The Cellar, page 24
Lucy trembled as she stepped onto the platform, her entire body shuddering as if frozen with cold. She tapped the mic three times to gain the room’s attention and then spoke in a sometimes faltering voice but one strong with passion and emotion. She looked out on the small crowd.
‘Welcome, and thank you all for coming. It’s wonderful to see so many of you here. And I’d like to say a special thank you to Katherine Garvey, our local domestic violence refuge manager here in town. She does wonderful work and collaborated closely with me as I prepared for this evening.’
Lucy paused momentarily, took a breath, cleared her throat, and then continued.
‘This exhibition isn’t like any other I’ve ever worked on.’ She raised a hand, pointing from one side of the room to another. ‘And as you can see, there are twelve paintings in total, and each portrays the portrait of a real-life woman who died due to male violence. Some have said the paintings are shocking, and I admit, they are graphic, but I make no apology for that. Two women a week are killed by men in the UK, most by a current or former partner. Killings by strangers like the monster I encountered are thankfully rare by comparison, but they happen. I know that better than most. Make no mistake; there is a plague of male violence and toxic masculinity that urgently needs to change. That’s why I’m here talking to you now.’ She paused for a beat, meeting the eyes of each reporter in turn, searching them out. ‘So, I’m sure you can all appreciate that much more needs to be done to change attitudes, support vulnerable females and bring abusers to justice. Therefore, this exhibition aims to increase public awareness of this very real issue and raise as much money as possible for the women’s charities involved, not just here in Wales but in the rest of Britain, and ultimately, if we raise enough, throughout the world. That’s my ambition. I want this to be the start of something that truly matters, a revolution, something big. Even the greatest of oak trees starts with an acorn. Tonight is my acorn, and it’s going to grow.’
Lucy waited for the resulting applause to slowly subside before speaking again. She wiped a single tear from her face.
‘I’m delighted to announce that the paintings will spend the next six months touring some of the UK’s most prestigious galleries. And at the end of that process, they’ll be publicly auctioned, with all the resulting funds going to relevant charities. Several high-profile female celebrities have already kindly offered their support, two of whom have experienced male violence themselves. I won’t share their names now – that’s for them – but they’ll be making social media announcements tomorrow morning with radio and TV appearances to follow. That should bring enough people on board to make this a catalyst for genuine change. Not all men are toxic, but many are, and that needs to change. The female voice needs to be heard a lot louder than it has been up to now.’
Lucy heard her baby cry despite the enthusiastic applause. She thanked all those in attendance for one final time, placed the mic back on its stand, and then stepped off the platform, pleased with what she’d achieved. Ava stopped crying when Lucy held her, which made her smile. Maybe today was the first step in a better world for Ava.
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1
Detective Inspector Laura Kesey spotted the victim almost as soon as she entered West Wales Hospital’s acute admissions ward. The skinny, nineteen-year-old girl was lying propped up on three plump pillows, her short, bright red hair and multiple blue tattoos contrasting dramatically against the starched white cotton covers. Kesey made a slight involuntary grimace on witnessing the young woman’s battered appearance. Her two black eyes, a torn lip, the misaligned nose, and a missing front tooth transformed her otherwise pretty face into something akin to a Halloween mask. Physical injuries that were testament to the severe beating she’d received only hours before. The detective struggled to suppress her anger as she approached the bed, her sense of injustice burning bright as she met the girl’s haunted gaze. Kesey settled herself, swallowing hard, adopting a professional persona, keen to convey both approachability and calm efficiency, a combination of which she hoped would help put the young woman at her ease. Or, at least, as far as was possible in the circumstances.
Kesey had met victims like this before. Unfortunate females dominated and abused by violent, manipulative males. She’d met more than she cared to recall. And the last thing Kesey wanted was to let the young woman down. Every case mattered to the detective, and incidents such as this more than most.
