Damaged Goods

by Helen Black

  Lilly pressed one hand to her aching temples and the other to her unhappy stomach.

  ‘I’m never drinking again.’

  ‘Sure you are,’ said Jack, proffering a sheaf of paper.

  ‘What’s this?’ she asked.

  ‘Have a quick look. It’s Doctor Lorenson’s report.’

  Lilly was still skim-reading the report as they entered court. Sheba had done a fine job. The salient issues were covered in enough detail to seem thoughtful and credible while carefully falling short of a final analysis on Kelsey.

  When Judge Blechard-Smith made his entrance he too was clutching the document.

  While everyone took their seats and shuffled their papers, Jez remained on his feet, eager to state his case.

  ‘I must thank the court at the outset for listing this case with such alacrity,’ he said.

  ‘Well, we don’t want that lot’, the judge waved a hand to the outside wall, ‘thinking we’re not taking this seriously.’

  Lilly sighed. The interest of the press seemed to have more impact on the judge than any sense of justice.

  ‘Quite so, My Lord,’ said Jez, ‘and you will recall that when this matter was before you last, the defence refrained from making any application for bail as we were in complete agreement with this court that expert evidence was required.’

  ‘Of course,’ replied the judge, his tone just shy of poor manners.

  Jez flashed a smile. ‘I am pleased to confirm that we have been able to obtain the opinion of such an expert and that it is before the court today.’

  The judge still had the copy in his fist. ‘I must say I’m surprised that you were able to get something so quickly.’ His tone betrayed the fact that he was not happy to be revisiting this matter so soon. No doubt he had wanted to keep this particular hot potato in the oven a little longer.

  Jez remained unfazed. ‘Sadly, I cannot take the credit for that. My instructing solicitor made Herculean efforts to expedite matters.’ He made a sweeping gesture towards Lilly. ‘Her commitment to the children with whom she works is matched only by her efficiency, and I’m sure that My Lord will join me in thanking her for ensuring that Kelsey Brand’s case is not allowed to fester.’

  Lilly stared at her hands, her cheeks as pink and as unflattering as her dress. She heard Jack cough down a laugh.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure’, said the judge, ‘that it’s all very admirable, but we must not put speed before quality.’

  He seemed to have conveniently forgotten that it was the court that had listed the matter during the weekend.

  ‘Does Doctor Lorenson believe she has had sufficient time to make a judgement?’ His frown confirmed that he for one did not concur.

  ‘She says so, My Lord, and you’ll see at page five she sets out the number of hours she has spent to date,’ said Jez.

  Sheba had headed off this line of attack perfectly.

  The judge addressed the barrister for the prosecution. ‘It doesn’t seem very long, Mr Marshall, does it?’

  Marshall jumped to his feet. ‘Indeed, My Lord, it seems quite paltry.’

  ‘I thought you might say that,’ countered Jez. ‘Which is why I asked Mr Lockhart to enquire as to the length of time the CPS would normally expect to be taken on a preliminary report. He informed me that Doctor Lorenson’s hours are perfectly adequate. In fact they exceed what the CPS would normally expect by thirty per cent.’ Jez turned to Marshall. ‘If my learned friend wants more time spent I’m afraid he’d have to pay for it himself, as the CPS wouldn’t countenance the cost.’

  Marshall flushed a deep magenta and spun round to speak to his representative for the Crown, who simply nodded his assent.

  Good old Lockhart, thought Lilly. Not the most exciting man in the world, but straight as a mast.

  The judge simply nodded, and for a moment Lilly thought he accepted what Sheba had to say.

  ‘Very well, Mr Stafford,’ he said, his voice more measured. ‘It seems I must accept that this document does fall within the usual boundaries. However, I still have reservations about its scope.’

  ‘My Lord?’ Jez sounded puzzled. Lilly sensed trouble.

  ‘In my view it does not deal with everything one would need to know to answer what will undoubtedly be a robust application for bail on your part,’ said the judge.

  ‘I see,’ replied Jez, and scratched his head.

  The judge turned to the prosecution. ‘Mr Marshall, are there questions you would wish to be answered by Doctor Lorenson before addressing me on the issue of bail?’

