The Prodigal: Valley Park Series 1

by Nicky Black

  Lee sensed her hesitation. ‘Debbie, we were kids. I was stupid.... scared.’

  ‘Not as scared as me.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I’ve got to go.’ Debbie stood and put her bag over her shoulder.

  ‘It’s her birthday soon, isn’t it?’

  ‘If you’re trying to score Brownie points, forget it.’ She hunted in her bag for her car keys as Lee stood up.

  ‘Please, Debbie, don’t be bitter. Let me see her.’

  Debbie flinched. Bitter? It was something she’d always told herself she’d never become. She’d made the choice. She had no one to blame, yet blame and bitterness overwhelmed her right now. She dropped her shoulders and looked at this man, the ghost of the teenager she’d fallen for all those years ago still there in the eyes and around the mouth. His jaw was set in stress as he looked away from her, the hope in his eyes turning to sadness. She’d imagined the father-daughter scenario many times before. Not just for Louise, but for herself. What if her own real father had looked for her? What if her adopted mother and father had kept him from her? She blinked and gathered her thoughts. Not now. She’d have to think. She headed for the hallway and Lee followed closely behind. As she opened the front door, he held out his business card to her, but she held the door open, waiting for him to pass. Lee left the card on a small table and walked reluctantly out of the house. He stopped and turned at the bottom of the steps.

  ‘Just ask her, will you?’

  But Debbie was closing the door and he had no choice but to walk back down the path towards his car.

  It was gone 10.00 a.m. and Lee waited impatiently for DC Gallagher to arrive. He surveyed the grey office, the stained suspended ceiling, the battered old desks and overflowing paper trays. It was a far cry from the modern, chrome and tempered-glass station in Islington with its flat-screen computers and ergonomic chairs. The ticking off from Meadows yesterday still stuck in his throat as he sat at his desk and polished off his second murky coffee of the morning. He missed his old colleagues. The people here seemed apathetic at best and downright rude at worst. Whatever happened to the warm, friendly Geordies this town was famous for? There was nothing warm about this place, nor the sterile hotel room that was costing him a fortune. He was putting off looking for a flat to rent, wondering during the long night if he really wanted to commit to the place even for six months. Debbie hated him. He’d messed up and she wasn’t going to forgive him. He’d thought he saw her soften for a moment, and he held onto the hope that she would see his side of the story, given a little time.

  At 10.05 Gallagher walked in as cocky as hell, joking with his ginger partner, DC Clark, who was carrying a cardboard box marked ‘EVIDENCE’. Lee waved him over.

  ‘How’re you feeling?’

  Gallagher feigned a poorly look. ‘Bad belly: sorry, boss. Came on all of a sudden.’

  ‘Let’s get this handover done, then.’

  ‘Can you give us a minute to sort the files?’

  ‘You haven’t prepared anything?’

  ‘I’ve done the stats.’

  ‘I can get the stats off the computer.’

  ‘Aye well, computers aren’t my forte, Sarge. Can hardly switch the bastard on.’

  Lee could well believe it. The man was antiquated. ‘I want real cases,’ he said. ‘Start with Valley Park.’ He headed for the kettle and brewed up again while Gallagher rifled moodily through an overstuffed filing cabinet. A few minutes later, a dozen spring files were hurtled onto Lee’s desk.

  Gallagher pulled a chair up and slumped onto it. ‘Right, last twelve months I’ve got two murders, one was a stabbing, the other a domestic. Six arson –’

  ‘– Six arson?’

  ‘Oh aye, they love arsin’ about on Valley Park, favourite pastime.’ Lee wasn’t laughing so Gallagher raised an eyebrow and returned to the files. ‘One GBH, fella broke both his wife’s legs with a baseball bat – allegedly – but he says she fell down the stairs. We’re still looking for the bat. One robbery.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Post office-cum-supermarket, it’s the only shop left open.’ Lee remembered the fortified shop he and Nicola had stood opposite. ‘Then there’s a couple of rapes.’

  ‘I expect the burglary rate’s high.’

  ‘See Uniform,’ Gallagher stretched his arms above his head, revealing stale and fresh sweat stains. ‘To be honest, you get nowt reported. They’d rather put up and shut up.’