The young victim removed her in-ear headphones, grimacing with each movement of her battered body, as the detective stood at the end of her hospital bed, focused on her and only her, resisting the almost overwhelming impulse to look away. Kesey shifted her weight from one foot to the other, forcing a thin smile before opening her mouth. When she spoke, it was in nasal Brummie tones that some Welsh locals found challenging to decipher.
‘Hello, Sally, my name’s DI Kesey, Laura Kesey. Please call me Laura. I’m here to help you.’
The young woman averted her eyes to the wall, spitting her words, spewing them from her mouth. ‘Yeah, like that’s going to make all the fucking difference. Why don’t you piss off and leave me alone? You can’t help me. Nobody can.’
Kesey held her ground. It wasn’t exactly the welcome she’d hoped for. But it wasn’t entirely unexpected. And she’d heard a lot worse. ‘I wouldn’t be here if that were true.’
Sally was visibly sweating now, tiny beads of moisture exuding through the pores of her discoloured skin as she tugged on her ginger hair. ‘Oh, give me a break. Have I got stupid stamped on my forehead or something? Who the fuck do you think you are, Superwoman? I know your limitations. I’ve been down this road before.’
Kesey pulled up a chair, sitting to the left side of the bed, next to a large picture window with a view of the busy car park below. The detective maintained as calm a tone as possible, speaking slowly, clearly enunciating each word, monotone, bordering on the melancholy. ‘How are you feeling? It looks like he really did a job on you this time.’
The young woman emitted a long, deep audible breath, more a groan than a murmur. ‘Yeah, and he’ll do it again if he finds out I’ve been talking to the likes of you. Why don’t you fuck off and ruin someone else’s day? If you think you’re helping, you’re kidding yourself. You’re just making things worse. Your sort always do.’
Kesey paused before replying, taking her time, choosing her words with care. ‘Pearson’s in custody, Sally. He’s locked up in a cell. And with your help, we can get him convicted and imprisoned. Don’t you think he deserves that after all he did to you? I know it isn’t going to be easy, but it matters. We can’t let him get away with it. You can be free of him. I’ll be with you every step of the way.’
Sally closed her eyes tight, screwing up her face, shutting out the world. When they flickered open moments later, Kesey thought the girl may start weeping. There was an unmistakable sadness about her. An absence of hope she couldn’t hide.
She looked past Kesey as she spoke. ‘I’ve been here before, on the exact same ward, just over a year ago, at Christmas.’ Sally pointed a trembling finger decorated with peeling black nail polish. ‘I was stuck in that bed over there, the one nearest the door. It depressed the hell out of me. People trying to be cheery, decorations, cards, carols, all that bollocks. That’s not something you forget in a hurry. I can’t believe I’m back here. I was hoping never to see the place again.’
Kesey shook her head slowly from right to left, first one way and then the other. She’d enjoyed a comparatively happy life, so unlike this girl, this victim of random circumstance, who’d drawn the short straw time and again. The detective clenched her hands into tight fists as she pictured Pearson in her mind’s eye, recalling his denial, his dismissive lack of remorse. Kesey had never wanted to convict a man more. It felt strangely personal. As if the girl’s future was her responsibility, and hers alone. Any form of words seemed wholly inadequate.
But she knew she had to say something. Just sitting there in pensive silence achieved nothing at all. ‘That must have been truly awful for you. Not the best way to spend the holiday season.’
Sally turned away, gritting her teeth, her jaw clenched, changing the contours of her face. ‘A DC David Harris made all sorts of empty promises. It was grievous bodily harm with intent. The worst kind of assault. That’s what the prat said. And he was going to keep me safe. Mike would be locked up for a very long time. It was going to be years, life even, if things went well in court. That’s what your pig friend told me in that oh-so insistent way of his. And I believed him too. I made a written statement. I said I’d give evidence however frightened I felt inside. And then the court gave Mike bail. They released the bastard as if he hadn’t done anything at all. What the fuck was that about? Safe? Safe! I was shitting myself. The system let me down. Your lot let me down. I was in more danger than ever before.’