  ‘My Lord, on a mere perfunctory reading I thought of several,’ he answered theatrically, holding the report between the tips of his thumb and forefinger as if it were an oily rag.

  The judge smiled at Jez, his teeth the ugly grey of a man too fond of the claret bottle. ‘You see the problem. I think we have been a little hasty this morning and we need more help from Doctor Lorenson before any decisions can be reached.’

  The coward was going to put the whole thing off and blame the defence. He knew full well that by the time Marshall and Lockhart drafted a further set of questions Santa would be baking mince pies. Lilly felt the whole thing unravelling until she saw the suspicion of a smile play on Jez’s lips.

  ‘My Lord, I had, of course, assumed that you would want to pursue this matter in the utmost detail. Quite rightly you would not wish to make any decision without sufficient recourse to the facts. To this end I ensured that Doctor Lorenson would be available to the court this morning to offer her expert assistance.’

  ‘She’s here?’ blurted the judge.

  Jez bowed slightly. ‘Indeed she is.’

  Lilly controlled an urge to clap. It was a memorable performance.

  ‘May I suggest that we adjourn for a moment for you to formulate your outstanding questions, and for Mr Marshall to give the report more than a perfunctory read.’

  Sheba glided into court as if on wheels and took her place in the witness box. She smoothed her skirt over her generous hips and licked her lips. There was no sign of a hangover or the slightest fatigue, the woman was superhuman. But Lilly already knew that Sheba was not in fact human at all, she was from a higher plane, a goddess. Right now there was a remote tribe in the Amazon bemoaning the loss of their favourite deity, who had transformed herself from her previous state as a jungle jaguar into a sexy psychiatrist.

  ‘Will you take the oath or affirm?’ asked the clerk.

  ‘I’m a Catholic,’ Sheba purred and took the bible. ‘Lapsed, I’m afraid.’

  Sheba swore to tell the truth and introduced herself and her credentials with cool aplomb.

  ‘Is your report a full account of the mental state of Kelsey Brand?’ asked Jez.

  ‘Goodness, no,’ said Sheba.

  Damn, thought Lilly. Sheba’s inexperience would give the judge an excuse to delay.

  ‘That might take years.’ Sheba gave the judge a sidelong smile. ‘But, in my view, it tells us enough to make a reasoned judgement on where Kelsey should be at this moment in time, and what treatment she should be receiving.’

  Lilly exhaled.

  Marshall got to his feet. ‘Doctor Lorenson, you seem very young to be involved in this type of court work,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Sheba. ‘I inherited my mother’s good skin.’

  The barrister had of course meant to undermine Sheba’s credentials, but her deliberate misunderstanding deflected the insult to good effect.

  The next ten minutes was a veritable tennis match. Marshall aimed high and served each ball with a bovine grunt, Sheba returned them all with style, skill and wit.

  ‘Your analysis seems to focus almost entirely on the defendant’s mental state, Doctor Lorenson,’ he said.

  ‘Of course,’ Sheba replied. ‘I’m a psychiatrist. That’s what I do.’

  ‘But you don’t seem to take into account the seriousness of the crime involved. You do know what the defendant did?’ he persisted.

  ‘I’m
aware of the offence with which Kelsey has been charged. I thought whether she did it or not was a matter for the jury, not for me, or, for that matter, for you, Mr Marshall.’

  He smiled and shook his head. ‘You’re missing the point, Doctor. Surely even someone charged with such a crime cannot be allowed to roam around freely while assessments are ongoing?’

  Sheba smiled back. ‘You’re absolutely right, which is why I’m recommending Leyland House.’

  ‘Quite so, but it’s not a prison,’ said Marshall.

  ‘It’s a secure accommodation for young people.’

  ‘Which means what exactly? That the staff try to ensure that the inmates don’t wander off?’

  Lilly thought Sheba would blow up, but instead she just giggled. ‘Don’t be silly, Mr Marshall, I’m sure you’ve been to enough of these facilities to know that the children can’t leave unaccompanied.’

  Clever, very clever. Of course the pompous old fool had never been to a children’s home of any variety in his life.

