by K. L. Slater
He stepped aside to reveal Brianna and Maddy sitting side by side. A plump woman in casual civilian clothing with glasses and permed brown hair stood up and smiled.
‘Here we are, girls,’ she said brightly. ‘I told you your families would be here soon.’
Brianna jumped up and ran full pelt to Chloe, crashing into her and nearly knocking her over. Chloe wrapped her arms around her, buried her face in her daughter’s hair. She smelled different. Strange.
They’d taken her clothes for forensic examination, and the ones they’d provided hung too big on her. Chloe knew she’d hate that. Brianna was always picky about what she wore. Cheap-looking stretchy grey leggings bagged at her ankles, and a blue and brown striped long-sleeved tunic covered most of her hands. It was about as far from Brianna’s usual clothing choice as they could have got.
She could hear Juliet crying, and when she looked up, Tom was sitting with Maddy on his lap, holding and rocking her like she was a toddler again. Her niece sat perfectly still, like an oversized doll. While Juliet sobbed, Maddy stared ahead at the wall, her eyes wide and haunted. It was creepy to witness.
Chloe’s own heart ached, like it had split in two, but she had to stay strong, had to set an example for Brianna.
Maddy had both her parents to rely on for support; Bree only had her.
She loosened her grip on her daughter and gently tipped her chin up so she could study her forlorn face. She saw with revulsion that there were tiny blood spots dotted around her cheeks… Could it be the old woman’s blood? Somehow she managed to keep her expression impassive.
‘What happened?’ Juliet asked Maddy between sniffs. ‘How come you were so far away from Grandma and Grandad’s house?’
‘You can tell us the truth, but you mustn’t say anything to the police until the lawyer gets here, do you understand?’ Chloe told Brianna.
The girls glanced at each other and then immediately looked away again.
‘Come on, Bree.’ Chloe squeezed her daughter’s shoulder. ‘Tell us why you were at Mrs Wilford’s house. Did you know her from Grandma’s? You’ve never mentioned her to me before.’
‘What happened, princess?’ Tom stroked Maddy’s hair. ‘You have to tell us so we can sort this out.’
A tap on the door and a young uniformed officer opened it and stuck her head through.
‘Your lawyer has just arrived and we’ve briefed her on events so far. You can see her for a few minutes before we begin interviewing the girls. She’s ready for you now, in the juvenile interview room.’
Six
The village
Dana Sewell thought every day about the girl who’d died, but the nights were the worst. In the cold, empty early hours, Collette Strang came to her, her pleading fifteen-year-old eyes boring right into her heart like a laser.
Dana had arguably done more than anyone else: she had listened to Collette, she’d believed her when she said she’d had nothing to do with her best friend’s overdose. But Dana had also dithered and been too late in taking action, and for that she would never forgive herself.
She’d ignored the orders of her superiors and the police and driven over to the Strang family home, banging on their door at nearly midnight. At her insistence, they’d gone upstairs to wake Collette, and found she’d hanged herself in her own bedroom.
Dana had acted unprofessionally, the board of trustees had told her. Hadn’t followed official procedure. They’d seemed more concerned about that than the fact Collette had taken her own life.
Dana had been thinking of moving away from the area for a while now, but couldn’t seem to find that final push to do so. But she knew she couldn’t stay in the village much longer, bumping into Collette’s family and other locals who knew everything that had happened with the case.
Since her suspension from duty, she’d had plenty of time to think. Too much time, if truth be told. She couldn’t seem to galvanise herself to get her act together, to move on.
At the end of her spell of deep thinking, when for days on end she’d often seen no other living creature apart from Heston, her cat, she had decided to get out of family therapy altogether. Retrain and embark on a fresh career.
She just had to decide exactly when to go and what that new path might be.
And then, just a month ago, a series of unexpected events had changed everything.
First, the academy trust internal inquiry had concluded she was not at fault after all. They offered to reinstate her, which, with great effort, she politely refused instead of giving in to the satisfaction of telling them where precisely in their nether regions they might stick their offer. But she did accept a small severance payment they offered as a gesture of goodwill.
Two days later, Conor Neary had telephoned and asked if she’d be willing to partner with Nottinghamshire Police and work on selected juvenile cases on a consultancy basis. This she had readily agreed to, having worked with Conor on many occasions prior to her suspension.
Finally, the local newspaper, the Herald, had featured her in an article about how Nottinghamshire Police were engaging young people in various initiatives throughout the county and building a trusting relationship in the process. They also gave a brief outline of the Strang case and the outcome of the inquiry.
The dirty looks in the street and snide comments behind hands from those villagers who had heard only scant details about Collette’s death seemed to disappear overnight.
But the best thing by far that had happened was that two weeks ago, Dana had met someone at the gym. In Lizzie she felt a real connection and that was where she wanted to focus her energy and build their relationship. For the first time in her life, work was no longer her number one priority.
She had only just finished a consultancy job at the end of last week with Notts Police, running workshops with young people who had been involved with gangs. So far, the jobs had been sporadic, so to get a call so soon afterwards from Conor Neary had surprised her, his western Irish lilt dripping down the line like honey into her ear.
