A Place Of Safety

by Helen Black

  ‘If that’s what it takes, you can stick it.’

  ‘Oh, Lilly, don’t ever change.’

  * * *

  Back in their cubby-hole, Anna and Milo huddled in a corner, whispering.

  Anna’s eyes were wide with fear. ‘He is very bad man, this judge.’

  ‘He’s not the easiest I’ve dealt with,’ said Lilly.

  ‘But you fought him like a lion,’ said Milo.

  Lilly couldn’t resist a smile but Anna remained unconvinced.

  ‘But he can send me to prison, yes?’

  Lilly knelt at Anna’s feet and looked up into her terrified face. ‘It’s not up to him. A jury will decide whether you’re guilty or not.’

  ‘They will believe her,’ said Milo. ‘They will understand.’

  Lilly nodded to reassure Anna. But inside, when she thought about the gun and Charlie Stanton lying on the floor, she wasn’t so sure.

  Chapter Eleven

  A couple of conversations with the Law Society confirmed that one Lilliana Elizabeth Valentine was on the roll of solicitors. She had qualified in 1992, was a member of the specialist Children’s Panel and had rights of higher audience. She worked for a firm in Harpenden.

  Alexia nabbed Steve’s car keys and headed over there.

  It was one of those towns that knew its place in the world and was terribly pleased with it. Yummy Mummies in last season’s Uggs pushed Bugaboos, their children rosy-cheeked and nibbling organic rice cakes. Older couples, arm in arm, strolled to the library, safe in their inflation-linked bubble.

  The brass plate outside Fulton, Carter and Singh reflected its middle-class glory. Or was it just the sun?

  Alexia pushed open the door and the receptionist looked up.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  The voice and perm were pure Luton.

  ‘I’d like to speak with Miss Valentine.’

  The receptionist wrinkled her nose. A small gesture, but Alexia noticed.

  ‘Lilly’s in a meeting,’ said the receptionist. ‘Would you like to leave your number?’

  Alexia knew there was no way the solicitor would ever call her back.

  ‘I’ll wait,’ she said, and took a seat.

  ‘She could be a long while,’ said the receptionist.

  Alexia smiled and picked up a magazine from the coffee table.

  Ten minutes dragged by while she pretended to read Country Life. Eventually the receptionist scuttled out and returned with an elegant Asian woman. She glided over to Alexia, her sari barely rustling.

  ‘I’m afraid Lilly may not return to the office today, but I’m sure I can assist you.’ She held out her hand. ‘Rupinder Singh. I’m one of the partners.’

  Her fingers were cool and slender in Alexia’s.

  ‘I really do need Miss Valentine,’ said Alexia.

  Rupinder didn’t release Alexia’s hand. ‘Please state your business here, Miss…’

  Damn it. She couldn’t lie.

  ‘My name’s Alexia Dee. I work for the Three Counties Observer.’

  Rupinder’s smile didn’t slip. ‘And what can we do for you, Miss Dee?’

  ‘I understand Miss Valentine represents the alleged killer of Charles Stanton,’ she said. ‘And I wondered if you had anything to say about the case.’

  ‘Bleeding hell,’ said the receptionist.

  Rupinder drifted past Alexia in a cloud of silk and voile and opened the door. ‘Good day, Miss Dee.’

  Alexia sighed and picked up her bag.

  ‘You don’t deny this firm is on record in that matter?’

  Rupinder held her arm out into the winter sunshine.

  ‘I have absolutely nothing to say on the subject, and if your paper prints anything without substantiating evidence we will, of course, sue you.’

  Alexia unlocked the knackered Honda and slumped in the driver’s seat. She needed something far more concrete than the taped argument at the school. She thought of the receptionist and the look of distaste that had passed over her at the mention of Valentine’s name. She was obviously no fan. Perhaps she could get her hands on some paperwork showing Valentine was involved in the case.

  Her father always said everyone had a weak spot. The trick was identifying and manipulating it. You can’t con an honest man.

  She peeped through the office window. No sign of the Asian woman. The receptionist was on her own.

  She swept back to the desk, looked into the woman’s eyes and put down her card.

