by R. G. Adams
Kit’s mind was ticking over. She was starting to see what Ricky was getting at. ‘I follow you, but I’m not seeing where it gets us.’
‘I’m seeing it,’ Vernon said. He had his eyes closed now and was leaning back in his chair. ‘What Ricky’s saying is that, while we take all the responsibility, Annie doesn’t have to ask herself the big question. She can leave it to us. If we don’t find anything, and the police don’t, well, then she can tell herself it can’t be true. She can hate us and say we’re incompetent and it’s all rubbish, and she doesn’t need to look right in front of her own face. It gets her off the hook.’
‘Exactly.’ Ricky was thrilled with Vernon’s implicit approval.
‘So what do I do?’
Ricky glanced at Vernon, who said nothing. Taking this as permission, Ricky continued. ‘I think you need to go back there, Kit. You have to speak to her. Somehow you have to put this in her lap. Then you have to hope that she’ll do the right thing.’
‘But how do I put it in her lap? I’ve got nothing new to say to her. I can go and see her, but the way she sees it, he’s been cleared, and that’s that.’
‘Now hang on, I don’t think you can go over there again—’ Vernon was interrupted by his phone ringing. ‘On my way.’ He jumped to his feet and headed for the door. ‘There’s a father kicking off with Maisie in the car park,’ he called out to the team as he went. ‘Someone call security and the police.’
Kit and Ricky followed him down the stairs. Kit was slightly ahead of Ricky and saw Vernon’s retreating back as he took the shortcut through the boiler room and out of the back door into the car park. The sound of his labouring breath reached her as she gained on him. Up ahead, she could see Maisie cowering against the side of her car as a man stood over her. He was yelling, but Kit couldn’t make out the words.
‘Oi!’ Vernon shouted, and he grabbed the man’s shoulders and pulled him backwards, away from Maisie. The man was struggling in Vernon’s grip. He was younger than Vernon and very muscular, and Kit could see Vernon was losing hold of him already. As Kit reached them, the man wrestled himself away. He jumped backwards and stood, bending slightly forwards, his hands out to his sides, open-palmed, ready to go for Vernon. Kit knew Vernon was in trouble. As usual there was no sign of the security guard. Furious rage glittered in the man’s small eyes. Kit ran through Maisie’s caseload in her mind, trying to work out which angry father this might be. If she could identify the kids, maybe she could find a way to reason with him.
‘You can fucking keep out of it,’ the man was yelling at Vernon. ‘This is nothing to do with you.’
‘If it’s about your kids, then tell us what the problem is, and we can talk it over.’ Kit kept her tone even. But the man turned on her.
‘There’s no problem with my kids. The problem is this useless fucking bitch.’ He turned back to Maisie, only to find she had taken the opportunity to slip away across the car park. Ricky was helping her towards the back door, and she was dragging furiously on her asthma pump.
‘Kit, it’s Pete Croft!’ Maisie managed to call out. Kit had it now; she’d heard Maisie talk about this guy, a father of two whose contact had recently been suspended by the court after one of the boys disclosed to Maisie that his father had been hitting his mother. Maisie had never said she’d had any problems with him herself, though. The man was looking from Maisie to Kit, and back again now, deliberating. For a moment, he seemed about to go after Maisie, but then he changed his mind and, with no warning at all, he came at Kit.
‘Get away from her!’ Vernon shouted. Kit saw Pete Croft’s angry, jutting jaw, and she heard Vernon’s footsteps as he ran towards Croft’s back. Croft heard it, too, and swung round, his right arm coming up in readiness. He threw his fist out but was punching thin air. Kit took a few moments to register that Vernon had fallen to the ground, his face turning crimson, his hands grabbing frantically at his own throat.
‘Vern!’ Kit started towards him, but the man swung round again and stood firmly in her path.
‘There’s something wrong with him, get out of my way!’ she screamed.
‘Shut up, bitch.’ His mouth curled into a snarl. Vernon was making gasping noises now.
