Broken

by Martina Cole

  Kate didn’t answer and Jenny pointed out, ‘Look, she has you wondering. So she’s achieved her objective. While we wonder who the Filth is, we stop querying her on the real issues, such as why she doesn’t want to discuss where she was that night. I mean, was she in on what happened to those kids? Does she know what occurred? Attack is the best form of defence, remember that, love. Especially when it concerns us, what we are, what we believe in.’

  ‘I can see the logic, but we can’t dismiss it out of hand. Something is stopping her from talking . . .’

  ‘A hard nut is what is stopping her from talking. Nothing more and nothing less. Some villain, some piece of shit who uses and abuses kids. That is what is stopping her from talking. Some porn master, some scum making money from the degradation of others.’

  ‘A paedophile isn’t like a villain, Jenny. Normal criminals hate paedophiles and rapists, don’t they. That’s why they segregate them in prisons.’

  They were silent for a few seconds. Kate realised that she was defending Patrick and his lifestyle, and the knowledge upset her. But Patrick like most of his ilk had an almost pathological hatred for what he termed ‘nonces’.

  But Jenny had hit a nerve. A painful nerve that Kate knew would always be exposed while Patrick Kelly was in her heart. The fact she was defending him spoke volumes.

  Quiet now, they were both lost in their own thoughts.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘This is getting weirder by the day, Miss Burrows.’ Robert Bateman’s voice had lost its usual bantering tone.

  ‘Well, I have a feeling it will get weirder still before we’re finished,’ she replied drily. ‘Can you enlighten me further on any of the women?’

  He shook his head. ‘I only really have anything to do with poor Regina these days although I have to keep abreast of what’s happening with the rest of my team’s clients. You’d be better talking to the actual social workers themselves, I know they’ll help all they can. But, like I said, they will protect other clients. It’s in our code of conduct.’

  Kate smiled and hugged the client files to her chest.

  ‘I understand that. Have there been any other cases of abuse recently that we are unaware of? Or have any of the teams maybe thought there was abuse but couldn’t prove it? You know what I’m talking about, Robert, I’m sure.’

  ‘ ’Course I do, dear, and this is strictly off the record, right?’ He went to the door and shut it theatrically before saying in a hushed voice, ‘Kerry Alston and Jackie Palmer were mates at school. Both were accused of sexually assaulting another girl, but nothing was ever proved against them. The girl dropped the charges and moved away from the area. I remember because I was new here at the time and I was quite shocked by it all. I mean, two girls practically raping another one.’ He paused for effect.

  ‘The thing is, though, it was reported to the police and then nothing ever came of it. They were all minors, you see. Plus they said that the girl, whose name, if I remember rightly, was Pauline Barker - ring any bells? - had actually approached them. It was all very, very strange. I mean, these were little girls, love - eleven or twelve years old. But you won’t find it on record anywhere.’

  Kate was nonplussed. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because the girl was a policeman’s daughter.’

  She closed her eyes and sighed, remembering how six years ago, DI Harold Barker had left Grantley suspiciously fast. Everyone assumed he had been caught with his hand in someone’s till. He was certainly capable of it. Now she wondered if there was a different version of events.

  ‘So how come you know all about it?’ she asked.

  ‘I was Pauline’s social worker. Daddy was a bit too friendly at times by all accounts, but him being Filth, it was all covered up and laid to rest in no time. Do you see now why I don’t want my name mentioned in all this? Only I heard through the grapevine that he was part of a small ring. Mainly professionals. He ended up in the Vice Squad in Soho. But then, so many nonces do, dear.’

  Kate’s eyes had widened to their utmost. ‘Are you telling me Harry Barker was a beast?’

  Her voice was too loud and Robert flapped his hands at her in agitation.

  ‘I’m not telling you anything, dear; I’m merely passing on information. But if you’re going to shout it out all over the place then in future I’ll keep my own counsel.’

  ‘Who alerted you to him and his supposed friendliness with his daughter?’

