Damaged Goods

by Helen Black

  Lilly nodded her assent. ‘I wouldn’t expect you to.’

  The hint of a scarlet smile returned. ‘I need to make some calls, then I’ll give you my first impressions this afternoon.’

  She turned towards her car and Lilly watched Sheba’s bottom undulate with a mixture of envy and admiration.

  Lilly had been back in her office guiltily shuffling her paperwork for half an hour when Sheba called.

  ‘So tell me, did Kelsey kill her mother?’

  Lilly was only half joking. Angie’s news had sent her into freefall as she tried to assess whether it made Kelsey more or less likely to have committed the murder. Kelsey knew about the films and had covered for her mum. When that still wasn’t enough and Grace put her into care how angry would that have made Kelsey? Angry enough to kill? Lilly needed some evidence to point away from her client. Something positive from a shrink would be as welcome as Christmas.

  ‘It’ll be some time before I can give you my opinion on that one,’ laughed Sheba, ‘and we’ll never know for sure.’

  ‘I suppose the mind isn’t black and white,’ said Lilly.

  ‘Most of the time it’s not even grey. Unlike the body, which is much less difficult to assess, which is why I checked whether Kelsey had had a medical upon her arrival at Parkgate.’

  ‘And did she?’

  ‘Yes. Given her age and the gravity of the situation the prison doctor was very thorough and found that Kelsey’s larynx and trachea were discoloured but no longer excoriated.’

  ‘In English please.’

  ‘Kelsey’s throat is better. She can speak.’

  Lilly, however, found that she had been struck dumb, her mind racing ahead to the possible implications.

  ‘How long has she been able to?’ she asked at last.

  ‘The doc reckons about a week.’

  A week!

  Lilly went over the events of the last week. The interview with Bradbury. The hearing in court. And all the time Kelsey could speak.

  ‘There are, of course, two possible explanations as to why she hasn’t yet spoken,’ said Sheba. ‘The first is that she’s still in shock. Her body may be ready but her mind may not be willing. The second – well, you know what I’m about to say.’

  ‘That Kelsey’s been taking the piss.’

  Lilly relived every exchange she had had with Kelsey during the last week – the scribbled notes, the bowed head. Could it all be bullshit? And if Kelsey could be that manipulative, what else might she be capable of?

  * * *

  Max leaned against the window of Pizza Hut. He was far too hot in the Armani jacket he’d purchased this morning in the Arndale Centre but he couldn’t resist. He had seen it in the window of a gloomy little boutique that specialised in overpriced tat with the odd designer label thrown in to raise its game.

  Max had again broken into the money given to him by Barrows, and justified it on the grounds that he would need to look smart to make it in the States. In a country where image was everything such a jacket wouldn’t be an asset but a necessity. When the money started to roll in he might even be able to write it off against tax.

  He saw her walking towards him through the town centre, checking her reflection in the window of British Home Stores. Her face was drawn into a scowl. She looked small and vulnerable, despite the tough-girl glower.

  ‘Charlene, baby,’ said Max.

  She nodded hello. Apparently she had not taken kindly to being drugged during their last encounter, but Max had been doing this for long enough to turn the situation around.

  ‘Listen, baby, I know you’re probably embarrassed about what went down at mine, but it happens. You got a little crazy but that’s cool.’

  He saw her mouth soften to a pout, unsure now as to who was mad at whom.

  ‘The shoot wasn’t the best,’ he persisted, ‘but I ain’t vexed.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Of course not. Anyway, I’m a pro and I still got a couple of good shots.’

  Charlene’s face flushed with pleasure, as he knew it would. ‘Let me see them.’

  ‘I’ve put them in your portfolio, you can take a look the next time you’re round at mine.’

  He eased her into the restaurant, his hand in the small of her back. ‘In fact, an associate of mine has suggested a film might be just the right vehicle for you.’

  Her eyes opened saucer-wide. She seemed nearer to ten than thirteen. ‘A film.’

