by Martina Cole
‘Don’t you think it’s time she went to bed?’
Lenny looked at his wife in annoyance. ‘The kid’s had a stressful night, Trish. Give her a break.’
Trisha shook her head and sighed. When had she first realised that she didn’t like her daughter? Was it only recently? She knew it was a long time since the resentment of her had set in, and that it had stemmed from Lenny’s obsession with their younger child. Mary had always been a shrewd kid, out for the main chance. She was like her father in that way. But there was something else - something overtly sexual in her now and there had been for a while. Trisha had watched her with men. Mary liked them. Liked them too much.
Lenny had not understood the full significance of his daughter’s being round at Kerry’s flat when she should have been at school. He was unaware of their neighbour’s filthy reputation. Lenny only knew the heavy villains. For herself, Trisha couldn’t understand what made her daughter want to go round there in the first place. What was the attraction? Being able to smoke in peace? Have a drink? Mix with men? She had an idea it was all three.
It was all Lenny’s fault. He’d treated Mary like his girlfriend instead of a daughter. And this was the result.
There was a violent knocking at the front door. No one moved. As the door was banged on again, Trisha said a silent prayer. She’d had a feeling all along there was more to this than met the eye and she was being proved right. It gave her no satisfaction at all.
She heard her husband swearing and carrying on as the police poured into the lounge for the second time that night. Saw Mary’s eyes turn round as flying saucers as the policewoman said they had uncovered new evidence - photographs that needed to be explained. Noticed her husband’s face darken as he realised there was definitely something fishy going on with his little Mary.
The girl started screaming. She kept it up all the way to the police station while safely ensconced in her daddy’s arms.
Lenny was shown the photographs at 4.39 a.m. He had to be physically dragged off his daughter ten seconds later.
Kerry was terrified and it showed. Her face had lost its usual expression of bravado and she sat slumped in a chair facing Kate. The fire was gone from her eyes and her language was tame.
Kate found it hard to look at her without showing her distaste.
‘Who took these photos, Kerry?’
She stared back silently.
‘I will ask you again, for the benefit of the tape, who took the photographs, Kerry? The suspect, Kerry Alston, is shaking her head, refusing to answer my question.’
Kate glanced at the girl again, then turned off the tape before saying, ‘You have a small child missing and half of Grantley is out searching for her. You are in possession of pornographic photographs of your children and other children so far unnamed, but we’ll find them.’ She looked steadily at the young woman. ‘Mary Parkes is about to spill everything she knows. Her father will hear what she has to say. If I was you I’d be scared, Kerry, very scared. You are basically in shit so deep fifteen paddies with shovels couldn’t get you out of it. Now my advice to you is to open your mouth and we’ll get this over with, eh? Because as God is my witness I’ll see you go away for this little lot and that is from the heart. You’re scum, Kerry, and you and I both know it.’
Kerry’s brief did not say a word at Kate’s harangue. The photos had thrown him as much as they had the police. They were hardcore porn and for them this girl was going away, whatever she said or didn’t say. Because she was in each photograph, too, smiling and laughing even though the children featured with her looked distressed and terrified.
‘You have ten minutes to compose yourself before you give me a statement, OK? Then I am coming after you, lady, with everything I’ve got.’
Kate walked from the room. Her heart was pounding in her ears and she felt sick. As she entered her own office WPC Hart followed her.
‘I have an ID on two of the kids in the photos already. They’re little Ivor and his brother Christian.’
Kate closed her eyes in distress. ‘Are you sure?’
Hart nodded sadly. ‘You’ll have to look at them properly, ma’am. We’ve got to track all these kids down.’
Kate looked into the girl’s pretty green eyes and said with feeling, ‘What the hell is going on with these people? When did this happen to the world? How could a woman do that to her own child, Jo? You tell me if you know because I can’t for the life of me understand any of it.’
