A Place of Safety. Helen Black
sat in silence while Lilly racked her brain for something positive to say. How did you make someone who had just killed a child feel any better about themselves?
‘At least the press haven’t got wind of it,’ she said.
‘And how long do you think that will last?’
‘They can’t criticise you, Jack,’ she said.
He shrugged. She understood Jack well enough to know he didn’t care less what the newspapers might say. He had spent the night asking himself what he could have done differently. Hadn’t she been asking herself the same question about her conversation with Artan?
‘What happens now?’ she said.
‘Got to get back to the station,’ he said. ‘More questions, more reports.’
‘Then what?’
‘I’ll be suspended pending the outcome of the investigation.’
‘That doesn’t seem right.’
‘I did shoot someone, Lilly’
‘He would have killed you,’ she said. ‘Or maybe me, or maybe Sam.’
Jack scratched his chin, his nails making a rasping sound against the stubble. ‘It’s standard procedure, and I’m on full pay so it’s not all bad.’
Lilly knew he was playing it down and felt obliged to join in. ‘You won’t know what to do with yourself.’
‘I’ll take up a hobby,’ he said.
‘I hear stamp collecting’s fun.’
He gave her a wink. ‘Or you could keep me busy.’
She pulled him towards her by his lapels and kissed him with greasy lips. ‘I’ll tell you what you can do for me.’
‘Is it dirty?’
‘Oh, yeah,’ she said. ‘You can start by fixing my dishwasher’
‘Miss Valentine?’
Lilly and Jack looked up. A man in his mid-twenties stood in the doorway and fixed them with the greenest eyes Lilly had ever seen. They were beautiful yet startling in their intensity.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m looking for Lilly Valentine.’
Lilly was mesmerised.
‘Lilly?’ said Jack, one eyebrow raised.
She coughed. ‘Yes. That’s me.’
The man moved towards her, hand outstretched. She took it in her own, felt the cool smoothness of it.
‘And you are?’ said Jack.
‘Milo,’ said the man, still holding Lilly’s hand and her gaze.
‘And what can we do for you today, Milo?’ asked Jack.
‘I need to speak with Miss Valentine.’ He didn’t even glance in Jack’s direction. ‘In private.’
‘So, Milo,’ said Lilly. ‘How can I help you?’
‘I work with the residents at Hounds Place.’ He spoke with the deep clipped tones of an Eastern European.
‘Social services?’
He shook his head, hair falling into his eyes.
‘I’m a volunteer,’ he said. ‘I offer advice, and help with the language. A shoulder to lean on, I think you call it.’
‘I see,’ she said. But in truth she didn’t.
He opened his arms as if to explain. ‘When I came here there was no one to help. No one to explain. And so.’
And so, thought Lilly, this strange and dazzling man did what he could for those that needed it the most.
‘What is it you need me to do?’ she asked.
‘Charles Stanton is dead.’
‘Shit.’
‘Anna Duraku is at the police station.’
‘The girl up at the school?’
Milo gave a single nod.
‘And?’ asked Lilly.
‘She needs a good lawyer.’
Lilly scribbled the name of a firm in Luton who specialised in criminal law and handed it to Milo. He took the piece of paper and folded it in half.
‘She would like you to represent her.’
‘I can’t.’ Lilly shook her head. There were a million reasons. ‘I’m full to bursting with cases,’ she said, ‘and my boss would literally kill me if I took this on.’
Milo put the paper in his back pocket.
‘And I’m a witness. I mean, I was there at the school, I saw the whole thing,’ said Lilly.
‘Then you know she didn’t kill anyone.’
Lilly squeezed her eyes shut. ‘I’m sorry.’
The step is cold and hard, but the light spilling from the shop is comforting. People glare as they enter, stepping around him like he was dog shit, but their hard faces make him feel safe.
Luke spent last night wandering around Oxford Street and Leicester Square. The rain lashed down and the wind got up. Luke got wet and cold, but it was nothing compared to the fear that burned through him.
They say London never sleeps, but on a midweek night with shocking weather, Luke discovered it certainly went home to rest. And after the last revellers dashed their way through the puddles to the night buses at Trafalgar Square, the others came out to play. They emerged from the bins like rats, from behind the cinemas and the side streets in Chinatown. The homeless, the winos, the junkies. This was their time.
Luke had been up to town loads of times. Calf-aching visits to the British Museum with school, birthday jaunts with Tom and Charlie when they’d tried to pick up foreign-exchange girls in the queue for over-eighteen movies. He’d seen down-and-outs, as his mum called them, in their huddles, but he’d passed them by, secure in the knowledge that she would be waiting at Harpenden station. She’d grumble about being a taxi service, but she would never not be there.
He’d made his way into Burger King in Leicester Square and ordered some fries and a Coke, planning to sit and dry off. And he had, until a man sat opposite him, hands buried deep in his leather bomber jacket.
‘Do you want to earn some money?’
‘Sorry?’ said Luke.
The man pulled out a hand, the top coarse with black hair.
‘Money,’ he said, and rubbed his finger and thumb together.
Luke’s stomach lurched as he remembered that Tom had done the exact same thing to the girl.
‘Twenty quid,’ said the man.
Luke was puzzled. Why was this stranger offering to give him money?
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he said.
The man put his hand over Luke’s. It was gross, like a werewolf’s or something.
‘You give me some relief,’ said the man, ‘and I’ll give you twenty quid.’
Luke was frozen to the spot, he didn’t even dare pull away his hand.
The man smiled. ‘If you’ll suck it, I’ll make it thirty.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Luke didn’t know what else to say. ‘I’m sorry.’
As Luke made his way to the door, the man called after him. ‘Thirty-five if you’ll swallow.’
Luke walked and walked