Blood Rush (Lilly Valentine) (18 page)

A recent escape by a suspected trafficker had resulted in an extra layer of razor wire, circling the building itself like a crown of thorns. The fact that the woman in question had got out by knocking her solicitor unconscious, changing into her clothes, and sauntering through the front door, appeared to interest no one.

Lilly stamped her feet against the cold as she waited for
reception
to open.

She had spent the weekend barraging the prison with demands to visit her client. When the administration office had informed her for the fourth time that she would need to make a request in writing, Lilly had demanded to speak to the governor in person.

‘Tanisha McKenzie is a juvenile,’ Lilly had railed.

Mrs Loveland had sighed. ‘Look, Miss Valentine, I’m no more keen to have her here than you are, but I wasn’t given the choice. So while she is here, we have to follow the rules of procedure.’

‘She’s on remand,’ Lilly pointed out, ‘which means technically she can have visits every day.’

‘Social visits, not legal ones,’ said Mrs Loveland. ‘For a start, we don’t have the facilities and we’re fully booked for a week.’

‘Then I’ll take a social visit.’

‘You sure you want to do that?’

‘Definitely,’ Lilly answered.

In the freezing gloom of morning, with her breath alive in the air, Lilly envisioned attempting to interview Tanisha in the
crisp-strewn
visitors’ centre.

By the time Lilly had passed through security and set off the scanner twice, the visitors’ centre was full. Toddlers ran around in circles, screaming and laughing. They windmilled their arms,
sending
Cheesy Wotsits flying across the room. Their dads and grannies swore at them through the thick fog of cigarette smoke.

She took a seat at the last available table, her papers sticking immediately to the brown stain splashed across it. Lilly prayed it was Coke.

At last the door that connected the centre to the prison opened, and the inmates began to stream through. They scanned for their loved ones, then sprinted over, hugging and kissing them. Some couples lingered in their embrace, their tongues slurping and their hands groping.

The man at the adjacent table held his wife’s face tightly in his hands, their open mouths locked together. Lilly winked at the little boy sat next to them, ignored, swinging his legs and picking a scab on his chin. When they finished and sat down, Lilly tried not to notice the fresh bulge in the woman’s cheek.

‘Can I have some sweets, Mum?’ the little boy asked.

The woman didn’t speak, but waited for the guard to pass by before removing a plastic bundle from her mouth and pushing it down the front of her jeans. She pushed her pelvis forward, wrinkled her nose and finally looked at her son.

‘Course you can.’

Lilly sighed. Prison life.

When Tanisha appeared at the door, Lilly waved and stood to greet her. Her client ambled rather than hurried, but at least gave a tight nod of her head.

‘How are you?’ Lilly asked.

Tanisha took the seat opposite Lilly and shrugged. ‘All right.’

‘You sure?’

Lilly’s client put her elbow on the table and pushed her face into her palm, pressing her cheek flat. Her hair was scraped back from her face and held in an orange band. Without make-up or jewellery she looked younger.

‘Who are you sharing with?’ Lilly asked.

The right cellmate could make all the difference in jail.

Tanisha gestured with her head to a woman on the other side of the room. The circles under her eyes were almost as black as her teeth.

‘And?’ Lilly asked.

Tanisha sighed. ‘And she spent last night crying until she shat herself.’

Lilly shuddered.

‘I don’t know what you want me to say.’ Tanisha closed her eyes. ‘You must know what it’s like in here.’

Lilly did know. ‘I’m going to make another application for bail.’

‘What’s the point? The magistrate ain’t gonna change his mind.’

‘I’ll go to the Crown Court,’ said Lilly. ‘A judge will be much more likely to listen to reason.’

Tanisha opened her eyes. ‘Yeah?’

‘Yes.’ Lilly paused, weighing her words. ‘A judge will give proper weight to the lack of police evidence and all the other issues.’

Tanisha narrowed her eyes. ‘What other issues?’

‘Your age and the fact that it’s completely inappropriate for you to be here.’

The couple at the next table had begun to argue and their little boy watched them in distress. He bit his lip, clearly trying not to cry.

‘I ain’t gonna fight with you about that,’ said Tanisha. ‘What else?’