Joanna shrugged helplessly. ‘I’m still brand new at all this, ma’am. But it seems life’s getting stranger by the day hereabouts. I reckon the kid’s dead, though, don’t you?’
‘Yeah, on the face of it I’d say she was,’ Kate sighed. ‘But what’s really intriguing me most is, are these women in league with one another? Was this all planned in advance and they thought they could just get away with killing off their kids? Where’s the logic behind it all?’
Joanna Hart shrugged again. ‘I guess that’s what you have to find out, ma’am.’
Tommy was crying and Patrick stood watching him, bemused. The weeping man was totally silent, reminding Patrick of his own little Mandy when he had told her that her mother had died.
Patrick hit him again, harder this time.
‘You’ve tucked me up, ain’t you, Tommy? I gave you seriously good wedge to do a job for me and your greed made you tuck me up.’
Patrick punched him in the head again, knocking him back to the floor. He looked down at his one-time friend and bellowed: ‘Do I look like a cunt? Have I got “Cunt” written across my forehead by any chance? Only everyone seems to take me for one. I was wondering if I was missing something, like. Something everyone else seems to see as plain as fucking day. I must be a cunt because everyone is trying to fuck with me.’
His whole body bristled with suppressed violence and anger and Tommy knew that Pat was on the verge of killing him.
‘I had to do it, Pat,’ he blubbered. ‘I had no choice. I ran the money through the club to clean it up for Stravinski, so it was all legal like. He provided the invoices, everything.’
‘Fucking invoices? For my club!’
‘He’s dangerous, Pat - fucking hell, even Old Bill are wary of him. He covers his arse so well . . .’
‘Dangerous? Did you say dangerous? I’ll give you fucking dangerous, you two-faced ponce!’
Patrick began the real beating then. Anger and hurt at what Tommy had done were overtaking him. He knew he should calm down and think rationally but he couldn’t. The chances were that Willy was dead. He would be used as a warning. The thought of his friend of so many years being taken by Boris, an acknowledged nutter, was sending Patrick off his head.
‘I trusted you and you gave them Willy Gabney, you bastard scumbag. After sending me and him running round after people like Leroy Holdings, who you knew were pennies and halfpennies. People who had nothing to do with any of this. You led me a right fucking dance. Set Willy up too, didn’t you, eh? To cover your own arse. Well, when I’ve finished with you, boy, you’ll wish you’d never heard of me or fucking Boris.’
He beat Tommy unconscious then. Afterwards, his arms and shoulders aching from exertion, he poured himself another drink. Then he went through all Tommy’s address books. When he had what he wanted he picked up the phone and dialled a number.
‘Tell Boris that Patrick Kelly wants to see him and soon,’ he said when it was answered. ‘You also tell him that if anything happens to Willy Gabney, I’ll be after him personally.’
He slammed down the receiver then looked at the body of his one-time friend. Kicking Tommy hard in the ribs, he woke him up.
‘Get up and get your jacket on. Me and you are going for a little ride.’
Caroline was aware that the photographs had her children in them but she was denying ever having met Kerry Alston let alone allowing her to interfere with her kids. She admitted to knowing Mary Parkes, and allowed that Mary was sometimes paid to take her kids out for an afterno
on in the park.
There was a wariness in her answers that depressed Kate. There was collusion between them all, she was sure. But she could not prove it.
It was the longest night of her life and at 6.30 a.m. she admitted defeat and left the station. She turned on her personal mobile when she got into her car and saw seventeen missed calls. She deleted them without even listening to them. Patrick was as far from her mind as the moon. She had too much to think about as it was, without torturing herself with his lies.
As she drove back to her old home, she passed Mary Parkes’s block of flats and felt a moment’s pity for the girl’s father. Mary was in the photos and she was there as a star, smiling into the camera as she performed outrageous acts on innocent little children. There was no way she was an unwilling participant. The men in the photos were unknown to them but not for long, Kate believed. She had a feeling that Lenny Parkes would know who they were soon enough. And when he knew, she would know - because she would have to arrest him after he had dealt with them.