  ‘Never mind other facilities, Doctor, let’s stick to this one. It’s brand-new, hasn’t been tried and tested. Let’s face it,’ he opened his arms to encompass the room ‘none of us have seen it.’

  Sheba picked up her racket and gently, oh so gently, tapped the ball over the net.

  ‘Actually, I went there last night.’

  ‘Last night!’ said Marshall and the judge in unison.

  Sheba tossed her head distractedly, her hair shivered like a sigh. ‘Mmm. I called Doctor Collins and asked to be shown around before I endorsed Leyland House to the court.’

  Dr Paul Collins was one of the most eminent professionals in the field of child psychiatry. Revered by lawyers and judges alike, and hailed by the medics as the new voice in the field. A modern-day Freud. Lilly had seen him give evidence twice, and on both occasions he had blown the court away with a genius that would have grated were it not accompanied so generously with his humility and humour.

  ‘He’s always so busy. How on earth did you manage it?’ asked the judge, his interest clearly genuine.

  ‘I trained under him,’ said Sheba. ‘He’s remained a close friend, so when I told him I was considering Leyland for a patient he was only too happy to give me the tour.’

  ‘And you were impressed?’ asked the judge, who seemed to have taken over from the deflated Marshall.

  Sheba nodded vigorously. ‘Absolutely. Paul – Doctor Collins – has set up a wonderful place. It takes a maximum of five children at any time. Each child has their own key worker who has been trained specifically for this type of work. Of course, they’re all hugely overqualified.’ Sheba’s tone was conversational, as if only she and the judge were in the room. ‘When he put out the word he wanted staff they were queuing round the block. I mean, who wouldn’t want to work with the greatest child psych this country has ever seen?’

  ‘Indeed,’ said the judge.

  Sheba dropped her voice to a whisper. Every ear in the court strained. ‘I’d have applied myself but thought it might smack of nepotism.’

  ‘Of course,’ said the judge, as if Sheba’s integrity elevated her to sainthood.

  ‘Anyhow, there are therapy sessions every day, sometimes twice a day, but they’re not standard. Doctor Collins, together with the key workers, devises an individual programme for each child, and the programme is reviewed once a week to see if it’s going in the right direction. Even the teachers who come in for academic lessons are also therapists, so the process is seamless. It really would be the right place for Kelsey and’, she turned to Marshall, ‘there are plenty of bars on the windows.’

  Game, set and match.

  After a short discussion the prosecution decided not to oppose the application for bail and Judge Blechard-Smith made a secure accommodation order, which although not a passport to freedom did mean that Kelsey could leave the adult prison as soon as a place came up at Leyland House, which Dr Collins had assured Sheba would be in the next day or so.

  Jez beamed. ‘We did it, Lilly.’

  ‘We certainly did,’ she replied. ‘Now all we have to do is find out who killed her mum.’

  ‘Don’t you ever stop?’ he laughed. ‘Come on, let’s have a drink.’

  ‘No chance,’ said Lilly, ‘I’m never drinking again.’

  ‘Whatever,’ he said, and kissed her on the cheek. Which was pretty brave of him considering she smelled of yesterday’s wine and vomit.

  Lilly made her way out of the building and headed into the bright day in search of food. The press ignored her as Marshall was giving a statement that attempted to claim the current turn of events as his own idea.

  ‘That barrister of yours is a smooth one,’ said a voice from behind her. Lilly turned and saw Jack. ‘On kissy-kissy terms already, I see,’ he added.

  Lilly cocked her head. Jack had been watching her with Jez. Did she detect a note of jealousy or was she flattering herself? She rubbed her hips where the buttons of her ugly dress were digging into a well- defined roll of fat. Definitely flattering herself.

  ‘I’m glad things went well for Kelsey,’ he said.

  ‘You’re supposed to play for the other team,’ she said.

  ‘Doesn’t mean I want to see the kid rot in jail,’ he answered.

  Lilly smiled. ‘Where’s Bradbury?’

  ‘You don’t have a dog and bark yourself.’

