Damaged Goods

by Helen Black

  Then the black man had left a message. The idiot had ‘experienced some difficulties’ so the meeting with the girl was postponed.

  It infuriated Barrows that he was reliant upon such an imbecile, but he had no choice. It was too dangerous to do the grooming himself. He had done it in the past and enjoyed the process, but he no longer had the access or the patience and sought instead only the thrill of action.

  He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted the iron tang of blood. These days, if he encountered any impediment to his ultimate satisfaction he was no longer able to steer himself to a safer path, but instead felt overcome with rage. A rage he needed to satiate.

  When the woman answered the door her smell almost knocked him off balance. The foul stench of a thousand fucks and used condoms, drowning in perfume. Oddly, the woman used the old-fashioned kind that came in a glass bottle, which his grandmother had called ‘scent’. Violets and sugar. Barrows gagged.

  ‘Put it in the usual place, darling,’ she said, and pointed to the dusty bedside table covered in bangles, rings and a snakes’ nest of cheap gold chains.

  He opened the heart-shaped box, inlaid with small white shells, and placed eighty pounds inside. The woman was leaning against a chair to remove her baggy leggings, the legs beneath as flabby and shapeless as the trousers. She saw that he was watching, grinned, and ran a hand over her vast backside, as white and pitted as the surface of the moon.

  The contents of Barrows’ stomach, a goat’s cheese and vine-ripened-tomato salad, rose in his throat at the thought of even touching this monster.

  He inhaled deeply, fingered the damp cloth in his pocket, and reminded himself that he had not come for sex.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Saturday, 12 September

  The glare through the windscreen was painful. Lilly pulled at the broken sun-shield and admonished herself yet again for failing to have her prescription put in some sunglasses. It was not yet 10 a.m. but the temperature was already past seventy degrees. Lilly felt the prickle of sweat in her armpits as she pulled into a parking space, and wondered if autumn was ever going to arrive.

  She turned to her passengers. ‘Everyone okay?’

  Miriam nodded, Kelsey hid her face under a sheet of lank hair, and the three of them made their way into the police station.

  The air-conditioning in the custody suite was broken and the desk sergeant was trying to keep the area cool with three rotating fans. As the one on his right swivelled towards him a raft of papers blew to the floor. Cursing, he picked them up and secured them with a cup of cold coffee, which sloshed gently over the rim.

  ‘What have you got for me, McNally?’ the sergeant asked as Jack came in.

  Jack motioned to Kelsey, who was flanked by Lilly and Miriam, and sat on a wooden bench to the left.

  ‘CID want to interview the girl on an SAO.’

  The sergeant sighed. A Serious Arrestable Offence always meant extra bloody paperwork. ‘Nobody bothered to tell me. Will you need the video room?’

  Jack nodded.

  ‘God help you, it’s like an oven in there,’ said the sergeant.

  Lilly glared at Jack as he arrested and searched Kelsey. ‘Got you doing the dirty work, have they?’

  He ignored her and completed the paperwork.

  ‘I’ll need your details, Miss Valentine,’ said the desk sergeant. He pointed to the relevant space on the custody sheet and offered her a chewed biro.

  Lilly ignored the pen and slapped her card into his hand so he could copy out the necessary information himself. It was a petty gesture that she instantly regretted.

  ‘I’m sorry if I seem curt, but I object most strongly to this course of action.’

  The sergeant turned to Jack for enlightenment.

  ‘Li— Miss Valentine is of the opinion that Kelsey isn’t fit to be interviewed, given that she recently tried to harm herself.’

  ‘Given that she swallowed a bottle of bleach only two weeks ago,’ Lilly interjected, ‘and shortly afterwards found out her mother was brutally murdered, it is my professional opinion that dragging her here for questioning is entirely wrong, and Miriam Zander, the appropriate adult, is of exactly the same opinion.’

  The sergeant looked close to sixty and was probably only months from retirement. Lilly guessed he would have no desire to be cited in a case for wrongful imprisonment of a minor.

  He turned to Jack. ‘What do you say, mate?’