Mary’s mother had pushed her daughter away from her and told the social workers to take her with them after they’d shown her the photographs. Kate hadn’t the heart to tell the mother then that Mary would be off to a secure unit as soon as they were finished with her. She was an accessory to a serious crime.
Kate sighed. Tomorrow, or rather today, she would have DI Jenny Bartlett to help her, a specialist in child abuse, murder and rape. These Grantley cases had to be linked. If Kate could just untangle the connection between them then they’d be halfway to solving them, she knew.
As she pulled into the driveway of her semi she smiled sadly. This was the last place she had expected to be returning to. But here she was, back where she’d started, and so very alone.
Inside, she walked through to the lounge and what she saw made her gasp with fright.
On her sofa, asleep and covered in blood, was Patrick Kelly.
Julie Manning walked her dog every morning at 6.15 precisely. He was a sausage dog and she loved him, a rolypoly little fellow with calm brown eyes and a sweet disposition.
They took the same route every day. Into the woods at Monnow Green and through to the lake by Grantley golf course. This part of the wood was dense and thick. Little Demon, as she called the dog, loved it here. He sniffed and peed to his heart’s content.
As they came to a clearing used mainly by joggers and dog walkers, Julie saw a strange sight. Lying on the grass, her little shoes and socks neatly arranged beside her, was a small child. She was blue with cold and breathing heavily.
Taking off her own thick padded jacket Julie wrapped the child in it and started to run back to her house, all the time keeping her eyes peeled for another adult - hopefully one who could tell her what the hell this little girl was doing out here on a freezing morning, covered in dew and obviously either drugged or unconscious. She had read about children being dumped by their parents but had never thought she would come across something like it in her lifetime.
As she ran she realised that Little Demon was barking like mad. She ignored him and carried on running. The child in her arms didn’t move. Julie hugged her tighter, willing her body heat to penetrate the frail cold limbs.
Patrick looked terrible and Kate stood motionless before him as he started to talk.
‘I’m in trouble, Kate. I really need your help, love. I have nowhere else to turn.’
She took in his bloodstained clothes and his frightened expression. How much more could she take tonight?
‘Look, Kate, it’s all my own fault, I admit that,’ he said to her. ‘But I never dreamed anything like this would happen. It’s to do with a Russian bloke called Boris. Apparently he was using my club as a front for money laundering, prostitution, you name it. I had no idea, I swear to you. Now I have to sort it all out, and I will. But I need your help, love.’
She sat on a chair by the fireplace and said coldly, ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘I want you to look on the computer at work and see what you have on this geek Boris. Forewarned is forearmed so to speak.’
Kate held up her hand. ‘Do you know something, Pat? You really are a piece of work. You expect me to jump each time you open your mouth. Did it ever occur to you that you are in this shit because of the way you live your life? That dealing with scum leaves you wide open to this type of thing? I despair of you, Pat, I really do.’
She watched him run his hands through his short dark hair and bite his lip - his way of keeping his temper under control.
‘Listen, Kate, you knew where I was coming from. I never tried to hide anything from you.’
She interrupted him, sarcasm heavy in her voice. ‘Oh, didn’t you? I knew about Girlie Girls then, did I? How did I know about it? By telepathy, or was it written in six-foot letters on a fucking fence? You must be taking the piss, Patrick Kelly. You couldn’t be honest if your life depended on it. It’s not in your nature. Money, that’s all you’re interested in. Greedy, dirty money, eh? Girls and women debasing themselves for a few quid. Keeps the punters happy . . . is that what you’re still telling yourself? Maybe George Markham would have liked your club, Pat,’ she said cruelly. ‘Sounds just his cup of tea, doesn’t it?’ “Tits and slags” I remember you describing Joey Barnard’s club. Is that where you got the idea from?’
