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CHAPTER FOUR

Thursday, 10 September

The next morning Lilly dressed in a navy blue wool suit. The sun was shining and Lilly was hot but she had a meeting with the pathologist at eleven and needed to boost her confidence. Experience had taught her that looking the part helped her to feel the part.

She had given up even trying to sleep at 4 a.m. and had instead paced the kitchen, alternately drinking red wine and rereading Kelsey’s letter.

She looked every bit as terrible as she felt and the suit was already starting to itch.

She scraped back her hair from her face and secured it in a tight knot at the nape of her neck.

‘I like your hair better the other way, Mummy,’ said Sam.

‘I like a lot of things I don’t get,’ Lilly snapped.

‘I only meant you look prettier with it loose.’

Lilly turned to apologise but Sam had already gone outside and was standing by the car.

The drive to school was torture. Lilly tried to make the peace but her attempts were rebuffed.

‘I’m sorry I was grumpy, big man, but I’m very tired,’ said Lilly.

Sam refused to face her. ‘You’re always tired.’

‘I’m working very hard at the moment, trying to help a little girl whose mummy died.’

Sam’s expression said it all. He didn’t care about the girl or any of the other children his mother was always talking about, and he didn’t want to share her with them.

‘Nothing will ever be as important to me as you. You know that, don’t you?’ Lilly said.

Sam chose not to answer and collected his bags together to get out of the car.

‘Maybe I could leave early tonight and we could do something nice. How about a movie?’

Sam reached for the handle before the car had even come to a stop. ‘Last time your phone rang three times, and when the man behind told you to turn it off you had fallen asleep.’

‘What do you want me to do, Sam?’

He said nothing but watched Penny Van Huysan approach the car, her linen shift complementing a healthy tan and an athletic figure. Was the woman having an affair with her tennis coach?

At last he turned to Lilly. ‘I want you to be like the other mums.’

Penny waved. ‘You haven’t forgotten coffee this morning, have you?’

Lilly looked at Sam’s forlorn expression.

‘Of course not,’ she said.

* * *

Hermione Barrows chooses her outfit with care. A black jacket, sharply tailored and begging to be taken seriously, over the crispest of white shirts. She has been taught from a young age that appearance matters. Her mother had almost bankrupted her father with her endless shopping trips for clothes and her demands for bigger cars and holidays in far-flung islands where they would all be bored senseless.

When it became clear Hermione wouldn’t have children her mother didn’t ask why, didn’t actually care, but advised her to give the impression she’d at least tried.

‘Say you love kids but it wasn’t meant to be,’ she said. ‘People don’t trust women who don’t like babies.’

Yes, Hermione’s mother would have made a fantastic campaign manager.

Hermione drapes a silk scarf around her neckline to soften the edges and pick up the aqua flecks in her eyes. The clothes say everything she wants to project. She’s a tough politician but at the same time human. A no-nonsense woman of the people.

The previous evening, at a local party meeting, she had given a rousing speech on law and order and called for the police to investigate the death of Kelsey’s mother. William is right, this is an opportunity she can’t afford to miss.

‘We cannot allow lawlessness to take over the streets of this constituency,’ she’d announced. ‘The police must take all crimes seriously, no matter how insignificant the victim seems, and this includes Grace Brand.’

A local reporter had recorded every word and Hermione had been overjoyed to receive invitations to speak on both the local radio and television stations. If both run the story and include her involvement her profile will demand serious attention, maybe from the national press.

She pulls on kitten-heeled slingbacks and struts downstairs. In the hallway, William is on the telephone. He smiles up at her and she remembers to smile back. He places his palm over the handset. ‘It’s for you.’

‘Direct it to Nancy, darling, my media need me,’ she says with a laugh. Nancy Donaldson will have to tear herself away from the nail bar today. Hermione’s parliamentary assistant is going to have an unusually busy day.

‘It is Nancy. She’s had a call from central office,’ William says.

Hermione snatches the telephone from him. Today is going to be a very good day.

The table was laden with croissants, pastries and preserves, but Lilly noticed that she was the only one actually eating. A cursory glance at the other women who sipped their black coffees told her that she alone weighed more than nine stone. She helped herself to butter and smiled at them. No doubt they didn’t have raging hangovers to quell.

‘Have you gone part-time?’ asked Luella Wignall, the mother of Cecily, who Sam always referred to as ‘Onion Face’.

Lilly assumed Luella was smiling but it was so difficult to tell. Whatever her facial expression, Luella’s mouth always turned down at the ends like a cross between Cherie Blair and the Joker from Batman.

