Broken

by Martina Cole

  Soraya was led gently from the room. She would be taken care of by Sergei. Geoff was left alone with Boris and one of his larger henchmen, a huge Chechen, called Olaf. When Boris bowed and left the flat Geoff knew he was saying goodbye to the world.

  He tried his best to take it like a man.

  But he didn’t manage it.

  Soraya listened to it all wide-eyed. Sergei decided she had been frightened enough; she would keep her mouth shut. He gave her a few downers and let her sleep it off.

  But he was as aware as Boris that their lair was now tainted and they would have to think fast about finding another. It was always something silly, like a noise complaint, that brought you to the attention of the authorities. Better to cut your losses than to wait around and hope for the best.

  Geoff Marchant had cost them dearly and he had paid dearly.

  Such was the world they lived in.

  Kate was over the moon. It seemed they had found Trevor Pallister, and unlike the other children he was a good talker. She watched him with his grandmother and smiled.

  Barbara Epstein obviously loved the child and was going to take custody of him. It had been hard explaining to her that her daughter had allowed him to be used by paedophiles. It had taken her a while to even take on board what they were talking about. But seeing him, hale and hearty, had pushed the other thoughts from her mind. Trevor was in her arms and he was alive. After what had happened to her daughter she was so deeply grateful for that.

  Kate knew that as more and more emerged, Barbara Epstein was going to have to come to terms not just with the death of her daughter but with the horrific implications of Sharon’s lifestyle. Trevor would be scarred for life by what he had seen and had done to him. He was safe but quite possibly his young life was already ruined.

  Robert Bateman had sent a young social worker called Karen Dillon to oversee Trevor’s interrogation by Jenny. He had not been able to come himself, he explained, due to pressure of work. Karen was pretty and gentle, just what the little boy needed.

  Eventually he was seated on a small sofa with his grandmother and the social worker. Kate and Jenny sat on another sofa opposite. They were low and uncomfortable for everyone except Trevor.

  Jenny had already chatted to him and made friends. He was an outgoing child and rather mischievous. He was also aggressive, there was no doubt about that. He used bad language as part of his everyday speech, and on top of all that he was as bright as a button. He knew that something was going on and that he was to be the centre of attention. In short, he was in charge and he knew it.

  Kate was saddened by his knowing demeanour and sorry every time she heard him swear. He was a beautiful child, yet it seemed he had been dragged up to fend for himself. It was heartbreaking.

  Jenny smiled at Trevor as he ate a Milky Bar.

  ‘Who took you from Mummy’s house?’

  He stared into her eyes for long seconds before answering, ‘The nice lady.’

  Kate and Jenny exchanged glances.

  ‘What did the lady look like?’

  He licked his lips as he thought over the question, his tongue snaking as far over his cheeks as his muscles would allow to gather up every crumb of stray chocolate.

  ‘She had a nice smell like apples and nice hair.’

  ‘What was her hair like?’

  ‘She had lots of different hair. Hair for every day of the week, she said.’

  ‘Pretend hair?’

  He nodded. ‘All in a cupboard in the man’s bedroom.’

  ‘The man’s bedroom?’

  He nodded vigorously. ‘The man in the toilet.’

  ‘The toilet?’

  He grinned. ‘He was funny and he tried to kiss me.’

  No one laughed and Trevor was quiet for a minute.

  ‘He was a nice man. I liked him. He liked me.’ Then his eyes filled with tears as he asked, ‘Where’s my mummy? Is she still on the floor?’

  He was crying now and Barbara hugged him to her. His eyes scanned them all warily, like a small-time creeper who has been caught red-handed in someone’s home and doesn’t seem to understand how it all happened. How the hell he ever ended up in someone’s bedroom stealing their jewellery and their memories. Kate felt great sorrow that any child should be like he was. It seemed as if he was waiting for them to ask him something else. She rose from her seat and left the room. She couldn’t listen to any more, would watch the video of it. Somehow that made it less personal.

  She didn’t know how Jenny could listen to stuff like this on a daily basis. It was all she dealt with. Kate could never have borne that.

  In her office the phone was already ringing. She ignored it. Taking out the statements of all the women, she began to read through them once more.

  Regina Carlton was now well enough to be interviewed, apparently, and Kate was going to visit her that afternoon. She was going to systematically revisit each and every person arrested for their part in the paedophile scandal. Each and every one of them would be questioned about Suzy Harrington and DI Barker.

  Someone was going to let something drop, she was sure of that.

  Jeremy Blankley was going to get a surprise tonight in his prison cell courtesy of Kenny Caitlin and Kate fervently hoped it might jog his memory.

  She was using tactics Patrick would normally adopt - but she didn’t allow herself to dwell on that. This case had to be sorted, for the sake of the children of Grantley. She wanted to wrap it up and let everyone get on with living their lives. Then maybe she and Patrick could get back to the way they once were.

  She wanted Barker and she wanted Harrington, and she was determined to get them.

  Patrick was tired.

  The move to the private nursing home had taken it out of him. As Dr Tarbuck had explained, it was still early days and although he felt that he was on the mend his body had suffered a major trauma.