‘I’ll take Annabelle along and get her to testify about her home and your placement there.’

Tanisha looked uncertain. ‘She can be a bit, you know, flaky.’

‘Sure, but she cares about you. That much is obvious.’

Tanisha opened her mouth to speak but changed her mind and simply nodded.

‘And you know the last thing I’m going to say, don’t you?’ said Lilly.

‘Surprise me.’

Lilly leaned in to Tanisha. ‘I need to tell them about the baby.’ She waited for Tanisha to react. Instead, there was nothing but the noise of the room. ‘I know you don’t want me to because you’re worried about Social Services finding out, but you’ll be showing soon enough anyway,’ said Lilly. ‘At least this way you can be at home, rather than stuck in prison.’

It was impossible for Lilly to read Tanisha. She could only hope she was being swayed.

‘I’ve seen too many women have their babies behind bars.’ Lilly placed her hand on top of Tanisha’s. ‘I want to make sure that doesn’t happen to you.’

Tanisha didn’t move a muscle. Her skin was cold to the touch.

‘Let me do this,’ Lilly urged.

Tanisha didn’t blink. ‘Ain’t gonna happen.’

The house is completely still as Jamie pads downstairs to the kitchen. His stomach is so empty it hurts, but he’s not sure he’ll be able to keep anything down. The fridge is stocked with ready meals. No doubt Mum did her usual ram raid on Marks & Spencer, but even the thought of putting food in his mouth makes Jamie heave. He settles on a glass of orange juice and needs two attempts before he can let it spill past his lips.

‘Aah.’ The acid burns his ripped gums. ‘Fuck.’

He leaps to the sink and spits, running the tap over the
blood-stained
juice. He cups his hand under the flow and brings it to his face, lapping the water like a dog. Even that hurts.

He sinks down to the floor, feeling the cold tiles under him. His knuckles press against their hardness. This is beyond shit. Way beyond.

When he finally got home in the early hours of Sunday
morning
, Dad muttered something under his breath about binge drinking. He didn’t seem to care that Jamie had been missing. And he certainly didn’t care when Jamie spent the day in bed.

Mum did her best to show concern. She popped her head around his door every couple of hours and made cooing noises or offered to bring cups of tea.

‘You’re not going back to school tomorrow, darling,’ she repeated again and again, her hands on her hips, as if he were arguing. ‘You’ve obviously got a virus.’

This morning she even threatened to stay with him, but she was already dressed in her work suit, her hand clamped around her BlackBerry.

‘I’ll phone to check on you as soon as I’m in the office,’ she called up the stairs.

Jamie glances at the clock on the kitchen wall. Half past ten. Mum hasn’t rung.

He lets his head fall back against a cupboard door and remains on the floor, trying to think. The house is deserted and the
garden
beyond the window is silent, but it’s so hard. When he’s on the gear his mind is clear and he has the answer to all the
questions
. Not as if he could go on the telly and win
Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?
It’s more like he knows what he wants and where he’s going. Like the energy and happiness fill him up and there’s no room for any doubt.

He knows when it starts to wear off because the tiny fears return, like worms burrowing into him. At first, they don’t hurt but he can feel them wriggling. Soon they’re everywhere, taking him over. Infesting him. If he has another hit they disappear as quickly as they arrived, taking cover in their worry holes. Trouble is they haven’t gone. They’re just waiting.

But Jamie’s not stupid. He knows you can’t keep going like that. Carry on taking it and you’ll soon be addicted. Last night, over on the estate in Luton, he’d seen them. The junkies. They’re dirty and desperate and there’s no way he will let that happen to him.

All he has to do is sit tight. He just has to get through this until he starts to feel better.

He pulls himself to his feet and floats through the house like a ghost. He flicks on the television to distract himself but the sound rakes at his ears. Maybe he should just go back to bed. If he could get a few hours’ sleep.

The stairs seem impossibly steep as Jamie drags himself back to his bedroom and he flops headfirst on to his duvet. There’s a sharp smell but he ignores it and closes his eyes. Even a moment’s unconsciousness would be welcome.

He tries to push aside every image fighting for air time and concentrates on blackness.

