Damaged Goods. Helen Black

The Bushes at 10 a.m. with the sun already soaring high and clear. After the discomfort of the previous day she’d dressed in a T-shirt, but when she got out of the car she rubbed her arms as the chill of the shadows greeted her.

      Her plan was to find out what her client knew. Although the law made it clear that the child’s welfare was paramount, Lilly wasn’t about to abet a serial killer. Some straight talking was called for. She checked herself. Kelsey, of course, couldn’t talk.

      In Lilly’s bag were a paper and pen. Not great, but it would have to do.

      Lilly looked down at the photograph. It was a police mugshot taken a year before Grace’s death, when she was picked up in a sweep of the red-light district. The mother of four had been twenty-nine when she died but looked nearer to forty. Her face was thin with eyes buried deep in their sockets, her skin pulled taut over her cheekbones. She had spots and wrinkles, the remarkable combination a result of long-term abuse, both physical and emotional. Her name was Grace, but never had a person been so misnamed.

      Lilly wondered whether the poor soul had ever been truly happy.

      She thought of the photograph taken by the sea, of the picture pinned to the fridge. It didn’t need a detective to realise the only thing of any worth in Grace’s life had been her family.

      She pushed the photo towards Kelsey, who sat in silence at the other side of her bed, a notepad and pen beside her. All Lilly’s harsh thoughts subsided. This was a child, and a traumatised one at that.

      ‘Tell me about your mum.’

      Kelsey shrugged and began to pick the scabs around her mouth, lifting the edges with the nail of her little finger.

      ‘Okay, tell me about your sisters. Were you close? Did you fight?’ Lilly asked.

      Kelsey couldn’t smile because of the scabs but a light danced in her eyes. It was the first Lilly had ever seen there and it answered both questions.

      ‘Big families are like that. My brothers used to beat me up every afternoon so they could watch their programmes on the telly,’ said Lilly, who was an only child.

      Kelsey’s nod was emphatic.

      ‘I bet you used to let the little ones get their own way in the end.’

      Again, the twinkle in her eyes was fleeting but it was there.

      ‘Did you have to help out a lot?’

      Kelsey put out her hand and rocked it to and fro.

      ‘I suppose everyone had to chip in?’

      The girl nodded.

      Now for the hard one. ‘Someone killed your mum, Kelsey, and the police think it was you.’ Lilly swallowed. ‘Did you kill her?’

      Kelsey shook her head very slowly. Lilly watched intently for any sign of deceit.

      ‘So who did?’

      Kelsey looked down and went back to the scabs.

      ‘How about a punter, did they ever come to the flat?’ Lilly asked.

      The girl held up her hand and seesawed it again. Sometimes.

      ‘Were they ever strangers?’

      Kelsey frowned and shook her head vigorously.

      ‘So the only punters allowed at the flat were regulars – and the others, where did she service them?’

      Kelsey picked up the pen and scribbled the word message.

      ‘Message?’ Lilly shook her head. ‘I don’t understand.’

      Kelsey put down her pen and stroked her arms and legs.

      ‘You mean massage! Your mum saw clients at a massage parlour,’ said Lilly.

      Kelsey nodded.

      ‘Do you know which one?’

      Kelsey spread her arms wide.

      ‘Lots of different ones.’

      Lilly wasn’t surprised. Working girls often spread themselves thinly.

      ‘Now tell me about Max,’ said Lilly. ‘Was he your mum’s pimp?’

      A single but firm shake of the head. A definite no.

      ‘What then? A friend?’

      Kelsey shrugged.

      God, this was hard going, but Lilly tried not to show it.

      ‘How did they meet?’

      Lilly was shocked when Kelsey pointed to the floor and to the walls.

      ‘Here! Grace knew Max when he lived here?’

      Kelsey nodded.

      ‘Did she visit him here?’

      Kelsey looked puzzled and shook her head.

      Lilly tried to grasp where she’d gone wrong. ‘Not here. Your mum didn’t visit Max here.’

      Kelsey knitted her brow. She was adamant. Grace had not visited Max in The Bushes. She picked up the photograph of her dead mother and pointed to the bed.

      ‘I don’t understand,’ said Lilly. ‘Write it down for me.’

      When Kelsey finished scribbling Lilly almost shouted out.

      Mum was in care as well.

      Grace had lived here too. She and Max went back years and had stayed in touch all that time. Could this be the close relationship Dr Cheney had described?

      ‘Was he ever violent to your mum?’

      Kelsey nodded then shook her head. Her eyes were bright with tears as if the truth were unfathomable.

      Lilly wanted to shake Kelsey. Couldn’t the kid see how important this was? But one glance at Kelsey told Lilly she didn’t see that at all. She had lost her mum and everything else was of no consequence.

      Lilly leaned over and gently moved Kelsey’s hand from her mouth, which had started to bleed.

      ‘I am truly sorry about your mum. It must be the worst thing that has ever happened to you.’

      Kelsey held Lilly’s gaze then picked up the notebook again.

      The worst thing was when we got split up.

      Charlene scrambled through the contents of her rucksack to locate her phone. Another text had come through, the fourth in so many days. When she had received the first she thought he was taking the piss but she had been wrong, he meant what he was saying. She reread all four and glowed. Apart from him, no one had ever said she was special.

      Max parked his car across from the market. He wound down his window and waited for the girl to arrive.

      He’d sent numerous texts but it wasn’t a prearranged meeting. Most of the kids from The Bushes headed down here at lunchtime to mooch around the stalls and eat chips from white polystyrene trays.

      He and Grace had done it themselves, laughing hysterically, arms linked, sharing their food if they were skint, which they were more often than not. If Gracie’s dad had had any luck on the horses he’d send her some cash and she’d treat them both to a battered sausage and chips. Since Grace could never manage more than a few mouthfuls before handing on her tray, Max would end up with a lunch fit for a sumo wrestler.

      ‘You’ve got hollow legs,’ she’d tease, trying to pinch the skin around his ribs.

      Max had often wondered why Grace didn’t live with her dad, since he obviously loved his daughter enough to share his good fortune, even if he was a bit handy with his fists.

      ‘It’s better this way, for him and me,’ she’d say. ‘And I couldn’t leave you on your lonesome, could I?’

      Max dragged himself