Damaged Goods

by Helen Black

  Nancy could hear the hum of conversation and cutlery scraping on china. Laughter tinkled like wind-chimes.

  ‘Well?’ Hermione hissed.

  ‘You’ve had a fax from the PM’s office,’ said Nancy.

  Hermione’s tone changed from angry to hungry in a millisecond. ‘Read it.’

  ‘“Dear Mrs Barrows,” – blah, blah – “you may not yet know that Kelsey Brand escaped yesterday from Leyland House …”’

  ‘Christ,’ whispered Hermione. ‘Go on, go on.’

  ‘“While Miss Brand is now safely back in custody, the Prime Minister feels that this unfortunate series of events must be investigated at parliamentary level. To this end we intend to set up an official inquiry and should like you to sit as chair … ”’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Hermione.

  Bloody hell indeed.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Wednesday, 23 September

  The next morning Lilly found herself in the rare position of being early on two consecutive days. It was a dizzying experience and Lilly wasn’t sure how best to use her time. She settled into the front seat of her car in the picturesque environs of Parkgate car park and unwrapped a king-sized Mars Bar. It had already begun to melt in the heat and she smeared chocolate on her copy of Jez’s notes of their meeting with Kelsey in the cells at the Old Bailey.

  She smiled at his handwriting, which danced with elegant loops. He had doodled flags and crowns in the margin. Didn’t that mean an inflated ego was at work? She’d ask Sheba – if Sheba ever deigned to speak to Lilly again.

  As she reread the conversation, Lilly felt again how forcefully Kelsey had defended her mum. Even a crap mother was still a mother. How ironic that Grace finally came good but died before her children could benefit. Poor Grace, a joyless life and a luckless death.

  Then she saw Kelsey’s last comment, which hadn’t seemed important at the time. Someone had visited Kelsey in prison.

  ‘Sorry love,’ said the guard, whose demeanour convinced Lilly he was anything but. ‘That stuff ’s confidential.’

  ‘I’m her solicitor,’ said Lilly, her gaze fixed on the guard’s fat finger, which had disappeared into the depths of his nostril. ‘And you must keep records?’

  The guard studied the contents of his nail, eager to see what he had extracted.

  ‘Of course we keep records. Every visitor is logged onto the prisoner’s P22.’

  ‘Can I see it?’ asked Lilly.

  ‘No,’ said the guard, rolling his nasal matter between thumb and forefinger.

  Lilly checked her urge to gag. ‘It’s very important. I need to know who she’s spoken to.’

  The guard flicked away his mucus ball. ‘So why don’t you just ask your client?’

  Lilly returned to her car, seething at the ridiculousness of her situation. Of course she should just ask Kelsey to identify her mystery visitor, but Lilly knew the answer would not be forthcoming today. Kelsey’s life was constructed on secrets and pacts not to reveal the truth. She would cling to what she knew until the alternatives became bearable, and that process would take time – the one luxury none of them had.

  Lilly wondered if Jack would have access to prison documentation, but decided she had already stretched his good nature beyond the acceptable boundaries of friendship.

  Then it struck her. Leyland House would have been given copies of anything useful. All manner of sundries might have found their way into Kelsey’s file. Medical records, social services history, prison documentation.

  Lilly punched the number, which rang only twice before being answered with a curt hello.

  ‘Hi there, I wasn’t sure if anyone would still be around,’ said Lilly.

  ‘We didn’t all leave with the rats,’ came the reply. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘I hope so. My name is Lilly Valentine and I represent Kelsey Brand. Who am I speaking with please?’

  ‘Doctor Paul Collins.’

  Hell. Lilly was hoping for someone in administration or a clueless maintenance guy, not the main man himself.

  He sounded every bit as irked as she imagined he would. Perhaps an apology might help. ‘I’m sorry for the problems my client has caused.’

  ‘Problems,’ said Collins, letting the word roll around his tongue, toying with it as if it were new to him. ‘Leyland House has been closed, the patients ripped from their therapy and sent goodness knows where. Yes, I’d say your client has caused us a few problems.’

  ‘As I say, I’m very sorry,’ said Lilly.

  ‘This is the culmination of my life’s work, Miss Valentine,’ said Collins.