  ‘Interesting though it might be to hear what McNally has to say,’ announced a voice from behind, ‘it’s not his case.’

  They turned as one to see a formidable figure striding towards the desk. In one deft movement he collected up all the papers.

  ‘This case is mine, and I say Ms Brand is fit to answer some questions.’

  Lilly scowled at the man sitting opposite, pristine in an expensive suit and antique silver cufflinks. She hated these fast-track police officers with their public-school accents and degrees in philosophy. How old was he? Thirty at most, and in charge of a murder rap.

  He angled the camera towards Kelsey, who sat next to Lilly, her chin tucked into her chest, her arms crossed tightly around her stomach.

  ‘I assume you’ve advised your client that interviews for serious offences such as this are sometimes recorded visually as well as orally.’

  Lilly’s tone was polite. ‘Of course.’

  ‘And she understands the procedure?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve no idea, Officer, I’m not a psychiatrist, nor am I a clairvoyant,’ Lilly replied.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jack biting his lip.

  The younger man took off his jacket and hung it on the back of his chair, releasing the smell of his freshly laundered shirt. Lilly wished that she could do the same but knew there were dark circles under each of her arms.

  ‘Kelsey, I’m going to begin recording, so please look up,’ he said.

  Kelsey buried her head even further into her collarbone. The camera picked up only the crown of her head.

  The policeman’s smile didn’t slip. ‘First, let me explain, for the sake of the tape, who everyone is. My name is DI Bradbury; the officer in the corner is Jack McNally. Also present is your solicitor.’ He smiled at Lilly. ‘Could you give your name please?’

  ‘I’m Lilly Valentine and should say, at this stage, for the sake of the tape, that this interview should not, in my view, take place.’

  Bradbury opened his mouth to speak but Lilly wasn’t finished, not by a long way. She put up her hand as if to shush a small child.

  ‘You stated in the custody suite, Detective, that you believe Kelsey is fit to be interviewed, and I’d be grateful if you could expand on that position, given you’ve never met her before today.’

  His smile remained intact. ‘This isn’t a forum for you to question me, Miss Valentine, this is simply the preliminary stage of the interview where we all introduce ourselves. If you’re unsure of the procedure I’m happy to help you as we go along.’

  Lilly could feel her colour rising but kept her face serene in case she was in shot.

  Bradbury, clearly pleased to have scored a point, pressed on. ‘Also present is Kelsey’s appropriate adult. Could you state your name please?’

  Miriam said nothing.

  ‘Could you …?’

  ‘Oh, you mean me. I thought you said the appropriate adult should state their name, and I wondered who you meant,’ said Miriam.

  DI Bradbury looked puzzled. Lilly knew she could rely on Miriam. The women had done this many times before and were a class double-act. Jack had been on the receiving end of their treatment enough times to know what was coming, and Lilly half-expected him to intervene. She risked a glance in his direction and saw him chewing his lip even harder. Bradbury was on his own.

  ‘Since this interview is entirely inappropriate I can’t really call myself an appropriate adult,’ said Miriam. Then she snapped her fingers as if something had just occurred to her.

  ‘H
ow about this? My name is Miriam Zander and I’m the inappropriate adult.’

  Bradbury smoothed his tie. ‘This is ridiculous.’

  Miriam nodded. ‘Yes, it is. It’s my job, you see, to make sure a vulnerable person receives the extra protection afforded to them by the Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984, and in order to protect this particular vulnerable person I am asking that this interview doesn’t take place.’

  ‘If you’re unsure of the implications of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984,’ added Lilly, ‘I’m happy to help as we go along.’

  If Bradbury was ruffled he didn’t show it. He was good, very good.

  ‘You’ve had your say, ladies, and made your views abundantly clear, but on this occasion I’m going to overrule you and proceed with the interview.’

  ‘It’s open to you to ignore us,’ Lilly interrupted, ‘but it’s for a judge to adjudicate if we’re wrong and ultimately to overrule us. Still, I’m sure he’ll be glad to learn you decided for him in advance which pieces of evidence were admissible and which were not.’