  Robert smiled at her obvious disbelief.

  ‘His wife, love. Mavis Barker. A nice woman but nervous. You know, on mother’s little helpers for years. She said he had been at it with all the kids. Pauline was the youngest of four but the other three were by his first wife who died. Mavis sort of inherited them with her marriage. She said that the elder girls had complained about him, as had his son. We could never get a word from any of them and nor could the police, by the way. In my view they were terrified. But what can you do? The elder ones were all over sixteen by then and unless they wanted to press charges there was nothing anyone could do for them. But, if I was asked for my professional opinion, I would say it was a definite.’

  He looked deep into Kate’s eyes and she saw how hurt he was by her reluctance to believe this of a fellow police officer.

  ‘I have to see this on a daily basis, Miss Burrows. I have to listen to my team telling me this has happened to this kid and that has happened to another. But I tell you something, in cases like Kerry’s and Regina’s all that is happening is history repeating itself. Some abused kids actually fall in love with the abuser - that is proven fact - especially if the abuser is a family member. We teach kids to love Mummy and Daddy and they do. Whatever Mummy or Daddy does they love them. Kids are beaten unconscious and still they protect the parent. That is real life, dear.’

  Robert paused for a moment and Kate waited to hear what he would say next. ‘I see Kerry as a small girl with a big problem - the problem being her father who, as you know, abused her all her life. In fact, we know she still carries on a relationship with him, even takes the kids to stay with him. Kerry loves him, you see, Miss Burrows, whatever he has done. You’re making the mistake common to most people who have never experienced abuse at first hand. It is the norm to them, remember. You learn what is right from your friends and family - mostly your parents, right? If they teach you wrong you don’t know that as a kid, do you? And some kids become adults who still can’t see anything wrong in what happened to them. Some talk about enjoying the feelings they experienced then. It was like affection to them. They were being singled out for this special attention. We even have cases where siblings are actually jealous of the abused child.

  ‘Can you see where I’m coming from now?’ he asked Kate. ‘Kerry and Regina, both of them victims, perpetuating what they learned from their own parents and family. You must temper your justifiable feelings of repugnance with pity for these girls and their children, Miss Burrows. They really can’t help it; they were broken at an early age.’

  Kate was sorry she could not wholly empathise with what this man had gone to such pains to explain. Half of her did understand. That half was desperately sorry for Regina and Kerry, for all the girls. But the other half was disgusted by them and she knew that nothing anyone said would ever make her change her mind. She felt Robert pick up on her thoughts.

  ‘At least try, Miss Burrows. See it from another standpoint, eh? I understand your own daughter had problems at one time.’

  Kate was stunned. ‘How did you know that, Mr Bateman?’

  ‘Robert, please. Mr Bateman makes me sound so old. I looked you up on my computer, dear. How did you think I knew? When your daughter underwent psychiatric treatment she was automatically assigned a social worker at the hospital.’ He smiled to take the edge off his words.

  ‘I can get access to all sorts, dear, and since the contretemps with Barker I make a point of finding out exactly who I’m dealing with in official circles. It’s nothing personal, so do stop looking so worri
ed. I just wanted to point out to you that many people have problems, some harder to deal with than others. None of us are immune.

  ‘I just did what you do every day,’ he said reassuringly. ‘I know you routinely look people up to see their previous form or whatever. I do the same now because I have seen it proven over and over again that no one is ever exactly what they seem. I like to know who I’m dealing with, that’s all.’

  ‘So what, in your professional opinion, was wrong with my daughter?’

  He leaned across his desk and took Kate’s hand gently.

  ‘From what I have seen of the case files, your daughter did not have a very good role model in her father. He was a womaniser and a useless lump. No offence, dear. It seems that nevertheless your daughter emulated him rather than you. It’s not unusual, Miss Burrows - his lifestyle must have looked very exciting to her as a girl. This is only my opinion, of course. But I would say that he, as the parent who was often away from home, became more important to her. When she saw him it was stimulating, it was different from anything else she knew. It’s only natural she would be enamoured. All girls love their daddies. They’re important to them in so many ways. It’s how they learn to interact with men.