  ‘What about drugs?’

  ‘You’ll have to see drugs squad. They’re the hippies down the hall.’

  ‘So how come you were the arresting officer in Mark Redmond’s case?’

  ‘Just happened to be there.’ Gallagher put his hands behind his head.

  ‘Just happened to stick your hand up a drainpipe and find a bag of cocaine? That’s a stroke of luck.’

  ‘Got a tip-off.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you have passed it on to the drugs squad?’

  ‘Seemed an opportunity too good to miss, Sarge.’

  ‘Didn’t you think it through? You got a small-time dealer, DS might’ve got the supplier.’

  ‘Water under the bridge. CPS were happy with it going to court.’

  ‘Good for them. I want everything you’ve got on Mark Redmond.’

  Gallagher heaved a pissed-off sigh. ‘Can I sort it later? I need the toilet.’

  ‘No. Get me the latest file, it’s not with the others.’

  Gallagher hauled himself out of his chair and took some keys from his pocket as Lee picked up the pile of files from his desk, balancing them under his chin. Gallagher unlocked his drawers and pulled out a fat file, slapping it on top of Lee’s armful.

  ‘Want me to go through the details?’ he asked with a fake smile.

  ‘I can read, thanks,’ Lee replied. He took himself into a private room, sat down at the table and took the first folder from the pile, eager to complete Mark’s story. He opened it at the first page, September 1995, when Mark was on remand at Deerbolt in County Durham. Lee was well aware of its reputation as a ruthless and unforgiving place, raging at the seams with temper and testosterone. With three to a cell, it took little more than a fart taken the wrong way to turn a bit of bad humour into cold-blooded brutality. Mark didn’t come out unscathed. There were reports of two hospital stays, one for superficial knife wounds to the neck, and another stating only ‘recuperation’.

  Lee was about to launch into the next long court report when he was interrupted by DC Thompson. Nicola Kelly’s kid was in hospital, suspected overdose.

  ‘Kid?’ he asked.

  ‘Two of them.’

  In the brightly coloured hospital ward, Nicola was stroking Liam’s tiny, dimpled hand while Margy hummed ‘Circle of Life’ to him, wiping his wet fringe from his sleeping forehead. He’d been unconscious by the time they’d scrambled him into the hospital the night before, Margy calmly doing all the explaining as Nicola pleaded with the nurses to help him. The doctors had laboured behind closed doors, and a couple of hours later her baby was wheeled out of the trauma room, his eyes spookily dilated, but open.

  Nicola had stayed all night by his bed, hoping and praying that Kim and Michael would be taking care of each other and Amy at home. She felt a surge of guilt and her stomach churned at the thought of Kim all alone. Even though the current crisis seemed to have snapped her out of her stupor, she knew that Kim’s emotional state was brittle. Margy was the one Nicola needed right now. Someone strong and composed, and, as usual, Margy had been at Nicola’s door just seconds after she’d made the call.

  ‘Thanks, Margy.’ Nicola grabbed her friend’s hand over the bed. Micky had disappeared off the face of the earth. Words could not describe the shame and confusion that engulfed her as she looked into the innocent face of her baby. Never in her life had she wanted to physically harm a living being, but now, as her guilt turned to anger, she understood the urge to lash out and punish.

  Margy looked at her watch. ‘You better
go and sort out Michael and Kim, eh?’ she said gently to Nicola. ‘Then come back and we’ll talk about what you need to do, okay?’ Nicola nodded. ‘And then you’re going to get some sleep. I’ll get them to put a bed in here for you.’

  Nicola nodded, too tired to argue. ‘I’ll not be long,’ she said, stroking Liam’s head.

  ‘Take your time, he’ll be under for hours, they said.’ Margy squeezed Nicola’s hand and watched her leave. She knew it would only be a matter of time before social services were there, and files would be submitted to places where decisions were made behind closed doors and lives were either saved or ruined. Knowing Nicola’s thorny relationship with the authorities, Margy knew she would fight tooth and nail to keep her kids out of care. But a person could crumble under this sort of pressure, and Micky wasn’t exactly being the supportive husband. She thanked her lucky stars for Joe, the man who would be glued to her side if it had been little Jimmy in this hospital bed. All this talk of changing – Margy didn’t believe it for one minute. Micky Kelly wouldn’t change a damn thing unless it was for his own benefit.

