Mark Pearson - Death Row

‘It’s possible.’ Kate nodded. ‘Sometimes the alters aren’t even human. They can be animals or creatures from myth and legend. It’s to do with disassociation. The emotions like fear or anger or sadness become personalities in their own right. What you saw as George was Alice’s anger formed into a completely different personality. A very real person, nonetheless. A very dangerous person. When Garnier appeared on television saying that he was going to lead police to the bodies Thompson had a stroke, judging from what Alice has told us.’

‘And that gave George a chance to escape?’

‘Yes, and the other personalities. But George is the strong one. The one who took revenge for Alice.’

‘And how many of them are in her, then?’

Kate shrugged. ‘Could be up to a hundred, could be as few as the three you met. Again, women have on average more personalities with the condition than men. The average for women is fifteen but, like I say, given the nature of the abuse and its duration, the drugging, the torture, the degradation …’ She shook her head sadly. ‘God only knows what she went through. But I can understand why she, or George, did what they did.’ Kate took a sip of water. It had been a long night but she didn’t feel at all tired. ‘Ellie Peters sold her own daughter to Peter Garnier. According to Alice she had told her that she was going to be adopted by somebody who didn’t have a baby of their own. Someone who could look after her better.’

‘Right.’ Delaney shook his head, disgusted.

‘But I think Ellie Peters always knew what had really happened to her daughter. That’s why when she finally sobered up — she couldn’t live with the guilt.’

‘The scarring on her back?’

‘Self-inflicted.’

‘Opus Dei?’ asked Diane.

Kate shrugged. ‘Something like it. I think she was glad to die in the end.’

‘Certainly deserved to,’ said Jack.

‘The thing of it is,’ said Kate, ‘we make people like Garnier and Thompson into grotesques, into some kind of rare monster. But the truth is that the kind of thing that happened to Alice is happening to kids every day in this country. The Russian outfit that Bennett was involved in closing down, they traffic in people, not just grown women but young boys and girls. Babies even. Babies, born of prostitutes forced into the sex trade as slaves. Their children taken away and used as commodities. It’s happening every day in every city all around the world. And what do we do about it?’

‘We do what we can,’ said Delaney.

‘Well, it’s not enough!’

Detective Inspector Tony Hamilton chose that moment to walk into the CID room carrying the cardboard tray which Diane could now see had coffees on it, and a paper bag under his arm.

‘I bring caffeine and doughnuts,’ he said, grinning.

‘I didn’t think we’d see you here again,’ said Kate, smiling back at him.

‘Unfinished business,’ he said, looking around. ‘Where’s that pretty young detective constable?’

‘Not in yet,’ said Diane Campbell pointedly. ‘Anything I can help you with?’

Hamilton held the tray forward for her to take a cup of coffee. ‘Not unless you plan on changing your sexual orientation, ma’am,’ he said with a wink, and put the tray and doughnuts down on Delaney’s desk. Then he pulled out a couple of 4x6 photos from his jacket pocket. ‘And it’s Kate and Jack I came to see.’ He laid the photos down.

‘I know her,’ said Kate, pointing to a picture of Jennifer that was lying next to a close-up photo of a knife wound. ‘She’s the girl who was attacked in Camden High Street, remember?’

‘I do,’ said Bennett. ‘Her real name is Jennifer Hickling but she was going under false ID. She managed to fall foul of the wrong people working prostitution in the area. My colleagues brought her to me.’

Kate picked up the photo of the knife wound. ‘They killed her?’

*

Hamilton shook his head. ‘Not at all. That’s a photo of Jamil Azeez’s wound. It matches a knife we found on her when she was arrested alongside the woman who was warning her off her patch.’

‘She stabbed Jamil?’

Hamilton shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I’ve just got this information. She’s being held downstairs.’ He looked at Diane. ‘She needs to be interviewed, but I don’t work here any more.’

‘The woman you came with …’ said Diane. Hamilton grinned. ‘The black-widow spider.

Beautiful but deadly.’

‘Your boss?’

‘Yeah.’ Hamilton looked at his watch. ‘And I’m due for a debriefing with her and your governor three minutes ago. I better get out of here or she’ll have my head.’

Diane flicked her long-finished cigarette out of the window. ‘You up for it, Jack?’

Delaney took a sip of his coffee and winked at her. ‘I was born up for it, boss.’

Dear God, thought Diane Campbell, and she wasn’t the first person to do so. There’s two of them.

*

A uniformed guard brought Jennifer Hickling into Kate’s police surgeon’s office. Delaney was stood by the window.

‘Take a seat, Jennifer,’ said Kate sympathetically. The girl was looking her fifteen years now. Her make-up had been scrubbed off and beneath the hard goth exterior that she had worn on the streets was the face of a young, frightened and unhappy girl.

‘It’s about the knife, isn’t it?’ Jenny said.

‘You don’t have to say anything, Jennifer,’ said Delaney. ‘This isn’t a proper interview. You haven’t been charged. The doctor here is just going to check that you will be okay to be interviewed properly when we can get you a solicitor and a responsible adult there for you.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Jennifer. ‘It wasn’t my knife. He dropped it when he ran away. The other man.’ She blinked back some tears. ‘I thought he was dead.’

‘No, he’s not dead, Jennifer,’ said Kate softly.

‘What other man?’ asked Delaney.

‘I don’t know. I heard the man cry out and the other man ran away, dropping the knife.’

‘What did he look like?’ asked Delaney, having a shrewd idea of exactly what he looked like.

‘He was like the first one. An Arab man,’ she said, proving Delaney completely wrong.

‘What’s going to happen to me now?’ asked Jennifer. ‘I can’t stay here. I have to get home. My sister isn’t safe.’

‘You had a large amount of money on you when you were arrested, Jennifer,’ said Delaney.

Jennifer shrank back in the chair. ‘It’s mine. I earned it. It’s so we could get away.’

‘It’s okay, Jennifer, you don’t have to say anything. Not now,’ said Kate.

‘But I have to. He might hurt her!’ she said

‘Who?’ asked Delaney.

‘My aunt’s boyfriend.’

*

Dawn had broken an hour earlier on the Waterhill estate but there were very few signs of life stirring.

Angela Hickling, yawning and with tousled hair, opened the front door, puzzled to see Jack Delaney and Kate Walker standing on the doorstep.

‘Who are you?’ she asked

‘We’re the police,’ said Delaney.

The colour drained from the young girl’s face.

‘It’s okay, Angela,’ said Kate. ‘Jennifer is perfectly safe — she is waiting for you in the car, see?’

Jennifer was sitting with Sally Cartwright in the back of Kate’s car. She waved across to her sister.

‘What do you want, then?’

‘We came to get you.’

‘And I came to have a word with your aunt’s boyfriend. I understand you aunt doesn’t live here any more?’ said Delaney, with a reassuring smile that belied his true emotions as the girl shook her head. ‘He hasn’t hurt you, has he?’

‘No.’

‘Come on, then. Let’s go and see Jennifer.’ Kate took the young girl’s hand and led her away as a man stumbled down the stairs and into the hall.