Damaged Goods (20 page)

‘Exactly, not the actions of someone caught in an adrenalin rush,’ said Sheba.

‘And the third reason?’ asked Jez.

Sheba took a long drink. ‘Much more interesting. The mutilation is actually more important to the killer than the killing. The post-mortem ritual provides a release which may be psychosexual, particularly if he’s impotent, which would explain the lack of semen at the scene. It’s as Lilly says, he does it because he likes it.’

‘Would someone like that visit prostitutes?’ asked Lilly.

Sheba nodded vigorously. ‘Almost definitely.’

‘Then we have our other poor sod,’ said Jez, triumphant again.

‘Perhaps,’ said Sheba.

‘You still have doubts?’ Lilly queried.

Sheba circled the rim of her glass with a wet finger, an impossibly sensual gesture of which she seemed oblivious. ‘It’s so extreme yet so meticulous. Almost textbook.’

‘So our man’s tidy,’ said Jez.

‘It’s much more than that,’ she said. ‘For anyone to go this far he’s been fantasising for years. He will probably watch lots of porn, not vanilla flavour, and visit lots of prostitutes. It’s all so perfect I would doubt this is his first attack.’

Jez’s eyes opened wide. ‘He’s done it before?’

‘Very possibly, although perhaps to a lesser extent,’ she answered.

Jez tapped his nose. Lilly could almost hear his mind whirring. ‘Something like that would have hit the press. Or at the very least the police would know about it.’

‘Maybe they do know,’ said Lilly, ‘and maybe it’s been swept under the carpet.’

Her audience waited, breath held, for more information.

‘There’s a woman in Parkgate who was cut to ribbons by a punter. She was working the same patch as Grace.’

‘We need to find out who she is and see if she’ll talk to us,’ said Jez.

Lilly gave a half-smile. ‘I know who she is and she’s already agreed to see me.’

Normally vocal in her complaints, Charlene sat at the kitchen table quietly with the other residents. She didn’t comment on the wrinkled potatoes, singed and black like dirty stones. Instead she pushed them around her plate in contented silence and even nibbled at the accompanying carrots which squatted in a cold, accusing pile.

‘You on a promise?’ asked the boy across the table.

Charlene refused to look at him. Max had told her there were two types of people in the world: those who made something of themselves, and those destined for the bottom of the bin. Winners and losers, take your pick. Charlene knew what she was and wouldn’t waste another second on the sad idiots in The Bushes. Really, she should feel sorry for them.

The boy balled up a piece of kitchen roll and threw it at Charlene. ‘Chaz is on a promise.’

‘That’s right,’ shouted Jermaine, joining his friend in the torture. ‘He’s promised her a facelift.’

Charlene itched to flick him with the nearest dishcloth but reminded herself that contact was futile and dangerous. These lowlifes were infectious, ready to drag you down.

Knowing that all eyes were on her, she smiled to herself and dissected the dry food on her plate. Miriam, who had no doubt anticipated a battle of insults and low-level assaults, looked particularly wary of Charlene’s newfound pacifism.

When the table, floor, walls and cupboards had been wiped down to Miriam’s satisfaction, the children sloped off to the television room, but Charlene was held back by the firm hand and insistent look that Miriam could employ with ease.

‘Anything you want to tell me?’ she asked.

Charlene shook her head and turned to go. Miriam was all right, but she chose to work here and breathe the same air as the others so that must make her a loser too. Charlene would check with Max but was sure he’d agree.

Miriam kept her hand on Charlene’s arm. Not tight, but with enough pressure to convey who was in charge. ‘Will you do a drugs test for me?’

Charlene snorted. Miriam regularly tested her charges. Everyone knew she couldn’t force them to take the test but everyone also knew a refusal would be taken as a sign of guilt, which more often than not would result in a swift transfer to another unit. Miriam would deal with truancy, swearing, fighting and even stealing with the lightest of touch, but she would not tolerate drugs in the unit.

