Force Of Habit v5

by Robert Bartlett

  The girl obviously never shut up. North didn’t know how anyone could stand it. She was doing his head in already.

  ‘The new Jordan, eh?’

  ‘Why not. She came from a place just like this - only I wouldn't be daft enough to let Peter Andre go.’

  She giggled and worked the sexy-cute routine. It came naturally to her around any man just in case they had enough cash or might come in handy. North was reminded of the woman who'd given him the come on at City Hall. This one looked twenty-one but talked twelve. Scanlan must have had his bollocks kicked up into his head at some point, it was the only explanation for his thinking. He could go down for this, even if she was seventeen or eighteen now, when did it start? North hoped he had sense enough to at least be taking precautions, she could be exposing herself to all sorts.

  ‘Do you look after yourself?’

  ‘What do you think?’ she stuck her hands on her hips, let a leg slip free and thrust her boobs at him.

  ‘I mean health wise. Do you take precautions?’

  ‘What, you think you're getting some of this? Dream on. I'm just fucking with you. You can't afford this.’

  So how was Scanlan settling up?

  ‘I'm serious.’

  ‘I can take care of myself just fine. I only go to the best places. You have to be able to pay to play.’

  It was like trying to get through rock with rubber.

  ‘I meant do you take precautions?’

  ‘I take the pill and never forget. There’s two reasons never to forget living right here.’

  ‘What about condoms?’

  ‘If they want, but get real, most want pussy not plastic and I'm not selling it to bums on street corners. They treat me nice. Real nice.’

  ‘There are health risks. Have you had many infections?’

  ‘Just the usual stuff.’

  ‘The usual stuff?’

  ‘Yeah, you know, just chlamydia a couple of times, gonorrhoea, its no biggy, everyone gets them. I make sure that I get checked out every now and then and if I've got something, you never know with chlamydia it’s a right sneaky bitch, they just give you a prescription and it all clears up. No worries.’

  Kids today are on a different planet.

  ‘You got any more brothers or sisters?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Fuck knows how not. She didn't have me until she was in her thirties. That's about all the luck me mam ever had.’

  Was she completely unaware of Dawn Ward’s existence? Her head seemed to create an alternative reality to the one she found herself in. She saw herself as a desirable object that would be given the life of luxury it deserved, each user and abuser a potential saviour. She was like those sad fuckers on TV that everyone laughs at because they truly believe that they are the next Lady Gaga but actually sound like a scalded cat on hot coals being strangled. Her most likely peak would come as a bit part in a tabloid expose of some married celebrity and she would lap it up. Get some lad mag money and a taste of some really base reality TV, if she was lucky. And she’d love every minute of it.

  ‘When are you expecting your mam back?’

  She shrugged.

  ‘Do you know if they have been going to school?’ he indicated the boys’ photos.

  She snorted. ‘Danny will be but Daz,’ she shrugged again. ‘He's turning into a right little shit.’

  Some imagination had been at work: Donna, Dawn, Darren and Danny. North took it back - someone had been thinking way outside the Ward box when they came up with Chelsea.

  There was a knock at the door. She acted like she didn't hear. It came again.

  ‘Aren't you going to answer that?’

  ‘It's probably the Jehovah's.’

  She obviously thought that it was Scanlan come back and she didn't want North to see him. North went to the door and opened it. Two women. One in uniform.

  ‘Guv?’ said the PCW.

  North looked back inside. Chelsea Ward seemed relieved to see it was some other copper outside and not Scanlan.

  ‘I thought you were on that murder case,’ said the PCW. ‘Have you been reassigned?’

  North shook his head. ‘What's occurring?’

  ‘This is Mrs Shepherd from Social Services.’ North gave her a smile. The PCW leaned in, lowered her voice. ‘The girl’s mother is in intensive care.’

  ‘You better come in,’ said North.

  He watched the social worker break the news. Watched Chelsea Ward turn into a scared little girl who wanted her mam. She cried. Sobbed. The social worker tried to console her.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Apparently she was run over, I haven't seen her. I just got the call to accompany the social worker. She was in hospital as a Jane Doe, unconscious and no ID, so they ran her prints and got a match.’

  ‘Why the social? The daughter can take care of the boys once she settles. I can sort a lift to the hospital and back for them all.’

  ‘There's another daughter?’

  ‘No.’ North looked at the girl. She was in hysterics, mascara running down her cheeks.

  ‘They grow up too fast nowadays,’ said the PCW.

  North felt his stomach drop about a foot and a half.

  ‘How old is she?’

  ‘Fifteen.’

  Jesus H Christ on a bike.

  Long gone were the days when you could tell jail bait when you saw it but Scanlan surely knew her age. That's who he looked after, juveniles. North's stomach turned over.

  ‘That's why we're here. Social knows the family and we went to Chelsea's school first. She hasn't been in for a few days, so we came here. What are you doing here?’

  ‘Looking for her mum and her brother, Darren.’

  ‘What a family. That only leaves the youngest that isn't in any trouble.’