Kesey dropped her chin to her chest, suddenly lost for words, as the young woman continued her story, her voice repeatedly breaking with raw emotion as she relived events as if in real-time.
‘I was staying at my sister’s place in Glyndwr Street at the top of town. A one bedroom flat on the first floor above the off-licence. Mike came after me. He kicked the door in. And then he gave me the worst beating of my life. And he smashed the place up too. Punishment, he called it. I deserved it, apparently. My sister somehow managed to lock herself in the bathroom to dial 999 before he got in there and got hold of her too. But the bastard was long gone before you lot finally turned up. I was pissing blood for a week.’
Kesey nodded, feeling a heady mix of sympathy, anger and frustration. ‘I’ve read the paperwork. Pearson was re-arrested, remanded, and given six months. It should have been a lot longer. I totally accept that.’
For the first time, Sally met Kesey’s tired eyes and held her gaze, looking back at her with an intense fevered stare. The young woman rushed her words, her voice rising in tone and pitch, her reddened eyes flickering like a faulty bulb. ‘Oh, yeah, he was given six months all right. But he was released after three. Twelve fucking weeks for kicking the crap out of me. And he’d assaulted my sister too. He smashed her right in the face, hard. He broke her nose. Twelve fucking weeks for all that and then they released the bastard for good behaviour. Good behaviour! He doesn’t know the meaning. How do you think that went for me? It wasn’t great. I’ll tell you that much. It would have been better if my sister had never rung you lot at all.’
Kesey sighed. ‘I’m so very sorry to hear that. It must have been truly awful for you. But it’s going to be different this time.’
‘Mike found me again on the first day he was out. He followed me down a backstreet after dark and dragged me back to his place. He told me he’d kill me if I ever spoke to the police again. And I believed him too. I still believe him. He’s one vicious bastard. I think he’s capable of almost anything. The quicker you’re out of here, the happier I’ll be. Because someone will tell him, they always do. He knows a lot of people in this town. They like him. He’s got spies everywhere.’
Kesey bounced a knee. Her question seemed redundant, pointless in the circumstances, but she had to ask it. What other choice did she have? ‘So, am I right in thinking you’re not ready to make a statement?’
‘Not a fucking chance.’
Kesey swallowed again, wondering why her mouth felt so very parched. She knew the system was inadequate. She knew it sometimes let victims down. But it was all she had. She had to work with it, failings and all. ‘Okay, I get that. I understand where you’re coming from. And I’m not going to try to pressure you into doing something you don’t want to do.’
Sally’s expression hardened. ‘Is that it, then? Are you going to piss off and leave me alone?’
Kesey moved to the very edge of her seat, leaning forward. ‘I’m not ready to give up on you quite yet.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘You’re in control. I won’t try to force you into anything you don’t want to do. You’ve had more than enough of that in your life. But that doesn’t mean I can’t help you. I can ask the Crown Prosecution Service to prosecute Pearson without the need for you to appear in court. There should be more than enough evidence for a GBH charge. I can’t promise you it would be successful, but there’s an excellent chance, even without your direct involvement. Pearson may even plead guilty when his lawyer sees the full weight of evidence. The photographs alone would be more than enough to persuade most juries to reach a guilty verdict.’
Sally’s face took on an ugly, twisted sneer as she shook her head. ‘No, not a chance, don’t even think about it. The bastard would make me drop the charges. And I would too. I’d do it in a heartbeat. Look at the state of me. It’s too dangerous. I can’t take the risk.’
The detective took a deep breath, inhaling through her nose and then slowly exhaling from her mouth for a silent count of three. ‘You’re not grasping what I’m telling you. I understand everything you’ve said, honestly, I do. I’m sure I’d feel much the same in your place. But putting pressure on you to drop the case wouldn’t help Pearson at all. I can talk to the prosecuting lawyers later today. If they go for it, I can tell him he’s being taken to court despite your wishes to the contrary. I’d make it crystal clear that it’s totally beyond your control. That you’ve got no say in his being prosecuted, none whatsoever. And I’d do all I could to get him remanded in custody. I think it’s highly likely I’d succeed given his history of violence. He could be safely banged up in the remand wing at Swansea Prison by tomorrow at the latest. How does that sound?’