‘Don’t you bring my daughter’s murderer into this, Kate! Mandy has nothing to do with any of this.’
Kate laughed nastily. ‘Doesn’t she? I seem to remember you re-evaluating all that you stood for not three years ago in this very room. But that was just an act, wasn’t it? Where did I fit in, Pat? What was my attraction other than being a tame Filth to hang on your arm?’
He stared at her for long moments.
‘You really don’t see it, do you, Pat? Shall I tell you something? I have child murder and paedophilia to deal with. I have mothers who have knowingly put their own children at risk with sick men and women. Photographs to prove it. Little girls and little boys of two and three having oral sex with punters. Now I wonder if they will end up in one of your so-called fucking clubs in years to come. People like you break down the fabric of society. Oh, you say it’s a laugh. Men just want to let off steam and it doesn’t mean anything. But it does, Pat. It means a young woman feels she is nothing more than a piece of meat to satisfy a stranger’s lust. It means that men debase themselves with drink before going to make a public show of themselves before other so-called men. It means you coin in a fortune at the expense of vulnerable people. It means that Russians like this Boris, or whoever he bloody well is, want a big chunk of the fortune you are making.’
Her voice had risen to a screech of fury and frustration.
‘You brought all this on yourself. Now you have a murder charge hanging over your head and you’re on the run, in a policewoman’s house, asking her to help you when you’ve disregarded her from the day you met her. I have nothing left for you, Pat, and after tonight there’s even less than there was. So take your problems and your ignorant bloody ways and leave me alone.’ Kate sat back heavily, feeling at the end of her tether. ‘I have to deal with victims, Patrick, real victims, the aftermath of people like you saying, “Let the punters have what they want.” Well, once you break down one taboo there’re plenty more to go, and fucking little children seems to be next on the agenda for the pay-for-sex lobby. Give it another twenty years and you can open a lap-dancing fucking nursery! Because that is how society is going, thanks to people like you.’
He looked at her with tired eyes. ‘I’ll take that as a no then. About helping, I mean.’
He walked to the door and looked back at her. She could see how desperate he was and inside her a small spark of pity was fighting against the anger. But she knew she couldn’t back down now. Patrick had gone too far this time.
‘By the way, Kate, your mother rang the house. Give her a call, will you? She is missing you.’
‘Where are you going, Pat?’ Her voice was low now.
She heard his footsteps as he walked down the hallway and out through the kitchen. He was using the back door and the knowledge depressed her even more. Sneaking in and out. Running from people. What the hell kind of life was that for anyone?
She was better off out of it. She knew that inside, but it didn’t make it hurt any the less.
Mary Parkes’s father was sitting at home. Lenny was in shock. Seeing those photographs of his daughter had taken its toll. His face was grey with sickness and disgust.
His little Mary, eleven years old, doing those things with men and with little children . . . He felt the bile rise again in his throat, fought the sickness down, and took a deep slug of whisky.
Trisha gently took his hand. ‘What are we going to do, Len?’
‘Did you look at all the photos, Trish?’
She shook her head. ‘No, love. I saw enough with the first couple, thank you very much.’
‘Well, I did and I know one of the men. It was Kevin Blankley, the filthy cunt! My so-called mate.’
Trisha closed her eyes in distress. ‘No. You must have been mistaken, Len . . .’
‘You couldn’t see his face, but you could see his tattoos as plain as day, love.’
‘You’ll have to tell Old Bill, Len. We can’t let that go.’
‘No Old Bill, I want that cunt meself. I want him and I want to see him beg me for fucking mercy for what he has done to my girl and to them babies.’ Lenny’s voice was breaking.
‘Because they were babies, Trish.’ He had to swallow down the tears lodged inside his chest though part of him wanted to give vent to his pain in a long scream. ‘And that fucking little mare of ours was right in the thick of it all.’ His voice broke again and he gulped at the whisky, coughing at its rawness on his throat.