Sleep, sleep, sleep. He can do this. He can give himself up to nothing. And when he wakes, this will all be behind him.

When his phone beeps, Jamie isn’t sure if it’s a dream. When it sounds again, he knows it’s not.

‘Shit.’ He opens one eye.

The mobile is on his bedside table staring accusingly at him. It could be Mum.

He reaches over for it with one hand and brings it close to his face. It’s not from Mum.

Jamie drops the phone on the floor. How did he think a quick snooze could solve anything? Tristan, Mademoiselle La Mielle, Manor Park, Mum, Dad, everything. Nothing’s changed.

He beats his forehead with the heel of his fist, as if this could chase away his demons. But they’re all still there, deep inside, banging a louder drum.

There’s only one escape.

The station canteen was busy. Coppers finishing a long shift. Coppers getting breakfast before the start of theirs. Coppers
grabbing
something to eat between calls.

Jack ordered a bacon sandwich and a mug of tea before settling at a free table. At the far side, WPC Chapman was sharing a joke with some guys from the team. Like all young and pretty
police-women
she attracted the attention of her male counterparts like flies around shit.

She looked up, caught Jack’s eye and waved. He took a bite of his sandwich and nodded hello. His mouth was still full when she appeared in front of him.

‘Jack.’ She smiled.

He swallowed. ‘Morning, Carla.’

‘I’ve been through the CCTV footage again.’

‘You’re keen.’

‘I got one of the techies to enhance the image,’ she said. ‘And it’s definitely McKenzie.’

Jack let out a low whistle. ‘That was quick. Who did you have to kill?’

Carla pushed her lips into a pout. It reminded Jack of a little pink rosebud.

‘You catch far more bees with honey than vinegar,’ she said.

‘But you need to be careful that the little buggers don’t sting you.’

Carla raised an eyebrow. ‘You don’t seem happy about this case, Jack.’

‘Let’s just say I’m waiting for McKenzie’s next move.’

The phone in Jack’s pocket vibrated. He took it out and read the incoming text.

‘Bang on cue,’ he said. ‘The defence have listed another
application
for bail.’

Carla wrinkled her forehead. ‘I thought your ex tried that in the Magistrates’.’

Jack winced. He’d never officially moved out of Lilly’s place. There hadn’t been some dramatic bust-up where he limped down the drive with a cardboard box in his arms.

‘My ex,’ it hurt even to say the word, ‘has listed the case at the Crown Court.’

‘When?’

‘Late this afternoon.’

‘I thought I was quick off the mark,’ Carla frowned. ‘How did she manage that?’

‘Lilly Valentine is a very persuasive person. Some might say, tunnel visioned.’

‘Is that a good thing?’

‘It is if you’re Tanisha McKenzie.’

Lilly rang Annabelle’s doorbell for a second time, but there was still no answer. Lilly slapped her forehead. Of course she should have telephoned, checked Annabelle was home, before hightailing it over there.

When she’d asked the Crown Court to list Tanisha’s application for bail urgently, she hadn’t expected the list office to act on the same day. She’d gone on the offensive, assuming the best she’d get would be a hearing in a day or so. What was the old saying Elsa was so fond of? Be careful what you wish for.

She groaned and checked her watch. How on earth was she going to get everything she needed together in a couple of hours? And more importantly, where was her star witness, Annabelle?

She stabbed the bell again, knowing it was pointless, and was about to give up, when she heard the low thud of music. From her position on the porch, Lilly could see a Mercedes pull up, windows blacked out and a private reg. DK 639. Sam called them pimpmobiles. The car of choice for a drug dealer, more like. What was it doing here in the leafy environs of the Hertfordshire
commuter
belt?

Lilly was surprised to see Annabelle get out. Her hair stuck out as usual as she closed the passenger door and bent to look inside the window. The glass lowered but Lilly couldn’t see inside.

‘I want you to think over what I said.’ Annabelle’s tone was cold.

‘Of course.’ It was a man’s voice.

‘Thank you.’

Annabelle turned and took a step towards her house. The car window began to rise. When it had reached halfway, Annabelle spun on her heel. Her back was very rigid.

‘You owe me,’ she said.