  Downstairs Danny Ward passed the police car. Nothing unusual about a police car on the estate. He struggled up the stairs. He was finding it harder and harder to breathe. He used the railing along the landing. He was feeling really hot. He got to his front door. His pockets were empty. The key and his gas were in his school trousers back in the changing room. He fell against the door and let himself slide down until he was sitting on the step. The door opened and he fell backwards onto the hall floor. Someone blocked out the sky. He tried to cry out but nothing came. He could barely breathe at all now. The person leaned in close. It looked like a policewoman. What had Darren done now? It was always Darren. Danny had been hoping he was here and that he would go mental on those kids chasing him. That he would go and sort them out once and for all. He wanted to ask what Darren had done but he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move. He could barely breathe.

  He was lifted up. Hands held him as he tried to walk towards the people in the living room. Breathing was like trying to suck air into his lungs through a straw the size of a pin. He noticed Chelsea was in the group. She was crying.

  ‘It's mam,’ she blubbed.

  Daniel ‘Weirdo’ Ward, fainted.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  North carried Danny Ward into A&E.

  ‘He has Asthma.’

  The woman behind the glass wall disappeared. Seconds later the security door opened and he was called through. The nurse fired questions at North and he answered as best he could. A doctor appeared. A syringe squirted and North had another flashback. Adrenaline plunged into the boy. He breathed. His temperature was taken, blood pressure, a number of tests run. He was going to be fine but they were going to keep him in overnight for observation. The boy slept. North went to find the kid's mam.

  ***

  ‘Jesus, how many cars hit her?’

  ‘Just the one. It broke her right arm and leg, inflicted some nasty cuts and bruises but she was also carrying injuries that couldn’t have been sustained by the car impact. Injuries that had to have been inflicted just prior to the accident.’

  ‘How can you tell?’

  ‘Cars don’t try to rape and strangle you. There are other indications
too and there are signs of possible torture. The doctors think that someone had abused her quite badly.’ The nurse turned in response to a sound across the ward. ‘I’m sorry, someone is at the ward door,’ the nurse moved off.

  This was no coincidence. Another torture victim, a victim linked to the Lumsden case who was once a prostitute and drug user and the hospital admission records showed that Donna Ward had been attacked the same night as Denise Lumsden. Had she also been dealing drugs, just like her daughter, Dawn, and Denise Lumsden? Chelsea had said that she was with her girlfriend. Where was she when all this happened? Where was she now? Donna, then Dawn had gotten bad habits at a young age. Now Chelsea was heading down the same path. He looked over at her. She was nestled in Mrs Shepherds arm.

  Donna Ward lay alone in a dark room, bathed in the dim glow cast by screens monitoring the tubes and wires running to and from her battered body. She was in a coma, beaten and tortured into within an inch of her life.

  ‘Jesus,’ he whispered. ‘What the hell is going on?’

  He was in a corridor looking through a window into the room. A nurse had gone in and raised the blind for him. It was the nearest the doctor would allow anyone to get. She'd lost a lot of blood, suffered severe shock and trauma, had numerous wounds, including bite marks, and a number of broken bones. A piece of flesh had been torn off her breast. She'd been sexually assaulted. It was touch and go whether she would live. Donna Ward had been brought in by ambulance two nights ago, responding to a call from a passing motorist. The hospital had called the police.

  North called the station.

  The police had taken a man in for questioning, the driver of the car that collided with Donna Ward but who hadn’t been the one to make the 999 call. He'd been banged up in the station for the last two days. They had six hours to charge him or let him go.

  North put the PCW outside Donna Ward’s door and instructed her not to allow anyone in but him and the medical staff. Absolutely no one. If anyone even tried - anyone - she had to inform him immediately.

  ‘What's so important about her anyway?’

  A commotion broke out behind them.

  A woman came along the corridor towards them, at least North thought it was a woman, it was hard to be one hundred percent. The nurse was calling down the ward after her in hushed tones. It looked like the nurse had gone to answer the buzzer and the woman had forced her way past. The PCW stepped forward to restrain her. North admired her resolve – this one could give Shontelle-Leigh Stafford a decent run for her money.

  ‘Aunty Chris!’

  She even had a bloke’s name.

  Chelsea ran towards her. They embraced, arms tight around one another. Chelsea began crying again. She spoke but the words were unintelligible. The PCW looked at North for guidance and he had her back-off. The nurse returned to her station. They all left the pair to it. They eventually separated and Aunty Chris led Chelsea to a chair. When she was satisfied Chelsea was okay, or at least as okay as she was going to get, she came towards the window.

  ‘Chelsea called me,’ she said to North. She reeked of tabs and had the stains of a long term two pack a day addict and a hard face forged by hard times. A face that melted when its eyes fell on Donna Ward. The deep guttural sound it emitted caused North's body hair to prickle. The face pressed into the glass and left a trail as it slid down the window. Aunty Chris lay on the floor and cried her heart out. Chelsea started up again. North didn't know what to do with either of them. They made him feel uncomfortable. The social worker consoled the girl and the PCW got down beside Aunty Chris. The noise brought the nurse back and she checked the woman over. She was okay to be moved and she got North to help her. They struggled their way into an examination room where they laid her down. Aunty Chris’ whole body began to judder. North wished he'd left the nurse to it and done a runner the moment they had put her down. He took a glance at the nurse to see if he could still chance it.

