Fall From Grace Read online

  ‘Any of what, Mr. Naumann?’

  ‘You’ll wait a very long time before you trap me into admitting anything, Detective, no matter how clever you think you are.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll need to, Mr. Naumann,’ declared Sara confidently. ‘Badly disguised admissions of guilt are flying out of you like bats out of hell.’

  ‘An amusing analogy,’ said Naumann, ‘but it won’t get me into court.’

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ said Sara. ‘In the meantime, don’t make yourself too comfortable here. If I’ve got anything to do with it you won’t be staying long. I’m sure the Polish authorities have got a very nice cell waiting for you.’

  Naumann was livid. ‘You won’t get through to me unless I allow you to. I’ve lived this life for seventy years and someone of your clearly limited capabilities isn’t going to make the slightest dent in my armour.’

  ‘Oh well, that’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Naumann’ said Sara, ‘because you will face justice. I’ll see to that.’

  *

  The art of deer stalking was one that was lost to most of the Cheshire-set neighbours of Martin Southern. But he was a colonial boy. His father had worked for a mining company and Martin and his siblings had grown up in Zambia when they weren’t at boarding school back in the UK. Martin was now an airline pilot, a Captain on Boeing 747 jumbo jets, an upper middle class professional in his early forties with a stay-at-home wife and two teenage kids in local private schools. Life was good on the whole but he needed this time out in the hills between Macclesfield and the Derbyshire spa town of Buxton. His wife let him have one day in each set of time off between working trips to do whatever he wanted to do. The rest of the time she had him fitting a new kitchen, or a new bathroom, or an extension to the extension. Or she’d made plans for them with the Armstrong’s or the Hamilton’s, or her parents. The only time he got to be in control of anything was when he was at work or when he was out here on his own.

  He was lying on the ground, just on the edge of the woods, looking out across the field to where the deer stood underneath a couple of large overhanging trees. This was the area of hills that really were rolling and if he lost the deer over the edge it would take it too close to the farm about three hundred metres ahead. He didn’t want some angry farmer coming after him for having scared or even killed one of his livestock by mistake.

  The blood was pumping through his veins. He’d spent the last hour and a half stalking his prey. His neighbours didn’t understand any of it because they were the usual English hypocrites when it came to eating meat. A cow, a pig, a lamb, a fowl bird were all okay as long as they didn’t know how they’d ended up on their plate. But the thought of consuming any other being always spilled over into squeamish territory that made him wish he’d been born French. They didn’t bother over there. They just hunted it and then they created great cuisine out of it. They had the right idea. Hunting didn’t carry the same class war baggage as it did in Britain either. Everybody did it from the very bottom to the very top. He’d once mooted the idea with his wife of moving to France but she wouldn’t hear a bar of it. Not because she had any objection in principle to living there. After all, she believed everything she read in the Daily Mail about Britain going down the pan, even though her own personal position was sound and secure because of Martin’s job and the lifestyle it gave her. But the problem was that she wouldn’t leave her Mum. She wasn’t ill or even that old but Martin’s wife never did anything without consulting her Mum first and Martin sometimes wondered which of the two women he’d married. The one who wore the ring he’d bought for her or the one who would never live anywhere ‘foreign’. His mother-in-law was always saying that you could never beat anything that was ‘English.’

  He rolled over to get into the right position with his rifle and aimed at the part of the animal where he would cause it the least pain during the death process. But Martin didn’t get the opportunity to close the deal. His right foot fell onto what felt like something’s head. By instinct he looked down and received the shock of his life. He sat up and dropped his rifle. He pushed himself away with the palms of his hands and the heels of his boots scraping across the ground. He gasped in horror at what his eyes were telling him. The head was attached to the body of what looked like a young teenage girl, her eyes open, her clothes torn and her skin covered in scratches. She looked as if she was about the same age as his daughter.

  FIVE

  Whenever Helen Norris didn’t have to get up for the early shift and switch herself on immediately, she slipped into the other half of her Gemini twin and gradually came to, going through the motions of normal early morning activity. That was the only problem with shift work. Even when you didn’t have to get up at some obscene hour your body clock was so used to it that it woke you up anyway. But still, if it was a working day for Tim then she didn’t mind because it allowed her to get up and make his breakfast whilst he was in the shower. She knew she was lucky to have a husband like Tim who didn’t expect her to iron his shirts or do all the cooking. But there was a part of her that liked to take the opportunity from time to time to play the traditional wife and she would make no apology to any feminist over it. She liked to do it. It was her choice and try as she may her traditional Southern European roots of the woman looking after her man still shone through.

  ‘You smell all fresh and clean,’ said Helen as Tim held her, newly dressed in his suit and open-necked shirt. He’d even had a shave today which was a good job because the growth on his face had been starting to turn into a beard.

  ‘I should hope so seeing as I’ve just come out of the shower,’ said Tim.

  ‘Sit down Detective, and eat your breakfast.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  He picked up a piece of toast with one hand and with the other he brushed Helen’s hair away from her face. He loved the way she looked first thing in the morning with all the sleep in her eyes. She was so cute.

