremy Blankley stared at her for what seemed to him a long time.

  ‘Imagine when the jury sees these photos and then recognises your tattoos in all their Technicolor glory. Same with your brother. My condolences, of course. Kevin was just unlucky, eh? You’ll probably wish Lenny Parkes had got to you first by the time you’re through.’

  She laughed unpleasantly. ‘You ain’t got a fucking chance, mate. Not a chance. Any jury will want to hang you from the nearest tree. And who can blame them, eh? Most people, you see, the ones on the jury included, love their children. Love all children. It’s the fucking law. So people like you - perverts, weirdos, shitbags - tend to give the rest of us normal people the hump. I do hope you haven’t made any holiday plans because you won’t be going anywhere for a long, long time.’

  ‘I don’t have to take this . . .’ There were tears in his eyes, he was mortally afraid of her now.

  ‘Oh, but you do. You have to take whatever I decide to dish out,’ Kate sneered. ‘Because, you see, in here I am the boss. I can make you do whatever I want. A bit like you, when you’re abusing someone smaller than you.’

  She opened her arms like a fisherman indicating a really big catch.

  ‘This is all mine, you see, and I call the shots. You ought to bear that in mind, because I have a nick full of people who would give me hard cash to be alone with you for five minutes. That goes for prisoners as well as the policemen. I’m trying to save you from the hammering of a life time here. You need VPU and you need it soon, mate. Because when my patience runs out, you, boy, are on your own.’

  She stood up, leaving the photos on the table so he could see them.

  ‘Get a brief and get one soon. Then I’m going to take you apart and enjoy every bloody second of it.’

  She left the room and the male PC watched her go with new respect.

  When the door banged shut, Jeremy Blankley laid his head on his arms and cried like a baby. If Kevin had been alive he would have been in with a chance. He knew all the right people. Unlike himself, who had made too many enemies over the years. There was only one person who could help him, and Jeremy was too scared of the consequences to contact him without Kevin’s presence.

  The only other option was to grass. And that was no option at all.

  He had to try and work out some kind of defence.

  But what? That was the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.

  ‘Did you know Patrick Kelly’s yard was blown up?’ Ratchette’s voice was hoarse and nervous.

  Kate shook her head. ‘I didn’t know that, no. But I’ll take your word for it, sir.’ She shrugged. ‘You obviously know more about it than I do.’


  He looked at her closely. There was something different about her. She was obviously under a lot of strain, he understood that, but there was a distinct lack of respect in her tone and he didn’t like that at all.

  ‘Are you all right, Kate?’

  She grinned and he was amazed at the change in her. She looked pretty again. The dour expression she had been wearing recently seemed to have lifted. He liked his women jolly, always had done.

  ‘Oh, I’m great, sir. Patrick is being kept alive by machines. He has a nutter of a Russian after him who I assume you know more about than I do. I have a serious case of paedophilia to investigate and am being treated like a complete cunt by my superiors. What on earth could be bugging me?’

  She stood up, gathering her files in her arms, then turned back to face her superior.

  ‘If you’re looking to dismiss me, sir, because I’ve become an embarrassment, you’d better think again. I have had it with you and all your blasted cronies! If I ever opened my trap I could remove more people from this nick than a strategically placed bomb. Now, if you’re finished, I am going back to work. Remember that? I’m sure you must have done some at one stage in your illustrious career. It’s not a bit like golf, you have to stay in the office a lot. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .’

  At the door she turned and said loudly, ‘Another thing: I need more manpower and I think you should make sure that I get it, don’t you?’

  ‘DI Burrows, you really can’t expect to talk to me like that.’

  Kate faced him down. ‘But I just did, sir, didn’t I?’ She walked back to his desk and leaned over it. He was so amazed he sat back in his chair, almost in fear of her.

  ‘You are a wanker, sir, a complete and utter wanker. In future I shall send a junior in to keep you up to date. Because, quite frankly, I can’t be arsed to look at your face.’

  When she left the room he was open-mouthed with disbelief.

  ‘What on earth do you think you are doing to my client?’ The young black woman looked positively incensed, bristling with anger.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Kate’s voice was bored-sounding as she glanced up at the lawyer. ‘Who let you in here?’

  The woman was caught on the hop and it showed.

  ‘You threatened Jeremy Blankley,’ she blustered.

  Kate held up her hand and said slowly, ‘Did I? Was there a witness to this threat by any chance?’

  They were both quiet for a moment.

  ‘I didn’t think so. Now, Miss Whoever, if you don’t mind I’m busy catching nonces. Beasts, scumbags, clients . . . whatever you want to call them. Have you seen the evidence yet by any chance? The photographs?’

  The girl couldn’t meet her eye and Kate smiled.

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes then. Now listen to me: I am going to take Mr Blankley and destroy him any way I can. If you can bear to look closely at the pictures you will see children, distressed little children, and Jeremy Blankley with his brother right there in the thick of it with their home-made tattoos in full view. If your client can’t take the heat he should have stayed out of the fucking kitchen in the first place, don’t you think? Please forgive me if I cut this conversation short. I am very busy.’

  The two women stared at one another and the girl looked away first.

  Kate relented. ‘Look, I know you have to give your client the best possible representation, guilty or innocent, and I respect that. You should afford me the same respect when I’m doing my job - which is putting away people like your client for as long as possible.’