  She was tucking in the sheets around Liam when she saw a pair of black shoes standing at the curtain.

  ‘Knock, knock,’ she heard a man’s voice.

  ‘It’s open!’ she said sarcastically.

  Lee pulled back the curtain and stood behind Margy, looking over her shoulder as she adjusted the oxygen mask on Liam’s face.

  ‘Hello again.’ Margy turned to face him. ‘How is he?’ he asked, walking to the other side of the bed.

  ‘Alright. Under observation.’ Margy’s brow creased into a puzzled frown.

  Lee showed her his badge. ‘Detective Sergeant Lee Jamieson.’

  ‘Oh Christ,’ said Margy, laughing cynically.

  Lee took out his notebook. ‘The hospital are obliged to report cases like this. The social worker’s outside.’

  ‘She doesn’t know where he got it,’ said Margy, defensively.

  ‘Is she a user?’

  ‘No way.’

  ‘What about the father?’

  Nicola closed the door behind her, walked into the living room, and threw her keys onto the coffee table. She surveyed her house, empty, messy and confused. She felt dirty. She needed a shower. She needed to wash her hair and change her clothes. If anything made her feel out of control it was being unclean. She sat for a moment, shell-shocked by the events of the last twenty-four hours. She tried to piece it all together, the mayor, Kim, Mark, Lee, Micky, Liam. She would get through it, she just needed a plan, then she’d be able to cope. She looked for a pad and paper so she could start writing down everything she needed to do. Then she heard it – a big, fat snore creeping down the stairs and through the living room door. Her breath became shallow and she blinked at the pen in her hand. She put it on the coffee table and stood up. Robotically she walked through the door and up the stairs. She paused at the bedroom door which stood a little ajar. As she entered, the mound under the white quilt moved up and down steadily. She snapped the curtains open, the light streaming onto Micky’s face. He woke, bleary-eyed, shielding his eyes from the sunlight. Her silhouette stood over him.

  ‘You couldn’t even come and see if your own son was alright?’

  ‘I’m knackered, man.’

  ‘It was him, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Mooney!’ Nicola’s voice was reaching the kind of level that would get her into trouble, but sod it, it was out of her control. ‘You couldn’t give a shit, could you?’

  ‘Who’s supposed to see to Michael?’

  ‘Well, where is Michael?’

  ‘At school.’ Micky burrowed back into the bed.

  ‘Exactly. And you’re in bed. And Liam’s in hospital. And Mooney’s walking the bloody streets.’

  Micky pulled the quilt over his head.

  ‘And where’s Kim?’

  ‘Don’t fucking know,’ Micky mumbled.

  ‘You never let her go home?’

  ‘Nicola, just piss off, will you?’

  Nicola stared down at her husband. There was nothing to love about him when he was like this. She opened drawers and started flinging his stuff onto the bed. She walked to the rank, old wardrobe, so ancient it still locked with a key, Micky’s only possession from his mother and father’s house. She opened it and pulled boxes of trainers from the top shelf.

  ‘You’re the one who can piss off,’ she hissed.

  Micky flung the quilt from his head and sat up.

  ‘Put them back,’ he said calmly.

  ‘I will not. You’re a bastard. You don’t even care about –’

  ‘– I said.... PUT THEM BACK!’

  Nicola stood at the wardrobe door, glaring at him viciously. She threw a box at him hard, hitting the hands that came up to shield his face.

  ‘Right. Get out.’ Micky, fully naked, was out of the bed and pulling her forcefully by her arm.