  ‘You’re still a little sleepy head,’ he teased.

  Helen rubbed her eyes. ‘I’ll go back to bed when you’ve gone,’ she said. ‘I probably won’t sleep anymore but the rest will do me good.’

  ‘We could have some good news this month.’

  ‘You mean I might be pregnant,’ said Helen, sipping her glass of orange juice.

  ‘You could be,’ he said, ‘we’ve been trying hard enough so if there’s any reward from the Gods for effort then you will be.’

  ‘Tim, I’m not going to turn into one of those women whose world caves in if I don’t get pregnant,’ said Helen. ‘I’ve seen enough of them at work and they completely lose perspective. I’m not going to get like that.’

  Tim took hold of her hand. ‘I know,’ he said, ‘I know what you’re like. But we haven’t really talked about what we’d do if you don’t get pregnant.’

  ‘We can adopt,’ said Helen, simply. She didn’t know if it was her nurses training but she tended to look at these things in a very practical matter-of-fact way. ‘There are loads of kids out there in need and we don’t need to create our own baby in order to be good parents.’

  ‘Well if that’s what you’re happy to do, then why do you want us both to go for tests?’

  ‘Because it would be good to know if there is something wrong with either of us.’

  ‘Good?’

  ‘Well you know, not good, I didn’t mean that,’ said Helen, ‘but it’s early and I’m tired. It might be useful to know, that’s all. Don’t you think?’

  Tim smiled. It would break her heart if she knew that a test on him would be pointless because he already knew that there was nothing wrong with him. Sara had made that clear.

  ‘Of course,’ said Tim as he gathered her into his arms. She was wearing a red and white striped robe over the long t-shirt she wore in bed for sleeping. ‘You’re the medic in the family. I bow to your better judgement.’

  ‘Just so long as you know your place, Detective,’ said Helen. Then she kissed him and ran he
r hand down the side of his face.

  ‘Oh I know it,’ said Tim, kissing her. ‘And I like it.’

  Their moment was interrupted by Tim’s mobile. He picked it up and looked at the caller display. It was Sara.

  ‘It’s the boss,’ he said.

  ‘Sexy Sara?’ said Helen. ‘Better see what she wants. And when are you going to invite her over for dinner? I’d like to catch up.’

  ‘One day,’ said Tim, ‘once she’s settled in.’ He lifted his phone to his ear. ‘Yes?’

  ‘A body has been found, Tim,’ said Sara, down the line. ‘A young teenage girl who’s been identified as Shona Higgins. She lived on the Tatton estate.’

  *

  It was Anita Cowley’s first morning at the social services centre as ‘office assistant’ and she’d turned up looking like she’d defy anyone to say a single word to her that she didn’t like. Her hair hadn’t been washed and was scraped back in a tight ponytail. She wasn’t wearing any make-up and her skin was pasty. She had on a black and white track suit and Paul would swear there was a stain of what looked like baby sick on the left shoulder. She hardly looked like she was on her first day in a new job, her first ever job at that. Her face was tripping her up. Her arms and legs were folded as she sat defiantly on a chair behind the main reception desk.

  ‘So what am I actually doing here?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve given you a job, Anita,’ said Paul who’d had the idea after being at Lorraine Cowley’s house, the morning he’d called about Anita’s brother Sam.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you need one and there was a vacancy here.’

  ‘So why me?’

  ‘Because I think you deserve a chance,’ said Paul, who knew this was going to be a long haul but he wasn’t going to give up. ‘When I came to see your mother about your brother Sam the other day it occurred to me that you’d be perfect for the vacancy we had here.’

  Anita then took a call on her mobile at ten past nine.

  ‘Hiya! Oh God, that’s mental… I can’t believe his parents are going for custody of her when you’re the one who’s given up school to look after her … it’s just so not fair on you … ‘

  She went outside to take the rest of the call. When she came back she offered no apology or explanation. Just the same set face as before.

  ‘Where’ve you been, Anita?’ asked Paul.

  ‘What’s it got to do with you?’

  ‘I’m your employer, Anita, and you disappeared for half an hour on my time. That’s what it’s got to do with me.’

  ‘God, this is like being at school!’

  ‘Well if you don’t want to be treated like a child then don’t act like one.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean? I’m not a kid.’

  Not much, thought Paul. ‘I’m still waiting for an explanation, Anita.’

  ‘It was me friend, Belinda Hunter, okay? She’s dead upset because the parents of the father of her baby have dared to say that she’s not a fit mother and they want to go for custody. I think they’ve got a bloody cheek if you ask me. I mean, what’s it got to do with them or the baby’s father? The baby belongs to my friend, end of.’

  ‘How old is your friend?’

  ‘She’s fifteen.’

  ‘Well then don’t you think that the parents of the father of her child might have a point? They only want the best for their grandchild.’

  ‘And what about the best for my friend, eh? She’s in bits because of them!’

  ‘It’s not about her, Anita. It’s about her child and it’s about her being underage when she became pregnant.’

  ‘But it just happens.’

  ‘No it doesn’t just happen, Anita,’ said Paul. ‘You can walk into any chemist shop and get contraception.’

