by Black, Helen
‘Er … yes.’
They both burst out laughing as David pulled over and Lilly was still chuckling as she jumped out of the car and crunched her way to the foyer. Once inside, however, the smile slid from her lips. This place pressed down on her shoulders.
With more purpose than she felt, Lilly strode down the corridor. When she reached Lab 3, she peered through the small round window in the door. Inside, Phil Cheney, a pathologist she’d known and liked for years, was bent over a cadaver. Meticulously, he moved across the dead man’s forehead with a tiny pair of tweezers, breaking every few moments to drop his quarry in a clear evidence bag. When he appeared to be finished and Lilly couldn’t wait a second longer, she tapped on the glass and Cheney turned. He recognized her and smiled, holding up five gloved fingers.
Shit. Lilly would have to spend even longer in this godforsaken place. She gave a shudder and began to pace.
At last Cheney appeared. ‘You’ll wear away our Persian rugs.’
Lilly was about to laugh but stopped in surprise. ‘What happened to you?’
She gestured to his face. Normally adorned with multiple piercings, not just in his ears, but a ring in each eyebrow and a stud in his nose, lip and tongue, it was shockingly metal-free. And his NHS specs, held together with sellotape, or sometimes a plaster, had been replaced by a pair of rimless glasses that looked as if they had cost a small fortune.
‘My new image,’ he said. ‘You likey?’
‘It’s certainly different,’ Lilly replied.
Cheney grimaced. ‘To tell you the truth I feel naked, but my new girlfriend insisted. It was either her or them.’
‘What about the ink?’ Lilly pointed to the sleeves of his lab jacket, which she knew covered tattoos from his wrists to his shoulders.
‘We’ve agreed on an armistice. I won’t get any more and she’ll try to ignore the ones I’ve already got.’
‘It must be love.’
Cheney sighed. ‘I suppose it must be. Speaking of which, has McNally come to his senses?’
Jack and Cheney went way back. Old drinking buddies and general partners in crime.
‘I told him he was making a big mistake,’ said Cheney. ‘You are the best thing that ever happened to him.’
Lilly smiled. Jack had obviously told Cheney he had left her rather than Lilly asking him to move out. Probably a male pride thing.
‘Let’s get down to business shall we?’ she said. ‘Lydia Morton-Daley.’
‘Ah, yes.’ Cheney rubbed his hands together.
His obvious enthusiasm might be disconcerting to normal folk, but Lilly was glad that the dead had someone on their side who gave a toss. He dived back into the lab and Lilly held her nose until he returned waving the autopsy report.
‘Can you give me the edited highlights?’ she asked.
‘Blood levels indicate a large amount of benzos.’
‘Enough to kill her?’
‘On their own, probably not,’ he said. ‘But mixed with the zopiclone we found as well, very likely.’
‘Could it be accidental?’ Lilly asked. ‘A mistake by one of the staff?’
‘It would be some mistake. They’re contraindicated.’ He leaned towards Lilly and fingered through the report in her hand. ‘And there’s this too.’ He pulled out the photograph that Jack had shown Lilly the night before. ‘Makes me think this is no mistake.’
Lilly glanced down at it, sickened by the size of each word and the depth of each wound.
‘No chance she did that herself?’
‘Not unless she was able to withstand the pain of carving each letter into her own flesh and still manage to do it perfectly upside down and back to front.’
Cheney acted out writing across his own stomach and Lilly could see that to make it legible to an onlooker would be difficult with a pen, let alone with a knife.
‘Then there’s the small matter that she was dead at the time,’ he said.
‘Dead?’
Cheney nodded breezily. ‘Post-mortem wounds, I’m afraid.’
Lilly groaned.
‘Does it matter?’ Cheney asked.
‘It will to the girl’s parents,’ said Lilly. Suicide was one thing, but murder and mutilation were something else entirely.
She smiles at me from across the room. Her teeth are uneven and the hem of one leg of her navy trouser suit has been sewn up with black cotton. But I mustn’t allow these details to cloud my judgement.
