Girl:Broken Page 8

  ‘And then you joined the system,’ said Daisy shyly. ‘You joined the police force.’

  ‘Yeah, well, we’ve all got to rebel at some point. It was either that or become an accountant. Anyhow, when my boss came onto me, I told him I was gay. Then when he found out I’d dated guys in the past he took it personally and insulted me. When I hit him I was really hitting the world. When I tried to explain, they grounded me. Wanted me to see a psychiatrist.’

  Daisy nodded. ‘But the therapy was still their therapy. Still part of their system.’

  ‘Bingo.’ Jay flicked the butt of her cigarette. They both watched it spin, finally bouncing off the stone step below.

  ‘It wasn’t just that,’ said Daisy softly, after a few moments. ‘There was something else.’

  For a moment Jay panicked, thinking Daisy was calling out her story. That maybe she’d seen through her. In a way it would be a relief. ‘What?’ she said quietly.

  ‘When you were gone. Waiting outside.’

  Jay realised she was talking about earlier. ‘What else?’

  Daisy just shook her head. ‘I’m starting to remember. Little bits of my past. That picture… the tattoo.’

  Jay held her breath. She watched as the pale girl bit her lip. She could tell Daisy was suffering, in turmoil as to how much to confide. Jay felt sick inside. On one level it was exactly why she was here. Not just to protect her and make sure she didn’t run again, but to find out how much she knew. How much she remembered about her past. Slane said she had suffered severe trauma as a child and had locked her memories of it away. As Jay watched she could practically see scraps of them breaking through. It was like watching a ship sink.

  ‘What about it?’

  Daisy bit her lip.

  ‘I’ve seen it before.’

  Jay stared at her, wide-eyed. ‘Where?’

  ‘Here.’

  Daisy lifted the hem of her T-shirt an inch. Jay felt the breath leave her as she saw the tattoo, old and blurred, of the mermaid.

  ‘I can remember them doing it, sort of. Like a dream. I was young. It meant that I belonged to them.’

  ‘Jesus, Daisy,’ whispered Jay. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’

  ‘I didn’t remember then. It was only seeing it on the phone that brought it back. It was like it was shut off in a room in my skull.’

  Jay watched helplessly as Daisy rubbed the tattoo. Like she was trying to rub it away.

  ‘Hey.’ Jay kept her voice soft. ‘Don’t worry. After the session today we’ll get the locks changed.’

  Daisy looked at her gratefully. There was a chime from Jay’s waistcoat. She’d converted her Moto smartwatch into a pocket watch, fitting it into a frame she’d bought online and attaching it to a chain. It wasn’t particularly practical but she thought it was cool as fuck. It was paired with her phone, with its own LTE connection. She took out the device and swiped it awake.

  ‘Great,’ she said, squinting at the notification. ‘It’s from my ex-boss; I’ve got an evaluation this afternoon.’ She looked up and smiled. ‘Maybe you can use your special method to dismantle my phone as well?’

  Daisy smiled back.

  ‘Come on,’ said Jay. ‘Let’s go for a walk by the canal. I need to clear my head if I’m going to be around so many cock-merchants later.’

  The multi-mapped face of the vendor beamed at them. ‘Can I take these back, ladies? You’re finished, yes?’ He had a tray with empty glasses on it, and the silver tea urn. ‘Or would you like a refill, maybe? Perhaps you are ready to order?’

  Jay shook her head regretfully, placing the glasses on the tray. ‘No time today. Maybe tomorrow, okay?’

  He nodded amiably and went to collect the glasses off the customer down the way.

  ‘Excuse me!’ said Daisy. The man turned and raised his eyebrows. ‘Could you tell me? What is the name of the teapot you use? My friend and I were wondering.’

  The man looked confused.

  ‘The name?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Daisy. ‘What do you call it?’

  The man thought for a moment, then smiled kindly at her. ‘Teapot,’ he said, then turned back to his task. Daisy stared at his back for a moment, then looked at Jay.