  ‘But I wanted a baby.’

  ‘So it doesn’t just happen,’ said Paul. ‘You make it happen. So why do you do that when you’re underage?’

  ‘Because it’s my right.’

  ‘No, it isn’t your right!’ said Paul, angrily. ‘It’s nobody’s right to have a baby, Anita. But it is society’s right to expect you to take advantage of the education the taxpayer provides you with. You can’t use a baby as an excuse to absolve yourself of personal responsibility and check out of normal life.’

  ‘Why can’t I if it’s what I want?’

  ‘Because you’re not the one who’s paying for it,’ said Paul. ‘You shouldn’t have a child unless you can support yourself and it. You can’t define yourself just by having a baby but you’ll be a better role model for your daughter if you get down to work and do something for yourself. It isn’t your right to have that baby but it becomes everyone else’s responsibility because you’re too young to support it.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So that isn’t fair on everybody else.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So take advantage of the chance I’m giving you today to repay some of what you’ve taken.’

  Anita’s mobile rang again.

  ‘Hiya Mam… Well I’ve not done anything yet… yeah, I know it’s gone ten o’clock… yeah, you’re right, it is a complete waste of time… look, I’d better go, I’m getting the evils… no don’t worry, Mam, I won’t take any shit off anybody… yeah, see ya, ta ra.’

  Paul’s patience was staring to run out.

  ‘Anita, I’m giving you a real chance here…’

  ‘…Look, my family have had enough of you!’

  ‘Anita, the more educated you are, the more choices you’re able to make and the less threatened you are by anything. Don’t you see that? Don’t you see that being at work and earning a salary is more beneficial to your child than sitting at home all day and claiming off the social?’

  ‘I’m entitled to the social!’

  ‘Really? You haven’t paid anything into the system so why should you get anything out of it?’

  ‘Well my Mum…’

  ‘ …exactly. Your Mum hasn’t paid anything into it either. Benefits should be about a fair system of exchange, Anita. You work, you pay in, you get something out when you need it. Am I making sense?’

  Anita sighed. ‘Whatever.’

  ‘Anita, your baby is being well taken care of in our day care centre. I’m not even asking you to work full-time. Be here for nine every morning and you can leave at three. Anita, a lot of good teachers, good well-trained dedicated teachers tried to make you see that you do have choices in life but you threw it all back in their face.’

  ‘School was boring,’ Anita declared, ‘I hated every minute of it. It didn’t teach you anything you really needed to know like how to bring up kids and that.’

  Paul ran his hands through his hair. She could try the patience of a bloody saint.

  ‘Anita, you’ve just turned eighteen. Are you happy to wipe away the rest of your life?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean that if all you want out of life is a string of meaningless relationships, ever more demanding kids and a never ending struggle with money then you’ve arrived. This is it. But you’ll never get to travel, never be able to buy yourself anything nice to wear, never be able to feel really proud of yourself and what you’ve achieved.’

  ‘Look, I don’t care about any of that, right? It’s all crap and you’re talking rubbish. All I want is my baby and my benefits.’

  ‘But life isn’t all about taking everything you can and giving nothing in return,’ said Paul. ‘Anita, we are all prepared to teach you whatever you need to know to make a go of this job for the sake of yourself and your baby. Now will you at least meet me halfway?’

  Anita had run out of answers, ‘I don’t know how to work the computer.’

  ‘Then we’ll teach you,’ said Paul, ‘so are we going to start again?’

  ‘I suppose I’ve got no choice now I’m here.’

  ‘And please keep your mobile switched off during working hours.’

  ‘You’re my worst nightmare you are.’

&n
bsp; ‘No, Anita, I’m your best friend. You just don’t realise it yet.’

  *

  ‘The Derbyshire police have sent us their initial report, sir,’ said Sara. She was addressing the whole squad but directing her speech at Superintendent Hargreaves. ‘According to forensics her body had only been there, they estimate, for less than twenty-four hours and DNA testing was able to identify her as the same Shona Higgins who we did for shop lifting two years ago.’

  ‘And what else does it tell us, DCI Hoyland?’ Hargreaves asked.

  ‘Shona Higgins had been the victim of a nasty assault, sir,’ said Sara who caught her breath before continuing. ‘She’d been strangled. There was also clear evidence of recent sexual activity and the bruises and marks on her backside and the inside of her legs suggests it wasn’t consensual. Shona was fifteen years old and now she’s never going to see her baby son grow up.’

  ‘Have her parents been informed, Sara?’ asked the Superintendent.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Sara, ‘they’re inconsolable as you can imagine, but they did admit something very interesting. Apparently, Shona went missing a month ago. She went to school on the morning of the 15th and never came back but her parents didn’t call us or inform any of the authorities.’

  ‘Did they say why?’ asked Tim.

  ‘No, DI Norris,’ answered Sara. ‘But it’s not that they couldn’t say it’s that they wouldn’t say. Someone has frightened them into silence. I’ve got uniform conducting house-to-house enquiries and if they come up with anything they’ve been told to inform me immediately.’