  The air was heady with blackcurrant as Dr Kadir made herbal tea.

  ‘Are you sure I can’t get you anything?’ said the doctor, offering a box of individually wrapped infusions.

  Anna shook her head.

  Lilly could have killed for a coffee. There was Camomile Heaven and Summer Fruit Garden. There was even something called Ginger Zinger. Who in God’s name would drink that?

  ‘Try this.’ Dr Kadir held one up. ‘Peppermint. It’s very good for the digestion.’

  ‘I’m fine, thanks,’ said Lilly.

  Dr Kadir smiled and unwrapped it. The small string attached to the bag reminded Lilly of that on a tampon.

  When handed the tea, Lilly blew on the pale green water and took a sip.

  ‘Good?’ said Dr Kadir.

  Lilly swallowed. It tasted like hot toothpaste.

  Satisfied, Dr Kadir turned to Anna. ‘Tell me about the war.’

  Lilly spluttered. The question was so direct, not at all what she’d expected. Surely a few moments of getting to know you was in order? Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

  Anna looked down at her hands. She seemed very childlike. ‘I don’t like to speak of it.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Dr Kadir. ‘But all the same, I’d like to hear your story’

  Anna picked at one of her cuticles. Lilly could see it was raw and pink.

  ‘It’s all in her statement to the immigration department,’ said Lilly.

  Anna glanced briefly at Lilly, her eyes brimming with tears and gratitude. Dr Kadir looked less impressed.

  ‘Perhaps,’ she said, ‘you could let Anna answer for herself.’

  Lilly nodded and returned to her mouthwash.

  ‘Were you offered counselling by social services?’ asked Dr Kadir.

  ‘I didn’t go.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Anna sighed. ‘I don’t like to speak of it.’

  Dr Kadir tapped her notepad with the nib of her ink pen. It left a sprinkle of blue marks like the dot-to-dots Sam had been addicted to as a three year old.

  ‘What about your friend, Artan, did he go to counselling?’

  ‘He said it was a waste of time.’

  ‘Did he advise you not to go?’

  ‘He said we shouldn’t discuss these things. It does no good to look back.’

  ‘How do you feel about Artan’s death?’ asked Dr Kadir.

  Lilly watched her client closely. She had seen the only person she had left in the world shot at close range. How did that make her feel? Terrified? Angry?

  ‘Ashamed,’ said Anna.

  Lilly spluttered out a mouthful of tea. ‘Sorry Went down the wrong way.’ She could not have been more surprised by Anna’s reply.

  Dr Kadir studiously ignored Lilly and cocked her head towards Anna. ‘Because he killed someone?’

  ‘No,’ said Anna. ‘Because it should have been me.’

  Lilly checked that her client was busy in the waiting room. ‘What do you think?’

  Dr Kadir smiled. ‘More tea?’

  Lilly willed herself to be patient. ‘No, thanks.’

  Minutes seemed to stretch into hours as Dr Kadir poured herself another cup. Her stainless steel Cartier watch reflected the light. Georgous yet understated. Just like the woman herself.

  ‘I think’, she said at last, ‘that Anna is displaying symptoms of PTSD. She is clearly depressed and bewildered by all that has happened and will do anything to avoid thinking about it.’

  ‘Why does she
think she should have been the one to die?’ asked Lilly

  ‘Survivor guilt is a very common symptom in such cases. No doubt she wonders why, when so many innocent members of her family have died, she should have been allowed to live.’

  ‘So you think I have a defence?’ asked Lilly. ‘I can prove she was incapable of the conspiracy because of the PTSD?’

  Dr Kadir warmed her hands around her cup. ‘In order to make that assessment, I’m afraid I’ll need to dig deeper, much deeper.’

  Lilly sighed. ‘You mean, whether Anna likes it or not, she’s got to start talking.’

  The information was bothering Snow White.

  She’d baked a Victoria sponge, washed and dried two lots of hockey kit, helped the girls with their prep, yet it was constantly there, gnawing away. Like a seed in her tooth or an insect bite on her ankle.

  Valentine was helping the girl.

  It was obscene.

