Life Ruins

by Danuta Kot

  Chapter 19

  One of the things Kay had learned over the years was that official channels were for officials. If real people wanted to get things done, they used the back door, where there would usually be someone who was able – and willing – to bypass a mountain of red tape to get some action. She might not be a foster-mum anymore, but she still had her contacts.

  It wasn’t just the attack. Alarm bells were going off in her head, and she remembered the feeling she’d had up on Kettleness. So what had she seen, what had happened to alert her like this? She went to her computer and searched the local newspaper archives.

  There was one case. Before Christmas, a body had been washed up on the shore at Ravenscar. The body was female, and ‘young’. If there was a follow-up story she couldn’t find it. Without a name and without evidence of foul play, the press had quickly lost interest.

  Something was nagging at her. What had Becca said? Something about a girl going missing from the drop-in – a friend of one of the users who seemed to have fallen off the radar.

  It wasn’t much, just the faintest stirring in the undergrowth to warn you that something might be out there, hunting.

  Her phone rang just as she was checking through her address book, wondering who to call.

  ‘Is that Kay McKinnon?’

  ‘Speaking.’ The voice was familiar, but she couldn’t place it.

  ‘It’s Shaun Turner. I used to work with your husband.’ Now she recognised it. It was the strong, confident voice from the voicemail just a few days ago.

  ‘Yes, I got your message. I’m afraid I don’t . . .’

  ‘Remember me? I didn’t think you would. It must be almost three years ago now. Matt did a report for us on a children’s unit we were – well, that’s all finished now.’

  Of course. The last project Matt worked on before he became ill. He’d written a report for a police unit set up to deal with homeless children on the east coast. ‘Yes, I do remember that. You were the senior officer? Matt spoke very highly of—’

  ‘The unit. And we thought very highly of him.’

  A sentence finisher. Well, she could live with that for a few minutes. She realised he was speaking again. ‘ . . . did actually meet once. I don’t know if you remember. We had Christmas drinks.’

  It was coming back to her now, a slightly uncomfortable evening in a Wetherspoon’s in York. She could remember talking to various people from the police team – men in suits, women in smart business clothes – all pleasant enough, sociable enough, and all speaking warmly of Matt. ‘Yes – I remember that,’ she said, purposely vague.

  ‘It was a real shock to hear about Matt. I had no idea—’

  That wasn’t something Kay was ready to discuss with a stranger. She cut in quickly, ‘What are you doing now? Are you still in York?’

  ‘No. I’ve retired. You know they closed the unit down, don’t you? Cuts. Anyway, we moved to Whitby, but it’s a bit . . . My wife, Sylvia, died a couple of years ago. Feel as though I’m rattling round a bit, to be honest.’

  Kay understood that. She heard the automatic ‘we’ that still slipped from her occasionally – after all, she was still living the life she and Matt had planned together, even though it wasn’t working out as a life for one. It sounded as though Shaun was stuck in the same place as she was. ‘I know what you mean,’ she said.

  Her gaze fell on the open address book. Shaun was ex-police. He’d know something about the attack at Flamborough, if she could think of a way of getting him to tell her. ‘I did hear about the unit. That was shocking. Talk about short-term thinking. All that—’

  ‘Money. You don’t have to tell me, Kay. There’s just a couple of drop-in centres left, and I can’t see them—’

  She cut in quickly. ‘I didn’t know those were part of your unit. I know someone who works in the drop-in centre in Bridlington. It sounds a bit tough.’

  ‘How do you mean? The money’s always—’

  ‘No, I meant that attack near—’

  ‘Flamborough? You think that’s got something to do with the Bridlington drop-in?’

  ‘Wasn’t she one of the users, the girl who was attacked?’

  There was a moment of silence. ‘Who told you that?’

  Becca. But what Becca had told her probably came under the heading of confidential information. ‘I just assumed. Homeless girls – I know how vulnerable they are.’