‘I’ve a proposal for you, Dana. Something I think only you can do.’
‘I’m a sucker for your charm, Conor, you know that,’ Dana said sourly but with a smile. She’d known Conor long enough they completely ‘got’ each other.
In the midst of her career troubles, Conor had been one of only a handful of colleagues who’d stood by her. He had spoken out in support of her and rallied to her defence when the media approached him for comment.
In the event, none of it had done any good – Dana was suspended anyway – but she was grateful for his loyalty and wouldn’t forget it.
‘Seriously, I think this case has your name all over it.’ He continued, not joining in with her banter which was unusual. ‘Have you heard about the attack on the elderly lady in the village earlier today?’
‘On Conmore Street,’ Dana confirmed. It would have been hard to miss it. The news was all over Twitter, Facebook and the local BBC television news. Some lowlife had attacked an eighty-one-year-old woman in her own home.
‘That’s the one. It’s a very nasty incident.’
Dana felt a spike of sadness for the elderly victim and her family even as understanding dawned as to why Conor might be desperate for help.
Small, gossipy villages were breeding grounds for vigilante action that could quickly spiral out of control. Angry and upset, local folk who knew the victim and her family personally didn’t usually bother themselves too much with the small detail of solid, proven evidence. They tended to make their minds up about what had taken place and then quickly forge ahead with an act-first, think-later approach, intent on seeing justice done.
Neary would be more than aware of this, as would his boss, Superintendent Cath Fry. Speed was always of the essence in apprehending the culprits in a sensitive crime of this nature and perhaps he was after her insider knowledge of the village.
Conor sighed on the end of the line. ‘I’m not sure how long we can keep a lid on this, b
ut we’ve got two ten-year-old girls who look good for it, Dana.’
She sucked in breath. Her own niece, who lived in Yorkshire with her sister and brother-in-law, was just ten.
‘But there’s something else. Both girls attend Annesley Woodhouse primary school.’
Neary’s line of thinking was now clear, but a prickle of apprehension settled over her skin. Was a high-profile case in her home village the right one to involve herself in just as things had finally settled down?
The trust that employed her as a family therapist had around twenty schools under its control throughout Nottinghamshire. Annesley Woodhouse school was one of them. Until her suspension, Dana had spent roughly half a day a week there, counselling kids and getting involved with local families who needed support.
‘What are the girls’ names?’ She felt her scalp tighten, afraid of his answer. What if she’d counselled one or both of them? So young, with their whole lives ahead of them. Dana couldn’t help but get close to the families she helped and she didn’t think she could bear to see any of them in terrible trouble like this.
‘Maddy Fletcher and Brianna Voce.’
Dana breathed a sigh of relief. They weren’t among the kids she’d already worked with closely, though the names did sound familiar. Last term she’d conducted family and social skills workshops for Year 5 and 6 pupils, and the two girls would almost certainly have been among her groups of ten- and eleven-year-olds.
DI Neary didn’t wait for a response. ‘I know it’s problematic because you live in the village, so we approached a couple of local freelance therapists we thought might be able to help us, but they won’t touch the case with a bargepole. Public feeling is running high; they’ve both said it could wreck their reputations. That and the fact that it looks like an open-and-shut case.’
Dana could hear the tension in his voice. The frustration.
‘What’s your take on where you’re at right now in the investigation?’ Dana asked. ‘Straight up, no fluffing.’
‘Honestly? Time’s running out and we need to get to the truth. It looks a straightforward case, but there’s something that just doesn’t sit right with me about the whole thing, and I’d really appreciate your input.’ He paused a moment. ‘Thing is, we’ve got rather a big obstacle we need help getting over, Dana.’
‘Which is?’
‘Both girls are refusing to speak.’
‘What?’
‘I know it’s a big ask, but I don’t want innocent kids blamed for something they didn’t do because the super is piling on the pressure for us to move quickly.’
Dear God. Dana felt her resolve start to crumble. The parallels to her last case were too similar to ignore.
When it came to her trauma buttons, Neary certainly knew exactly which ones to press.
Seven
Juliet
The lawyer introduces herself as Seetal Bhatia. She is a plain-looking woman in her early thirties, with short black hair and no make-up. She’s dressed in a navy skirt suit with flat navy shoes and she has a friendly round face with large brown eyes that look permanently startled.
She explains to us some facts we already know about the case before moving on.
‘It looks as though they might have some pretty worrying evidence, from what I can gather at this early stage.’ She consults her handwritten notes.
‘What sort of evidence?’ Tom asks.
‘Early forensic observations, though nothing official yet.’ Seetal seemingly has no filter when it comes to stating the facts, yet I find her candour reassuring in the midst of everyone else’s vagueness. Perhaps now we’ll actually have a chance of finding out exactly what happened in that house. ‘According to the summary I’ve been given, they suspect the blood and other body matter that’s spattered on both girls’ clothing came from the victim.’
My stomach lurches. ‘Other body matter?’ The viciousness of the attack does not fit with my ten-year-old daughter who cries at Disney films and who begged me to arrange to adopt an African elephant as one of her Christmas presents last year.