  ‘Don’t,’ Daisy said, but it was too late. Jay was already pissing herself.

  They stood.

  ‘I’ll catch you up in a minute,’ said Jay. ‘I’d better just reply to my super. Let him know I got this message.’

  Daisy nodded and walked away.

  Jay got out her phone and typed a quick message. The watch was great for reading texts but no good for typing them.

  daisy found a phone in her flat. door bolted. she must have put it there herself.

  * * *

  relevance?

  * * *

  had picture of a mermaid on it. a tattoo.

  There was a long pause, before:

  be careful. there’s been a murder. might be related.

  * * *

  ???

  * * *

  come in for briefing 2morrow

  Jay put the phone away and looked at Daisy.

  Who are you? she thought.

  Daisy saw her looking and smiled.

  Jay reached deep down inside and grabbed a smile for her face. ‘Right, let’s go.’

  17

  3rd November

  ‘Before we go any further, Joseph, I’m afraid we’re going to have to ask you to sign a confidentiality document. Really we should have done so straight away but thought you had to see what was at stake to be convinced.’

  Joseph looked at Slane, not really seeing her. Images of what he had just viewed in the footage stayed playing in his head, refusing to fade. The casual way Cummings had burned the child. Branded her. The smiling image of him as he hooked his arm around the girl with the tattoo. What also chilled him, as much as the violence and violation, was the way the video hadn’t shuddered when the red-hot iron had touched her skin, and what that must mean. The camera had remained rock steady, like the person shooting it was not shocked by the action. Was not fazed by what occurred. Or perhaps, Joseph thought bleakly, they knew it was coming. Perhaps they had filmed it happening before. Perhaps many times. Slane had said that Cummings did all the branding for the various Fishermen houses. Maybe his housewife did all the filming.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ he said, focusing back on the present. Slane was holding out a clipboard with some kind of document attached to it.

  ‘I know it was horrible, Joseph. The Fishermen, as you are probably aware, were almost unique in their depravity. Fred and Rose West and Charles Manson rolled into one. They had six houses scattered throughout England. Each of the houses had a “Fishing Family”; usually a man and a woman, who abducted children, and brought them up as their own.’

  ‘Each household would brainwash the children,’ continued Collins.

  Joseph turned and looked at him. Collins was sitting on the trestle table, his gaze static. Looking, it seemed, at nothing.

  ‘They would abuse the children physically and mentally. Rape and mutilate them. Anything to break them down so they could build them again in their own image.’

  ‘Mould them into copies of themselves,’ said Slane.

  Joseph turned back to her. He rubbed his eyes. They felt gritty like they’d been contaminated. ‘Truly awful,’ he said. ‘I’ve read all the reports, of course, and seen the extant footage.’ He paused and looked at them thoughtfully. ‘Although I’ve never seen that. Where did you get it from?’

  ‘There were certain surviving tapes that were classified,’ said Slane. ‘Considered too inflammatory to reside in the public domain.’

  ‘Of course. I understand. That was truly shocking. But I’m still not sure how I can help you. My area of expertise, as you pointed out, is the study of the cult itself, and the effect it has on its members. You have no cult here, except historically. If Cummings was murdered by someone who knew who he was, then it is surely just a police matter?’
<
br />   ‘That might not be correct,’ said Collins.

  ‘What? What might not be correct?’

  ‘That the cult is historical.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Joseph was momentarily flustered. ‘Of course it’s historical. The whole cult imploded, then quite literally exploded! Everyone died apart from a few of the children. There are papers written on it!’

  ‘Apart from Cummings,’ pointed out Slane.

  ‘Well, yes,’ conceded Joseph. ‘So it would appear, but as I said, that can be…’ Joseph stopped, then turned to the board. He looked at the pictures of Cummings and the young girl. ‘What aren’t you telling me?’

  ‘We would value your insight on this, Joseph,’ said Slane. ‘But we really do need you to sign this confidentiality document.’