  He didn’t reply at once and she got the impression he was thinking something over. ‘Kay, can I sound you out about something? You know this territory – better than I do. The investigating team did talk to me because of my work on the unit. They wanted some background. You understand, this is confidential?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Well, this girl – she was badly hurt. All the usual stuff – I don’t want to go into details, but they damaged her face so badly that they can’t ask for any visual ID. Whoever did it . . .’

  Didn’t want their victim identified. She was right. There was something going on. As to whether it involved the drop-in . . . Occam’s Razor said it did. ‘That’s – terrible. Where is she? The girl?’

  ‘She’s in hospital. They’re not too hopeful, to be honest with you. But she’s young, you never know. Kay, what I wanted to know – when you got a new kid come to you, a girl, what made you think, This one will be OK, this one will make it and what made you think, We might not get there with this one?’

  ‘It doesn’t really work that way. You just do the best you can for each of them. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.’

  ‘But there must be something . . . sorry, I’m badgering you. I just keep thinking if there was some way we could spot them, some way of—’

  ‘I think it’s called clairvoyance.’

  ‘Clare— Oh, I see what you mean. Yes. I suppose you’re right. My problem is – and your Matt told me this often enough – I’m all theory. I’ve never had much to do with teenage girls.’

  Who would probably run rings round him. But the admission made her like him a bit more. ‘They keep on surprising me,’ she said, and he laughed. ‘Well, I have things I need to . . .’

  ‘Wait . . . before you go.’ He sounded hesitant. ‘The reason I called – I found something in my old work folders – something Matt wrote. I think you ought to have it. How can I get it to you? I don’t want to put it in the post.’

  She didn’t like mementos. They weren’t Matt – they were just the remains from a life that had ended. But it was nice of him to think about it. ‘Why don’t you . . .’ She was going to suggest he called round, then realised she didn’t want a stranger coming to the house. ‘I’m in Whitby most days,’ she amended. ‘Let me know when you’re free and we can have coffee or something.’

  ‘How about tomorrow?’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ The speed of it surprised her, but on the other hand, why not? Face to face, she might be able to get a bit more information from him about Flamborough – it was clear he knew more than he was saying. ‘Yes. OK. Tomorrow is fine.’

  They agreed to meet at a café near the harbour towards midday.

  After she’d put down the phone, Kay stayed in the chair, staring out of the window. She was thinking about Matt, but she couldn’t keep her mind away from what Shaun had just told her. He hadn’t gone into any detail, but Kay could read between the lines. The usual stuff – that probably meant raped – and then, apparently, they had destroyed her face – taken away her autonomy, her identity and probably, soon, her life.

  Not so long ago, she had been walking on the cliffs above Kettleness, haunted by the feeling that something bad was on its way. Was this it, this vicious attack? What had the girl done to get on the wrong side of . . . what kind of people?

  The predators were here.

  Chapter 20

  When she woke up, Becca had had no intention of going into work. She was leaving. But after Kay’s phone call – or more to the point, the news Kay gave her about the attack on Paige – it
had to be Paige – everything looked different.

  It was late – almost eight – and she was supposed to start at eight. She splashed some water on her face, pulled on her clothes and, grabbing her bag, clattered down into the street. She was lucky. A bus was coming and she had enough change – just – for her fare. After that, she was cleaned out.

  The smell of frying bacon greeted her as she walked through the door of the drop-in. She wasn’t that late, but someone had opened up for her. Her heart sank at the thought of another row. Neil had made it clear right at the start that she needed to be on time. We have hungry kids at the door every morning, he’d said. We can’t make them wait.

  She went through to the café to face the music, her feet dragging. But it wasn’t Neil. It was Hannah behind the counter, deftly wielding a spatula as a small queue formed of all the early drop-ins. She must have done last night’s clearing up as well. Becca braced herself, but all Hannah said was, ‘Hi, Becca.’

  ‘I’m sorry I’m late. Someone trashed my car.’ She felt bad making it sound like this was why she was late coming in. ‘Did you hear about the girl at, you know . . .’