  Lilly hated it when Jack belittled himself and his job, and was about to launch into a lecture when her stomach wailed. ‘Let me buy you breakfast,’ she said instead.

  ‘How do you know I haven’t already had a bowlful of organic muesli with soya milk?’

  Lilly laughed. ‘Call it an educated guess.’

  William Barrows leafed through the local paper. Why did anyone read this rubbish? All-time highest turnout for the fire station’s open day. Local community leaders condemn those breaking the hosepipe ban. Banal wasn’t the word. It had been mildly entertaining when Hermione had glared out from the front cover, resplendent in Armani and warning of the dangers of today’s ‘instant gratification society’, but this edition had relegated her finger-wagging to page four and there were no pictures.

  It had been an excruciating few days since his meeting with the black man, as Barrows waited for news of his appointment with the girl. Hermione hadn’t helped, stomping around the house like a demented teenager, hating the sight of her wizened raisin of a face on the television while simultaneously terrified that the Brand story would die down and her own fifteen minutes would pass.

  Then a trip to the doctor’s had left her tearful and wobbly. It was familiar territory but Barrows preferred Hermione mark two.

  When he received word that things were underway and would be finalised in the next forty-eight hours, Barrows let the relief flood over him before allowing his heart to quicken in anticipation. It had come just in time or he would have been forced to relieve himself, which was always so very unpleasant.

  One day he might even get caught. No, he was too clever for that.

  Now all he needed was to buy himself some time and space. At the allotted hour there must be no distractions. Like an athlete, he needed total focus on the task in hand, and this strict regime meant daily life must be kept at bay.

  In the past he had told his office he was ill and he was not to be disturbed, but there was always the tiniest possibility that his secretary would override these instructions and call him at home. Hermione might ask questions, demand that he leave his mobile on at all times, enquire as to why he was feigning illness. It was a small anxiety, but there nonetheless, spoiling his moment like a dark spot on a white sheet.

  He considered how much easier it must have been for his grandfather to remain incommunicado. No phones, faxes, computers. He’d have simply disappeared for the day and then told his wife some nonsense about an accident or a fire. She probably wouldn’t even have asked, certainly wouldn’t have cross-examined him.

  Barrows turned to page sixteen and eyed the c
ommunity notices. Scouts, Guides and Rainbows (whatever the hell they were), book groups, writing circles, self-help meetings for single parents, the aged, those caring for the aged and anyone in need of finding their inner eye. Then he saw it, like a raft in the open sea.

  Are you a gay man happily living a straight life?

  If the answer’s yes and you want to meet kindred spirits for leisure activities without any hint of pink then join us on the first Monday of each month.

  Call Andy on 07728772717.

  Absolute discretion guaranteed.

  Barrows decided to tell his wife he’d joined the group. Not only would she ask no questions, she would insist on total separation from it. Better still, he wouldn’t tell her, he’d just circle the ad and leave it for her to find. Things left unsaid and given room to fester usually took on a life and a truth of their own. As a shrink he knew this all too well.

  Thrilled by his own devious genius he drew a deliberate ring in pencil.

  ‘I’ve just been on the phone to Margaret.’

  Barrows hadn’t even noticed his wife come into the room and he automatically closed the newspaper. It was a gesture without guile, which was better still. He knew Hermione would check what he’d been reading as soon as he left the room.

  ‘What did she want?’ he asked, his voice deliberately small.

  ‘Where shall I start?’ she said, and dropped dramatically into a chair. ‘Hugh was in court today on the Brand case. The defence had it listed for an urgent bail application or something.’

  Barrows felt panic rising but kept his tone even. ‘I bet he didn’t like that on a Sunday.’

  ‘Not one bit. Margaret said he had to look keen but once he got there he tried every trick in the book not to hear it, but they brought in a doctor who apparently made an unanswerable case to have the girl put in some institution or other.’

  ‘Who was it?’ he asked.

  ‘Hugh couldn’t remember, said it was a biblical name, but that she was absolutely gorgeous with fantastic boobs.’

  ‘Bathsheba Lorenson.’

  Hermione shrugged. ‘Could be. Margaret said old Hugh probably took one look at her cleavage and the rest, as they say, is history.’