  Bradbury ignored her. ‘Kelsey, as you know you have been arrested on suspicion of murdering Grace Brand. You do not have to say anything when questioned but it may harm your defence if you do not mention something now which you later wish to rely upon in court. Do you understand?’

  All four adults watched her, but she remained motionless except for the soft rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed.

  The silence was broken by Bradbury. ‘I know how hard this must be for you, Kelsey,’ his voice was a study in calm and reason, ‘but you need to answer some questions.’

  ‘Not so, Detective. That thing we mentioned earlier, the Police and Criminal Evidence Act, provides for a person’s right to remain silent. Kelsey is under no duty to answer your questions,’ said Lilly.

  ‘You’re quite right, Miss Valentine, but, as you also know, a person’s decision not to answer relevant questions can be the subject of comment at a later stage,’ he answered.

  Lilly smiled benignly as she handed Bradbury a spade. ‘You mean a jury may infer her guilt because she chooses not to speak now.’

  ‘Exactly,’ he said, and leaned towards his suspect. ‘You see, Kelsey, a jury might find it pretty strange that you don’t want to set the record straight.’

  ‘True enough, Detective, but I shall be more than happy to explain to any court why it was not the right time to speak today,’ said Lilly.

  ‘Me too,’ added Miriam.

  Lilly could sense the DI’s discomfort but it was still thickly masked.

  ‘Once again, ladies, your position is very clear, but once again I intend to continue. Kelsey, where were you on the night your mother was killed?’

  Kelsey was curled so tightly he was speaking to her shoulder blades.

  ‘When people see this video they’re going to think it very strange that you wouldn’t even answer that.’

  Lilly sighed as if exasperated. ‘No they’re not, Detective.’

  Bradbury, cut off at every avenue, snapped. He banged his fist on the table, making Lilly and Miriam jump.

  ‘Don’t tell me. You’ll explain to the jury how terrible the police were. How they shouldn’t have even dreamed of investigating the murder of a woman beaten to death with a hammer in her own home.’

  Lilly eyed him coolly. ‘On the contrary, I think you should be investigating who did this, rather than looking to my client. There are plenty of alternative suspects and I’ve already suggested one name to Officer McNally.’

  ‘And no doubt he’s looking into that. In the meantime, I want to ask Kelsey some questions and, frankly, if my mother had been murdered I’d want to set the record straight, wouldn’t you?’ Bradbury shouted.

  She had him on the run. ‘What I would or wouldn’t do is irrelevant. The point that I was trying to make to the custody sergeant before you burst in like Batman, and the point I’ve been trying to make since the start of this interview, is Kelsey cannot answer your questions today.’

  Bradbury was on his feet, towering over Lilly and her client. ‘Why the hell not?’

  Lilly grabbed Kelsey’s chin and brutally displayed her damaged face.

  ‘Because she can’t fucking speak.’

  The Hart of the County FM may not be Question Time, but it has 12,000 listeners, most of whom care nothing for politics but are happy to hear the sad saga of Grace Brand. The weekly current-affairs magazine usually draws a smaller audience than Gardeners’ Half Hour, but today is different. Today they expect numbers to rival Drive Time Love In, when members of the public share their tales of eyes meeting across dance floors dripping in cheap lager and puke.

  Cashing in on a story run in the local Standard, which compared, inaccurately but salaciously, the current murder investigation to that of the Yorkshire Ripper, The Hart of the County is using the entire slot to discuss the subject.

  Had Grace’s life of prostitution led her to such a tragic end?

  Was an international drug ring involved?

  Are the good citizens of the Clayhill Estate safe in their beds?

  Hermione is waiting to be interviewed. She wonders whether the pathetic creature Grace had been in life would have approved of all this publicity. No doubt she would have relished her fifteen minutes of fame.

  The presenter’s young assistant signals that Hermione will be needed in three minutes. Hermione avoids looking at the huge bulge of her stomach, the breasts rounded and ripened by pregnancy. She takes a deep breath in preparation but her mobile rings.