  ‘Flamborough?’ Hannah was already slipping off the tabard she’d put on over the dungarees she habitually wore. She put the spatula in Becca’s hand and turned her towards the griddle, where rashers of bacon were frying crisp. ‘Yes. Neil called – he isn’t in yet. He’ll talk to all of us about it later. As far as the kids are concerned, you don’t know anything and you’re not going to talk about it, right? Now, all of these lot have got tokens.’ She gestured towards the queue. ‘I’m sorry to hear about your car – we can talk about it later if you want.’

  And Hannah was gone, leaving Becca in charge, with the reassurance that Neil didn’t know she’d been late, and a kind of subtext assurance that Hannah wasn’t going to tell.

  Hannah was all right.

  Becca checked round the room as she handed out sandwiches, toast and cups of tea and collected tokens. There was no sign of Paige, but then she rarely came to the drop-in this early.

  Liam and Terry were sitting at a table in the corner, plates in front of them, their heads close together as they talked. Or rather, Liam was talking and Terry was listening, nodding from time to time. Liam seemed to sense Becca’s gaze and looked across at her. ‘Have a good time last night, then, Bex?’

  ‘Not really. You?’

  ‘Yeah. Smashing, weren’t it, Tez?’ They grinned at each other.

  So now she knew who had trashed her car. His smirk was a challenge, but she managed to ignore him and went on serving until the first rush was over and she had a chance to make herself some toast and a cup of tea. She was just finishing when Neil came into the café and made his way towards her.

  She pushed her plate aside. ‘Hi.’

  ‘You’ve heard the news, I assume, about . . .’

  ‘Yes. Do you know . . .? Is it Paige?’

  Neil’s face was sober. ‘You did the right thing last night, Becca, calling the police and telling them about what happened. By the way, how come you were with Paige that late?’

  That was Neil. He’d tell her she’d done something right, then follow it up with a snide comment. ‘We left at the same time. Is it her?’

  ‘I don’t know any more, I’m afraid.’

  Becca nodded. Unexpectedly, her eyes filled. She turned away quickly, busying herself with wiping down the counter and tidying up the rows of cups. Her voice sounded funny and she knew Neil had noticed something. It wasn’t any of his business how she felt. ‘Yeah, well, it could be. Paige, I mean.’

  ‘It could be,’ Neil agreed. He frowned. ‘Your story – it’s got the police thinking. They’re wondering if there’s a link between what happened and this place. They want to come in and talk to the kids, show them some pictures of people who might be involved in some dodgy stuff. I can’t stop them, but the kids aren’t going to like it. They don’t like the police coming here.’

  So she hadn’t done the right thing after all.

  ‘Anyway, I’ve asked if the staff can go down there to start off with. If we can make the links, then there’s no reason for them to come here. You’re the one who saw what happened last night, so I’d like you to do that. This morning.’

  ‘Talk to the police?’

  ‘Yes. You know the station at Ashville Street, don’t you?’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Yes. As soon as possible. Can you do that?’

  He didn’t know what he was asking. She couldn’t. She just couldn’t.

  ‘You may be the most important witness. I’m not expecting many users in today – they’ve come in for breakfast but they’re all disappearing after that. Word’s got round about the police.’ He frowned. ‘This couldn’t have happened at a worse time. We’ve got the funding people in today and tomorrow. If they see the place deserted like this . . .’

  ‘I don’t know anything. What can I tell them?’

  ‘Just tell them what you saw last night – I know it wasn’t much, but everything will help.’

  ‘But if it isn’t Paige . . .’

  He sounded exasperated. ‘They still need to talk to you. Now, will you do that please, Becca?’

  She had to. For Paige. Muttering an ungracious ‘Suppose so’, she picked up her coat.

  They wouldn’t lock her up, not just for talking to them. She knew she was stupid to be scared of that, but . . . she could still hear the sound of the cell door closing behind her. She couldn’t stand to be locked in.

  It’s for your own safety, Becca.

  As she came out of the café, she saw that the drop-in was almost empty. The whole place was deserted. Even Liam and Terry had vanished.