  ‘You, on the other hand, worked long hours and your mother brought Elizabeth up really. So she had lots of female role models and only one male. Unfortunately not a very good one.’

  Kate was very angry and Robert Bateman realised that. He shook his head sadly, his large expressive eyes sad.

  ‘Forgive me, please, if I have offeneded you. I didn’t mean to. I was merely trying to make a point about socialisation.’

  Kate hugged the folders to her chest and stared at the man before her.

  ‘Maybe I’ll look you up on my computer, Mr Bateman.’

  ‘Do you mean to tell me you haven’t already?’ he said mischievously. ‘I am disappointed, Miss Burrows. I had you down as much shrewder than that.’

  He was laughing at her and she knew it. Then his expression changed, became serious.

  ‘I feel such sorrow for my girls, I really do. I see their pain. See how they try to come to terms with what has happened to them. Please don’t be too hard on them, Miss Burrows. Remember, they’re as much victims as their poor children. Kerry Alston was so badly abused, you really couldn’t imagine it in your wildest nightmares. Systematically violated from a baby until an adult. Read the files. They are as shocking as they are enlightening.’

  Kate knew he meant what he said and admired him for it on one level even though he had hurt her with his insight into her daughter. It was as if he had opened up an old wound that had been festering for years. He knew all about her and knowledge always gave a person the edge. She knew that better than anyone.

  ‘I’m a bleeding heart, me,’ he went on quietly. ‘Can’t help it, love. Always for the underdog from a little boy. Maybe I’m a fool, I don’t know for sure, but no one can help where their heart is, can they?’

  Kate looked at him, from his scruffy clothes to his badly dyed hair, and found herself smiling. He was a good man in his own way. He still believed in rehabilitation, in helping people. For that alone she respected him.

  ‘Read Kerry Alston’s file, and then tell me if you think I’m a fool for feeling so sorry for her, OK? See if you could have coped with what she had to and come out at the other end. Try and feel for her, not judge her like everyone else.’

  ‘I’ll try, Robert. But don’t hold your breath. I see a lot in my job too, you know. And I, like you, generally end up picking up the pieces.’

  He grinned. ‘See? We have more in common than you think.’

  Kate drove back to the station slowly. She wanted to put her thoughts into perspective. First off, she rang Golding and told him to pull out the files on Barker, and on a whim she asked him to look up Robert Bateman, too.

  She smoked one cigarette after the other. As she approached the station she saw the film crews and the gutter journalists and sighed. It was all pressure.

  Driving carefully through the throng, she wondered briefly what the reaction would be if she arrested the lot of them for impeding a public highway. Consequently, she was looking smiling and relaxed in the late editions.

  Jackie Palmer hugged her son to her. Jenny and Kate were pleased to see the obvious bond between them. Martin was loving the attention. Sitting on his mother’s lap, he held on to her hand with a vice-like grip.

  He pointed with his free hand and said distinctly: ‘Mummy kiss.’

  Jackie kissed him tenderly.

  ‘Why would someone put my Martin in a lorry?’ she asked. ‘And who is this blonde woman everyone’s talking about? It makes no sense.’

  Kate shook her head. ‘That’s what we have to find out. But witnesses have described someone very like you.’

  Jackie was nonplussed. ‘But the CCTV . . .’

  Jenny broke in then. ‘It shows you were at your job that day, but we can’t locate you on it all the time, only going in and coming out. There’s a back entrance and it’s only five minutes’ walk from the lorry park, fifteen from the playschool.’

  Jackie looked stunned.

  ‘You see, love, until we knew where he was we could take your word for it. But now we have other evidence that makes it look like you could have been out and back to the Black Rose in under forty minutes and no one can swear you were there all the time, can they? Only at certain times.’