  They ate their doughy meal (three slices of margarita and unlimited visits to the salad bar for £3.99 before 5 p.m.) and Max chatted about production companies and distribution rights.

  He mentioned his views on agents. Charlene should seriously consider getting one, and indeed he did know at least two with a good reputation, although she might think fifteen per cent a bit steep.

  He spoke of trips abroad. Personally, he hated flying, but what could you do, it came with the territory.

  All the while Charlene listened and nodded, her mouth crammed with oily cheese, her head filled with previously unimagined plans.

  Max was good at this bit: the flannel, the flirting, the fairytale. One night last year when he’d been too strung out to sleep he’d watched a documentary about how some priest had talked a bunch of altar boys into sucking his cock and what have you. Grooming, they’d called it. Max thought that was a stupid word. Like something you’d do to a dog for a show. Whatever it was he had it in spades. After all, he’d learned from a master.

  When his mother had finally given up even the pretence of caring for her son and handed him in to the social so she could pursue her favoured pastimes of drinking, smoking and being beaten by whatever lowlife she had most recently taken up with, Max found himself in care at The Bushberry Home for Disturbed Children. One of the men who worked there was not like the others and listened closely to his charges, smiling his wide, warm smile, telling them not to worry. He turned a blind eye to the odd cigarette and gave out little treats of chocolate and fizzy drinks. He wiped away tears and kissed sad cheeks, and if you were one of his special ones you could sit on his knee. Grace had been very special indeed. She’d driven him wild, but it was her fault for being so beautiful. He loved her with all his heart and they’d be together as soon as she was sixteen, but she mustn’t tell anyone. They wouldn’t understand.

  Grace was so happy she thought she might burst, and had to, just had to, tell her best friend. She scrubbed the stains out of her knickers and confided in Max that she was going to get married as soon as she turned sixteen.

  And Grace was no chump. She’d lived with her dad long enough to spot a scam when she heard one, but she still took it all in.

  God how he had hated that man for breaking Grace’s heart; still hated him for what he did.

  And yet, Max had to hand it to him, the man could sell sand to Arabs. Yes, the man was a genius.

  Lilly arrived home frazzled and starving. A carbohydrate frenzy beckoned. She fancied chips, the way her mother had made them. The potatoes dried in a tea towel on the draining board and submerged in a pan of dangerously hot oil. Delicious, but a cursory glance in the kitchen confirmed the absence of potatoes, clean tea towel or sunflower oil.

  Lilly put pasta in a pan and ran a bath for Sam. She wondered what the director of social services would say as she undressed herself and dived into the water with her six-year-old son.

  They scrubbed away their days at work and school then dried each other off. For fun, Sam painted Lilly’s toes, each one a different colour.

  When Sam, pink and squeaky, lay on his bed with a Scooby Doo comic, Lilly padded downstairs in an extra-large T-shirt that had come free with a six-pack of Boddingtons, and a pair of orange slipper-socks that Miriam had given to her as a joke.

  She opened the fridge and pulled out bacon, cream and cheese. She cracked a free-range egg and separated it in her hand, allowing the white to slip through her fingers into the sink. When she had three oily yolks she added a thick dollop of cream.

&
nbsp; The phone rang. Lilly swore under her breath, picked up the receiver with her clean hand and held it with her chin.

  ‘It’s me,’ said David.

  ‘Aha.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about your car.’

  ‘That must have been thrilling.’

  ‘I want to pay for the repairs.’

  ‘I thought you were broke.’

  ‘I am, we are, but Cara should have told you about the insurance.’

  ‘Yes, she should.’

  ‘So you should send the bill to me. But you’ll have to take over the premiums.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Right, well, I’ll be off. Things to do. What about you?’

  ‘Cooking.’

  Lilly could almost hear his ears pricking.

  ‘Anything nice?’

  ‘Carbonara,’ she deadpanned. It was David’s favourite.

  ‘Heavy on the parmesan?’

  Lilly reached for the grater. ‘I’m shaving that baby now.’