‘Afraid not, but my first meeting’s not until eleven, so here I am,’ Lilly said.

‘And we’re all very glad to see you,’ said Penny Van Huysan.

‘Where do you have to be at eleven?’ asked Luella without interest.

‘Path lab,’ said Lilly. ‘I mean, pathology lab.’

Luella was aghast. ‘You mean where they cut up the dead bodies!’

‘Not exactly. They do perform the autopsies there but they do all sorts of other forensic tests as well. It’s not like in CSI,’ said Lilly.

Luella’s eyes were wide with horror. ‘You won’t see any dead bodies, surely?

‘No. I’m not allowed in the actual lab, to avoid contamination, I suppose, but I’m meeting one of the pathologists to talk about one of his reports,’ Lilly said.

‘How exciting,’ giggled Penny.

Lilly shook her head. It amazed her how other people saw her job. ‘Not really. The reports are turgid but I’m hoping he can clear a few things up on one of my cases.’

‘What’s it about?’ asked Penny, her tone somewhere between the Secret Seven and Dan Dare.

Lilly put down her croissant. ‘I represent the eldest child of a woman who was murdered on the Clayhill Estate.’

‘The prostitute!’ said Penny.

Lilly was surprised that the women seemed to know who she was talking about. She’d assumed their contact with the outside world stopped at the hairdresser’s; maybe she’d been too hasty in her analysis of them. David had always said the chip on her shoulder was so big it was a wonder she didn’t lean to one side.

‘I suppose we, the taxpayer, will have to keep the girl living in the lap of luxury from now on,’ said Luella.

Lilly pushed away her plate, her appetite gone. She warned herself not to react. These were the mothers of her son’s friends, she’d come along today because he wanted her to fit in, not pick fights.

‘It will cost thousands to keep her and she doesn’t have to contribute a penny. Not a penny,’ said Luella.

Don’t do it, Lilly. Don’t do it.

‘I wish someone would give me some free money,’ said Luella, whose husband had just become a tax exile in Dublin.

Lilly couldn’t stop herself. ‘She’s fourteen, Luella, are you suggesting she fend for herself?’

Luella reddened.

‘Have you ever been inside a children’s home?’ Lilly asked.

Luella shook her head.

‘Then what makes you think it’s the lap of luxury?’

Luella shrugged. ‘You see things in the papers.’

Lilly was caught between amazement and exasperation. ‘Can I suggest you don’t believe everything you read.’

Yes, the chip was heavy, but it was perfectly balanced by the weight of other people’s prejudice which she carried on the other side.

* * *

Jack finished a can of Coke and crunched it in his fist. Not a healthy breakfast, he conceded, but the only other choice in his fridge had been the leftovers of last night’s chicken korma.

He was looking forward to seeing Lilly and although the path lab was not the most romantic place for a date, even by his low standards, he felt pleasurably nervous.

That morning he’d intended to make a bit of an effort and iron his shirt, but when he’d pulled out the old Phillips steamer he remembered he’d used the plug for his radio alarm and there wasn’t time for a regraft. Still, he’d had a wash and combed his hair.

He waited for Lilly in the foyer, skulking in the shadows. From the outside the lab looked like any other government building, three storeys high, dull red bricks, an identical plastic blind at each window. Inside was grey and eerily noiseless, the sound of footfall muffled by nylon carpet tiles. Jack hated it and had no intention of going in alone. He would have waited in the street but for the overwhelming brightness of the day.

When she finally arrived, Jack was surprised to see Lilly’s unruly hair raked back. He didn’t like it at all, not because it didn’t suit her but because he loved the mass of waves that usually tumbled around her face.

‘Sorry I’m late, I had a coffee morning,’ she said.

He winked. ‘Top priority, eh?’

‘What would you know about my priorities?’ she barked.

Jack took a deep breath. Lilly’s mood was as severe as her hair.

They moved through the building to a waiting area. Dr Cheney was already there, rocking on his heels and glancing at his watch. He was a tall man with hair almost as wild as Lilly’s, a haystack that slipped past his shoulders, tucked behind his ears to reveal a shooting gallery of piercings. On his nose were perched black glasses, the standard issue of the NHS in the Seventies. Jack couldn’t easily picture him poring over photographs of blood-splatter patterns or checking particles of dust under a microscope, but knew that this was precisely how Cheney spent his time.