  Outside, she saw Alek. He was sitting on a bench, tinkering with something small he held in his hand, whistling between his teeth as he worked. When he saw her, he beckoned to her and she went across. ‘Are you going to talk to the police? You know, last night, what you did was the right thing.’

  Did everyone know about it? Was everyone talking about her?

  Alek looked at her more closely. ‘Are you OK, Becca?’

  ‘Yeah. Thanks. I should have done more.’

  ‘You did. You reported it.’

  ‘I should have stopped her. Have you seen her today?’

  Alek shook his head. ‘She doesn’t come in every day, you know that.’ The silence held until it was almost uncomfortable. ‘Let me show you something.’ He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a battered wallet. ‘Here.’

  She took the photograph he was holding out and studied it. A girl – probably about Becca’s age, it was hard to tell. She was in a wheelchair, and her head was lolling to one side as if she couldn’t control it properly. Her chair was pushed up against a desk with a keyboard in front of her. She was smiling.

  ‘Is she . . .?’

  ‘My daughter. Ariana.’

  ‘She’s . . .’ Becca stumbled over what to say. That Ariana was pretty? She was, but she was also badly disabled – that was clear from the picture. ‘What’s she doing?’

  ‘Studying. She’s at Lancaster doing computer-aided engineering. She will have her degree next year, then she will do postgraduate. Then . . .’ He stretched out his arms to indicate the future that would open up in front of her. ‘Very proud.’ He smiled – the first time she’d seen him do that.

  ‘That’s . . . great. Yeah. Great.’ She wasn’t sure why he’d told her, but it was – yeah, it was OK that he had. Ariana. A girl stuck in a wheelchair with a good life opening up, and Paige . . .

  ‘I need to get to Ashville Street.’ She looked up at the darkening sky.

  ‘You didn’t bring your car today?’

  Alek was someone who kept his mouth shut so she told him what had happened. ‘I can’t afford to get it fixed. Maybe when I get paid.’ Except once she’d paid her rent and everything she’d have almost nothing left.

  ‘What is it? Broken windows and cut tyres? I fix it for you. It won’t loo
k pretty but you will be able to drive it.’

  ‘I told you. I can’t afford it.’

  ‘So? Where I come from . . .’ He stopped. ‘These days – we do each other favours if we can.’

  Becca thought about it, looking for the catches in the offer. She didn’t like being obligated. Alek didn’t seem offended by her hesitation, he just waited for her to make up her mind.

  ‘OK,’ she said, then realised this was a bit ungracious. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Then I fix it for you today.’

  ‘Today? You can do it today?’ Becca felt her spirits lift at the thought of the car problem being solved.

  He didn’t reply. He just held out his hand, and after looking at it blankly, Becca realised what he wanted, fished out her keys and gave them to him. ‘It’s on that back lane near the station.’

  ‘I know it,’ he said.

  As she walked away, she turned back to wave at him, but he wasn’t there. At first, she thought he must have gone back into the building, but then she saw him further up the road, walking fast before vanishing round the corner.

  Chapter 21

  Becca stood on Ashville Street, looking at the police cars parked outside. The building looked back at her, the windows like blank eyes.

  She didn’t want to go inside.

  She never wanted to have anything to do with the police again. They’d locked her up when she hadn’t done anything. She could remember the woman looking at her, her fake smile hiding disbelief. We know you didn’t mean to do any harm, but you could have hurt someone badly. Someone meant Him, her stepfather. Becca was sorry she hadn’t started the fire like they said. If she had, maybe it would have hurt Him. Maybe it would have killed Him.

  Kay kept saying it was different now, but Kay – Kay might be good with kids but she didn’t live in their world. She didn’t get it, not really.

  OK, time to do this. She took a few deep breaths, then she went in through the main entrance.

  Inside, she was confronted by a small room with a screened desk at one end and a random collection of plastic chairs along one wall, two of which were occupied. The man at the desk told her to wait, so she sat down, giving herself a chair’s width between the other two people who were waiting there. She took out her phone and pretended to be engaged with something on the screen, trying not to make eye contact.