Damaged Goods. Helen Black

grabbed Kelsey’s chin and brutally displayed her damaged face.

      ‘Because she can’t fucking speak.’

      The Hart of the County FM may not be Question Time, but it has 12,000 listeners, most of whom care nothing for politics but are happy to hear the sad saga of Grace Brand. The weekly current-affairs magazine usually draws a smaller audience than Gardeners’ Half Hour, but today is different. Today they expect numbers to rival Drive Time Love In, when members of the public share their tales of eyes meeting across dance floors dripping in cheap lager and puke.

      Cashing in on a story run in the local Standard, which compared, inaccurately but salaciously, the current murder investigation to that of the Yorkshire Ripper, The Hart of the County is using the entire slot to discuss the subject.

      Had Grace’s life of prostitution led her to such a tragic end?

      Was an international drug ring involved?

      Are the good citizens of the Clayhill Estate safe in their beds?

      Hermione is waiting to be interviewed. She wonders whether the pathetic creature Grace had been in life would have approved of all this publicity. No doubt she would have relished her fifteen minutes of fame.

      The presenter’s young assistant signals that Hermione will be needed in three minutes. Hermione avoids looking at the huge bulge of her stomach, the breasts rounded and ripened by pregnancy. She takes a deep breath in preparation but her mobile rings.

      ‘Mrs Barrows?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘This is the Chief Superintendent, do you have a moment?’

      ‘Literally that, Officer, I’m at the radio station for an interview.’

      ‘Then you’ll be glad to have up-to-date information. I wouldn’t want you to make a fool of yourself,’ he says.

      She is tempted towards a clever retort, something William might say, but nothing comes to mind.

      ‘I’m listening,’ she says.

      ‘Kelsey Brand has been arrested and is being questioned about her mother’s death as we speak.’

      As Hermione walks towards the studio, the ‘on air’ sign lights up in fluorescent green, and she can’t contain a smile. Is it this easy to take control, to make things happen? If power begets power she’d be in the cabinet by the end of the year, and everything she’d gone through, everything she’d done, would be justified.

      ‘Look, John – may I call you John?’ Hermione asks, her voice just above a whisper, more like a purr but as resonant as glass.

      ‘Of course,’ he answers.

      ‘I’m not saying this girl should be hung. I’m not on a witch hunt. I simply want justice to be done and to be seen to be done.’

      ‘But you’re pleased that she’s been arrested?’ says the presenter.

      Hermione pauses for just the right length of time. Enough to denote serious consideration of the question without any suggestion of indecision.

      ‘No, John, I’m not happy that the police have found it necessary to arrest a child for such a terrible crime. I wish our children played hopscotch and ate penny chews on their way home from school. I wish they read Enid Blyton and respected their elders, but this is a very different world to the one in which you and I grew up.’

      ‘Kids run pretty wild these days,’ he says.

      ‘Yes, they do, John, and we as a community must put a stop to it.’

      ‘Rumour has it the kid is pretty deranged,’ he says. ‘A source at the local hospital tells us she was admitted for drinking bleach. Is that true?’

      Hermione clucks. ‘Now, John, you know I can’t discuss the details of this case.’

      She doesn’t dispute it, of course.

      ‘Not the sort of kid you’d want running around the place, wouldn’t you agree?’ he says.

      ‘The case is very worrying,’ she replies.

      The assistant rolls her hands. It is time to wrap up and cut to the break. The presenter nods and holds up a finger to Hermione. One minute left.

      ‘Our listeners want to help, Hermione, what can they do?’ he asks.

      This is her last chance to make an impression. She pictures her mother and goes for it. ‘Take responsibility, not just for your own lives but for those of our fellow citizens. Don’t bury your head in the sand, be watchful of what goes on around you. Take action to protect your neighbourhood and start today. If anyone has any information about this brutal murder they should contact the police.’

      ‘Because Grace deserved better.’

      ‘Yes, she did.’ Only those listening very closely would be able to detect the hint of a wobble in her voice. ‘We all do.’

      Hermione allows a smile. She knows she did well. She is her mother’s daughter after all.

      Mrs Mitchell turned off her radio and nodded. ‘That politician makes a lot of sense.’

      Her husband mumbled something to himself but she didn’t so much as look at him. Instead, she picked up her telephone.

      The Chief Superintendent pressed the pause button and froze the scene in the interview room. Kelsey’s face filled the screen, her eyes wide in terror, her chin held tight in Lilly’s fingers, her mouth, an uneven crust, moving through red, brown and yellow.

      Jack and Bradbury looked anywhere but at the screen.

      ‘Jesus Christ, she made mincemeat of you,’ said the Chief Superintendent.

      ‘Yes, Sir, she did,’ said Bradbury, his calm entirely returned.

      ‘Can we get rid of the lawyer and have another crack?’ the Chief Superintendent said.

      ‘On what basis?’ asked Jack.

      The Chief Superintendent glared at him. Obviously there were ways and means Jack didn’t know of.

      Bradbury smoothed his tie, something Jack had seen him do throughout the interview. Perhaps it was his way of keeping control. Not a bad tactic, thought Jack, it stopped the man from fidgeting, gave him a second to think and looked thoroughly smooth. Jack resolved to give it a try in his next difficult interview, then remembered he never wore ties except to attend funerals and court hearings – two places he avoided like salad.

      ‘Even if we were able to do that, Sir, we wouldn’t be able to use a confession. It would simply prove that Valentine was right, and without the right protection the girl’s vulnerable,’ Bradbury said.

      ‘Can we charge her without a confession?’ the Chief Superintendent asked.

      Bradbury nodded. ‘There’s nothing to stop us, but we don’t have enough evidence to secure a conviction.’

      ‘Does that matter?’

      ‘We don’t want to be seen to be pushing this because we’re bowing to political pressure.’

      The Chief Superintendent wagged a cautionary finger. ‘But we do want to be seen to be taking it seriously.’

      Jack kept his silence as the other men considered the problem. Clearly, there were issues here from which he was excluded not only by rank.

      Bradbury spoke first. ‘We could send the case papers to the CPS for advice, and make that public.’

      Jack was surprised. ‘Can’t we just run it past the rep here at the station? They’ll give us an answer on the spot.’

      Bradbury shook his head. Clearly, a speedy response was not what they were looking for.

      ‘I think someone senior should deal