Jack had first met Cheney five years ago at a leaving party for a mutual acquaintance who had been promoted to the Drug Squad. They had argued over a technician called Debbie, who they both claimed had given them the eye and for whom they had both bought a rum and Coke. When she finally left with her lips wrapped around a recently divorced dog-handler from Essex, Jack and Cheney went on a bender that finished the following lunchtime in a twenty-four-hour café next to King’s Cross. They’d been friends ever since.

The doctor pulled off latex gloves. A tribal tattoo encircled his left wrist. ‘Officer McNally, Ms Valentine. How can I help you?’

It was usual for the police officer to explain their visit, but Lilly was obviously in no mood for niceties.

‘I represent Kelsey Brand, the daughter of Grace Brand. The court is in the process of deciding whether a Care Order should be made.’

‘Judging by the condition of her mother I think that’s inevitable, Ms Valentine,’ the doctor said.

One of the things Jack liked about Cheney was his sense of humour. Dark, irreverent, like his own.

Lilly smiled politely. ‘I’ll be frank, Doctor Cheney, her mother’s death is the least of my client’s worries. If the police have their way she’ll be locked away until she’s too old to have children of her own, presuming she survives prison at all. They think Kelsey murdered her mother.’

‘That’s not entirely true,’ said Jack.

Lilly’s eyes flashed. ‘Bullshit. You’re not investigating anyone else.’

Dr Cheney coughed. Jack knew he would be amused by the scuffle, only too happy to see his friend snubbed, particularly by an attractive member of the opposite sex.

‘And you want to head them off at the pass,’ said the doctor.

‘Yes. I need them to drop this nonsense so I can get the poor kid into a decent foster placement. If you have any information in advance of the autopsy report I’d appreciate it,’ Lilly said.

‘How about confirmation that a fourteen-year-old couldn’t have committed this crime,’ said Cheney.

Jack was irritated to notice that, despite herself, Lilly’s shoulders relaxed and a smile played at the corners of her mouth. ‘That would be great, but anything at all would do.’

The doctor laughed and flopped into a chair. Lilly and Jack followed suit.

‘As you know, the cause of death was a trauma to the base of the skull.’ Cheney touched the hairline at the nape of his neck. ‘It was made by a blunt instrument, and by my estimation there were two blows, both hard, both clean.’

‘What about the knife wounds?’ asked Jack, determined not to be excluded from the discussion, which was in danger of becoming a cosy chat á deux.

Cheney answered Jack’s question but kept his eyes firmly on Lilly. ‘They’re extensive but not deep, without the blow to the head I doubt any would have proved fatal. In any event, they’re all post mortem.’

‘Is it possible that the killer didn’t know she was dead and simply continued the attack?’ asked Lilly, lifting her knotted hair and rubbing the pale skin of her own neck, an action so unintentionally sensual it mesmerised both men.

Cheney recovered first and spread his palms. ‘Anything’s possible.’

Jack forced the doctor’s attention from Lilly. ‘But you don’t think it happened that way.’

Cheney paused, but Jack knew it would not be in hesitation. His shambolic appearance belied a precise mind and he was a man who measured his words with care. When his answer came it was emphatic.

‘No. The victim would have fallen to the floor almost immediately after she was struck. Even if the killer didn’t realise she was dead he must have known she was unconscious when he began cutting her. There would have been no reaction.’

‘Maybe he was in a frenzy and couldn’t stop,’ said Lilly.

‘As I said, anything’s possible, but the person who inflicted the knife wounds wasn’t out of control. He wasn’t slashing or stabbing wildly, he moved the body, laid it on the bed and began his task in a careful manner.’ Cheney drew lines in the air with his forefinger. ‘The wounds are virtually all the same length and depth, and most are evenly spaced.’

‘They’re all on the torso,’ said Jack unnecessarily.

Cheney smirked, clearly aware of his friend’s efforts to redirect both his words and his gaze. ‘Yes. Nothing on the face or neck. Our assailant wanted to make his point but he didn’t want to rip her apart. There’s a degree of respect shown that’s intriguing.’

Now they were getting somewhere. ‘Maybe the killer knew Grace, had feelings for her,’ said Jack.

‘That’s highly probable. There was no sign of a forced entry or a struggle and there are no defensive injuries. It seems she let the killer in, suspecting nothing,’ said Cheney.

Lilly shook her head. ‘Isn’t it just as likely the killer was a punter? She was expecting him, she lets him in, he gives her the money, she turns round to count it, and bam.’

‘Why cut her up?’ asked Jack.