  Snow White had never liked her. She was so disorganised, always running late and her holier-than-thou attitude made Snow White sick.

  Something had to be done about her.

  She checked the girls were asleep and began to type.

  Time to Take Action Snow White at 20.50 I feel the time for words has finished.

  Can any brothers or sisters in Hertfordshire help me take things to the next level?

  Time to Take Action Blood River at 21.03 At your service, Snow White.

  * * *

  The mound of roast potatoes steamed, their skins tanned golden against the white of the serving dish.

  Jack rubbed his hands together. ‘You know the way to a man’s heart.’

  Lilly took the lid off the casserole. Chicken breasts bubbled thickly in red wine with softened onions. Coq au vin. Not some plastic stew but the unadulterated French classic. Lilly breathed in the mellow thyme and smiled as Jack tucked into an enormous plateful.

  Still, she wasn’t daft enough to believe it would keep a man content in the long run. Her mother had made a wicked steak and kidney pie that her dad loved. ‘Elsa,’ he’d say, slapping his wife on the arse, ‘if I die tonight I’ll be a happy man.’

  It hadn’t stopped him from buggering off.

  And then there was David—he’d run off with a woman who didn’t eat, let alone cook.

  ‘What are you thinking about?’ asked Jack.

  ‘My ex-husband,’ said Lilly.

  ‘Very romantic.’

  Lilly laughed. ‘I mean, how odd it is that I’m so happy.’

  ‘Is it so odd?’

  She put down her fork and struggled to make herself understood. ‘When he left, I thought I’d never smile again—that my life had come to an end. Yet now, here, I wonder if it wasn’t all for the best.’

  Jack smiled and went back to his food.

  ‘What about you?’ said Lilly. ‘What are you thinking?’

  He pointed with his knife. ‘That you’re just like this spud.’

  ‘Now that is romantic.’

  ‘Bear with me.’ He speared the potato with his fork and held it aloft. ‘Firm on the outside, hard, even, but fluffy in the middle.’

  He pushed it into his mouth and grinned while he chewed.

  She spooned more chicken onto his plate. ‘They’re not hard, they’re crisp.’

  Later they settled on the battered sofa with a bottle of Shiraz. Lilly leaned lazily across Jack’s lap, a glass of wine at her feet. A romantic comedy was playing on the television, something about a famous tennis player. Sam was in bed.

  ‘Can you stay tonight?’ said Lilly.

  ‘I’m sure Angelina Jolie will give me the night off.’

  Lilly sat up. ‘I mean, are you allowed? What with the court case and everything?’

  ‘I don’t suppose it’s a good idea, what with me being a witness and the defendant in the spare room,’ he said.

  Lilly was disappointed, but she understood he was still a copper, suspended or not. She took a sip of wine and changed the subject. ‘What did you do today?’

  Jack shrugged. ‘Couldn’t read the papers or turn on the telly without someone banging on about Charlie Stanton.’

  ‘What are they saying?’

  ‘Not a lot,’ he said. ‘They haven’t got any real info, so they’re having a field day guessing who our mystery shooter might be.’

  ‘Oh, God.’

  ‘Artan and Anna have turned into an Albanian drug gang and I’ve been described as a crack S.W.A.T. team,’ he said.

  Lilly shook her head. ‘How can they print such crap?’

  ‘My thoughts entirely,’ said Jack. ‘So I went for a run.’

  ‘With all this exercise you’ll soon disappear to nothing.’ She tapped his leg for emphasis but it felt firm and muscular. She left her hand on his thigh.

  He eyed her hand but didn’t move it. ‘What about you?’

  ‘I had a date with the shrink. She made me drink molten Polos.’

  ‘And how’s the case going?’

  ‘I thought we weren’t supposed to talk about that.’

  He nodded at her hand. ‘We’re not, but I’m trying to take my mind off other things.’

  Lilly took another sip of wine. She’d thought a lot about what Dr Kadir had said and wasn’t sure how best to proceed.

  ‘Anna’s suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.’

  ‘Come again?’

