by Sarah Flint
BROKEN DOLLS
Sarah Flint
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About this Book
About the Author
Table of Contents
www.ariafiction.com
About Broken Dolls
A baby lies abandoned amongst the rubbish; her tiny face as white as alabaster, her body as stiff as a miniature doll.
A young prostitute lies beaten, her figure lying like a mannequin on the frozen concrete, her blood spilt, her life ebbing away.
As DC ‘Charlie’ Stafford and her boss DI Hunter struggle to identify the victim from the violator their hunt brings them to the crack houses of Lambeth, littered with damaged people, their lives scarred by tragedy and violence, most broken beyond repair. As further lives hang in the balance Charlie must enpower the weak to speak out against those who seek to cause harm.
But can a broken doll ever truly be mended; or will the wounds of the past, fashion the events of the future?
Contents
Welcome Page
About Broken Dolls
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Acknowledgements
About Sarah Flint
About the DC Charlotte Stafford Series
Become an Aria Addict
Copyright
To a real broken doll whose sad life was the motivation for my initial storytelling. I can never forget the sight of her lying on a hospital trolley at the age of thirteen, sucking on her thumb; so similar – yet so different – to my own daughter of the same age who still retained the habit. I watched her gradual decline over the years, powerless to do anything to help, until she was absorbed fully into the seedy drug culture of Lambeth and later sectioned into a psychiatric hospital. I know not what became of her, or even whether she is still alive, but I will always remember her.
Chapter 1
Sunday 10th December 2017
He picked the tiny scrap up, not yet full term and wrapped it in a towel. Although it was only a hand towel, the material covered its whole form, encircling it several times. Small patches of blood soaked through, red and mottled against the lightness of the fabric. The body was cooling now, its umbilical cord still attached, but it wouldn’t take long for it to fully lose its heat. The night was cold and the soft, pink towelling would soon freeze.
He stared down into the baby girl’s face and felt nothing, pushing it from his sight into the bottom of a plastic supermarket carrier bag. It would have to be disposed of and it was his job to do it.
He looked around the room to locate his coat. The lamps were on, the light from them subtle and low. The walls were a dusky pink, clean and smooth. The pine laminate flooring was covered with a large fake-fur cream rug, situated in front of a gas fire whose imitation flames flickered warm and yellow in the fireplace. Above the mantelpiece hung a large print of a naked woman and several smaller pictures around the walls featured partial nudes. A cabinet stood next to a large bed, neatly spread with massage oils, sex toys and a selection of condoms.
The bed took up most of the space.
He heard a cry and looked towards the centre of the bed to see the young girl’s tear-stained face. She was barely seventeen years old, lying on the bed where he’d left her, her knees drawn loosely into her body. The covers were thrown to one side and she wore only a T-shirt that had ridden up, exposing a large, ugly bruise, extending across her midriff, discoloured and swollen. Her blonde hair fell across her eyes, plastered wet against her forehead. Blood spread out across the sheets under her body. He frowned at the sight.
‘Clean this place up, Tatjana. It’s disgusting. And get yourself sorted. When this week is finished you must be ready for our Christmas clients. You need to start earning your keep.’
He slipped his jacket on, tied a scarf around his neck and pulled it up over his nose. A woolly hat completed his camouflage, leaving only a small gap through which to see. What he had to do had to be done masked and under cover of darkness. It would not do to be seen. He picked the plastic bag up. There was no weight to it.
She sprang up suddenly, lunging towards the bag, her fingers grasping a corner of it. He pulled it away from her, shoving her roughly back across the bed. Striding to the open door, he checked that Albertas was sat at his station at the bottom of the stairs, noticing a slight movement as one of his other girls disappeared into a bedroom. He took hold of the handle, ready to pull the door shut behind him.
The girl cried out again, wiping the hair from her face and wincing as her body contorted in pain.
‘Please, let me see my baby.’
He ignored her.
She pushed herself upwards with her arms, straining towards him.
‘Please Dimitri, at least let me see if I have a girl or a boy.’
‘She’s dead anyway, so why should you care? You do not need to see her. We do not need her. She will be gone soon.’
‘So, my baby’s a girl.’
‘Or was.’ He laughed spitefully.
The girl wiped her arm across her eyes. Black mascara stained her cheeks. She sobbed out loud.
‘Maybe she is lucky to escape this hell.’
Chapter 2
The bin storeroom lay open. Eight large grey wheelie bins stood within: filled with black rubbish sacks, white bin liners and numerous carrier bags, some tied at the top, many split down the sides, household waste and discarded rubbish spewing out across the concrete floor.