  Jackie shook her head slowly. ‘I don’t fucking believe you people. Are you honestly telling me that you think I could have done a cuntish thing like that!’

  Martin squirmed as her voice started to rise steadily.

  ‘You having a fucking laugh or what?’

  The child turned on her lap and tried to put his arms around her neck. She pushed him none too gently from her. Pointing her finger at Kate and Jenny, she said nastily, ‘You’ve got it in for me, ain’t you, just because I’m on the fucking game. Well, you ain’t fitting me up, mate. I ain’t Kerry Alston or one of the other pieces of dirt you’ve pulled in.’

  Martin was crying loudly now. Pulling him up with her hands under his arms, she screamed into his face: ‘Oh, shut up, you silly little fucker for Christ’s sake . . .’

  Kate and Jenny sat in shock as the screaming boy was forcibly removed from his mother by a WPC. Then Jackie Palmer started to cry like a baby.

  Robert Bateman’s words were still in Kate’s mind and she found herself feeling reluctant sympathy for the confused girl before her. But as Jenny frequently pointed out witnesses were all they really had in each case. And more than one witness had put this woman at the scene. It wasn’t far from her work and she was already in trouble for neglect of her kids.

  Whatever they thought privately, no one could argue with the facts.

  Kate glanced at the folder on her desk. As she leafed through it she quickly learned that Robert Bateman was a well-respected social worker, his senior status not hampered by his looks. In fact, he was seen as a leader in his field, which was child abuse. He was also an acknowledged authority on broken families. Broken people.

  Golding brought her in a coffee without her asking and the gesture pleased her. ‘Thank you. I could just do with this.’

  He nodded. ‘I can’t get anything on Barker. Not a brass razoo. Seems Ratchette has had anything pertaining to him pulled in the last ten days. Doesn’t that strike you as strange?’

  Kate shook her head. ‘Not really. Keep digging, Dave, see what you can find out through word of mouth and we can take it from there.’

  ‘I have a few contacts meself, ma’am. Maybe I can have a little dig about. With your permission of course.’

  Kate smiled. ‘Of course. Don’t worry - I’ll take any flak from Ratchette.’

  He thanked her and left the room.

  Barker, it seemed, still had a few friends in the station. Now why didn’t that fact surprise her?

  But she would find out what she wanted.

  She usually did.
<
br />   Patrick saw the blue car as he pulled into Mortlake Road in Ilford. It had tailed him for the last fifteen minutes. He watched as it pulled over and another car took over. That was amateurish. Was he meant to see them following him?

  He knew it was time to get away from the so-called safe flat. Driving into the traffic of Ilford High Street, he sat at the lights, his eyes glued to the black Granada four cars behind him. Inside were two men: one light-haired, one dark. Both in dark clothes, both nondescript in appearance.

  When the motorbike came up alongside him he was not really taking any notice. He heard the roar of its engine, and as he glanced out of the window on the passenger side he registered the fact that the pillion rider was carrying a black bag and inside the black bag was what looked like a gun.

  Patrick took all this in within a split second. His reactions were fast enough that when the first bullet hit him he was halfway out of the car. The second bullet caught him as he staggered and he slammed on to the road with a sickening thud.

  He heard pandemonium break out before he lost consciousness, and saw a rather nice pair of legs as a young woman ran from the car behind him and, screaming her head off, dashed into the oncoming traffic. Her radio was still blaring out and Chris Tarrant’s voice was loud in the warmth of the afternoon and the quiet that had suddenly descended after the shooting.

  The bike roared off quickly, disappearing into the traffic. The Granada did a U-turn and drove sedately away, its occupants ready to swear that Patrick Kelly was a dead man.

  Kerry Alston’s mother was birdlike, with a lovely face and beautiful thick auburn hair. She smiled often, displaying small white teeth and pink healthy gums. Kate and Jenny were both surprised by her and she guessed that.