Paper Girls

by Alex Smith

  Lights, the room suddenly swimming with them.

  “Kett? Sir?”

  Five constables burst into the room, three of them piling on the squirming shape of Brandon Walker. Savage was there too, and she dropped down beside him.

  “Sir, you’re hurt.”

  “The bags,” Kett croaked. “The girls.”

  Savage pulled a pocket knife from her belt and slid it carefully through the closest binbag, ripping at the plastic until she’d formed a hole. It took every last ounce of energy Kett possessed to lean in and see what was inside.

  Pills. Hundreds of bags of little white pills.

  And he wasn’t sure if it was the effort of the fight, the crack with the hammer, or the sheer relief of not seeing two dead bodies in those binbags that tipped him over the edge into unconsciousness.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Robbie?”

  The voice was muted, distant, as if he was lying inside a coffin deep beneath the earth. Kett groaned, trying to open his eyes. Nothing seemed to work, and he was filled with a sudden terror that he’d gone blind—or worse, that he was dying. He reached into his memories but there was nothing there.

  Nothing but Billie.

  He suddenly saw his wife, her generous smile, those big, blue eyes that had been passed on to all of their children. She leaned in and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him to her chest. Something exploded inside Kett’s heart, a rush of warmth and happiness that was almost overwhelming.

  You’ve come home, he thought but couldn’t say. You’ve come back to us.

  “You’re going to be okay,” Billie said, holding him tight. “Just don’t move, it’s going to be okay, sir.”

  Sir?

  Kett attempted to make his eyes work again, and this time one of them peeled open. He shut it immediately as a blade of light twisted its way into his aching head. Then he tried again.

  A room filled with coppers, torchlight, and PC Kate Savage on her knees beside him.

  Not Billie, then.

  The disappointment was almost too much, and it was only slightly tempered by the relief that he was still alive.

  He started to sit up, the room cartwheeling over his head.

  “Easy,” said Savage. “Walker brained you good and proper. Ambulance is on its way.”

  He tried to form a word.

  “Moira?”

  “She’s fine,” Savage said. “Safe. There are two constables with her right now, teaching her how to use a taser.”

  Kett almost managed a laugh. He lifted a hand to his head, feeling a sticky crust in his hair. The bleeding seemed to have stopped, but it hurt like a bastard.

  “How long was I out?” he said.

  “Uh,” Savage checked her watch. “Ninety seconds, give or take. How does it feel?”

  “Like an angry fat man hit me in the head with a lump hammer,” he replied.

  “You’re lucky he didn’t put it clean through your skull,” Savage replied. “He was trying to kill you.”

  “Where is he?” Kett asked. He tried to sit up again and this time Savage helped him, her skinny arms surprisingly strong. Kett screwed his eyes shut against the phantom wave of bright lights and nausea, his mouth full of battery acid.

  “On his way downstairs,” said Savage. “Then to the hospital. You caught him right in the jaw, he’s not making a lot of sense. And…” She leaned in. “Did you, uh, bite off his nipple?”

  “I bit it,” said Kett, grimacing at the memory—and at the taste. “I don’t know if it came off.”

  “Well, either way. Looks like he was running his own little pharmaceutical factory up here.”

  “The girls?” Kett asked, squinting at her. She shook her head.

  “But it was a good bust. Those bags were full of ecstasy and MDMA, thousands of pills. Nasty stuff, too, cut with all kinds of poison. Brandon Walker was a piece of shit, and he’s going to go away for a very long time.”

  “His dad?” Kett asked.

  “They’ve taken him in too, as an accessory,” said Savage. “Brandon was behind the drugs, and he was the one making the girls sell cigarettes too, but David Walker knew about it. There’s no way he didn’t. I think he was scared of his own kid.”

  Kett started to nod, then thought better of it. He grabbed Savage’s shoulder and pulled himself to his knees, then somehow managed to make it to his feet. For a second he thought he was going to vomit but he swallowed hard until the feeling went away.