  Lilly disliked his theatrics. As her mum had always said, ‘If a bird shits on your head you don’t stand under the nest and shout.’

  Move on, brother.

  She was about to thank him for his time when he sighed. ‘Of course, Kelsey’s not to blame, it was waiting to happen. I’m just glad she wasn’t hurt.’

  ‘Not a scratch,’ said Lilly.

  ‘I suppose the authorities will make me jump through a thousand hoops before I reopen,’ said Collins.

  It hadn’t occurred to Lilly that the closure was temporary. ‘I didn’t realise you intended to reopen.’

  Collins laughed. ‘You thought this was it! Miss Valentine, I didn’t get where I am today by giving up at every little obstacle. And I suppose you want to know if there’ll be a place for Kelsey when I’ve done my penance.’

  It hadn’t even crossed Lilly’s mind but Collins continued regardless. ‘I still say Leyland House will give her the best chance of recovery, so yes, we will take her back.’

  Lilly was speechless. It wasn’t just his court appearances that made this man the best in the business.

  ‘I’d better get on,’ said Collins. ‘Unless there was anything else?’

  Finally Lilly remembered the reason for her call. ‘Do you have Kelsey’s prison file, Doctor Collins?’

  ‘It’s in front of me. I suppose I should send it back,’ he answered.

  ‘Before you do, could you tell me if Kelsey had any visitors in Parkgate? The information should be on a document called a P22,’ said Lilly.

  ‘I have the form. Not very popular, was she? Visitors include your good self, the lovely Doctor Lorenson and a Miss Tammy Bluebell,’ he said.

  ‘Tammy Bluebell?’ asked Lilly, stifling the urge to laugh.

  ‘Indeed. Doesn’t sound very likely, does it?’

  Lilly contemplated her conversation with Collins as she passed into the prison.

  ‘Back so soon?’ said a familiar voice.

  Lilly saw Angie leaning over her mop on her usual tour of the corridors. She was sporting a black eye. Swollen and purple, it had a cartoonish quality.

  ‘What happened to you?’ asked Lilly.

  Angie took a drag on her roll-up and found it had gone out.

  ‘Bit of a scrap,’ she said, and patted her pockets, presumably for a box of matches. She signalled to Candy who was on shift with her, pointing to the end of her cigarette. Candy hauled herself from her own bucket and struck a match.

  ‘These young girls come in, want to prove themselves, show they’re hard,’ said Angie.

  Candy shook her head. ‘I said to the one that did it,’ she pointed her thumb towards Angie’s injured eye, ‘just do your time quietly or else you’ll go mad.’

  ‘They won’t listen to a bit of friendly advice,’ clucked Angie.

  The two women could have been standing on any street corner putting the world to rights.

  ‘Always the same,’ said Candy. ‘They start mouthing off and it ends in tears.’

  ‘Yours, by the look of it,’ said Lilly.

  The inmates exchanged an amused glance. ‘Aye, it’s a bit sore,’ said Angie.

  ‘But it ain’t you in the hospital wing,’ added Candy.

  They shared a chuckle and Lilly guiltily joined them.

  ‘Have you seen Kelsey?’ asked Lilly.

  ‘Oh aye,’ said Angie. ‘Stup
id girl. Gets away on her toes and goes straight home.’

  There was ambivalence in Angie’s reply. Having managed to escape from a second-floor window, Kelsey, it seemed, was no longer considered a vulnerable child, just another idiot lacking sufficient prison nous.

  ‘She had a visit here from someone calling themselves Tammy Bluebell,’ said Lilly.

  Candy yawned. ‘That’s a good one.’

  ‘Did you see who it was? Do you know her real name?’ asked Lilly, suspecting she was beginning to bore the women.

  ‘Some kid came to see her, but I’d never seen her before,’ said Angie. ‘It sounds like she used the old porno chestnut. You know, the name of your first pet and the name of your street.’ She wandered back to her chores.

  ‘Thanks,’ called Lilly, and hoped Kelsey was not relying on Angie’s support or protection to see her through.

  Lilly watched Kelsey enter the Friends and Family Centre and began to understand Angie’s change of heart. Kelsey walked with her shoulders back and her chin up. She seemed four inches taller and three years older.

  ‘Got any fags?’ she asked.

