Sandra kept her head down as he described the injuries that had been discovered when the child had been admitted to hospital, the evidence of broken bones partially healed, internal bruising, a fractured skull.
“The father admitted hitting her,” the social worker said. “He said it was to shut her up. He blamed his wife, but only because she couldn’t keep the child quiet. He didn’t appear to think he’d done anything wrong. The little girl died in hospital three days later, from pneumonia. Wayne Carter was sentenced to three years for manslaughter, and another two for drug-related charges. Mrs Carter—” he inclined his head at Sandra, who had her hand shielding her eyes “—was found guilty of neglect, but it was felt she’d been dominated and frightened by her husband. She was put on a year’s probation. After that she moved out of the authority’s jurisdiction.” He closed his file. “That’s all.”
There was a choked noise from Sandra. Her shoulders heaved as she covered her face. Ben saw that her nails were raw. He stamped on the involuntary stirring of pity.
“Are you all right, Mrs Kale?” Rogers asked.
She nodded without lifting her head. Her hair bounced up and down. The dark roots looked sad and vulnerable against the bleached yellow.
“Would you like to take a break? We can—”
“Just get it over with.” Sandra wiped her eyes and lowered her hands. Her face was red and blotchy. The solicitor handed her a tissue, which she took silently.
Kale watched her, impassive, then looked away. She might have been something he had never seen before.
Rogers turned to Carlisle. “I think it’s time we heard the social services” views, Mr Carlisle.”
The social worker drew a deep breath. “Ah, well, to start with I think I should point out that although Mrs Kale — or Mrs Carter as she was then — failed to protect the child from its father, she had no direct involvement in her daughter’s death. So while the, uh, breakdown in communication was unfortunate—”
“There was no breakdown,” the other social worker interrupted, calmly. “We weren’t approached. And it’s all a matter of record anyway.”
“Even so, I’d like to make clear that—”
“Mr Carlisle,” Rogers interrupted, “while I’m sure there will be questions to be answered as to why Mrs Kale’s background was overlooked, that isn’t the purpose of this conference. We’re trying to assess what the present situation is and how to deal with it, not apportion blame or excuses.”
Carlisle seemed about to object, but the man Usherwood had identified as his manager put a restraining hand on his arm.
“Excuse us.”
They held a brief, murmured conversation. Carlisle straightened, reddening. He looked as though he had bitten on lemon rind. Ben felt a quiet chime of satisfaction.
As the social worker described the findings of their investigation, Ben could feel Kale staring at him. The weight of it was mesmeric. It required a physical effort to keep from looking back, but he didn’t want to meet those eyes right then. He didn’t even realise he was no longer listening to what was being said until the sound of his own name brought him around with a jerk.
“Would you like to talk us through these, Mr Murray?”
Ben looked at Rogers stupidly for a second. She was holding copies of the photographs he’d taken of Jacob and Kale. He glanced around and saw that so was everyone else. Or nearly everyone.
Sandra was still half curled in her chair.
Kale’s blank gaze was still fixed on him.
He felt scalded by it as he haltingly described what he’d seen going on in the garden.
“If you were worried, why didn’t you approach the authorities before you did?” Rogers asked at one point.
“There was no point. I’d already tried.” He looked at Carlisle. “I knew no one would believe me.”
“And you didn’t think it worthwhile to express your concerns to Mr Kale either?”
“He’d already warned what would happen if he saw me again,” Ben said. “And when he did, he beat me up and shot his dog.”
There was a mild commotion at that, protests from Kale’s solicitor, but Ben wasn’t listening. He forced himself to meet Kale’s stare across the table.
He saw his death in it.
They had to leave the room while the deliberations were being made. There was the choice of waiting either outside in the corridor or in an adjacent anteroom. Ben hung back until the Kales and their solicitor chose the anteroom, then went into the corridor. Usherwood came with him. She didn’t offer any speculations, for which he was grateful.
He fetched coffee from a vending machine, and they sat in silence.
Before they had left, Rogers had asked Kale if there was anything he would like to say. “Either about anything you’ve heard so far, or if there’s something you’d like to add before we come to any decisions about Jacob.”
He had turned and looked at her. “Steven. His name’s Steven.” He didn’t say anything else.
They were invited back into the conference room as Ben was on his third cup of coffee. He put the plastic cup under the bench and told himself that it was the caffeine that was making him shake as he stood up. The Kales were already sitting down as he and Usherwood entered.
He took his seat, conscious that Kale was already staring at him. Sandra was still avoiding looking at anyone. Her eyes were red and swollen as she gnawed at the corner of her thumbnail.
Rogers waited until everyone had settled.
“We’ve discussed the situation and are ready to make recommendations for a care plan based on the information we’ve heard. While Mrs Kale’s background has to be taken into account, we are prepared to accept that what happened twelve years ago does not necessarily have any bearing on her present family situation. There is no suggestion that Jacob—” she seemed to stress his name “—has suffered or is likely to suffer any deliberate physical harm. However, because of his special needs it’s felt that he may suffer emotional harm if he doesn’t attend school, and this matter can’t be ignored any longer. We feel that this risk is enough to warrant placing him on the Child Protection Register. In addition, he’ll have to be assessed to see if any supplementary schooling or therapy are necessary to make up for the time he’s lost.”
Ben felt disappointment settle on him as the implications sank in. Jacob was staying with Kale. Although he’d tried not to expect anything else, the confirmation was still bitter.
“Another issue that needs to be addressed,” Rogers went on, “is the possibility of Jacob being injured either because of the unsafe environment created by the, ah, excessive quantity of scrap metal at his home, and also by some of your own actions, Mr Kale.”
There was the slightest trace of a frown on Kale’s forehead, as if it was only now occurring to him what was going on.
Rogers continued. “Although we accept that he hasn’t been physically harmed, and that there’s no malicious intent on anyone’s part, we nevertheless feel that it’s in Jacob’s best interests for the scrap metal to be removed. I’m sure that won’t be too much of a problem, since you work at a scrapyard. If it is, then we can arrange its disposal for you.”
Kale was staring at her now.
“Do you understand what I’ve just said, Mr Kale?” she asked.
He was slowly shaking his head. “You can’t. I’m too close.”
There was an uneasy pause. Ben could almost see Rogers choosing her words.
“We’re also going to suggest that you undergo an assessment by a mental health worker. I can—”