  “Sir, please,” said Savage, standing up beside him. “You need to get checked out.”

  “I’ll be fine,” he said. “It only glanced off me. What time is it?”

  “Just gone one,” she replied. Kett swore.

  “Look, I’ve got to go. Evie’s going to be wondering where I am.”

  “You can’t go,” Savage replied. “The boss is on his way over. Bust or no bust, he sounded pissed.”

  “Yeah, all the more reason I need to get out of here.”

  He started to walk and Savage blocked his path, her fingertips touching his chest like she was a nightclub bouncer.

  “Sir, I have orders,” she said.

  “Yeah, and I’ve got kids,” he replied. “Sorry. Blame it on the concussion. Tell Clare I was a crazy man and you couldn’t stop me.”

  He walked around her, pushing through the constables into the hallway, then clattering down the stairs. Somebody had pried the metal frame from the door and the blast of fresh air was beautifully welcome. The heat and sunshine were less so, but he pushed through it, and by the time he reached the little party of police vehicles blocking the entrance to the parade he was starting to feel okay.

  Still in a horrific amount of pain, of course, but okay.

  “Addy!”

  Moira spotted him before he spotted her. She was in the back seat of a cruiser chewing on a little silver whistle that Kett instantly recognised. She tossed it into the footwell, both of her hands straining in his direction. Two constables standing beside the car followed the direction of her fingers and smiled at Kett.

  “She’s adorable,” said the woman, an older PC with greying hair but a bright smile. “I wish they let us bring kids to work more often.”

  Her smile faltered when she saw Kett’s injuries.

  “You probably want somebody to take a look at that,” she said. He waved her away.

  “Hey beautiful girl,” he said to Moira. “You ready to get out of here?”

  He scooped the baby out of the seat.

  “Can one of you do me a favour and make sure PC Savage gets her whistle back?” he said. “I’d do it myself, but I’ve got to run. Late for pickup.”

  “School pickup?” said the constable, raising an eyebrow as she studied his head. “Please tell me you’re going to get that cleaned up first.”

  “It’s just a scratch,” he said, wincing at her. “Nobody’s even going to notice.”

  “Dear god! What on earth happened?”

  The nursery worker looked like she was about to pass out right there on the floor of the cloakroom. Both her hands were on her cheeks, and her eyes resembled a couple of pickled eggs. She looked DCI Kett up and down, then turned her attention to the baby in his arms.

  “Is she okay?” she asked.

  Moira yawned, then waved at the woman. Kett squinted through his headache to read the badge that hung from her Hufflepuff lanyard.

  “Betty, everything is fine,” he said.

  “Debbie,” she replied, frowning. Kett leaned in, his double vision clearing for a moment.

  “Debbie,” he said. “Sorry. It’s been a long morning, but I’m fine, I promise you. I’ve just come to collect Evie.”

  “She was expecting you some time ago,” said Debbie, the lines on her forehead deepening. “She was quite upset.”

  He nodded, and started to walk past her, but she stood her ground.

  “I am not going to let you through this door until you clean yourself up,” she said, surprisingly firmly. “There’s a
disabled toilet in the main school building across the playground.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “I’m a policeman, there was—”

  “I don’t care,” said Debbie. “Here, you’re a father, and I’m not going to let you put the fear of god into these children.”

  She opened her arms for Moira, and although Kett hesitated the baby threw herself towards the woman without hesitation. He let her go, muttering an apology as he stepped back out into the day. The school reception staff were just as surprised to see him, and they guided him to the disabled bathroom as surreptitiously as they could.

  As soon as he caught sight of himself in the mirror, he knew why they had been so cautious. He looked dreadful, like he’d just crawled out of a grave. The injury on his head was worse than he’d thought, trails of blood winding down his cheeks and pooling around his collar. His eyes were red and rimmed with shadows, his suit jacket was torn beneath the right armpit and streaked with dirt and blood and god knows what else from Brandon Walker’s floor. He was coated with a fine, white powder, too. If he tried to walk through an airport terminal now, he knew, the drug dogs would chew him to pieces.