  ‘I didn’t know you smoked,’ said Lilly.

  ‘I can trade ’em later.’

  Lilly regarded Kelsey for a second. ‘The men who came with Max to your house, tell me what they looked like.’

  ‘Most of ’em just came the once and I didn’t pay no attention,’ said Kelsey. ‘Only one was round our place a lot. He made so many films his house must have been like Blockbusters.’

  ‘Could you describe him?’

  ‘No,’ Kelsey answered quickly. ‘Mum never let me see him.’

  It was a blow. The suspect possibly narrowed down to one, and Kelsey wouldn’t be able to identify him.

  ‘Can you remember anything about him?’ asked Lilly.

  Kelsey shook her head. ‘Mum made me stay upstairs with the babies. She didn’t want them wandering down and seeing that lot.’

  ‘Perhaps you heard something?’ asked Lilly.

  Kelsey nodded. ‘I’d say he were posh, not from round our way.’

  ‘Did your mum ever say anything about him? Call him by name?’ Lilly persisted.

  ‘Nah,’ said Kelsey, ‘but I think she might have known him, and not just through Max. She hated him, said he was pure evil.’

  ‘What he did was vile,’ said Lilly.

  ‘It was more than that. She acted like he’d done something to her, like it were him, not Max, she were scared of.’

  The car park outside The Bushes was full and Lilly parked in the neighbouring street, intrigued to know what was going on. The children had very few visitors apart from their social workers and solicitors. They had congregated on the corner, sitting on a road sign, smoking weed, unimpressed, it seemed, by whoever had descended upon their home.

  Lilly waved at Charlene, who stood slightly apart from the others. She greeted Lilly with a one-finger salute and turned her back.

  Miriam answered the door.

  ‘I came to give you an update on Kelsey, but I see you’ve got your hands full,’ said Lilly.

  Miriam checked over her shoulder that no one was listening. ‘It’s an inspection. All the units are getting one, apparently there’s going to be some sort of inquiry.’

  ‘Good,’ said Lilly. ‘Maybe they’ll work out you’re underfunded and understaffed.’

  ‘It’s more likely they’ll spot the float is two pounds short and I’m behind with my paperwork.’

  Lilly chuckled. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

  As she walked back to her car something tickled the edge of her brain like a half-memory. She retraced her steps to the corner, now abandoned by the kids, who were no doubt pestering Mrs Patel in the off-licence for cigarettes and cider. She stood for a while, not knowing what she was trying to see, then it came to her and she read the street name aloud.

  ‘Bluebell Close.’

  Kelsey’s visitor lived at Bluebell Close – The Bushes. Now which girl there would be stupid enough to get mixed up with the likes of Max? Lilly sighed, she had just discovered her mystery porn star.

  Sam packed the dishwasher and Lilly smiled through gritted teeth. The approaching school trip to Austria had mined a rich seam of helpfulness in her son, which was a mixed blessing at best.

  Lilly winced as he emptied half a bottle of rinse aid into the salt well and punched the button for a hot wash.

  The machine groaned. Sam punched again.

  ‘Not so hard, big man,’ pleaded Lilly.

  Another groan, accompanied by a dying shudder.

  ‘I didn’t break it,’ said Sam.

  This time it was Lilly who groaned and stuck her head into the belly of the beast. She tugged at a teaspoon that seemed to be lodged in the filter. When it came away it brought with it the filter and a year’s worth of sweet corn.

  The doorbell rang and Sam jumped to his feet. ‘I’ll get it.’

  Lilly hoped it was Miriam. The woman had a spooky knack for fixing things.

  ‘It’s a lady,’ said Sam.

  ‘You didn’t ask who she was or what she wanted, I suppose?’

  Sam shook his head. ‘I’ll go and tidy my room.’

  Lilly walked to the door carrying the sludge-coloured filter. The visitor was Sheba. She looked puzzled by the dripping piece of machinery in Lilly’s hand but dived straight into what was obviously a well-rehearsed speech.

  ‘I’ve spoken with Paul and he’s quite right,’ she said, her eyes following a small, ancient floret of broccoli as it fell from the filter and landed on Lilly’s bare foot. ‘We can’t give up when things get a bit shitty, we have to see them through, so I’d like to carry on with my work with Kelsey, if that’s all right with you?’