The Bushes was no palace, but for most of the residents it was the nearest they’d ever come, with warm beds, three meals a day and the grudging acceptance that Miriam did, in fact, give a shit. For most it wasn’t a risk worth taking.

‘Why should I?’ asked Charlene, her return to petulance instantly familiar.

Miriam kept her gaze as steady as her voice. ‘Because I’m worried about you.’

‘Don’t be,’ snapped Charlene.

There was a brief hiatus as Charlene tried to push past the much taller woman, who stood oak firm and blocked the escape route.

‘You know what will happen if you refuse,’ said Miriam.

Charlene began to panic. If she was kicked out of The Bushes where would she go? Her dad wouldn’t have her back, not now the bitch from hell and her four dirty kids had moved in, and her mum was still in the nut house after she threatened to throw herself off the flyover.

They might send her to a unit miles away. The last boy went to some place near Dover, wherever that was. Worse still, they could put her in a secure unit, which might as well be prison because you weren’t allowed out on your own. Either way, she wouldn’t be able to see Max, and although she was special and had star quality she wasn’t naive enough to think she was the only girl he was helping. If Charlene didn’t grab every opportunity on offer she was sure that some other stupid tart would.

‘I ain’t on drugs,’ said Charlene, but she opened her mouth and allowed Miriam to scrape the inside of her cheek with a swab. After all, the test would take ages to come back, and it was only a week before her new life began.

‘And I’ll expect an apology.’

Lilly left Jez and Sheba drinking happily and copiously in Lancasters. Their bond was so strong Lilly wished, not for the first time, that she had a sibling.

As a child she had always imagined having a sister, someone with whom to discuss the stories in
Cathy
and pierce one another’s ears with a kilt pin. All her life she had been an outsider, always on the outside looking in. Wouldn’t it be great to fit in with someone like connecting pieces in a puzzle?

She hoped Jez and Sheba had at least been impressed that she had already managed to track down another victim, that if not part of their gang they at least saw her as an equal.

She went to collect Sam, and planned to call in at the baker’s on the way home to choose a chocolate-covered treat, but as soon as she saw her son she could see he was in no mood for sugar.

Usually, Sam shook his teacher’s hand like a fireman at a pump, and bounded out of his classroom, full of enthusiasm for the day’s next chapter. Today he mumbled good afternoon and offered a limp wrist, which Miss Lewis mechanically moved up and down, then dragged his feet all the way to the car.

‘Good day, big man?’ Lilly asked.

Sam didn’t answer, but Lilly knew she would find out what was bothering him soon enough. Sam was not a boy to keep any grievance to himself. Lilly wondered if Cara’s pregnancy was still playing on his mind.

Sure enough, after a silent journey home, Sam sat at the kitchen table and gave a deep and weary sigh. Lilly would have laughed at the melodrama but knew Sam was in no mood for humour.

Apropos of nothing, Sam demanded to know if his mother knew what Austria was like and had she ever been skiing. Lilly understood where the conversation was going and knew her answer would affect its development. Relieved that his mood wasn’t about the baby, Lilly considered how best to deal with her son. Sam, like Lilly, hated diversion tactics, particularly the transparent kind that insulted the intelligence, so talk of cakes or confectionery would only start an incendiary. Pretence by Lilly that she didn’t know what he was getting at would simply allow Sam to spell things out at length and in excruciating detail.

Lilly chose the well-worn path of factual accuracy and explained that, although she herself had never had the pleasure of a trip to Austria, Sam’s dad had been on business and reported it to be cold but rather pretty. She resisted the temptation to tell him that on the estate where she grew up ski-masks were worn by those robbing petrol stations, and stuck to the bare truth. She herself had never skied but she’d always thought it looked fun.

Sam digested these facts along with his sausage and mash, an unseasonal choice hastily put together because it was his favourite. He held his cutlery vertically, while a slow river of onion gravy ran down his fork and pooled in a rich brown puddle on his fist.

‘There’s a school trip in January. Everyone’s going, but I know we haven’t got enough money,’ he said.

