Broken (7 page)

Lately she couldn’t be bothered to do anything. Pregnancy was not doing her much good. In fact, since she had found out about the baby she had done practically nothing. That included the bedroom department as well.

When he heard the door open he shouted: ‘Hey, Letitia, I’m in here.’ His voice was loud and aggressive. He was going to bawl her out, he had decided. He might not have been home for a while but, hell, it was her job to see that the place was kept in good condition.

As he looked across the Thames he felt his usual stir of pride at living in a Docklands loft. Coming from a council estate in Manchester, he appreciated this turn in his fortunes more than the average dealer. Not for him a cage in a local authority flat where everyone came calling at all hours of the day and night. He didn’t need to do that himself any more and certainly didn’t live on top of the business. He had invested his money in property and cars, the latter being his first love.

When he went to friends’ houses and saw the bars on their doors and windows he felt stifled. It was like being banged up again. No, he liked his smart new life, it suited him fine.

He strolled from the kitchen area into the large lounge. It was then he saw the two men with shotguns standing on his immaculate white shag-pile carpet.

‘Hello, son.’

The man’s voice was friendly. Friendly enough for Leroy to think all he was getting was a warning of some kind.

When the guns went off he was so shocked that the look of utter incomprehension was still on his face when Letitia found him there twenty-five minutes later.

 

Stingo Plessey was old. Very old in comparison with the other men who lived on the caravan site with him. As he walked carefully across the rubbish tip he was whistling. The smells of rotten food and stinking garbage meant nothing to him. He was used to it. Today he was keeping his eye out for stuff he could clean up and sell on. Anything, in fact, that caught his eye.

Seeing a child’s brand new trainer he grinned, showing greying false teeth. Picking it up, he saw it was a Nike. Now if he could find the other one he would be set. A good clean and he had at least a fiver in his pocket. A nice bottle of sherry or fine ruby port. He rubbed his hands together in glee.

As he pushed the rubbish about with his thick yew walking stick he saw the other trainer. Only this one was bloodied and stained. He swallowed down fiery bile as he realised that inside the small trainer there was still what looked like a foot.

Glancing around the rubbish tip he saw the other sifters looking through the trash with the seagulls and the gypsies. He tried to call out but couldn’t. His throat had seized up, his whole body stiff with revulsion and fear.

As the police turned up in three large minibuses Stingo realised he had just found what they were looking for. Digging his stick into the rubbish, he marked the spot and started to wave his hands in the air to let people know he had found something important.

No one took any notice.

The wind picked up and flapped newspapers and soiled nappies in its wake. It picked up the smell of the trash and forced it into noses and mouths. Stingo felt the prick of tears in his eyes as he started calling out with all his might. To end your days on a rubbish tip seemed a terrible fate.

It never occurred to him that that was exactly what he had to look forward to himself.

 

‘Sweet Jesus. Have they found his head?’ DC Golding was subdued even by his standards. ‘Well, what
have
they got then?’

He listened for a few seconds before replacing the receiver. Then he made his way to the interview room with a heavy heart. This was going to put everyone on a downer. The death of a kid was every Old Bill’s worst nightmare.

He slipped into the interview room and listened to Kate’s interrogation, making sure he wasn’t interrupting it at a crucial point.

Caroline had her solicitor with her, a woman called Angela Puttain. She was an experienced brief and Golding felt glad that at least the woman had some kind of support with her when she was told the bad news. He was actually sorry for her now, even though he still suspected that she was the culprit.

Caroline was crying as she gave her statement.

‘I know what I did was wrong, Miss Burrows, but I was at the end of my tether. Their dad had jogged on. He only gives me money when he remembers. I started escort work last year and it sort of went on to prostitution. I never
meant
to go on the game, it just sort of happened. I don’t have a sitter for the kids because I never wanted anyone to know what I was doing. People are streetwise where I live and they would have sussed it out quick smart. So I locked the kids in their room with some food and drink and that was that really. They were safe enough. I locked the house up after me and they were always asleep in bed when I left. They didn’t even know I was gone half the time.’ Her voice was low, full of pain and shame.

‘Did you ever give them Valium to make them sleep?’ Kate asked.

Caroline was scandalised at the thought of giving her children drugs. ‘Never! What makes you ask that?’

Kate shook her head. She wondered if this was the new thing with some young mums. Knock the kids out, then if there was a fire or whatever they could sleep peacefully right through it.

Golding took his chance to tap her on the shoulder and ask if he could have a word. As Kate followed him to her office she felt depressed. It was as if all the effluent of the world was parading about as regular people. She wondered what went through the minds of women like Caroline Anderson. If she was earning good wedge - and Kate had never met a tom yet who wasn’t - then she could easily have used a babysitting service.

‘What’ve you got for me?’ she asked the detective tiredly.

Golding looked her in the eye. ‘We have a small pair of trainers from the dump. One still has a foot in it.’

Kate ran her hands through her hair in despair.

‘It’s murder, then? I was hoping we were wasting our time looking over the dump.’

‘I had a feeling we’d find something there,’ he told her. ‘I think she did it. I think her and that Regina are a pair of murdering bitches.’

‘If I were you I’d keep that particular gem of wisdom to yourself. Innocent until proven guilty in this station, mate. Now is there anything else I should know before I go back in to her?’

Golding shook his head. ‘It was a Nike trainer. I’ll keep you posted as to what else turns up. Do you want me to get you some coffee sent in?’

