Damaged Goods. Helen Black

questions.’

      Jack returned the smile. His voice was low and deliberate. ‘That’s right. I’ll drive you to the station myself.’

      ‘So you’ll need to get a psychiatrist,’ Lilly said.

      ‘What?’

      Lilly shrugged as if her proposal were obvious. ‘There must be a question mark over Kelsey’s stability and whether she’s able to sit through an interview.’

      ‘On what basis do you say that?’ he asked.

      ‘Oh, I don’t know – perhaps because Kelsey drank a bottle of bleach a couple of days ago and she’s just been told her mother’s been murdered.’

      Jack stiffened. ‘Are you saying you won’t allow an interview to take place until she’s been certified fit?’

      ‘Not at all. You know as well as I do that I can’t stop you doing anything. I’d just be surprised if an experienced child protection officer like yourself would speak to a juvenile before assuring himself that to do so wouldn’t be harmful.’

      ‘A few questions aren’t going to hurt,’ he said.

      ‘Are you sure?’

      Lilly glanced at the miserable creature sat at the end of her bed. Her head was buried in her chest, the crown, thick with dandruff, the only thing visible. Jack had walked right into this one.

      ‘Has she said or done anything to lead you to believe that now is a good time, Jack?’

      ‘I’ll call the Gov.’

      Ten minutes later, Lilly stirred a coffee and placed it in front of Jack. ‘What did he say?’

      ‘We can’t get a psychiatrist today.’

      Lilly already knew that the official police shrink was in court giving evidence on one of her other cases and that his assistant was sitting one of her final exams.

      Jack gave a half-smile. ‘We managed an educational psychologist.’

      ‘Totally inappropriate,’ Lilly said.

      ‘Figured you’d say that and told the DI to send him home.’

      Lilly couldn’t resist a smile but could see Jack’s patience was wearing thin.

      ‘This isn’t a game, Lilly,’ he said.

      ‘No shit.’

      He fixed her with a hostile glare. ‘Grace was found in her flat by another prostitute hoping to borrow some money. The poor girl’s still in shock.’

      ‘Cause of death?’ Lilly asked.

      ‘Her head had been smashed and her body was covered in knife wounds,’ he said.

      ‘There goes my OD theory.’

      Jack drew himself up. Lilly’s attempts at humour were patently annoying him. He rummaged in his bag, pulled out the scene-of-crime photos and slapped them onto the table between them.

      ‘Whoever did this is dangerous.’

      It was Lilly’s turn to be annoyed. The attempt to get her on side was a parlour trick.

      ‘Goodness, Officer, now you’ve shown me what a monster my client is I’ll advise her to confess.’

      ‘No one’s looking for a confession,’ he said.

      ‘Of course you are, Jack. You’ve got no evidence.’

      ‘What makes you say that?’

      ‘If you’d anything strong to say Kelsey did that,’ Lilly gestured to the photographs, ‘none of us would be sitting here. The DI would have nicked her himself and the first I’d have heard about it was when she got her phone call from the station.’

      ‘You’re a cynic,’ he said.

      ‘I’m a realist,’ she replied. ‘Kelsey’s a suspect for no other reason than she’s family and has a motive. The fact that the DI sent you tells me the interview is important. Softly softly catchy monkey. If Kelsey squeals there’s to be no room for me to object because you’ll need to rely on it.’

      Jack’s shoulders drooped as the truth of what she was saying hit him. His naivety reminded Lilly that he was one of the good guys.

      ‘You should use your influence to put an end to this,’ she said.

      ‘Like I said, it isn’t my case.’

      Lilly stared out of the window into the darkness surrounding The Bushes and wondered if the world beyond was still sizzling. Jack was right, this wouldn’t be the end of it. The police had their hooks into Kelsey and would keep picking until something began to unravel. It would be virtually impossible to find a foster placement for Kelsey with this hanging over her.

      Lilly was exhausted and on the brink of a killer headache. She pulled a plastic bottle of warm water from her bag. Sam would be starving when she collected him but cooking was not an option. It was strictly fish and chips after a day like today.

      Miriam’s voice pervaded the unit. Her lilting accent had returned, the anxiety of earlier banished, for now at least. Didn’t the woman ever get tired of it all? Lilly would ask her one day, but not today.

      ‘Miriam, I need fifteen quid,’ came a familiar yell.

      Lilly poked her head around the door. Jermaine stood on the stairs, his arms wrapped around him in his best gansta pose, glowering down at Miriam.

      ‘I’m not deaf, Jermaine,’ said Miriam.

      ‘I need fifteen quid,’ the boy repeated, almost as loudly.

      ‘For what?’ Miriam asked.

      ‘A haircut.’

      Miriam pushed a stray braid behind her ear and laughed. ‘You must think I’m mad.’

      ‘Why?’ Jermaine shouted.

      Miriam reached up, knocked off his hat and revealed his number-one cut. Jermaine kissed his teeth and disappeared.

      ‘Kelsey okay?’ asked Lilly.

      ‘The poor kid’s shattered. I don’t know why the hell they think she killed her mum.’

      Lilly shrugged. ‘Most murders are by family members. Kelsey must have been pretty mad when her mum dumped her in here, so that gives her a motive.’

      ‘That’s not much to go on,’ Miriam said.

      ‘Which is why Jack’s buggered off,’ Lilly replied.

      Miriam stepped out of her battered sandals and lowered herself into the chair next to Lilly. ‘Kelsey didn’t do it.’

      Lilly passed over her bottle. ‘Who else has a motive?’

      ‘Come on, that lifestyle is dangerous,’ said Miriam between sips. ‘Working girls get beaten all the time.’

      ‘Yet according to Kelsey her mum was clean, so why would she even be with a punter?’ said Lilly.

      ‘Old habits die hard.’

      Lilly conceded the point. ‘True, and maybe some misogynist did bash her head in cos she wouldn’t take it up the trap door, but why mutilate the body?’

      Miriam raised her eyebrows. They both knew people got their kicks in the strangest ways. Most of the kids in The Bushes could testify to that.

      The inhabitants of southern England had communally declared it too hot to cook and the fish and chip shop was full. Its owners bellowed at each other in Turkish, throwing their arms around them like Basil Fawlty on acid. Their young assistant fried the cod, his face glistening with sweat and hot fat, and ignored both his employers and the customers.

      Eventually, a parcel of food was unceremoniously dumped onto the