Lilly recalled how it had hurt when she was a child and Elsa couldn’t stretch to the trip to Hadrian’s Wall. She’d spent a whole term compiling a project on a place she’d never been to.

She removed the fork and wiped Sam’s hand with a dishcloth. ‘Maybe we could ask Dad.’

Sam shook his head sadly. ‘He won’t have it. New babies cost a fortune.’

‘That’s true,’ said Lilly, ‘but we could go half each.’

Sam’s eyes opened wide and he raced to retrieve a letter from his book bag.

‘This tells you all about it,’ he gabbled, and thrust the paper at Lilly. ‘Do you really think I can go?’

She thought of the insurance premium on her car, the warped front door to the cottage which barely fitted into the rotten frame, the carpet in her bedroom so threadbare that only the stains held it together.

‘Yes, you can go.’

Lilly left Sam checking an atlas and collected her emails.

To: Lilly Valentine

From: Rupinder Singh

Subject: Who the hell is Candy Grigson?

Have had a fax from Parkgate saying the above named wants a visit. There’s no client by this name on the database and Sheila has never heard of her.

Your paperwork has now reached crisis point and you cannot afford to waste your time and my money on more waifs and strays.

Rupes

PS I’ve made an appointment for you to see her tomorrow morning.

PPS This had better be good.

PPPS Jez doesn’t get any more ugly, does he?

To: Lilly Valentine

From: Bathsheba Lorenson

Subject: Our other poor sod

Further to our discussion today I must stress that I remain unconvinced about the likelihood of our murderer being one of Grace’s customers. However, as I thought the internet was a flash in the pan I’ll let you run with it as a possible theory.

When you see the inmate who is allegedly another victim of our man you will need to ascertain the exact circumstances of the attack, whether she knew the client, where it took place, and in particular whether she was unconscious at the time of the mutilation – and if so was that as a result of a blow to the head.

A fight with an enraged punter is not what we’re after.

With regard to Kelsey, I have been giving more thought as to how we can get her out of Parkgate, but first I need to speak to you about any possible sexual abuse she may have suffered.

Hasta mañana,

Sheba

To: Lilly Valentine

From: Jack McNally

Subject: Not sure really

Just wanted to know how you’re doing.

Jack x 

Lilly reread all three, not knowing which was causing her the most consternation. She was glad Candy had got in touch but worried she might be just another red herring. Sheba clearly thought so.

Jack’s email was the shortest but each word seemed loaded. Lilly wanted to respond but wasn’t sure how. Could she start a relationship with someone she was effectively lying to? Kelsey’s letter lay like a chasm between them. And what on earth made her think that Jack wanted a relationship with her? She was hardly a catch. His message was, after all, a simple enquiry as to her health. Given she’d been stabbed a few days ago he was probably just being polite. Yet Lilly couldn’t help but focus on the last digit.

Finally she decided to call his mobile and ask him over for supper. But she was almost relieved when she heard the beep, followed by Jack’s mellifluous Irish accent.

‘
This is Jack McNally,’ fraid I can’t pick up but leave
a message and I’ll get back to you
.’

Lilly hung up immediately. It was surely a sign that she should put this thing on ice until after the case was finished.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Saturday, 19 September

Hermione Barrows is drawn again to the videotape. She has watched it three times already this morning but its pull is magnetic. She cannot quite believe what she has seen. She is shaken to her core.

She hears her husband enter the room but doesn’t turn to him. She is transfixed by what she sees on the screen.

‘What are you watching?’ he asks, a tremor in his voice.

‘I think you can see for yourself.’

She presses the mute button on the remote control and all is silent, the images somehow more potent.

She drags her eyes from the picture and forces herself to look at her husband. She can feel tears pricking her eyes.

‘Hermione,’ he says, but lets the sentence fall away.

The quiet between them roars like a river.

‘It’s not as bad as it looks,’ he says at last, without conviction.

Hermione turns back to the television, the tears running freely. It is every bit as bad as it looks.