Watching her in court yesterday afternoon was very interesting. The fat prosecutor, who smells so bad I almost gagged, tried to attack her. Like a wasp she went for her again and again. Buzz, buzz, buzz. But Lilly Valentine swatted her away with the back of her hand.
Same with the magistrate. The poisonous little hobgoblin went for it. Full charge, head down. But she held her ground.
I’ve learned my lesson. If I’m going to win, I will need different tactics. A frontal assault will just strengthen her resolve. She’s stubborn though. And that will be her undoing.
Lilly stood at the far edge of Harry’s office and chewed her cuticles. She felt the sting as she bit too far.
‘That’s a bad habit,’ said Harry.
Lilly looked down at her hands. The nails were down to the quick, the cuticles ragged and bloody. When had she started doing that? At four in the morning of course, when Alice was screaming as if the Hounds of Hell were on her tail.
He gestured to one of the chairs placed around his desk.
She sidled over to the seat furthest from Jack’s. He was already in his place, speaking in hushed tones to the WPC at his side. Lilly recognized her from yesterday’s hearing. She was the one who had arrested Lydia. Lilly caught her staring and the WPC looked away. No doubt she thought Lilly had made a spectacular idiot of herself in court.
Jack was nervous, endlessly smoothing down his tie. He almost never wore one and when he did, it was an instant giveaway as to how stressed he was feeling. The WPC leaned in to ask him something and he almost jumped out of his skin. Lilly couldn’t blame him. None of them were looking forward to meeting Lydia’s parents.
A small knock came at the office door and Lilly went rigid. She noticed that Jack and the WPC straightened their backs too. Only Harry kept his relaxed appearance and opened the door.
‘Mr and Mrs Morton-Daley.’ Harry spoke to a point outside the office. ‘Please come in.’
Lilly gulped. Waited.
At last the couple entered. Lilly noticed that despite flawless highlights and an unnaturally smooth forehead that screamed Botox, Mrs Morton-Daley looked significantly older than her husband. Perhaps the death of her daughter had aged her. Lilly knew that if anything ever happened to Sam or Alice she would look a hundred and eighty overnight. And she wouldn’t give a shit.
Harry made the introductions. ‘This is Officer Jack McNally of Luton MCU.’
Jack jumped to his feet and held out his hand. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss.’
Mr Morton-Daley shook his hand but his wife just gave Jack an awkward nod.
‘This is my colleague, WPC Kate Knight,’ said Jack.
The WPC was about to speak, no doubt to offer her own condolences, when Mrs Morton-Daley narrowed her eyes.
‘You were at the police station the night Lydia was arrested.’
‘That’s right,’ said the WPC.
‘Then why are you here?’ asked Mrs Morton-Daley. She turned to Harry. ‘Why is she here?’
Mr Morton-Daley gave three little staccato coughs.
‘What?’ Mrs Morton-Daley asked her husband. ‘I’m not allowed to ask any questions?’
Harry moved forward in a seamless movement and placed a hand on her arm. ‘You can ask as many questions as you like, Mrs Morton-Daley. We’re all here to help in any way we can.’ His voice was soft but the pressure he exerted on the woman must have been firm because she melted into a chair without argument. Her husband sat next to her.
‘And this is Miss Valentine,’ Harry gestured to Lilly
. ‘Lydia’s solicitor.’
‘I can’t imagine how you feel,’ Lilly said.
Mrs Morton-Daley blinked in surprise. ‘At least that’s honest.’
‘At a time like this what else is there?’ Lilly asked.
Mrs Morton-Daley stared at Lilly for an uncomfortable moment that turned the contents of Lilly’s stomach to slush. Then she snapped her head towards Harry, who had taken his place behind his desk. ‘How on earth could this happen?’
‘Jennifer!’ Her husband put a hand on her knee.
‘For God’s sake.’ She threw his hand off. ‘Don’t you want to know? Or are you just …’ She didn’t finish her sentence, but shook her head and looked back at Harry expectantly.
‘We all want to know what happened, Jennifer,’ said Harry. ‘May I call you Jennifer?’
Mrs Morton-Daley shrugged.