  Even the private ambulance and the care of its highly trained staff had not stopped him from suffering a raging headache and complete exhaustion. But now he was out of the ICU and in a room that looked like a comfortable hotel bedroom, all chintz curtains and cushion covers and tasteful prints. Nothing spectacular but certainly better than the cracked ceilings and flaking paintwork of the NHS!

  Even the bed was more comfortable and his Sky channels were in working order. He had his privacy, with a full en-suite bathroom. He also had access to two phones, a computer and fax. All in all, it was a much better deal - although, as he reasoned, at over a grand a day they should have thrown in a secretary with big tits and long legs.

  Closing his eyes against the pain, he relaxed back into the cool pillows. Migraine could become a regular feature of his life according to good old Tarby. But even if that was the upshot Patrick was grateful to be alive.

  He knew that the Russian had not banked on his being around after the shooting. But, from what he could gather from Willy, Boris was sorry for that now. It was a misunderstanding, nothing personal, just business, apparently.

  Well, Patrick would give him fucking business when he was finished with him! Boris had more front than Brighton if he thought Patrick Kelly was going to roll over like a good little doggie after someone had had the flaming audacity to have him shot.

  Business or no fucking business.

  Every time he thought about being shot, in broad daylight and in front of a herd of shoppers, he could cheerfully get out of his sick bed and shoot the Russian ponce himself.

  Boris had also told Willy that any charges made against him would never stick. He could have them dismissed at the drop of a hat. Patrick had no doubt that what Boris said was true. He just wondered who was on the take, and were they also on the take from him?

  There was so much to find out, and to do it all he had to be well and truly back on his feet. He wanted to face that ponce with his usual strength and bravado intact. It was, in fact, something he needed to do. Just to prove to himself, and to everyone else, that he still had what it took to run his empire
. If he didn’t, every little grifter with a dream of the big time would be out after him.

  Patrick had a lot to think about and a lot of catching up to do, but he would get there in the end. He always did.

  He tried to stretch over to the buzzer and the effort it took reminded him of just how weak he still was.

  Outside the door were two men, handpicked by Willy to keep an eye on him just in case the Russian decided on a repeat performance. The knowledge irritated him even though he knew that what Boris had said was true. It wasn’t personal, it really was just business.

  He hoped to fuck that if he had to waste Boris, the Russian would be just as fucking understanding.

  Patrick had tried to talk to him. The Russian had in effect blanked him. That still rankled. Now Boris was running Patrick’s club, and creaming it for all it was worth. He could not, in all honesty, swallow much more. There would be a showdown, and it would be sooner rather than later.

  Willy said that for all they had put him through, he had not disliked the Russian boss. He said Boris was a real old-time villain and Patrick respected Willy’s opinion. Nonetheless he would be looking out for himself and his own interests.

  Boris had had him shot like a mad fucking dog in the middle of Ilford High Street. It rankled still and Patrick knew it would rankle for a long, long time.

  At least until he had faced the man down once and for all.

  Regina Carlton looked at the woman opposite her and wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. In fact, she wondered if she was hallucinating.

  ‘Long time no see, Reggie.’ Her visitor’s voice was husky.

  ‘What do you want here? I promised you I’d never tell anyone about you. Why have you come here?’

  Regina’s voice was rising in panic and the woman grinned in a friendly way.

  ‘Calm down, my love. I am just concerned, that’s all. After all, Reggie, you’re an old friend. I’ve known you since you were a child. And I knew your babies, didn’t I? How are they? Have they taken them off you again?’

  Regina didn’t answer.

  ‘I’ve brought something lovely for you, dear. Have a guess what it is?’

  She shook her head, fear evident in her eyes even though she was pumped full of drugs and relaxants.

  ‘Oh, go on. You used to love surprises, didn’t you?’

  The falseness of the woman’s voice made Regina remember things she would rather put out of her mind.

  ‘You look like my mother,’ she said.

  The woman grinned, showing pointed white teeth.

  ‘I know. Isn’t it a fabulous look? I love a wig, as you know - I always have. They’re my trademark, you see. I can walk around and be whoever I want in a wig, can’t I?’

  Regina didn’t answer; she was still staring at her visitor fearfully.

  ‘Relax, for Christ’s sake! Anyone would think you’d never seen me before. I just wanted to make sure you were OK. I am, after all, a very old friend.’

  ‘You are no friend of mine, mate.’ Regina was trying to look past her visitor but couldn’t get the attention of the nurse outside the room. A large hand came across the table, nails painted red, and gripped her wrist until she yelped in pain.

  ‘Listen to me, Regina, and I’m not joking. I can make you or break you, lady - I always could. Now I have been a touch to you and you had better remember that when that Filth comes sniffing round. And she will. She’s going to visit you today. See how much I can find out when I want? I’ll know everything you said to her within hours. Do you get my drift? If anything about me or our little scam comes out, I will know. And then I’ll be back and that is when you’ll really need to start worrying, isn’t it? I know you dumped your kid on that building site . . .’

  Regina was shaking her head now, in distress. ‘I never did. I wouldn’t do that!’