For there she is, in close-up, each contorted expression magnified, every imperfection in her skin on display.

Hermione points at her own flawed face filling the screen, in stark comparison to the tight creamy skin of the woman thrusting a microphone in her face, and howls as if wounded.

‘I am old.’

Lilly arrived at Parkgate for the third time in three days but the guards remained cold and unhelpful. Only the youngest spoke to her, and that was to ask after Sheba.

She handed over her identification and was escorted to a table in the Friends and Family Centre.

Candy Grigson ambled into the room with all the swagger of a serious offender. Prison food had made no impact on her bulk, which Lilly estimated to be well over fourteen stone. Nor had it helped her teeth, which covered most of the hues between brown, grey and black.

Candy parked her impressive backside opposite Lilly. ‘Got any fags?’

Lilly pushed across a packet of Benson and Hedges.

Candy ripped open the packet, lit up and began to bark like a seal. She hawked up a mouthful of phlegm and swallowed it down. ‘Get us a cuppa.’

Lilly sighed and reminded herself that this woman could still be the victim they were looking for.

Candy drained her cup, burped warm tea breath into Lilly’s face and lit another cigarette with the end of her last one. ‘Angie tells me you’re all right.’

‘That was good of her, and it’s very good of you to agree to see me. I realise you must be very busy,’ said Lilly.

Candy nodded as if her days were a nonstop schedule of activities and commitments. ‘I told Angie if it were important I’d make the time.’

Lilly watched the smoke stream out of Candy’s nostrils and wondered if she had ever seen such an unattractive woman. ‘I’ll try to keep this as short as possible.’

Candy shrugged magnanimously. ‘I’m here now.’

‘Angie told me you’d been hurt by one of your clients,’ said Lilly. ‘I’m sure it’s very difficult to talk about.’

‘He carved me up good and proper,’ said Candy.

‘What happened?’

Candy sat back in her chair. ‘He were a right bastard,’ she said, gearing up to tell her story. ‘Used to come to the flat every couple of weeks. I told Jon I didn’t like him.’

‘Jon?’ asked Lilly.

‘My fella. I said he were weird and we should just get rid, but Jon wouldn’t have it.’ She took another long drag. ‘He said we needed the regulars for cash flow and that.’

Lilly nodded as if the half-baked economics of a pimp made perfect sense. Now was not the time to challenge Candy’s life choices.

‘He said he’d keep a close eye on that bastard, make sure it didn’t get out of hand.’

‘Make sure what didn’t get out of hand?’ asked Lilly.

Candy stubbed out the remains of her cigarette and passed the packet from one hand to the other. ‘The stuff he liked. The rough stuff, you know.’

Lilly pretended to have no clue, she needed Candy to be more specific. ‘Sex games, you mean?’

Candy laughed but there was little mirth in her voice. ‘It weren’t no bloody game with him. I told Jon he were a wrong-un.’

‘In what way?’

‘Always the same every time. He wanted me to lie still, like I were asleep or something, then he’d do stuff to me,’ said Candy.

Lilly swallowed her impatience. ‘What stuff?’

Candy lit another cigarette without taking her eyes off Lilly. She smirked, clearly mistaking Lilly’s excitement for voyeurism. ‘Not what you think. No sex at all. He didn’t even want a hand job. That’s why I didn’t want to do him – I mean, it’s not as if I like shagging ’em but at least you know where you are.’

‘So what
did
he do?’

Lilly knew she was pushing too hard, making Candy suspicious, but this sounded like their man.

‘Are you getting off on this or what?’ said Candy.

Lilly opened her mouth to protest, but Candy just shrugged as if she couldn’t care less.

‘It started off all right. He just prodded and poked me a bit. Then he started running things over me, a pen or some keys, and he started pressing harder, leaving marks. Jon says, “He ain’t hurting you so what you moaning about?” But it weren’t what he did so much as what he said.’

‘Like what?’ asked Lilly.

‘Weird stuff. I mean, I’m used to the dirty talk, ain’t I? The “ooh, baby, ahh, baby”, well, it’s just part of the job.’