  ‘It won’t be forever,’ said Collins, his voice soft and damp, like he’d swallowed rotting wood. ‘Once the case is completed you will be able to publish.’

  Joseph blinked slowly and turned around. Collins was now standing next to Slane; almost the same height, but a third again as wide, and somehow more solid. As if he was made of something far denser than she was. Slane looked tense, the fingers on the hand holding the clipboard were white with pressure.

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Joseph.

  ‘Just what I say.’ Collins spread his fingers, palms out, the epitome of openness. If Joseph wasn’t so tense himself he might have laughed. ‘This is an ongoing investigation so, obviously, you are prohibited from divulging any details you have learnt thus far. If you choose to help us with your expertise, however, then I’m sure there is a paper in it for you.’ Collins let the sentence hang.

  ‘Or a book. With the names redacted, of course,’ said Slane. ‘You said to your secretary that you wanted to sort things out?’

  Joseph looked from one to the other. Slane wore a strained smile, but it was only just staying on her face by its fingernails. Collins was impossible to read; he’d been around the block a few times. But he was rubbing his Lego brick-like thumb against his finger. Back and forth. They’re scared, Joseph realised. Scared, or something like scared. He glanced at Grant, pondering what they had said. The driver with the dead eyes had finished his call and was tapping out a message on his phone.

  Joseph breathed in deeply. ‘Why?’

  ‘Why what, Joseph?’ said Slane.

  ‘Why do you need me so much that you’re offering this? Publish new insights about The Fishermen? Surely you have people, specialists of your own? I’m an academic. Why do you want me?’

  Slane shrugged. ‘You’re the man on the ground. When your lecture got flagged I looked into you; your history. It turns out that you’re somewhat of a cult expert.’

  Joseph shrugged in return. ‘Not really. You need to go to America to become an expert. That’s where the real work is done.’

  ‘Don’t be so modest! Work with the travellers in the eighties. The Lord’s Army in Africa. The gang culture in Manchester in the nineties. You are well respected, Joseph. Why wouldn’t we want your help?’

  Joseph could see the tension in Collins and Slane as they waited for his response, and he found himself thinking: I wonder what would happen if I said no?

  ‘The Fishermen? Still operational?’ Joseph asked.

  Slane gave a slight nod. Like an encouragement.

  ‘Possibly,’ qualified Collins.

  ‘I’m sorry, Joseph, but we can’t go any further without your signature. We can’t make you sign. You are not part of the investigation, we merely want your insight. But the information is so sensitive…’

  ‘And potentially could put a number of persons in danger,’ said Collins.

  Joseph looked at them both while the room ticked around them. ‘A paper?’ he said, thoughtfully.

  ‘Or possibly a book. Probably a book. But not until after the case is finished,’ said Slane. The smile was settling onto her face. Joseph regarded them both for a long moment, as if unsure, then seemed to make up his mind. He smiled.

  ‘I’m going to need to phone my secretary, and I absolutely need to keep my hair appointment.’ He felt the room relax around him. Joseph took the clipboard from Slane and reached into his jacket for a pen.

  ‘What’s so important about the haircut?’ Collins asked.

  Joseph signed his name in the box Slane had marked and handed the document back. ‘A birthday present from my son. He made the appointment.’

  Collins seemed puzzled. Before he could speak, Joseph continued. ‘My son suffers from ASD. Autistic Spectrum Disorder. Dates. Times. Plans: these are all very important for him.’ Joseph looked at them to see if they understood. The blank faces told him they did not. Subconsciously, he rubbed the side of his face, then ran his fingers through his hair. ‘ASD presents itself in quite specific ways. One such is anxiety about things that would not really affect most people. Routines are one of the things that allow a person with ASD to function in everyday life. Always getting up at the same time. Going to work by the same route. Structure and ownership of the environment. These are the walls by which the ASD mind can contain the chaos of the world. If I were to miss the appointment, one of those walls collapses.’ Joseph clenched his jaw. Put his hands in his pockets. Stared at Slane.