  The other woman laughed. ‘Fuck off, dear. You don’t know what you’re doing half the time.’

  But Regina, off the hard drugs and on to antidepressants, was a lot more aware than she had been for years. Her mind was fragile but it was clear enough.

  She leaned across the table and hissed, ‘I know who you are, remember that. You can’t hurt me any more. I know what you do and what you get out of it. So listen, mate. You leave me and my kids alone, do you hear me? I’ve had enough of your sick fucking games. You can’t frighten me any more. I can sort meself out, the doctor said.’

  The red-stained mouth curled in contempt.

  ‘Listen to it, for fuck’s sake! The doctor said what? You couldn’t work out your own fucking age, you silly bitch, if someone didn’t remind you. Once out of here the safety net is gone and you’ll be back on the skag in a week. People like you are born, girl, not made. You were born to be destroyed and if someone like me or your mother doesn’t do it, you’ll do it all on your own. Don’t talk to me about what you can and can’t do! What you will do, Regina, is what you always did, and that is what you’re fucking told, OK? Do I make myself clear or shall I punch it into that thick fucking head of yours?’

  It was the voice she hated, the voice that could reduce her to a quivering wreck. It was the voice of her mother. It had the same timbre, the same clipped way of speaking, and all the same exasperation and disgust.

  Regina quailed under the assault.

  ‘I haven’t come all this way to discuss this, I have come to tell you what you are going to do. I wasn’t aware that I had allowed you to even have an opinion on the matter. Have I missed something here?’

  Regina was sweating. It was running down between her breasts and under her blouse on her back. As she looked into the painted face before her she saw visions from her childhood and from her children’s short lives. She closed her eyes tightly and hoped against hope that when she opened them the visitor would be gone.

  ‘Tell them nothing about recent events or about Jackie Palmer and that cunt Caroline. So now you know what to do, don’t you?’

  That laugh again, lighter this time. ‘See you again, sweetheart.’

  Regina watched as her visitor left the room, smiling and greeting people like a queen acknowledging her subjects.

  Regina went back to her cell and lit a cigarette. She sat on the bed and smoked it. Then she went into the bathroom and smashed a safety razor so she could get to the blade.

  Tears rolling down her face, Regina ripped open her arms. The stitches had not healed properly and the skin opened quickly and painfully.

  Then she sat down on the floor and watched as the life’s blood ran from her body.

  Kate arrived two hours later and made her way to the psychiatric wing of Grantley Hospital. She had brought cigarettes and fruit, wanting to make a good impression. When she asked on reception to see Regina she was told to wait until a nurse could speak to her. Fifteen minutes later she was taken into a side room where, after establishing who she was, the nurse looked at her sadly.

  ‘Regina is back in hospital, I’m afraid. On the general side. She tried to commit suicide again - we don’t know why. She really was on the mend. She opened up her arms again. This time she’s had to have an operation to stitch them back up.’

  Kate was perplexed. ‘I thought she was still under constant supervision?’

  ‘She was, but she had a visitor by all accounts - a Suzy Harrington. She seemed quite happy to see her. It was directly after the visit that she cut her wrists.’

  Kate was amazed. ‘Did you see her?’

  The nurse shook her head. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t on. I’m only doing a late today - my shifts are all over the place lately. The duty nurse saw her. Shall I get her to call you? She’s gone home.’

  ‘Can I catch her there now?’

  The other woman smiled. ‘Well, you might, but she’s gone out with a crowd of other nurses and their partners to see Cats. They go every now and again, by coach. You can book it through the local paper. She’s back on duty in the morning.’

  ‘Can I have her address, please? I might have to see her before then. A
nd who can I talk to concerning Regina and her prognosis?’

  ‘You’ll have to see her consultant, Mr Manners. He’s over in A&E at the moment, as he’s the duty registrar as well.’

  Kate thanked her. The name Suzy Harrington had been enough to give her a buzz.

  Suzy had finally made a mistake. She had finally come out of the woodwork.

  If she was involved with Regina, it meant she was involved with them all. Smiling at the woman’s stupidity, Kate made her way to A&E.

  She hoped that Regina would be able to talk soon but didn’t hold out much hope. She had already been well over the edge, Kate knew that herself. The move from Rampton back to Grantley had been surprising and Kate wondered now who had arranged it.

  She was puzzled about it all, but also elated.

  If she could get a witness to say that Suzy had been here, she could place her once and for all with one of the mothers. Before and after her arrest.

  It wasn’t much, but at least it was a start.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Janice Hollington was dressing for work when she saw the police car arrive. She’d looked out of her bedroom window to see who was being visited. Janice was a gossip, and like most dedicated gossips, what she didn’t know she surmised and what she surmised immediately became fact.

  Her penchant for embellishing stories had caused her trouble over the years at Grantley Hospital where she worked on the psychiatric wing. At fifty-two she was nearing the end of her nursing days and she knew it. She liked the job which paid enough for her to have a good holiday every year with her husband George, but her habit of sifting through the most mundane of conversations and sensationalising them had made her colleagues wary of her.