  She smiled to herself. Cara wouldn’t eat cheese. She was lactose-intolerant. She knew what he was implying but Lilly wasn’t going to make it easy for him. ‘Where’s the salad-muncher?’

  ‘She’s out,’ he said.

  ‘Having a seaweed body wrap, no doubt.’

  He didn’t rise to the bait, such was the power of Lilly’s food. ‘Something like that.’

  Lilly relented. ‘Want to eat?’

  ‘Give me twenty minutes.’

  The doorbell went in ten.

  Lilly pulled at the door. ‘Did you take the Harrier jump jet?’

  It wasn’t her ex-husband. ‘Jack!’

  He looked embarrassed. ‘You’re expecting someone else.’

  ‘No. Yes. Sort of. Come in.’

  Lilly became instantly aware of her appearance. A downmarket Bridget Jones.

  ‘Let me get you a drink. Beer or wine?’

  ‘Whatever’s cold. It’s bloody roasting out there.’

  ‘I know. It’s ridiculous for September. An Indian summer, I suppose.’ Lilly could hear herself gabbling about the weather. ‘My nan used to predict one every year, and when it rained on the first or the second of September she’d say it was good for the roses and would then predict the coldest winter on record.’

  Jack laughed politely.

  Lilly went for the drinks and pulled off the day-glo socks, although Sam’s pedicure was hardly an improvement. She bolted down half a glass of Sauvignon blanc in the kitchen and filled another for Jack.

  Back in the sitting room, Sam was perched at the end of the sofa appraising Jack with studied cool.

  ‘What are you doing up?’ asked Lilly.

  Sam kept steely eyes on the intruder. ‘I heard a man’s voice. I thought it was Dad.’

  ‘Afraid not, wee man. I’m Jack and I work with your mum.’

  ‘He’s a policeman,’ added Lilly, who knew how Sam would react.

  ‘Wow,’ Sam shouted, ‘have you got a gun?’

  ‘Not with me,’ said Jack.

  ‘Did you ever kill anyone?’ asked Sam.

  Lilly saw a strange look creep into Jack’s features, a flicker of something dark. Not more than a shadow, but definitely something.

  ‘Of course not, love, he looks after children,’ she said.

  Sam made no effort to hide his disappointment.

  ‘I once caught a bank robber,’ countered Jack.

  The child’s enthusiasm returned. ‘How?’

  ‘Let’s go back up those stairs and I’ll tell you all about it.’

  Lilly watched in amazement as Jack led Sam back to bed and wondered what Jack would think if she changed into something less shapeless. Jeans and a vest top might set the right note, casually sexy but not obvious. Hmm. Maybe obvious would be better.

  She was weighing up the option of a short satin robe she had optimistically bought on sale at Agent Provocateur but had never worn, when David walked in.

  ‘Tell me it’s massive,’ he said.

  ‘What?’ asked Lilly.

  ‘The bowl of pasta.’

  ‘Pasta?’

  David shook his head and laughed. ‘You can’t have forgotten already.’

  Jack entered the room.

  David looked him up and down in much the same way as Sam had done. ‘But I see you have other things on your mind.’

  ‘I’m just leaving,’ said Jack.

  ‘You don’t have to,’ said Lilly.

  They looked at each other for an excruciating moment.

  ‘I’m just leaving,’ Jack repeated and drained his glass.

  As he left, Lilly shut the door behind him.

  ‘What was that about?’ asked David.

  ‘I have absolutely no idea.’

  Jack continued to cringe until he had put a good mile between himself and Lilly. What was he thinking turning up on her doorstep? It had served him right when the husband arrived. They were obviously still involved or he wouldn’t still have a key, and she wouldn’t have been dressed like that, in only a T-shirt, her legs long and bare and smooth.

  Stop it, man.

  But she had been pleased to see him. She’d invited him in for a drink, introduced him to her son. Maybe there was something there.

  He played bat and ball with the idea all the way home and decided to find some spurious reason to call her first thing in the morning and ask her outright if she liked him. Back home he ate a piece of unbuttered toast and drank three cans of warm lager knowing full well he would do no such thing.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Friday, 18 September

  Lilly had a busy day ahead of her. First a showdown with Kelsey at the prison, then a meeting with Jez.