Sally wiped away a tear, nodding. There was the hint of a smile on her face but it disappeared as quickly as it appeared. ‘Yeah, yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it. Harris was full of crap. One empty promise after another. Maybe you’re the same.’
‘I’m sorry if he let you down.’
‘If? Fucking if! I don’t think there’s much doubt about it, is there?’
‘I’ll do everything I can to change your situation for the better, that’s a promise. You have my word, one woman to another.’
‘I don’t want you coming here again.’
Kesey’s disappointment was almost palpable. She’d really thought she was winning. ‘Oh, come on, Sally, you could be lying there worrying unnecessarily if I don’t keep you informed. I can keep in touch by phone if you’d prefer.’
‘What happened to me being in control? That didn’t last very long. What was it, about two minutes?’
Kesey felt inclined to argue, but she decided against. The girl had a point. ‘We can do this your way, whatever’s best for you.’
‘You want me to talk to you on the phone? Are you winding me up? You haven’t got a fucking clue. If Mike gets out, he’ll check the thing. He’ll go through every call. He always does.’
Kesey silently admonished herself for her lack of insight. ‘Okay, so how about I provide you with a new pay-as-you-go with a few pounds credit? Pearson needn’t know about it. What do you think? I could have it delivered to you today, here on the ward. All you have to do is say the word.’
Sally paused before responding. ‘There’s a payphone in the dayroom. I could call you from there. Although I can’t see that happening. You lot are next to useless. What would be the point?’
Kesey blew the air from her mouth. ‘Are you okay for cash?’
‘There isn’t exactly much to spend on in here.’
‘I was thinking about the payphone.’
‘It’s not a problem. I’ve got my benefit money. If I decide to ring, I can.’
Kesey rose to her feet, pushing her chair aside. She handed Sally a small card with her name and the central switchboard number printed on one side in bold capitals, black on white. ‘Call that number and ask for me. I had a quick word with your consultant. It’ll likely be days rather than weeks before you’re out of here. Have you got anywhere to go?’
Sally stared into the distance, shoulders hunched over her chest. She looked suddenly smaller, almost childlike. As if the situation had carried her back in time. ‘No, there’s nowhere.’
‘What about your sister’s place? You’ve stayed there before. Why not again?’
‘She’s got a new bloke in her life. A right miserable git who can’t stand the sight of me. He threw me out the last time I slept on the sofa. He rushed me right out into the street. I didn’t even have time to get dressed. I was out there in my knickers and a T-shirt until he threw my things out after me. The bastard’s off his fucking head!’
Kesey pressed her lips together. ‘Is there nowhere else, your parents’ place, maybe?’
Sally laughed, a harsh laugh that had nothing to do with humour. ‘I grew up in care from the age of six. Foster homes and then kids homes when I got a little older, one move after another. My birth parents weren’t the nicest people in the world. Mum was on the game. Dad was her pimp. He’d sell her to anyone who’d pay. All that mattered was the heroin. And he never knew what to do with his hands. He didn’t know whether to punch me or stroke me. Neither was great. I don’t know which I hated the most. I think it was probably the stroking. I still feel his filthy hands on me sometimes when I’m alone in the dark.’
‘It can’t have been easy. I’m sorry you had such a hard time.’
‘Oh, he was always sorry. Until he did it again. And Mum didn’t give a shit. I haven’t seen either of them for years. Hopefully, it will stay that way. They had fuck-all interest in me, and I feel the same about them, good fucking riddance. I thought I’d won the lottery when I first met Mike. A mature bloke, the odd spliff, a place of his own. But that all went sour pretty quickly. He didn’t show his true colours until I moved in.’