  ‘Oh, no you don't, I have to go get help. You need to stay with her,’ she waved him closer and got him to hold her hand. North wanted to chew his off at the wrist. This was well out of his comfort zone.

  ‘Come back with a sedative,’ said North. ‘A big one.’ The nurse began to close the door. ‘Make it two,’ he said.

  It seemed to take forever.

  North glanced at the door for about the fifty-seventh time.

  ‘He's killed her,’ said Aunty Chris.

  North did a double-take. Thought he was hearing things. She was till sobbing. Snivelling. Making revolting noises in her nose and throat. He wasn’t sure whether to press her on what he thought she had said or keep schtum and hope she elaborated. If he pressed her she might regain her senses and clam up.

  ‘He's killed them both,’ she sobbed.

  He had heard it.

  He’s killed her. He’s killed them both.

  He.

  North watched her tremble and felt the judder grow beneath his hand. She broke down again and was making those blood curling sounds when the door opened and the nurse came back in. A doctor followed. A small glass bottle appeared. A hypodermic plunged into it. North's protestations were ignored and the needle broke Aunty Chris' skin and the liquid rushed in.

  She became still. Silent.

  Great.

  Just great.

  He was ushered back out into the corridor. The social worker seemed to have calmed the daughter.

  ‘Your Aunty has had to be sedated,’ said North. ‘She will be asleep for a while. Is she your mum’s sister?’

  She snorted. Shook her head.

  ‘Your dad’s?’

  ‘I told you, I never had a dad.’

  Then who the fuck was Aunty Chris?

  ‘She’s my mam’s girlfriend. She gets us to call her that.’

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  She had been clothed in a low-cut top, push-up bra, skirt, knickers and heels. One shoe was missing. The heel had broken off the one that wasn’t. All but the shoe had been cut and torn, the cuts often having carried on into her skin. Her clothes had been shredded with her in them. The only thing that had remained intact was a cheap charm bracelet the doctors had removed from her wrist. Someone at the hospital had had the good sense to take pictures in the moments when she was rushed in and examined, as scissors had performed the last few strokes necessary to completely remove everything so they could get to work.

  North looked at the photographs. Read through the paperwork. The social worker had given North some background. Donna Ward was a supervisor for a large company doing contract cleaning. She was in charge of cleaning the county court buildings. A good employee, started as a cleaner ten years ago and made supervisor only a year later. Her manager said she had stood out from day one, had smarts, was conscientious, rarely sick and wished she had more like her. It was totally unlike her not to show up for work and not get in touch so she had called. The daughter had answered and said she was sick, sleeping and apologised but it was her fault as her mother had asked her to call and she had forgot.

  North already knew that Donna Ward had previous and that it was all ancient history. There had been no signs of drugs or drug use when she had been admitted to hospital. She seemed to have been on the straight and narrow for a decade - so why was she out alone last Monday night, all dolled up, in the pissing rain, in a dress so short you needed two hair-do’s to go out in it? North had seen more material in one of Arnie’s hats. She would have been freezing. Maybe there was a jacket lying out there somewhere. There was no alcohol and no drugs in her system so she hadn’t been partying. Maybe she had been on her way to a party. She couldn’t have been prostituting herself, could she? She had no reason to. There had to be another explanation. He would be asking the girlfriend as soon as he was able.

  Right now he was back at the station to see the man who had initially found her but hadn’t called it in. What was his game? Was he their man? Had she escaped from him and he went in pursuit, ran her down, and was in the process of lifting her back into
his car when he was disturbed by the people who did call it in? The guy rang alarm bells. He had previous. Relevant previous. He’d been charged and found guilty of soliciting a person in the street or public place for the purpose of obtaining sexual services from them as a prostitute. And he been covered in Donna Ward when he was picked up.

  ‘There’s something really creepy about that weirdo,’ a PCW whispered to him as he entered the room.

  ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ said the weirdo.

  ‘What’s he doing on the floor?’

  ‘He fainted when we brought him in.’

  He had lost count of the number of hours he had spent in this room. The number of times he had had been brought here. The number of times he had had to tell his story, over and over again. He was tired. It was stressful. He made mistakes. They told him he lied. Now they were doing it in the middle of the night. Surely that couldn’t be right? He had rights.

  ‘It wasn’t my fault.’

  He looked up at them. They looked down at him. The policewoman who had been so nice was trying to reassure him. A doctor was talking to him as if he was a small child. He’d had a nasty shock. The doctor wanted to inject him with something to help make everything better. Stuart Wright couldn’t take his eyes off the needle. The policewoman was coaxing him. She was so nice. She had been with the policeman who had arrested her two nights ago. He’d like to ask her out and had spent much of the last two days in here thinking about where they would go and what he would buy her, how he would make her laugh. He flinched as the metal pierced his skin and he stared at the needle, plunger descending, pushing heaven only knew what into his body. Then his rising panic was overrun. He felt like he was floating. He became calm. He saw the face of the policeman with the nice lady. The other policemen hadn’t been nice. This one didn’t look nice either. Not nice at all.