  ‘We need to talk turkey,’ he’d said. Whatever that meant.

  Sheba was waiting for Lilly in the same place. Defying the heat, she was dressed in a black wrap dress, its jersey skimming her curves. Her only concession to the warm weather was a pair of open-toe shoes with vertiginous heels under which she ground out the remains of a scarlet-tipped cigarette.

  ‘You do the talking, I need to observe her closely,’ Sheba said.

  ‘Will you be able to tell if she’s lying?’ asked Lilly.

  Sheba shrugged. ‘Maybe. Everyone has a tell. A little gesture they make when under pressure.’

  ‘What’s mine?’ said Lilly, laughing.

  ‘You push your hair off your face,’ Sheba answered seriously. ‘I don’t know what Kelsey’s is yet.’

  ‘But you’ll suss it?’

  ‘I hope so, but some people are so good they control them.’

  They made it through security without incident until a bored group of officers asked to check in their mouths. Lilly watched the other visitors, their cheeks bulging like hamsters with drugs, saunter past while she and Sheba waited for someone to find the appropriate implement with which to undertake the search. At last one of the guards brandished what looked suspiciously like the handle of a white plastic spoon.

  Sheba gave the dirtiest of giggles and opened wide. The guard pushed in his stick and looked as if he’d love to follow.

  Lilly took her turn and the guard wrinkled his nose. She regretted the packet of cheese and onion crisps she had eaten on the way. Her humiliation was complete when he offered her a mint.

  Kelsey slunk into her seat and took up her usual position.

  Lilly was unimpressed. She needed to know if it was all just an act.

  ‘The prison doctor says you can talk.’

  Kelsey’s head snapped up. It was the fastest movement Lilly had ever seen her make.

  ‘He says your mouth has healed.’

  Kelsey’s hand hovered around her lips as if to check whether it could be true.

  Lilly couldn’t tell if the surprise was genuine. She hoped Sheba could judge more accurately.

  ‘Is he right, can you talk?’ asked Lilly.

  Kelsey picked up a pencil and wrote.

&
nbsp; I don’t think so.

  ‘What the hell does that mean? Either you can or you can’t!’

  Her own harsh tone shocked Lilly but she was desperate for answers. She was doing everything she could to help this kid and the prospect that Kelsey was playing some evil little game was too much. Christ, Lilly had tortured herself over the letter and spent her evenings touring Tye Cross to get to the bottom of this mess rather than at home with her son. She’d put her life in danger chasing a pornographer to prove Kelsey’s innocence. These kids always told lies. It was second nature and Lilly generally shrugged it off, but she needed to know the truth about Kelsey, too much was at stake to let it go.

  Kelsey opened her mouth as if she might speak but nothing came out. Her eyes filled with tears and she wrote,

  I’m sorry.

  It was so pitiful that Lilly was immediately filled with remorse. This was a damaged child, not a sociopath. She deserved better than the life she had led and she deserved better than prison. She certainly deserved better than Lilly’s suspicions.

  Lilly glanced at Sheba for acknowledgement that she felt the same but the psychiatrist’s reaction was sanguine.

  Lilly spoke gently this time. ‘I’m sorry too. Now let’s concentrate on getting you out of here.’

  But Kelsey wouldn’t or couldn’t look up, she just wept into her chest, hot tears splashing onto the table. Lilly watched them fall until a guard called a halt to the meeting and took Kelsey back to her cell.

  Lilly and Sheba passed through the prison back to the outside world. The endless metal doors that opened and then closed behind them only served to remind Lilly of the distance she had put between herself and Kelsey. She should be Kelsey’s closest ally yet the wall between them was impenetrable. If the child did anything stupid Lilly had no one to blame but herself.

  The acidic smell of vomit filled the air, and up ahead a group of prisoners mopped the corridor. One of them looked up from her work and waved at Lilly.