  ‘It’s a mental disorder brought on by what happened in Kosovo. It’s made her detach from reality.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘I hope she wasn’t mentally capable of being part of a conspiracy to murder.’

  ‘You hope?’

  Lilly shrugged. ‘It’s not that easy. In order to make a positive diagnosis, Dr Kadir needs Anna to talk about her feelings—but one of the symptoms of this illness is that she just can’t do that.’

  ‘A case of the chicken and the egg.’

  Lilly nodded. ‘I need her to open up to me and talk about what happened.’

  It was so difficult. Most of her divorce clients treated her like a mother confessor and couldn’t wait to get it all off their chests. If their story was worth telling once it was worth telling a hundred times. Oh, the irony of her current situation.

  ‘If anyone can do it, it’s you.’ He traced the line of her jaw with his fingertip. ‘You’ve a natural way with people.’

  She turned her head and kissed his palm. Jack was right, she would get Anna to open up to her and create the defence she was looking for.

  ‘Is there no chance you can stay?’

  It was still dark when Jack set out for a run. There were few street lamps on the country lanes and dawn was still hours away, but a fat moon was beaming down through the bare trees.

  After Lilly had talked him into staying he couldn’t sleep. Well, talked him into it was a bit strong. She had given him every opportunity to refuse, but he hadn’t taken it. He hadn’t wanted to.

  He smiled to himself at the thought of her, tangled in the sheets, her hair smelling like toffee. As he crept across the bedroom to find his trainers she’d leaned up on one elbow. ‘Where are you going?’

  He knew she would worry if he admitted that his nights were constantly broken by the sound of gunfire. So he’d kissed her head and winked. ‘Go back to sleep.’

  He heard the pad of his feet on the road, his breath regular and deep. The rhythm soothed him and gently pushed the picture of Artan’s pale, dead face from his mind. Doctors should prescribe a jog instead of so many antidepressants.

  Maybe he’d get Lilly to join him when she didn’t have to babysit Anna. He could imagine them side by side, their steps in time. The sooner this case was over and they could all get back to normal, the better for all of them. He’d never been one for making plans, kind of took each day as it came, but when he pounded the pavement his mind was clear and he found himself looking to the future. It became obvious to him with each stride that he was never happier than in Lilly’s kitchen or playing football with Sam in the
overgrown garden. He wanted to feel like that all the time.

  The new super-sleek, super-decisive Jack McNally turned on his heels and headed back to the cottage. He was going to tell his woman exactly how he felt. He’d tried before and ended up chatting about her work. Not this time.

  He chuckled to himself. ‘Get you, alpha male.’

  When he rounded the corner to Appleyard Lane he saw the lights were on in the cottage and a figure was outside. It was Lilly, her hair still wild, a dressing gown wrapped around her. She was poking about in her car.

  ‘You’re up early,’ he said.

  She didn’t speak but her eyes were as wide as an owl’s.

  ‘I didn’t mean to startle you,’ he said.

  Then he looked from Lilly to the car and saw that it wasn’t his presence that had frightened her. The windscreen was smashed, glass spewed over the dashboard.

  ‘Not more bloody kids,’ he said.

  She pulled her gown around her and handed him the brick that had wrecked her car. It was wrapped in a single piece of white paper.

  Jack placed a chipped blue mug of tea in front of Lilly.

  ‘You have to report this,’ he said.

  She nodded lightly. ‘I will.’

  Jack eyed her with suspicion. ‘I mean it.’

  ‘So do I.’

  She drank the tea and reread the letter.

  A child has been murdered and the community must stick together.

  The terrible people who committed this crime must be punished and those that side with them have no place here and will be forced to leave.

  You have been warned.

  ‘It mentions the community. Do you think it might be someone in the village?’

  Lilly tried to keep her voice even but the thought of it made her feel sick. She was on pretty good terms with all her neighbours, wasn’t she? Except, of course, the woman at Crab Tree Farm. Lilly had run over her cat.

  ‘Could be,’ said Jack. ‘And if we get a couple of coppers over here, taking statements and poking around, that should put the fear of God into them. Or maybe it’s referring to Manor Park.’

  ‘That can’t be right,’ she said.