DC Charlie Stafford and her boss, DI Geoffrey Hunter, gazed at the door to the storeroom, the stench of the area filling their nostrils. All around them, the estate wore a cloak of darkness, the longest night being just a few days away. Colourful fairy lights blinked from windows, plastic wreaths hung from doors and a multitude of decorations bore the message of goodwill to all. Charlie’s breath spread out in front of her, the arc lights at the crime scene making the cloud of moisture appear brilliant white, almost ethereal, but what she was about to see was as far removed from the spiritual story of Christmas as was possible. Charlie was aware of what had been found, but she didn’t want to see it. How could you ever be prepared for a sight like this?
The cordon tape hung still. Charlie nodded towards the uniformed pol
iceman standing guard, who scribbled down their details. He knew them. They all knew Hunter and Charlie at Lambeth HQ.
‘How was the body found?’ She tried to put the moment off.
‘The owner of a dog called it in. The dog was paying too much attention to the rubbish. Its owner saw the little arm and called an ambulance. We were notified at the same time.’
She jotted down what he’d said, then stepped across the tape into the crime scene. To the side of the bins lay a bright orange carrier bag, split along the whole of one side. The glare of the arc lights made the brightness of the bag look obscene against what it contained. A pink towel spread out from the hole, unravelled on the floor and the body of the tiny baby lay partially exposed, each feature perfectly formed. One arm was outstretched, its minute fingers curled loosely into a perfect fist. A fine layer of blonde hair, almost invisible to the naked eye, covered its head, with traces of blood from the womb dried across its skull.
‘Oh my God,’ Charlie couldn’t help herself. ‘How can someone just throw their baby out with the rubbish?’
Hunter remained still, silently taking in the sight, before sighing loudly. ‘No one knows what goes on behind closed doors.’ He bent down and concentrated on the baby, clearly trying to control his emotion and remain pragmatic. ‘Looks like it’s premature. It’s too small to be full term, but we’ll have to establish just how premature it is.’ He glanced up towards where Charlie stood. ‘If it’s over twenty-four weeks it would be considered legally viable and we might be looking at a case of child destruction, but if it’s under that, then the offence would be procuring an abortion. Or, of course, it might just be the result of a miscarriage. Whatever the case though, the mother will almost certainly require medical help.’
Charlie squatted to join him, looking around at the surrounding area. Everywhere was squalor and decay.
‘What a place to end up, whatever the reason… and before life has even begun.’ She peered at the miniature face, its eyes closed as if in sleep. ‘Do we know yet what sex it is?’ Suddenly it was important she knew the answer; whether the life discarded in front of her was a boy or a girl. It seemed wrong not to call it by its gender.
‘I can tell you in a minute, that is, if it’s clear to do a preliminary examination of the body.’
Dr Rob Finch strode towards them. He was the police doctor who attended crime scenes most frequently. His job was to ‘pronounce life extinct’. It was a peculiar phrase that always vaguely struck Charlie as being outdated and impersonal, especially if used to the relative of a recently dead loved one. Tonight though, it appeared that life might never have legally existed.
The doctor held out his hand and Hunter shook it firmly. He was similar to Hunter in nature; straight to the point and with no frills, but he was the exact opposite physically; tall, lean, fit and with a thick head of hair. Charlie had crossed paths with him both professionally and off-duty, whilst running, most recently in her first triathlon. She stood to one side, not quite sure whether to offer her hand but deciding in the end not to. They knew each other well enough to dispense with formalities.
‘Hi, Dr Finch,’ she said instead. ‘It would be good to know if it was a boy or girl.’
Hunter nodded. ‘We need life pronounced formally, but try not to move the body any more than is necessary. Photos have been taken, but the forensics team are yet to start. I’ll arrange for the coroner’s officer to sort out the removal once everything is concluded.’
Dr Finch dipped his head and pulled on his gloves. Carefully he peeled the towel back, completely exposing the tiny shape. It was a baby girl, clearly dead for some time; her body, just over twelve inches in length, silent and still like a fragile white doll. Gently he placed a stethoscope on her chest, the pad of the scope covering far too much of her little frame than seemed right. Charlie watched as the doctor completed his checks with a tenderness that moved her almost to tears. He needed to do the tests before formally pronouncing life extinct, but it was clear the job was difficult.
Finally Dr Finch straightened, looking at them both. ‘Well it’s female. Life pronounced extinct at 22.05. She is premature and I would estimate from her size that she’s probably around the twenty-six to twenty-eight week mark of gestation, but that can be confirmed at the full examination. By this stage of pregnancy her lungs and digestive tract should be pretty much fully developed, but, in the absence of any medical assistance, she would have struggled to survive, if, indeed, she was able to breathe independently at all.’
‘So could she have survived if the mother had been in hospital?’ Charlie asked immediately.
He turned towards her. ‘It’s difficult to say. She’s on the very limit of survival. If she was very lucky and had medical intervention straight away it’s possible, but it’s also likely that she would have had some pretty severe medical issues to contend with.’