‘Thank you,’ said Harry as if she had granted him a huge privilege. ‘That’s exactly what the police are here to do, isn’t that right, Officer McNally?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Jack. ‘As soon as we suspected Lydia had been killed by someone else, we brought in a team. Every single person who was at the Grove yesterday is being interviewed as we speak. Their stories are being checked and double-checked.’
‘Will that do any good?’ asked Mrs Morton-Daley.
‘I think it will,’ Jack answered. ‘In a place like the Grove, we can ascertain fairly easily who came in and who came out. We know who had access to the drugs cupboard and who didn’t. We’re talking about limited opportunity and that helps us.’
‘You think you will catch the person who did this?’ she asked.
‘I give you my word that I will not rest until I do,’ said Jack.
An oppressive silence fell on the room and Lilly prayed Harry would wrap the meeting up, but before he could do so, Mr Morton-Daley turned to her.
‘When you last spoke to Lydia how did she seem?’ he asked.
Lilly thought back to their meeting. How Lydia had told her about the events of the party the night she was arrested.
‘Did she seem happy?’ His wife sighed, but he continued nevertheless. ‘Or, if not happy, at least at peace with herself?’
Lilly remembered Lydia. She had seemed angry and damaged and depressed.
‘We hoped that this time and this place might do the trick,’ he said. ‘It was the last chance, you see, for all of us.’
Lilly didn’t know what to say. How could she tell him the truth? Yet was it right to lie? Thank God Harry came to her rescue.
‘Lydia was responding to treatment. Obviously it was very early days and the road ahead was long, but I was confident we could make a real difference.’
‘Thank you.’ Mr Morton-Daley’s voice was filled with so much gratitude that Harry looked down at his hands. ‘Thank you so much.’
Mrs Morton-Daley groaned, got to her feet and left the room. Her husband rose and regarded the open door.
‘I must apologize for Jennifer,’ he said. ‘She’s so very upset.’
‘We completely understand,’ said Lilly.
He moved towards the door, but hovered, uncertain. ‘Do you?’
‘Of course,’ said Lilly. ‘You should go after her, make sure she’s okay.’
He gave a tight smile and went to find his wife.
Harry exhaled loudly. ‘Well done, Lilly. You handled that like a pro.’
Gem strips the bed like Feyza showed her, pulling the top corners out and throwing them in the middle, then doing the same with the bottom corners. That way she can pick the sheet up without touching the bit that anyone has been on.
Same with the bin. Pick the bag up by the handles and don’t even look at the stuff inside.
‘What’s the matter?’ asks the girl whose room it is. ‘Worried about catching something?’
She’s gluing on false eyelashes at the dressing table, a cigarette clamped between her teeth. Her name’s Misty. Well that ain’t her proper name obviously. None of the working girls use their proper names. Which seems a bit weird ’cos they don’t keep nothing else private, do they?
She stubs out her fag, the lipstick-rimmed dog-end ending up in an ashtray overflowing with ’em.
‘You scared of catching Aids?’
Well of course she is. And hepatitis. Or herpes. But Gem don’t think Misty would take too kindly to her saying that. So she says nothing.
Feyza makes it clear that part of Gem’s job is to keep her mouth shut.
She pulls a clean sheet from the cupboard in the corner and throws it over the bed, tucking the edges in nice and tight. Feyza only had to show her once and Gem could tell she was pleased. She’s always been a quick learner. Everybody says so. She was in all the top sets in year seven and eight. Not any more. She don’t go into school enough. But she bets she could learn it all if she started going again properly.
‘Don’t forget the pillowcase,’ Misty tells her, but Gem is already changing it.
Misty’s dressing gown falls open and Gem can see her black bra and a red love bite.
‘Fuck’s sake.’ Misty checks it in the mirror and rakes through her make-up bag for a tube of thick concealer. She squeezes a blob on her finger and pats it over the bruise. It works like a dream. Gem’s seen her using it on some pink scars she’s got around her lips. Even up close you can’t see them when she’s wearing it.
‘Hurry up,’ Misty says. ‘I’ve got a punter waiting.’