Candy scratched her massive thighs and Lilly tried not to imagine her in the throes of her work.

‘I don’t even worry about the nasty stuff as long as it’s just verbals,’ Candy continued. ‘They can call me a bitch and a slut if they’re paying. I mean, I ain’t too fond of them neither and if it speeds ’em up it’s all right by me.’

‘But this went further,’ said Lilly.

Candy nodded. ‘He said I were vile, that the sight of me made him sick. I said, “You don’t have to keep coming here, mate, there’s plenty of other girls working the Cross,” but he just laughed. He said we were all the same. That we were all –’ Candy paused, trying to remember his exact words. ‘He said we were all damaged goods.’

‘Did you suspect he was dangerous?’ asked Lilly.

‘Too right I did. I kept telling Jon but he said it were only chat, which were true, but I still had a bad feeling about him,’ said Candy.

Lilly wondered how she could steer the conversation to the night Candy was stabbed without confirming Candy’s view that she was some sort of snuff merchant. She needn’t have worried, Candy was in full flow, smoke pouring from every orifice.

‘One night he comes over and asks for extra time, says he’ll pay double. I wasn’t happy but Jon had already taken the money so I start to get undressed – and
bang
.’ Candy smacked her right fist into her left palm. ‘He hit me hard. I mean, I can look after myself but he caught me by surprise from behind. I tried to shout but he put something over my mouth, like this.’

Candy yanked her head back by a handful of hair and placed her other hand over her mouth. Though just a re-enactment, Candy’s eyes were wide with terror and Lilly felt her own chest tighten.

‘He had a piece of cloth in his hand and I could smell the chemicals on it. It made me dizzy and I fell over. I knew what he were going to do but I couldn’t move.’

Lilly’s chest had started to burn and she realised she was holding her breath. When she finally exhaled, Candy continued.

‘He put me on the bed face down and I can’t even speak let alone scream. I could hear Jon outside. He were arguing with some mate about some match on the phone so I knew he weren’t coming in any time soon. You know how men get when they’re on one about footie?’

Lilly nodded, but in truth David had never shown any passion for sport.

‘All I could do was lie there and let it happen.’

‘You were still conscious?’ asked Lilly, her voice strangled by fear.

Candy nodded. Some of her bravado had deserted her and her hand shook as she stubbed out the dog-end.

‘It were weird, like being in a coma or something. I could hear everything as if it were all a long way away but I couldn’t even lift my head. Then I felt him over me, sat like normal with his legs on either side of me, and I saw a glint of something out of the corner of my eye. I told myself it were a key but I knew it weren’t.’

Lilly felt bile fill her throat, its acid sting rising towards her mouth. She forced herself to swallow and looked into Candy’s eyes, urging her to continue.

‘When he started to cut me I heard it more than felt it, like paper tearing. And I could smell blood, like iron filings, but it didn’t really hurt.’

For the first time Candy looked away, as if it were she that should feel ashamed.

‘He were so calm. I closed my eyes, thinking that at least he weren’t going to kill me. I counted in my head so I’d know when he’d be finished. That’s how I know he left fifteen minutes early, so as he’d be gone before Jon got off the phone, I suppose. I expect you want to see what he did.’

Lilly felt the prick of colour rise in her cheeks. ‘Oh no, I wouldn’t dream …’

Before Lilly could finish Candy unhooked her overalls and lifted her prison sweatshirt to reveal several rolls of white flesh. She swivelled around in her chair to show the exposed skin of her back and Lilly gasped. The scars that crisscrossed under the straps of Candy’s bra were too numerous to count. They radiated from the centre like the close-up of a snowflake, beautiful yet terrible.

Candy rearranged her clothes and turned back to Lilly. She jerked her head over her shoulder. ‘I’m just glad he only had time to do my back. You wouldn’t want that mess on your face, would you?’