  His reflection made him understand, as well, how close he’d come to not making it out of there.

  “Stupid,” he said. He couldn’t help but imagine it: a copper arriving at the school—maybe Porter, or Savage, or god forbid Colin Clare—and asking to speak to Evie and Alice Kett. A quiet room, a terrible, aching silence, then those words.

  “Girls, I’m so sorry, your father’s been in an accident. He’s not coming home.”

  And then what? What would happen to them after the tears, the screams? Billie’s family were all in the States, and other than his mum—who had practically disowned him nearly two decades ago—he didn’t have anyone worth mentioning. Care, then, foster homes, adoption, separation. Just like that, the family was gone. After a while, Evie and Moira wouldn’t even remember him.

  “Stupid stupid stupid,” he said again, gripping the sink.

  Going into the Walker flat alone had been reckless, and selfish. He couldn’t afford to make that mistake again.

  He ran the tap, easing off his jacket then his shirt. His shoulder was a marbled mess of yellow and black where Walker had caught him with the second hammerblow, and he couldn’t lift his arm past ninety degrees. He didn’t think anything was broken, though. Bending down, he splashed water over his head, locking a growl behind his teeth as the pain burned out of his scalp. It wasn’t bleeding any more, and once he’d worked his fingers through his hair a few times the water ran clear. He scrubbed the worst of it from his face and neck, and from his hands, then he dried himself as best he could under the whiny little hand drier.

  The result wasn’t perfect, but it was passable. He looked a little less like a policeman, and a little more like a dad.

  A half-naked dad.

  He slung the shirt on again, reaching the middle button when somebody knocked on the door.

  “Hang on,” he said. “Nearly done.”

  “It’s Carol, from reception,” came a voice. “I told the principal what had happened, he has some clothes here if you’d like them.”

  When Kett opened the door she was standing there with a T-shirt in her hand.

  “It’s just a PE shirt,” she said. “But it’s better than…”

  She nodded at the bloody mess he was currently wearing.

  “He knows you’re a policeman. He said anything you need, just ask.”

  “That’s very kind,” said Kett, pulling the shirt off then the T-shirt on. It was a little tight around the chest, but it looked fine. The school logo sat there proudly and Kett patted it. “Thank you.”

  “Any time,” she said.

  It was just a wash and a change of clothes, but it worked miracles—even his headache seemed to be ebbing. At least it was, until the woman cleared her throat and spoke again.

  “Look, as you’re here, perhaps you could have a word with Miss Gardner?”

  It took Kett a moment to remember.

  “Alice’s teacher, right?” he said. “Is everything okay?”

  “Alice is fine. She just got into a bit of bother at lunch. Frances will explain everything.”

  “Can I grab my other kids first?” he said, wondering why he felt the need to ask permission. “Evie’s waiting for me, and the little one too.”

  “It will only take a minute,” said Carol, holding the door open for him. Kett sighed, shoving the shirt in the bin. There was no washing powder on earth that was going to get the stench of Brandon Walker out of it. He followed Carol down the same corridor, past reception, and to the door of a classroom. A picture of a turtle floated on the glass, and past it he saw thirty kids all sitting on their tiny chairs doodling on scrap paper. It took him a moment to find Alice, and seeing her there, so big and yet so small, was like a fist around his heart.

  Carol knocked twice then pushed the door open.

  “Frances? Mr Kett.”

  “Dad!” yelled Alice, beaming. She was out of her chair in a heartbeat, knocking past the other kids to get to him. The hug she gave him made him wince, but it was worth the pain.

  “Hey, kiddo, how’s it going?” Kett asked, smoothing back her hair.

  “She’s doing great,” answered Frances as she crossed the room. She gestured into the corridor and they all shuffled out, Frances closing the door behind them. “A smashing kid, I can see that already.”