In fact, the mere suggestion that she could carry out such a heinous crime would be laughable if it wasn’t so horribly real.
‘We’ll look at that in detail when we have the forensics back.’ Seetal moves swiftly on. ‘Do you know anything about this apparent vow of silence between the girls?’ She hesitates. ‘Have they ever done this sort of thing before?’
‘Never,’ I say emphatically. I look at Tom and he shakes his head.
‘Not to my knowledge,’ Chloe agrees.
‘You’ll get the chance to speak to the girls privately before their interviews,’ Seetal says. ‘I’ll introduce myself to them first, but in the short time you have, it’s vital you try and get them to open up to you, tell you the truth about what happened earlier today. They need to know they’re doing themselves a disservice by remaining silent. We can’t protect them unless we know exactly what we’re dealing with here.’
* * *
The juvenile interview room is relatively pleasant compared to the stark grubbiness of the others we’ve encountered so far.
The floor is covered in a wiry dark grey carpet. A couple of incongruous brightly coloured floral prints adorn the walls, and a limp potted yucca sits forlornly in the corner. The digital recorder and the official-looking notepad and pens on the teak-laminated table, though, are an indication that we’re not here for the fun of it.
As Seetal busies herself getting her paperwork in order, the tension in the room is palpable. I check my phone and see I have a text message from Beth. I click into it.
Everything OK?! Weird rumours ripping through the village like wildfire… and online, too! Is Maddy OK? B x
That damn village grapevine. It’s faster than the Internet for spreading gossip. I send a quick text back.
Problems. At police station with Tom, call you soon x
It’s not much of a reply, and I can’t say we’re OK, because we’re not. I have to stay focused on what’s happening here.
When I click on my Twitter icon, I see I have eighteen notifications. Eighteen! I only usually have one or two at the most. Against my better judgement, I load up the list of tweets the business has been mentioned in.
@Jezhallam76
Is it true your kids have bashed up an old lady @InsideOut_4Kids? #BessieWilford #Disgusting
* * *
@dartfanatic180
Does anyone know if it’s true about the daughters of the women who run @InsideOut_4Kids? #Annesley #BessieWilfordAttack
I turn the screen so Tom can read it over my shoulder, and hear his sharp intake of breath. Chloe is looking down at her own phone, and her face looks pale and shocked, so she’s probably reading similar things.
‘Have you remembered that Josh is back from his trip later?’ I say in a low voice to Tom, and he nods.
‘I’ll go and pick him up,’ he says. ‘I’ll have to bring him back here, with my mum and dad being away.’
I really don’t want to bring Josh here to the police station, but we might not have a choice. Tom’s parents are on a Mediterranean cruise, and Josh won’t be going to my mum and dad’s at any point until this mess is all sorted out, I know that much.
I close the Twitter page with a shaking finger just as the girls are ushered in. I feel Tom’s body tense next to me as he tries to rein in his emotion.
The tweets are instantly forgotten when I see my Maddy looking so vulnerable. She’s small and pale, like a startled doe. Brianna looks wild, as if she’s ready to bolt.
As we agreed, Seetal speaks first. She shakes hands formally with the girls and introduces herself in her no-nonsense way.
‘Your parents have asked me to come here to help you both. I’m not a policewoman, I’m a lawyer. That means I’m on your side and anything you tell me is confidential, just like if you were to talk to a teacher at school. Do you understand?’ She looks from one girl to the other. ‘We want to get you back home as quickly a
s possible, so it’s very important you listen carefully to what your parents have to say to you, OK?’
My heart sinks when there is no response from either Maddy or Brianna. They both sit still and wide-eyed as if they’re competing to see how long each one can hold their breath.
‘You can give them a hug before the interview starts,’ Seetal says, turning her attention to her yellow legal pad.
We all jump up and rush over to our girls, lost in the precious moments of holding them close without the need for words.
I press my face into Maddy’s hair and breathe in her smell as Tom wraps his arms around us both. There are other smells there I can’t identify, odours that don’t belong to my daughter at all, picked up from the musty surroundings of the police station and their temporary clothing.
Maddy’s small hands grip me hard, her fingers digging into my back as if she never wants to let go. I take her by the shoulders and prise her gently away until I can see her face.
Her usually sparkling blue eyes are bloodshot, her glowing pink cheeks sallow. She stares at me silently, as though imploring me to help her. She isn’t speaking, but she’s still letting me know how distressed she is.
‘Tell me what happened, sweetie,’ Tom whispers. ‘We can’t help you if you don’t tell us the truth.’
The intensity of her stare doesn’t waver, but still she doesn’t reply.
I try to get through to her. ‘Whisper in my ear, Maddy. Just tell me what happened. Did you hurt the old lady?’
Silence.
Tom’s voice is low and urgent. ‘We know you wouldn’t have hurt her on purpose, but maybe there was an accident? You were scared and—’
I have a brainwave. ‘You can nod your answer. Or shake your head. Did you hurt the old lady by accident, sweetie?’
Nothing.
I glance across the room at Chloe and Brianna, locked together. Chloe is speaking in a low voice, too low for me to hear, but I can see that Brianna’s lips aren’t moving at all.