  ‘Sorry,’ Collins said, after a beat.

  ‘That gives us a little time,’ Slane broke the awkward silence that had developed. ‘After which you will be in a better position to let us know if you can help us. We really are very grateful.’ She turned and looked at Grant. ‘Nothing from Fielding?’ Grant shook his head.

  ‘She’s not answering. And I still can’t raise Lawrence.’

  Slane frowned.

  ‘Okay, well we’ll give it half an hour. If you haven’t heard back by then you can check it out when you run Joseph in for his haircut.’ She nodded at him, communicating more than she verbalised, then turned back to Joseph. ‘Okay. Brace yourself.’

  18

  23rd October

  Jay watched Daisy as she walked down the narrow stone steps from Globe Street to the canal towpath. The little tunnel was so well hidden that unless you knew about it then it would never be spotted. Daisy and Jay had come across it on one of their place-hacking sojourns. It was part of their project of cataloguing the city; getting to feel confident. Contextual therapy.

  In the beginning, it had given Jay a reason to spend time with Daisy. To bond. To win her trust. But now…

  Jay felt another stab of guilt spasm through her.

  No more, she promised herself. No more after today.

  It was not even as if Jay thought she could develop a romantic relationship with the woman. Daisy was nonsexual. It was as if her mind hadn’t followed her body into puberty. That whatever had happened to her had been so traumatic that she’d just stopped. Hadn’t mentally wanted to walk through the door into adulthood. In fact, now she came to analyse it, Jay thought the feelings she had for Daisy were almost maternal.

  ‘Jesus,’ she muttered. ‘I’m turning into my fucking mother.’

  ‘Sorry?’ said Daisy, over her shoulder, as she emerged out of the tunnel and into the late autumn sunlight.

  ‘Nothing.’ Jay paused as she came out of the darkness. The canal glittered in front of them, the uniformity of it offset by the wildflowers and grass that cradled its edge.

  ‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Jay scuffed her boots on the gravel, removing the dirt of the tunnel. ‘And not a shopping trolley in sight.’

  They started walking. Past the new-build offices, half-finished, and somehow seeming derelict before they were even occupied. Away from the station, the path was wide enough for them to walk side by side. Daisy stared directly in front of her, watching the swans. Her entire body language said that she didn’t understand. Her shoulders were tight and she was making tiny movements with her head like she was having a conversation with her brain. The bit of it that was still in the past, replaying the tape. Trying to work out what had happ
ened.

  ‘Let’s sit,’ said Jay after a few minutes. ‘My feet are fucking killing me after attempting to kick your door down when you didn’t answer. Plus I need a smoke.’

  Daisy nodded and sat down on the towpath, her feet dangling over the edge. Jay sat next to her and took out her tobacco tin. Began rolling herself a cigarette. She didn’t want one. She didn’t even smoke anymore, really. She’d only started again because the pressure of lying was too much. Once she had got it how she wanted, she pulled the Zippo out and flicked the wheel on her combats, igniting the wick.

  ‘Come on, then,’ she said, firing up the smoke. ‘Tell me what’s really bugging you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Daisy, but she wasn’t fooling anybody, least of all herself. The body language she was giving off, Jay thought even the swans knew something wasn’t right.

  ‘I mean you’ve had someone invade your space, fuck with your head, and generally creep you to hell and back, so you should be all over the shop. You should be climbing the walls or packing a bag and zedding the place, but instead, you’re walking the canal with me.’

  Jay took another drag on her fag.

  ‘Now I know I’m irresistible…’ this raised a small smile from the woman next to her, ‘…but I’m not that irresistible. Something else must be bugging you. So what is it?’

  Daisy didn’t say anything. She just continued staring out over the grey water. Jay wondered if she’d gone too far; maybe she’d pushed so much that she’d finally pushed her away. Well if that was the case, then good. It would mean she didn’t have to pretend anymore. Didn’t have to feel like a prostitute to friendship.