  Lilly smiled as the words tumbled from Sheba’s mouth. It was the first time she had seen her even remotely flustered. ‘Are you any good with a wrench?’

  Sheba followed Lilly through to the kitchen, tiptoeing over the trail of decaying vegetation.

  ‘Help yourself to some wine,’ said Lilly, and gestured with her head to the fridge. Sheba poured them both a glass of white while Lilly tried to refit the filter.

  ‘You’d be better off calling a plumber,’ said Sheba.

  Lilly sidestepped, too ashamed to admit she was without funds for workmen. ‘It looked easy when I started.’

  Sheba picked up the Brand file, which Lilly had left on the table. ‘Making any progress?’

  Lilly decided upon brute force and pushed the filter with both hands. ‘Two steps forward and one step back. Kelsey confirmed Max was using their home to make porn films, paedophile stuff. It was mostly the same man having sex with children and Grace was pretty scared of him.’

  The filter made a shrill cracking sound before collapsing into two perfect halves. Lilly jettisoned them into the sink and slammed the dishwasher door. The crockery rattled nervously.

  ‘He could be our man. Grace would have let him in without a struggle and he would have a motive to kill her if he found out she was threatening to grass.’

  Sheba nodded. The wine had given her cheeks a pink, almost girlish glow. ‘But that doesn’t tell us why he mutilated the body.’

  Lilly picked up her glass, her slimy hands leaving smears around the stem. ‘Exactly. Is it possible that he likes children and cutting?’

  ‘It’s not common,’ said Sheba. ‘Studies show that most paedophiles aren’t violent. When questioned about why they want to have sex with children they describe it as an orientation as opposed to a choice, much like being straight or gay. Those who commit murder generally do so to cover up what they’ve done, rather than to gain satisfaction.’

  ‘So he’s not likely to be our man,’ said Lilly.

  ‘It’s not likely but it’s not impossible. There are plenty of sites on the web dedicated to hurting children and women, and murderers such as Ian Brady certainly gained enjoyment from torturing their victims. Hurting and killing were as important as the sexual act in his patholo
gy.’

  They went into the garden for Sheba to smoke. Lilly was fairly liberal on the subject but Sam was a nicotine nazi and called in the SS to deal with anyone found lighting up within the castle walls.

  Sheba gazed out into the fields beyond Lilly’s garden. ‘It’s a lovely spot.’

  The smell of lemon balm filled the night air.

  ‘It needs a lot of work,’ said Lilly, and kicked an old paving stone which immediately crumbled.

  ‘I suppose a legal-aid lawyer’s salary doesn’t go far,’ said Sheba, ‘at least not around here. I dare say you could make it stretch back in Yorkshire.’

  Lilly smiled. She’d considered moving back a thousand times. Sam would go to school with his half-cousins, Lilly would get a job in Leeds, and they’d live like kings.

  ‘I left home at eighteen and I’ve never been back except for births, deaths and marriages. I’ve lived more of my life in the south and Sam has only ever lived here.’

  ‘But you don’t fit in,’ said Sheba. It was not meant to be hurtful or critical, just a bald statement of the facts as she saw them.

  ‘I can’t think where I would,’ said Lilly.

  Sheba exhaled slowly. ‘My father was a Polish Jew who came to England after the war. He married my mother, a good East End girl, and had two strange-looking children. As a child I would wail that I was neither Eastern European nor a cockney. “I don’t belong,” I’d yell, “I’m not one thing or the other.” And my father would always answer in exactly the same way. “Bathsheba, just be yourself.”’ She flicked her cigarette into the hedge. ‘Now let’s get on with some work.’

  They fanned the case papers out and reread every sheet. Sheba made meticulous notes with a silver-ink pen. Lilly chewed the end of a pink felt-tip.

  ‘There’s another problem with my theory,’ said Lilly.

  ‘Just the one?’ asked Sheba.

  ‘If the man in the films did kill Grace to keep her quiet, then how did he know she intended to say anything? I can’t believe Max told him. He wouldn’t want to admit to a chink in his armour, but who else knew?’

  Sheba returned to the papers and pushed one sheet across the table. It was the letter Grace had written to her MP.