Lilly was grateful when the guard informed her that visiting was finished. She had no idea what to say to Candy. Every response would have been inadequate. As Candy pocketed the remaining cigarettes and scraped back her chair, Lilly touched her arm.

‘Did you go to the police?’

Candy snorted in disgust. ‘Didn’t have a choice. The hospital rang ’em when they were stitching me up but it were a waste of time. I had no idea who he were and they had no intention of finding out.’

Lilly was incredulous. ‘But you were so badly injured.’

Candy laughed, her bravado returned. ‘I’m just a tart, love.’

‘So he’s still out there,’ said Lilly.

Candy shrugged, turned away and swaggered back to her cell.

The buttons on her silk shirt are exquisite, each one a tiny cluster of seed pearls. Barely noticeable, perhaps, worn under a suit jacket, but to Hermione detail is everything. She takes a deep breath and focuses on the buttons rather than the shaking of her hands as she dresses herself.

She had tried not to think about the video and had nearly succeeded until she redirected her cab from Westminster to Harley Street. It can’t be just the passage of time that has ravaged her face, she’s not that old. She must be ill. If she thinks about it she hasn’t been herself for months, her temperature soaring, especially at night.

‘So,’ says Dr Emmanuel when Hermione emerges from behind the curtain. ‘When did you last have a period?’

She pretends to give the matter some thought. ‘Three, maybe four months ago.’

The doctor nods and leans back in his chair. ‘There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong and you’re certainly not pregnant.’

Hermione gives a tinny laugh. ‘Certainly not.’

‘So this is more likely to be the start of the menopause.’

The room tilts violently and Hermione grabs the back of the chair. ‘Not a virus?’

He shakes his head and smiles. ‘A little early, but there we are.’

Hermione feels her way into the chair as if blinded. Her breathing comes very fast.

The doctor’s smile slips a fraction. ‘Are you all right, Mrs Barrows?’

She must pull herself together. ‘Yes, of course.’ Her tone is breezy. ‘It’s the heat.’

He nods again. At £250 per visit, Dr Emmanuel can do discretion.

‘We can manage any symptoms so that your career is not affected in any way.’

‘My career’, Hermione has found her ballast, ‘is what is important here.’

‘Absolutely,’ he says, and nods once more.

* * *

Sam was spending the day with his dad. Weeks ago David had suggested he stay overnight too, that they might go to the cinema or to Pizza Express, but when it came to it Cara had tickets for the ballet.

‘A last treat before she gets too big,’ said David.

Whatever. Lilly was too knackered to argue and would make it up to Sam with home-made beef burgers and a DVD.

With a few free hours left, Lilly called Sheba and they agreed to meet in Lancasters. She drove too fast but she was desperate to share Candy’s story. She parked outside the bar and slammed the car door behind her.

‘You can’t leave it like that,’ said an elderly man in a navy blazer.

Lilly followed his eye-line and saw that she had not only mounted the kerb, she was taking up most of the pavement.

The man tutted. ‘A wheelchair will never get through.’

Lilly had an urge to tell him to get lost and mind his own, but he had a point, however pompously made.

‘And I dread to think how a guide dog would manage,’ he said.

Lilly got back in. ‘I didn’t know we were expecting the Para-Olympics.’

‘Young lady, sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.’

Lilly pretended not to hear. ‘I’d move back if I were you, I’m a terrible driver.’

She gunned the engine, shot towards him and sent him scuttling away.

The first thing she saw when she parked again was Jez’s arched eyebrows. Evidently he’d seen the whole incident.

‘Terrorising OAPs. I think someone needs a drink.’

Lilly had been expecting only Sheba but wasn’t surprised to see her brother as well. The pair seemed incredibly close and Lilly could only hope that Jez hadn’t divulged her slatternly behaviour to Sheba. She consoled herself that a drunken fumble with a scruffy single mother wasn’t likely to be something he’d brag about.

Inside the bar, Jez ordered a bottle of wine and sat with Sheba, who was already halfway through what looked like a stiff gin and tonic and fending off offers of a second from the man at the next table.