  Alice’s smile had become one of her legendary scowls, and she pushed her face into Kett’s side.

  “But?” asked Kett.

  “But there was an episode at break. Alice pushed a boy over.”

  “He was being an idiot,” barked Alice. “I hate him.”

  “Hey, easy,” said Kett. “Was there a reason for it?”

  Alice didn’t say anything, and Frances sighed.

  “We’re not sure, she won’t say, but it’s not the kind of behaviour we expect here. I asked her to apologise and she refused.”

  “Sorry,” Kett said, the same way he’d done a million times before in her old school. “She has trouble picking up on social cues sometimes, trouble processing her emotions. Don’t you, Alice?”

  Alice grunted something.

  “It’s just been a very difficult time for her, for all of them,” he went on. “It will take her a little while to settle, but she will. Right, kiddo?”

  Alice grunted something else, but the strop was passing.

  “It’s my fault,” Kett said. “I shouldn’t have brought her in so soon. The plan was to take a bit of time to get to know the new house, the new city, before starting the new school. But something… something came up.”

  As if trying to prove his point, Kett’s phone began to ring. It was loud, and it was a horrendous version of the Mexican Hat Dance which Alice had installed and which he couldn’t work out how to change.

  “Uh…” he said. “Excuse me a moment.”

  He fished it out of his pocket, seeing a Norwich number. It was probably Clare, or somebody else from the Major Investigation Team. Jabbing a finger on the screen to end the call, he slid it back into his pocket.

  “We’ll talk about it tonight,” he said to his daughter, stroking her hair. “But maybe it’s best for now if you come home with me?”

  Alice nodded, clutching his hand.

  “We can try again tomorrow,” he added, and Frances smiled.

  “It was lovely to meet you, Alice,” she said, bending down to the girl’s level. “We’ll see you in the morning. Go home, chill, take some time to be normal with your mum and dad. Everything will be just fine.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Everything wasn’t fine.

  For the entire journey home the back row of seats in the Volvo was a sea of hard stares, all of them directed at Kett. Evie had been furious with him for being late, even though she didn’t even know how to read a clock. Apparently, nursery had been awful, everybody had been a “fart head” and they’d tri
ed to make her eat crumpets for lunch. With butter. Judging by her expression, which looked like a pug that had eaten a hornet’s nest, the world had pretty much come to an end.

  Alice, on the other hand, was mad at him because of what her teacher had said. Take some time to be normal with your mum and dad was about the worst thing that could have come out of Frances Gardner’s mouth. Alice hadn’t said anything about it as they’d walked to the car, but he could read her mind well enough, and he knew the thoughts that ran through it.

  Why can’t I see mum?

  Where is she?

  Is she dead?

  Why didn’t you save her?

  He knew those thoughts because they were exactly the same as his own.

  Moira was the only one who wasn’t glaring at him, and only because she was still in a rear-facing car seat. She directed her shrieks at the window, her legs drumming the seat and her hands pinching Alice’s arm, making her yell too. By the time he’d found a parking space along their new street all three of them were screaming a soundtrack that would have been more at home in Guantanamo.

  “Alright, enough!” he said, popping his door and clambering out. He took a moment to catch his breath, checking his watch and wondering how on earth he was going to get through another six hours of this before bedtime.

  Give me a fight with Brandon Walker any day of the week, he thought. It’s got to be easier than three young girls.

  He opened Evie’s door, unclipping her booster seat. Then he walked to the other side and released the Kraken. They all tumbled into the house together, the cool, dark interior seeming to take the edge off their anger.

  “Go find your iPad,” he told Alice. “Put something nice on for everyone, you can crash on the sofa for a bit, okay?”

  She ran upstairs, and Kett put Moira down on the living room carpet. The baby continued to scream, rolling onto her back and kicking the floor. Evie dropped onto the sofa and folded her hands across her chest, still glaring at him. Her disgruntled expression was so comically exaggerated that it brought a smile to Kett’s lips.