‘ How’re you feeling?’
Sullen, no response. Expected.
‘ You’ve cleaned up quite nicely.’
She shook her head sadly as though this was all crap and she did not need to be here. Her eyes — dilated, watery — showed nothing but hatred for Danny.
Danny inspected the faxes in front of her. A Missing from Home report from the police in Huddersfield told her the girl was called Grace Lawson, that she was eleven years old and had been missing from a children’s home for three months. It was a long time, but not unusual, particularly for kids who could fend for themselves.
‘ What’re you doing in Blackpool, Grace?’ Not that Danny needed an answer. Second to London, Blackpool, during summer months, was a Mecca for kids on the run. The girl’s eyes flickered.
‘ Yeah, that’s right. We know who you are.’
She sighed disdainfully and raised her eyebrows.
‘ Cat got your tongue? Not talking will do you no good at all.’
‘ Oh, just fuck off, bitch.’
Water off a duck’s back. ‘What are you doing here in Blackpool? How long have you been here and who have you been with?’
Grace closed her eyes, opened them slowly. Defiance.
‘ Earlier today you were caught shoplifting in Smiths. You assaulted the store detective, then hit three police officers.’
A smile now, pleasure and remembrance.
‘ You think it’s funny?’
‘ Yeah, very fuckin’ funny.’
‘ Is that because your brain’s rotted with glue? Does that make you see things differently? Can you see anything at all?’
Grace leaned on the table. ‘I can see an old bitch whose mouth is opening and closing and spewing shite. That’s what I can see.’
Danny grinned, thought, less of the ‘old’. ‘You’ve been on the run a long time,’ she said aloud. ‘Three months. How have you survived?’
‘ Easy — when you’ve got a cunt.’
Danny flinched inwardly. Outwardly she did not blink or show shock. The social worker blanched, her tight lips parting in shock.
‘ And that’s how you’ve survived?’
‘ Hand jobs, blow jobs, fucks. Yeah, you name ‘em. The cash keeps rollin’ in.’
‘ You know what sexual intercourse is then?’
Grace grunted in amusement.
‘ And shoplifting?’
‘ Bit of that, sure.’
‘ Who puts a roof over your head?’
‘ None of your business, Mrs Busybody, nosy-cow bitch,’ she spat, sat back and folded her arms.
‘ How do you know Claire Lilton?’
‘ Who?’ Her face curled up. Danny repeated the name. ‘I don’t.’
‘ You mentioned her name when you were brought in here.’
‘ I probably mentioned Robbie Williams too. But I don’t know him.’
‘ You’re a smartarse, aren’t you?’
‘ I could outwit you any day of the week.’
Danny paused, leaned back and eyed Grace, not surprised by the responses she was getting. She’d had worse from eight-year-olds. There was quiet in the room and the slightly metallic hiss of the tape spools rotating could be heard.
‘ Let me tell you a story, Grace. It’s about a little girl very much like you.’
‘ I’m not little!’ She was affronted by the insinuation.
‘ Oh yes, you are. Little in every sense. Body, mind, brain, intellect. You only think you’re big. You talk big words. You do big girl things. But underneath you’re a little kid. A child. Nothing more than a child. I’ll bet you still have a teddy, don’t you?’
Grace swallowed. She blushed.
‘ Do you hold it every night? I’ll bet you do… Anyway, I was telling you a story. Just a short story, because it’s about a little girl like you. Same age, same height, same braveness… and she went missing from home, but she didn’t last three months or even three days, because I found her strangled to death.’
Grace was listening, riveted.
‘ Ever wonder what it’s like to be strangled? No air. Can’t breathe-’
‘ I say, is this really necessary?’ the social worker interrupted. Danny fired her a look which had the effect of clamping the woman’s mouth up. Grace was transfixed by Danny.
‘ Squirming, trying to. get away, being held dawn, throttled, maybe even more than one person doing it… screaming, a hand over your mouth and nose so you won’t make a noise and that rope tightening around your neck, tighter and tighter and your tongue grows in the back of your throat and your eyes bulge because they feel like they’re going to pop out…’
‘ Don’t!’ Grace screamed, covering her ears. She started to sob all the way up from her guts, almost retching, then she vomited all aver the table, over the tape deck, then jerking her head and covering the lap of the social worker. Danny saw it coming. She moved in time.
Grace choked, bent double, head between her legs, spitting out the last of her stomach contents.
Danny walked round the table and laid a hand on the back of her head. ‘There, there,’ she muttered softly. ‘Everything’ll be all right, Grace, but you need to tell me about yourself, don’t you? Then tell me about Claire Lilton, because you know about know who killed her, don’t you?’
‘ Yeah…’ she gasped.
‘ Who?’
‘ Charlie and Ollie.’
Same old story, Danny thought whilst listening — in a different, vomit-free interview room — to Grace. Abused by a succession of ‘uncles’ (her mother’s lovers), social services become involved, goes into care from the age of seven; the short forays home result in more abuse; behaviour worsens, the homes become more secure, better supervised. Ends up in one, aged ten, abused by the staff and the older kids… it becomes part of a dark life, part of her day-to-day existence. She runs, returns, runs some more, but this time vows not to return. Blackpool sounds good. She’s been there on several day trips. Lots of life, sounds and people. And that’s where she ended up. Sleeping rough, cruising the arcades, stealing food… and then being spotted and watched, eventually approached. A meal provided. A bath. Somewhere comfy to sleep. Some cash. Build up trust, something which didn’t take too long, and then she was hooked… and introduced to the man who had done her so much good; it was no surprise when his cock came out and it tasted like all the others had done, felt like all the others had done. And soon she was on the lookout for him — other vulnerables, mispers, day-trippers even — bring them in, make promises… but something horrible happened to one of them. Her name had been Claire. She didn’t want it, didn’t want the sex, not for anything. She fought and was subdued. Fought again, subdued even more and then she was dead.
And now something else: Danny was being nice to her and getting something from Grace, something for nothing.
Cleaned up, but smelling of sick, the social worker listened in silence.
Danny coaxed, reassured, probed as she pulled out a tangled web of emotion, fear, hatred and a million other things because this was the first time Grace had ever talked. Danny had to deal with all the excess baggage. That was the way it had to be, like plaiting fog, as they say. Only then, when it had all been faced and talked through, could- the questions begin to flow, slowly at first, about Claire Lilton.
And yes, Danny had to admit, she was not really interested in Grace’s story. All that was blind alleys. She wanted to hear about Claire Lilton.
Grace talked for three hours.
Every single operational operative from Kruger Investigations was out on the bricks searching for Tracey. Photos in hand, descending on as many likely places as they could think of.
Myrna, meanwhile, was on to Mark Tapperman.
Under pressure he refused to yield. ‘No, I cannot spare any of my officers to go looking for a reluctant witness who’s probably regaled you with the most bullshit you’ve ever heard, just for a bed for the night and the opportunity to steal from your purse. And it worked!’
Myrna silently mouthed numerous cuss-words at him from her end of the phone.
‘ And it’s a godamned good job we don’t have video conferencing otherwise I’d be able to see your lips bad-mouthin’ me,’ Tapperman laughed.