Gem puts the pillow on the bed and heads for the door with the dirty sheet and bin bag, while Misty throws her dressing gown over a chair. They look at each other for a second, Misty in a black thong that cuts between her arse cheeks, and Gem with her stash of spunk-filled condoms.
‘Go on then,’ says Misty. ‘Fuck off out of it.’
Gem scurries away past reception. There’s a sad sack in there, picking the dirt out of his nails, waiting his turn. His hair is grey and looks like it ain’t been washed for weeks. Gem supposes she should feel sorry for Misty but frankly it ain’t her business.
Lilly was attempting to make a quick getaway from the Grove and had sprinted halfway down the corridor, when Jack called after her. Her heart sank.
‘Could I have a word, Lilly?’
She plastered on a smile and turned. ‘Of course.’
He caught up with her, the WPC following just behind.
‘What can I do for you, Jack?’ asked Lilly.
He tilted his head at the WPC. ‘Give us a moment, Kate.’
The WPC’s face froze but she quickly recovered, plastering on her own smile before stalking away in the other direction.
‘I’d say you just pissed someone off,’ said Lilly.
Jack looked shocked. ‘Kate? Why do you say that?’
‘Being sidelined by your male boss is never pleasant for a woman,’ Lilly told him.
Relief swept over his face. ‘I’ll square it with her later. Back at the station. Obviously.’
He was wittering now. Clearly she’d hit a nerve. She’d almost feel sorry for him, but she was starving and David would be waiting for her outside.
‘You wanted a word,’ she prompted.
He nodded, clearly glad to be on safer ground. ‘I just wondered about David.’
‘David?’
‘He’s staying at your place.’
‘Only for a couple of days,’ said Lilly. ‘Silly bugger’s been kicked out by Botox Belle.’
‘It’s not permanent then?’
Lilly laughed. ‘I don’t think my fifteen-year-old couch is comfortable enough for that.’
‘He’s on the couch then?’ Jack looked at his feet.
‘Of course he’s on the bloody couch.’ Lilly shook her head in disbelief. ‘We’re divorced.’
‘People get back together,’ he said.
‘I can assure you that that is not on the cards for me and David.’
Jack shuffled from foot to foot. ‘Does he know that?’
For God’s sake. She had had some ridic
ulous conversations with Jack over the years, but this one was a classic.
‘He dumped me for a dumb blonde, remember. The men in my life have a habit of doing that.’
If she could have sucked the words back in she would have, and then sewn her lips together for good measure. She didn’t want to rehash old arguments with Jack any more than she did with David. She steeled herself for his defence, but it didn’t come. Instead, he stared off down the corridor and spoke over Lilly’s head. ‘I’ll be with you in a moment.’
Lilly glanced around and saw the WPC gliding towards them, hands behind her back. She didn’t slow her pace when Jack spoke.
‘I said I’ll be with you in a moment.’
If the WPC noticed the tinge of irritation in Jack’s voice she disguised it well. ‘I think you’re going to want to hear what I’ve got to say, Jack,’ she said.
He folded his arms, an implicit sign that this had better be good.
‘I’ve just spoken to the guys who have been searching the scene,’ she said. ‘They’ve found something.’
‘What?’ Jack asked.
The WPC kept a straight face but there was a twinkle in her eye as she brought her left hand into view. In it she was holding an evidence bag. Inside the bag was the unmistakable shape of a blood-stained knife.
I feel distinctly odd.
Like I’m having an out-of-body experience.
The way Jack dismissed me, I thought he was joking at first. When I realized he wasn’t joking, I had to force myself to slip away. It didn’t feel like me doing that.
Thank goodness that PC found the knife. I knew Jack would want to see it immediately.
We’re walking towards the room where it was found now. Jack’s talking but I only know that because his mouth is moving. I can’t hear a word he’s saying. It’s like being deep under water. Or deaf. Yes, this is what it must be like to be deaf.
As I say, it’s distinctly odd.
Jack grabs my arm and I try to focus. His voice is so quiet. Like he’s at the other end of a long tunnel.
‘Do you know whose room this is, Kate?’
I shake my head.
He looks puzzled and I resist the urge to trace my finger down the sweet little wrinkles in his forehead.