  When her office was empty Kate put her head into her hands and took deep breaths. When that girl had first come barging in, all self-righteous, Kate had wanted to let rip. It was as if another person was inhabiting her skin, a more aggressive, evil-tempered person. She knew this was the aftermath of her shock over Patrick and what had happened to him. Had happened to both of them. They had been estranged, but deep inside they had both known that it would not have lasted for ever. She loved him too well to ever stay away from him for any real length of time. Now she had no choice in the matter. He was a broken man, kept alive by machines and watched over by strangers. Every bodily function was usurped, every movement made for him. Patrick Kelly, the larger-than-life Essex wide boy she had come to adore, was lost inside a useless shell of a body.

  How would she live without him?

  Evelyn was cooking as usual. It was what she did when she was worried, depressed, happy or sad. As she peeled potatoes and sliced cabbage she felt the tension drain out of her. She was making a nice roast-lamb dinner for her daughter and that strange mannish friend she had staying.

  There was more to that one than met the eye! But Jenny was lovely to have around and seemed to be what Kate needed at the moment. Obviously a very good policewoman as well.

  Evelyn glanced at the clock on the cooker. She had plenty of time to get all this prepared then shoot up to the hospital to see Patrick. Her mouth set in a grim line now as she thought of Grace and her bolshie attitude.

  When the doorbell rang, she bustled down the hall, a sprig of fresh mint in her hands giving off a wonderful aroma. Opening the door, she was amazed to see two very large men in overcoats. It took a few seconds for her to register the fact they were pushing past her and into the narrow hallway.

  ‘What the Jasus are you doing?’ Her voice was querulous with anger.

  The men took her gently but firmly into the front room and shut the door on her. Evelyn stood in the empty room in shock, but something told her not to say a word. She glanced quickly at the phone on the table by the sofa, walked towards it and picked it up. It was dead and she wasn’t surprised. Fear tightened her throat and chest. She sat on the sofa and stared down at her rough work-worn hands as she heard the house around her being systematically searched.

  Ten minutes later the men walked into the front room and she watched in amazement as they began their search here as well. They were professional and quick. One even smiled at her and she found to her amazement she was smiling back!

  It was then she realised she would not be harmed.

  ‘Are there any things here belonging to Patrick Kelly?’ The heavily accented voice was respectful and pleasant.

  Evelyn shook her head in denial. ‘Nothing - he never lived here. It’s only my things and my daughter’s. Oh, and my granddaughter’s but she is away, abroad.’

  ‘In Australia, I understand?’

  She nodded.

  ‘A beautiful country no doubt.’

  Evelyn nodded and smiled again. It felt surreal, chatting like they were standing in a bus queue. The other man took the cushions off the sofa and forced his hands down the sides and back.

  ‘You’ll find nothing, son. There’s nothing here.’

  He ignored her.

  Then they talked to one another in a foreign language for a moment. The smiling man eventually told her, ‘We apologise for any inconvenience we have caused you, madam.’

  And seconds later they were gone.

  Evelyn pulled out her good medicinal whiskey and poured herself a large glassful. She needed it to quell the rapid beating of her heart.

  She looked around the room which seemed quite untouched, no different from when they had entered it. They had worn gloves so she knew that there would be no fingerprints, nothing. She realised after the second glass that she had been in the company of well-trained and probably highly dangerous men. Yet they had not intimidated her once.

  She picked up the phone and was glad to find it worked once more. This did not surprise her either. She rang Kate and told her she was needed at home as soon as possible. Evelyn had a feeling she wasn’t going to want this bandied about the station.

  Then, already slightly tipsy, she went back to her medicine.

  Jenny and Kate were in Grantley’s most notorious pub, the Wheatsheaf. As they sipped their gin and tonics they looked around them at the usual clientèle. Kate saw a few double takes and suppressed a smile. She knew she was being
recognised, which was exactly what she wanted.

  As Michael McMann walked in she waved at him and gestured for him to join them. He did not look pleased at the prospect and Jenny and Kate glanced at one another with barely suppressed mirth.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ He was looking at the two women as if they were aliens who had just materialised in front of him. ‘Are you trying to get me fucking killed?’

  Kate frowned. ‘But you’re a grass, Michael. Where else would we look for you if we wanted to put pressure on you other than where you work? We wanted to be seen, you see, and we are being, as you’ve probably noticed.’

  The man was sweating; a fine film of perspiration was covering his ruddy face and his thin sandy hair was also dampening nicely. They could smell his odour of fear and anger.

  ‘You are a right bastard, Burrows. I’ve done the Old Bill some favours in the past and you would do this to me?’

  Jenny sipped her drink then replied, ‘Yes, we would. Because we want a big favour. One that will make you the enemy of everyone you have ever dealt with. And you’ll do it. Otherwise we will have to start hassling you. This is a bit of personal, you see. Not police business.’

  She let the words sink in before saying brightly, ‘By the way, does Jacky Gunner know you are a grass? Only you work for him as well, don’t you?’ At his silence she shook her head knowingly. ‘No. I didn’t think so.’

  ‘Who the fuck are you anyway?’

  Jenny looked at him closely and smiled. ‘I, Mr McMann, am your worst enemy.’

  ‘What do you two want?’

  ‘We want to know about a man called Boris. A Russian. We want to know everything you can find out about him.’

  ‘I don’t know any fucking Russians . . .’

  Kate interrupted him. ‘No, but Jacky Gunner does - or so I understand. He has been bragging about his Russian connection - I heard that from another grass earlier today. Now you and Jacky are practically joined at the hip, so you were the natural choice to ask. You being a paid police informant, a grass.’ She spoke deliberately loudly, to rattle him.