‘Undo his shirt! I know what do to!’ Cole Jackson was getting out of his Porsche in the senior staff’s section of the car park. He jumped the dividing barrier with surprising athleticism and ran towards them, taking his jacket off as he ran.
‘Call an ambulance,’ Kit shouted at Ricky.
‘It’s going to be too late by the time they get here. He’s having a heart attack.’ Cole came level with Kit’s left-hand side. Pete Croft was blocking their way. He was squaring up again, putting himself in between them and Vernon. Cole stood rooted to the spot, clearly not willing to try and pass him.
‘Who the fuck are you?’ Pete Croft growled. ‘Are you the boss? Cos if you are, I’ve got something to say to you.’
On the ground, Vernon was gasping louder now, and his body was convulsing as he curled his arms around his chest. Fear and rage rose in Kit’s stomach. She could see Ricky coming towards Pete Croft from the side, but she put her hand up to tell him to stop. She didn’t need help. Pete Croft had stopped being a person to her now and had become an object, something that simply had to be moved. She moved closer to him and, before he could go for her, she gathered all the nicotine-flavoured spit she could muster, and shot it straight into his face, aiming at his open mouth. It was a neat trick Danny had taught her, in case she was ever in danger; no one ever expected women to spit. As he put up his hand to wipe his eyes and mouth, making a choking noise full of disgust, she put her hands tight on his shoulders so that her nails dug into his flesh through his thin T-shirt, and brought her face as close as she could to his.
‘You stop it. Right now. The police are on their way. That man is dying. If you don’t let us help him, I will make sure that you go down for a very long time. Daisy and Ryan will be grown up by the time they see you again.’
He stared into her eyes, but she didn’t flinch. Physical violence didn’t scare Kit. After a few seconds, he took a step backwards and started away across the car park, still retching from the taste of Kit’s spit in his mouth.
Kit ran to Vernon’s side. He was still gasping; she knelt down next to him, but she didn’t know what to do. Then Cole Jackson dropped down beside her, and ripped Vernon’s shirt open. He started to bang on Vernon’s chest. Vernon was not making any noise now. He wasn’t moving either. Cole Jackson took Vernon’s head and tipped it backwards; he put his fingers in Vernon’s mouth and moved them around, then leant over and started giving him mouth to mouth. Kit took Vernon’s hand and held it, rubbing his fingers between her own and watching his motionless face each time it appeared between the rise and fall of Cole Jackson’s head. She felt Ricky’s hands on her shoulders from behind, trying to reassure her.
‘Don’t die, don’t die, don’t die,’ she whispered. ‘What would Nell do without you?’ Cole Jackson’s head went down again and again until suddenly she heard a retching noise and Cole shot back on his haunches in an attempt to save his expensive suede shoes, as Vernon opened his eyes and brought his morning tea and biscuits up all over the tarmac.
Kit was aware of vehicles pulling up nearby and footsteps coming towards her, but she couldn’t look up from Vernon’s face. She kept hold of his hand. He was deathly pale now, but his eyes were open, and he was trying to speak.
‘Shut up for once, for fuck’s sake,’ she told him. As the paramedics reached them and took over, Kit was pushed out of the way. By the fire escape, Maisie was being tended to by a paramedic. Cole Jackson was putting himself back together, picking up his jacket and dabbing at his vomit-splashed shoes with a tissue. When he glanced up, she smiled at him.
‘Well done,’ she said. She felt self-conscious, but she had to acknowledge what he’d done somehow.
He shr
ugged. ‘No problem. Couldn’t let him die on the premises, could I? Think of the paperwork. I’d have to design a new form for that.’ He grinned at her, something she had never seen him do before. She wished Vernon could have witnessed the sudden appearance of Cole Jackson’s sense of humour. ‘And well done to you, too,’ he continued, adding to the surprise. ‘You handled that really well. You’re . . . er . . . quite tough, aren’t you?’
She laughed. ‘Yeah, I am.’