‘Who knows what people get off on? Some like shagging dogs, some like being whipped. Men are a curious breed, maybe some like cutting people up,’ said Lilly.

Dr Cheney considered this for a moment. ‘That would be a good theory, except the body has no evidence of any sexual activity, nor were any traces of semen found at the scene.’

Lilly snapped open the top button of her suit and scratched her throat, leaving vicious welts. Jack resisted the temptation to move her hand.

‘Surely we’re looking at a man? From a purely practical point of view he’d need to be strong enough to kill her outright and then move the body,’ said Lilly.

‘The blow to the head could have been caused by anyone strong enough to swing a pan or a hammer, male or female. It’s the density of the weapon that proved fatal,’ said Cheney, ‘and I’m afraid the deceased weighed only six and a half stone when she died.’

‘Junkies don’t eat much,’ said Jack.

Cheney nodded. ‘Anyone could have dragged the body out of the kitchen.’

‘Even a fourteen-year-old girl,’ said Jack.

Lilly jumped to her feet and shook Cheney’s hand. ‘Bloody marvellous.’

Then she left without giving Jack so much as a sideways glance.

Cheney reached for his gloves and chuckled. ‘If you were hoping for your leg over, Jack, I think you can forget it.’

‘Don’t I know it.’

At 7 p.m. Miriam arrived at the Batfield Arms to meet Lilly. She bought two gin and tonics at the bar and made for their usual table.

Lilly gratefully accepted the drink. It was her fourth. She took a long gulp and pushed the letter across the table.

‘This is a copy so I’m assuming you have the original.’

Miriam shook her head slowly. ‘It was sent to Kelsey’s mum at her request.’

‘You took a copy for your records and sent one to me with the other documents relating to her time in care,’ said Lilly.

Miriam nodded. ‘Standard procedure.’

‘Has anyone else seen it?’

‘No.’

Lilly put her forehead on the sticky table. Part of her had hoped social services, the police and the pope himself had already seen it.

‘It doesn’t mean she did it,’ Miriam said.

‘No, it doesn’t, but it’s material evidence that points in her general direction.’

‘I think it’s just a bit of ranting from a distraught child.’

Lilly banged her head repeatedly against the hard wood of the table. ‘Of course you do, Miriam, which is why you’re so brilliant at what you do. You see the good in all these lousy kids no matter what they’ve done.’

A look of deep sadness followed by quiet resignation fell across Miriam’s face. ‘Someone has to.’

‘But not me. I have to remain objective. I went to see the pathologist today and there’s no good reason why Kelsey couldn’t have done it. In fact, it’s likely there was a close bond between murderer and victim. I have to imagine what other people will make of that, coupled with a letter that looks like a bloody confession,’ said Lilly.

‘Do they have to see it?’ asked Miriam.

Lilly sighed. ‘It might not be down to me. The police might find the original.’

‘This is a murder investigation, the police will have been through everything in the flat. My guess is the mother destroyed it.’

They sat in silence. Lilly knew that Miriam had destroyed her copy as well. She drained her glass and accepted that the ultimate decision did indeed lie with her.

‘I would never ask you to do anything wrong, Lilly, but you know what this would mean,’ Miriam said.

Lilly squeezed her eyes shut and imagined the aftermath of disclosing this piece of evidence. The police would have enough to pursue Kelsey. With Mrs Mitchell’s statement they might even secure a conviction. A child locked away with adult criminals. It was a pressure some kids couldn’t bear.

‘My duty to the court in care proceedings overrides everything else. If information comes my way that may affect the child’s wellbeing then I must disclose it. It’s then a matter for the judge whether or not the evidence is passed to the police.’

‘But you have a different duty in criminal proceedings,’ Miriam pointed out.

‘The client’s confidentiality is paramount in those cases. I’m not obliged to assist the prosecution in any way. I certainly shouldn’t actively help them build their case,’ said Lilly.

‘That’s a pretty heavy conflict,’ said Miriam.

Tears stung Lilly’s eyes. ‘At the moment this is a care case so I ought to show the letter to the judge …’

‘But,’ said Miriam.

‘But I get the feeling it won’t be long before the police make their involvement official.’

‘Arrest her?’ asked Miriam.

‘Bound to,’ said Lilly. ‘And I wouldn’t want to make matters worse by waving around a letter they’ll just use against her.’

She had no idea what to do.

Finally she sniffed and said, more to herself than to Miriam, ‘Maybe the police will find out who killed Grace before I have to decide.’