  ‘No!’ She heaved her arm out of his grasp with as much strength as she could muster, but he’d spun her round and was pushing her towards the door. She resisted, turning and hitting out, trying to kick him in the shins. His hand came from nowhere and slapped her across one side of her face then the other with the force of a hammer. She stumbled backwards, one hand to her cheek, her outstretched arm useless as he pushed her to the floor before she could get her balance. He stood over her, and she got to her feet shakily, the words roaring inside her: You fucking BASTARD! She fought down the words, but couldn’t stop the furious tears. She gathered her last bit of nerve, walked up to him and pummelled his chest with her fists. It was like hitting a lump of iron, dead and unyielding. He moved forward, pushing her, his mouth snarling, his eyes cold and detached. She had no choice but to retreat backwards out of the door. She turned and ran down the stairs as fast as her throbbing ankle would allow her. She heard him following, and once in the kitchen she pulled a knife from the draining board and held it up in defence. Micky, still naked, stopped just inches away from the blade, grinning, goading her.

  ‘Go on, then.’

  ‘It’s him who needs a hiding,’ said Nicola, her voice starting to crack.

  ‘I haven’t had time to give anyone a hiding.’

  ‘Oh yeah, what’s this, then?’

  ‘Nicola, if I gave you a hiding, you’d know about it.’

  ‘I hate him. You’d better not be dealing again. I mean it, Micky. You swore on the kids’ lives.’

  ‘I never touch the stuff.’

  ‘You’re lying......’ Micky grabbed the knife from her effortlessly, leaving her utterly vulnerable. ‘I know you’re lying. If that was your stuff......’

  Micky pushed her towards the back door.

  ‘Out.’

  ‘No way!’

  He put his hand to her throat. Immobilised, Nicola looked down her nose at his wrist, fear creeping into her eyes, her hands flailing behind her helplessly. She knew what could come after this and she braced herself. But there was no further beating. Instead, he opened the back door and shoved her roughly outside. She fell backwards onto the concrete paving and the door slammed before she could get to her feet again. Her chest filled with renewed loathing and she threw herself at the back door, rattling the handle and pounding on the wood panelling.

  ‘You better open it!’ she yelled.

  The door opened and Micky’s fist came at her like a bullet, hitting her squarely in the face. As the door slammed closed again, Nicola stooped over, stunned, her hand over her nose. She could hear Micky’s feet stomping up the stairs and the bedroom door slamming so hard that birds fluttered from the TV aerial. She looked up, her eye catching the washing line and a procession of clothes that had been out since yesterday morning. She took a tea towel and put it under her nose, which had started to bleed. She fought back the tears, gathered herself, some jeans, a top and some underwear and bundled them up under her arm. She walked down the side of the house and through the side gate into the front garden.

  As s
he turned into the street Lee and DC Thompson pulled up outside the house. Lee got out of the car and followed behind her.

  ‘Mrs Kelly?’

  Nicola half-turned to look at him, but carried on walking.

  ‘Nicola Kelly? Are you okay?’ Nicola ignored him and quickened her pace.

  He soon caught up. ‘I need to talk to you about Liam.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about Liam.’

  ‘We need to know where the drugs came from.’

  Nicola stopped in her tracks and walked up to his face defiantly. ‘Just look around you.’

  Lee surveyed the boarded-up houses, the junk-filled front gardens, the weeds, broken paving stones, the fortified railings and barbed wire surrounding a sheltered housing block to his right. ‘How about there.... or there... or even there? They’re giving them away. Sale of the fucking century.’

  ‘You’re bleeding,’ he said, getting closer to her. But Nicola backed off, put the tea towel to her nose and kept walking.

  ‘I’m sorry about your brother,’ he said, catching her up again and walking by her side.

  ‘The smackhead?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’ Nicola gave him a look that said, you’re all the same. Lee stepped in front of her and started walking backwards. ‘I need to talk to you. We can do it here or back at the station.’

  Nicola avoided his eyes and held the bundle of clothes across her chest, half of her embarrassed that he was seeing her in this state, the other wanting him and all his scum friends dead.

  Lee continued. ‘So did Liam pick the drugs up in the house?’

  ‘No.’ She stopped and stared past him blankly.

  ‘Could he have got it from your brother’s?’

  ‘Look, either arrest me or piss off.’ When he didn’t move, she shoved past him and strode on. Lee caught up with her again; he could hear Thompson kerb-crawling slightly behind him. He pulled out his card.

  ‘Here’s my number.’

  ‘I know your number by heart.’

  ‘Well, at least take this, then.’

  Nicola shoved his arm away.

  ‘Nicola, I’m trying to help!’ he pleaded, exasperated.