Then she found herself looking around for Ricky. He was talking to a police officer a few feet away, but his eyes were fixed on Kit. He smiled at her, and to her own surprise, she immediately started to cry. Ricky left the police officer mid-sentence and reached Kit in a few strides. He put his arms around her and held her while she shook and sobbed, until finally the warmth of his tight grasp started to calm her. He reached into the pocket of her hoody then and took out her cigarettes and lighter. He lit one for her and put it in her hand, then took her other hand in his and started to lead her towards his car.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked him.
‘I think you need to go home. I’ll drive you, we can get your car later.’
‘No, It’s fine. I’m fine. I’ve got something I need to do.’
Ricky was appalled. ‘I really don’t think you should be working.’
‘I have to. It can’t wait. I’ll call you later.’
Kit walked away quickly before Ricky could get the chance to stop her. The paramedics were now manoeuvring a complaining Vernon onto a stretcher. Kit felt calm enough to smile at how he was going to react to the news that he’d been saved by the kiss of life from Cole Jackson.
After collecting her bag from the office, Kit sat in her car for a few minutes, thinking about what Ricky had said. He was right about giving responsibility to Annie, but, at the same time, she wasn’t sure it would be enough. What could she say that would shift Annie’s thinking? She thought again about Steph Harman. Then she picked up her phone, flicked on to Jazz’s text to check the address she’d given, started the car and set off for Canning Road.
Kit didn’t let herself think about what she was doing until she pulled up outside number 56. It was a few streets away from Christine’s, one of the houses that had already been done up in the refurb programme. Kit knew these houses inside out, knew the design and capacity of each type. She could see Steph’s was a mid-terrace with two bedrooms. She must have children then, but no more than one, or maybe two if they were quite young. It was a neat house, freshly dashed in a dark creamy colour. Steph had picked the green front door from amongst the choices provided by the housing association. It was a good decision, Kit thought, far smarter than the reds and blues on the other houses. Judging by the outside, Steph was looking surprisingly together. But then Kit thought about Christine’s immaculate kitchen, and the way she would sit after a long cleaning session, nursing her sore fingers and drinking vodka.
As she got out of the car, the front door of the house opened, and a woman came out. She was medium height, and had cropped hair dyed a flaming shade of red. Kit wavered for a moment, but she was buoyed by the feeling of being on her own stamping ground, and much more confident than she ever felt in the offices and meeting rooms of the civic centre. Plus, she had Steph’s association with Jazz to give her an intro, after all. Kit walked over to the house and stepped onto the path. The woman looked up from locking her front door. She was well made up, thin-faced but still pretty, and dressed in a shapeless blue tunic of some kind; not a nurse’s uniform but something similar.
‘Steph?’
‘Yeah?’ She was on the alert at once. She glanced at Kit’s chest and Kit wished she had thought to remove her council badge and lanyard – the sure sign of trouble for anyone on this estate, whether it emanated from Social Services, the Council Tax Department or Noise Control.
‘I’m Krystal Goddard. You used to know my sister Jasmine – Jazz.’
Steph stared for a few seconds before a wary recognition overtook her face. It was only at this point that Kit thought to wonder whether Jazz had ever had cause to give Steph Harman a good slapping over some bloke or other.
‘Yeah, Jazz. I know her. You’re Krystal? Thought you moved away?’
‘I did. I came back. Can I speak to you for a couple of minutes?’
‘I’m on my way to work. I’m working for a home care agency, I’ll have all my calls waiting for me. And they dock our pay if we’re late.’
‘I’ll be quick. Can we go inside?’
‘I haven’t got the time for that. What do you want?’ The badge was still causing a problem, Kit could see that. She moved up the path towards Steph, determined to herd her into the house.
‘It’s quite personal, Steph. It’s about your case. The one against Matthew Cooper.’
‘I got nothing to say about that bastard. Who sent you anyway?’ She was peering at the badge now, her hackles well and truly up.
‘I’ve been asked to call out to see if you are OK. Whether you need any help or anything, after the case not going ahead, you know?’
It was too vague, and it was wasted anyway. Steph Harman saw through it at once.
‘Have you bloody bollocks been sent out to see me! You always were full of yourself, even as a kid. Jazz used to say that. Don’t lie to me, I know what’s what and social workers don’t come out to help people like me over something like that. Now what do you want, Krystal? Let’s have the truth.’