She nodded. ‘Any calls for me?’

He shook his head again. ‘Not a dicky bird.’

Kate watched him as he left the office. David Golding was a strange man. A good officer, he got the job done but he didn’t really mix with the others. In fact, Kate could never remember him talking about anything personal ever.

He was a good-looking man in a boyish, intellectual way. He had the large blue eyes of an innocent that seemed to take in everything at once, and sandy-coloured hair and eyebrows which made him look amiable. However, after even a brief conversation, people were in no doubt as to his strong opinions and his rather aggressive personality.

Golding despised burglars and petty thieves and he hated sex offenders, but he seemed to have an affinity with what he regarded as career criminals - bank robbers, big-time hoods. He was a prime candidate for the Serious Crimes Squad; they were also renowned for their ability to like - even admire - the people they were going to bang up.

Kate dismissed Golding from her mind. She normally would have had a message from Pat by now. He hadn’t been right for the last few days - he had seemed very edgy somehow. But she couldn’t think about that at the moment. She had too much else to worry about. This was murder, and she was starting to get a bad feeling about it all. For starters, why would two women decide overnight to try and murder their own children, and in such strange ways? People battered kids, they lost their temper with them, some people even tortured or harmed them. But to her knowledge nobody just upped and dumped them on building sites or in bin vans. Not while they were still alive, anyway.

Nothing shocked her any more, or so she had thought until today. She had honestly believed she was past shocking. But something here was all wrong, and she didn’t know what it was. Something was bugging her - really bugging her, but maybe it was just the circumstances. She thought of Christian and his little smiling face. Had his brother been dumped in a bin van too? Had he been alive when it had happened?

It was almost too awful to contemplate, the terrible fear young Ivor must have experienced. Kate became hot and clammy at the thought of it. Christ knows what the child must have felt, having it actually happen to him.

She shooed Golding from the room and sat alone, smoking a cigarette for a few moments. She needed to pull herself together and quick. She had some serious work ahead of her.

As she walked from the office her phone rang, but she ignored it. It would be Chief Inspector Ratchette for an update and at this moment in time she wasn’t ready to share anything with anyone. Not until she had sorted it out in her own mind.

A picture of her daughter Lizzy in a white dress at her third birthday party came into her mind. Kate pushed it away. This case was emotive enough as it was without making it any harder on herself by starting to judge the women involved.

As she had said to Golding, innocent until proven guilty.

 

Patrick heard the door shut and took a deep breath. Kate came into the drawing room like a gale-force wind. She kissed him hard on the mouth.

‘I needed that, Pat. What a bloody day.’

She looked tired and as she sat down on the sofa he went to her and removed her shoes. He rubbed her feet and she groaned with pleasure.

‘That is
so
good. I only have a couple of hours, for a shower and a quick change and then I’ve got to go back. A little boy was found at the dump - I expect you heard on the radio?’

He nodded sadly. ‘Any idea who did it?’

‘No - although it does seem as if the mother had something to do with it. She reckons she left her kids alone in their room - locked in, of course - while she did a moonlight as a prostitute. But whoever she works for must be pretty scary because she won’t say how she gets her contacts. Came home before lunch-time and they were gone. We had one kid by then. He’d been dumped by a woman fitting the mother’s description in a bin van. Looks like the dead child met the same fate. We’ve found his feet and torso so far.’

Patrick looked into her deep brown eyes. ‘Come to bed with me,’ he said softly.

Kate stretched out on the sofa and stared back into his eyes. She felt the pull of him. Ten minutes later they were in the shower, her legs wrapped around his waist while she had the climax of the century. As he came inside her she scraped her nails gently up his back, knowing it would drive him wild. When he collapsed against the side of the shower she started to laugh and he joined in.

‘Put me down before you drop me.’

He looked into her face, the face he adored. ‘I love you, Kate. Remember that, whatever happens.’

‘I love you too, Pat. Are you all right?’

He placed her gently on her feet. Her face was so serious it reminded him of the night they’d first met, when his daughter had been attacked and raped by George Markham, the serial killer. Even to this day they didn’t discuss the case. It was taboo between them.

Kate loved Pat but loathed his lifestyle. Now she was going to find out a whole lot more about it and Patrick was frightened of the consequences. Terrified, in fact, because she would walk out on him - he knew that as well as he knew his own name. He should be the one to tell her, but he couldn’t. He could not bear to see the bitter disappointment in her eyes.

 

Leila Cadman was pretty, very pretty, and Kate had always liked her. Since she had come to Grantley as the new forensic pathologist the two women had become firm friends. Today Kate could see the strain of tiredness under Leila’s eyes as she outlined her findings.

‘It’s a young male, about two years old. Been there maybe a week. I can be more accurate after some tests. He’s Caucasian, well-nourished . . .’

‘Hang on a minute, did you say white?’

Leila nodded.

‘Not mixed race?’

‘No way.’

Leila could see the confusion on Kate’s face.

‘And you think the body has been there about a week?’

‘I can’t say for certain the body parts were on the dump itself for that time, but the injuries on the limbs we have recovered were, in my opinion, caused at least seven days ago. As I said, I will know more after further tests.’

‘Jesus Christ, we’re looking for a little boy of mixed race. If this child is white, then who is he and why has no one reported him missing?’

Leila looked sad. ‘Sign of the times.’

Kate nodded unhappily. ‘So it would seem.’