  ‘Mrs Barrows?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘This is the Chief Superintendent, do you have a moment?’

  ‘Literally that, Officer, I’m at the radio station for an interview.’

  ‘Then you’ll be glad to have up-to-date information. I wouldn’t want you to make a fool of yourself,’ he says.

  She is tempted towards a clever retort, something William might say, but nothing comes to mind.

  ‘I’m listening,’ she says.

  ‘Kelsey Brand has been arrested and is being questioned about her mother’s death as we speak.’

  As Hermione walks towards the studio, the ‘on air’ sign lights up in fluorescent green, and she can’t contain a smile. Is it this easy to take control, to make things happen? If power begets power she’d be in the cabinet by the end of the year, and everything she’d gone through, everything she’d done, would be justified.

  ‘Look, John – may I call you John?’ Hermione asks, her voice just above a whisper, more like a purr but as resonant as glass.

  ‘Of course,’ he answers.

  ‘I’m not saying this girl should be hung. I’m not on a witch hunt. I simply want justice to be done and to be seen to be done.’

  ‘But you’re pleased that she’s been arrested?’ says the presenter.

  Hermione pauses for just the right length of time. Enough to denote serious consideration of the question without any suggestion of indecision.

  ‘No, John, I’m not happy that the police have found it necessary to arrest a child for such a terrible crime. I wish our children played hopscotch and ate penny chews on their way home from school. I wish they read Enid Blyton and respected their elders, but this is a very different world to the one in which you and I grew up.’

  ‘Kids run pretty wild these days,’ he says.

  ‘Yes, they do, John, and we as a community must put a stop to it.’

  ‘Rumour has it the kid is pretty deranged,’ he says. ‘A source at the local hospital tells us she was admitted for drinking bleach. Is that true?’

  Hermione clucks. ‘Now, John, you know I can’t discuss the details of this case.’

  She doesn’t dispute it, of course.

  ‘Not the sort of kid you’d want running around the place, wouldn’t you agree?’ he says.

  ‘The case is very worrying,’ she replies.

  The assistant rolls her hands. It is time to wrap up and cut to the break. T
he presenter nods and holds up a finger to Hermione. One minute left.

  ‘Our listeners want to help, Hermione, what can they do?’ he asks.

  This is her last chance to make an impression. She pictures her mother and goes for it. ‘Take responsibility, not just for your own lives but for those of our fellow citizens. Don’t bury your head in the sand, be watchful of what goes on around you. Take action to protect your neighbourhood and start today. If anyone has any information about this brutal murder they should contact the police.’

  ‘Because Grace deserved better.’

  ‘Yes, she did.’ Only those listening very closely would be able to detect the hint of a wobble in her voice. ‘We all do.’

  Hermione allows a smile. She knows she did well. She is her mother’s daughter after all.

  Mrs Mitchell turned off her radio and nodded. ‘That politician makes a lot of sense.’

  Her husband mumbled something to himself but she didn’t so much as look at him. Instead, she picked up her telephone.

  The Chief Superintendent pressed the pause button and froze the scene in the interview room. Kelsey’s face filled the screen, her eyes wide in terror, her chin held tight in Lilly’s fingers, her mouth, an uneven crust, moving through red, brown and yellow.

  Jack and Bradbury looked anywhere but at the screen.

  ‘Jesus Christ, she made mincemeat of you,’ said the Chief Superintendent.

  ‘Yes, Sir, she did,’ said Bradbury, his calm entirely returned.

  ‘Can we get rid of the lawyer and have another crack?’ the Chief Superintendent said.

  ‘On what basis?’ asked Jack.

  The Chief Superintendent glared at him. Obviously there were ways and means Jack didn’t know of.

  Bradbury smoothed his tie, something Jack had seen him do throughout the interview. Perhaps it was his way of keeping control. Not a bad tactic, thought Jack, it stopped the man from fidgeting, gave him a second to think and looked thoroughly smooth. Jack resolved to give it a try in his next difficult interview, then remembered he never wore ties except to attend funerals and court hearings – two places he avoided like salad.