‘All right, look, the truth is this: I’ve been involved with the case, I can’t tell you how, but it’s important. The criminal case can’t go ahead without you. Why would you say all that about him and then drop out?’
‘The police know you’re here, do they?’
‘No.’
‘No, I bet they don’t. They wouldn’t be happy, would they? But it’s not going ahead anyway, so I’ll tell you the same as I’ve told every other fucker who’s asked me. There is no point. People like him don’t end up paying for what they do. Why should I waste my time?’
‘You were happy to waste it at the start.’
Steph’s face was impassive. ‘Yeah, well, Nic talked me into it.’
‘No, she didn’t. Come on, Steph, it’s important.’
‘Why?’
‘I can’t tell you.’
Steph’s eyes narrowed, and Kit knew she’d been read. ‘You think something’s happened, like maybe he’s done it to his kid as well?’
‘I really can’t tell you. It’s confidential.’
‘So that means yes then.’
Kit didn’t answer, knowing Steph would take that as confirmation, but comforting herself with the thought that she hadn’t actually said it, and so she hadn’t breached the Coopers’ confidentiality as such.
‘Right, so the case has been dropped and now you’re worried about the girl in the wheelchair, yeah?’
Kit was taken aback, but then she remembered from the transcript that Steph had been to Matt’s house and had seen Lucy from the street.
‘I can’t answer that either, Steph, and you know it. But I just want to know whether you were telling the truth.’
‘I was telling the truth.’
‘So why withdraw your statement then? Why get that far and then not go through with it? Did Len Cooper threaten you? Did he bribe you?’
‘I wouldn’t touch that bastard’s money. And I’m not afraid of him neither. He couldn’t do worse than his son’s already done to me.’
Steph leant back against the front door and started to open her bag. She was buying time, which could only mean she was wavering. Kit quickly felt in her pocket for her own fags and held the packet out to Steph. She took a cigarette and let Kit light it for her. Kit knew she had her then. She waited, letting Steph squirm, knowing that to speak now would be to risk losing her again.
Steph pulled on her cigarette for a few s
econds. ‘Look, I couldn’t go through with it, all right? It’s what I told you just now, no one was going to believe me. That’s what he always said, and I thought for a bit maybe that wasn’t true anymore, but after a while I could see it on their faces, the police and that – once they’d met him it all changed. I could see them thinking, “Nah, he wouldn’t do it, not him.”’ She looked Kit in the eye. ‘They went along with it all fine, then they saw him and straight away they stopped believing me. Everyone thinks he’s too good, why would he need to do that? That’s how he gets away with it. They’re all too stupid to understand – he doesn’t need to do it. He just likes it.’
‘Steph—’
‘Before you start, the answer’s no. I’m not changing my mind. I’m not going through it. I am pissed off with seeing it written all over their faces. I’ve got two kids myself, I just want to forget it and get on with my life. If you’re as clever as you reckon you are, you’ll find a way to make sure his kids are OK. But this conversation never happened, so don’t bother telling anyone, because I’ll deny it. But you won’t tell anyway, will you? Because you’re not even supposed to be here.’
Kit had nothing left to say. She shrugged, feeling exhausted. She had given it her best shot, but there was nothing she could do. Steph was fumbling in her bag again now, retrieving her car keys. Looking up, she glanced at Kit’s face. ‘I’m sorry, kid. I don’t mean to have a go at you.’
‘I know. It’s fine, thanks anyway.’
‘How’s your Josie by the way? Still a head-banger? And what about Tyler?’
‘Yeah, thanks. Josie’s doing good actually, and Tyler’s OK, too.’
‘I won’t even ask about your mam.’
Kit smiled. ‘No, don’t bother. It’s been hard on her, you know, since Danny died.’
Steph stopped fiddling with her car keys. She looked uncomfortable. ‘Yeah. I heard about Dan. He was a good lad. I was sorry to hear it. I’m sorry I can’t help you, too. I know you’re only trying to look after those kids.’