‘How long has she been dead?’ Hunter stepped forward, peering towards the baby.
‘I can’t say, I’m afraid boss, much as I’d like to help.’ He bent towards the body with a thermometer. ‘Rigor mortis is difficult to assess in infants and children, and even though she looks fully formed she’s still technically a foetus. Newborn or pre-term babies have very little muscle mass and as it’s the amount of lactic acid in the muscles that cause rigor mortis, it’ll be extremely difficult to determine when exactly she died. Judging by her appearance and temperature though, I would say that she’s been here for some time.’
‘Are we talking hours or days? Just so I know how long to go back for hospital checks. We need to find the mother.’
‘More likely days, but I really can’t say Hunter. What I can say is that the mother will have gone through full labour. The chances are, as you rightly intimate, she’ll need medical assistance.’
He pulled the towel back over the tiny girl, gently covering her body, as if tucking her into a cot. Charlie was again touched by this small act of humanity. They started to walk back towards their cars, pausing briefly to leave their protective suits, overshoes and gloves with the uniformed officer at the cordon. Hunter stopped to issue further instructions, while Charlie and Rob Finch went ahead.
She waited while the doctor opened the boot of his car and placed his briefcase carefully beside a pair of running shoes and an overflowing holdall, from which a towel and pair of swimming goggles spilt.
‘Dr Crane at the path lab should be able to tell you more when he’s done the post-mortem, Charlie. Hopefully you’ll get the identity of the mother from a DNA test on the dried blood on the baby’s head. I’m presuming that must be the mother’s as there are no obvious injuries to the baby.’ He paused, before slamming the boot shut and explaining further. ‘The mother’s blood supply is totally separate to that of the foetus so it will have different DNA, although the blood type might be the same.’
Charlie watched as Rob Finch folded himself into the driver’s seat, turning towards her with a frown.
‘You need to find the mother, Charlie. We don’t know as yet how this baby was miscarried and it’s highly likely her life could be in danger if any kind of infection sets in.’
Charlie pursed her lips. It was a thought they’d acknowledged earlier, especially should the baby have been forcefully removed. If the mother wasn’t tracked down swiftly, then potentially they could soon be investigating two deaths, rather than just the one.
Chapter 3
Charlie slept fitfully in the office that night. There were too many things to be done to waste time travelling to or from her flat. She woke after barely two hours disturbed sleep as Bet pushed open the door, her discordant singing signalling her arrival before the light flooded in.
Bet came across, peering over her shoulder at a précis of the night’s incident.
‘You OK?’ she put a hand on Charlie’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. ‘It’s never easy dealing with that kind of call.’
‘I have to admit I have felt better,’ Charlie ran her hands through her hai
r. ‘Oh Bet, you should have seen how tiny the little girl’s body was. How could anybody do that?’
‘I don’t know. I ask myself how people do the things they do all the time, especially to children.’ She squeezed Charlie’s shoulder again. ‘You’ll never forget that sight. The memory will stay with you for the rest of your life… but what you need to do now is use the image to catch who did this. I dealt with a child abuse case, years ago. I can still picture the poor little kiddie, Bethany Soames was her name, her body black and blue from where she’d been beaten and kicked to death by her parents. She had twenty-three broken bones and over a hundred other separate injuries. I couldn’t rest until I had both parents locked up behind bars, but eventually I did it. So, use the image in your head to focus on, but don’t let it take over your thoughts.’
‘I will.’ She sat up, determining to do as Bet suggested. In that instant she realised that she too would not rest until the person who had done this to the baby was caught.
Quickly, she passed across a list of hospitals yet to be checked on for admissions, before grabbing her shampoo from underneath her desk and disappearing towards the showers.
Time to get clean and get going; she’d sleep properly later.
*
Fifteen minutes later, she returned to find the whole team squeezing their chairs into a semi-circle around Hunter, who was briefing them on the details of the crime scene. She pulled up a chair too, brushing her wet hair off her cheeks and blinking her eyes open. The team were listening to Hunter’s description in silence, their expressions conveying their obvious shock and disbelief at the depths to which humanity could sink. The group determination to find the perpetrator was already etched in every crease of their brows and shake of their heads. Charlie had no doubt that the image now firmly implanted in their mind’s eye would be all that was required. No stone would be left unturned until the right result was achieved. Hunter, Bet and Naz all had kids of their own, but she, Sabira and Paul would feel it just as acutely. In the Community Support Unit in which they worked, they had all dealt with children brutalised by the adults in whose care they were entrusted… and the adults themselves unable to rise above the damage inflicted on them as juveniles by their own parents. It was an endless, unremitting circle of abuse, the participants of which were bound tightly into each act of domestic violence.
