Someday Never Comes (#2 - D.I. Paolo Storey Crime Series) Read online

  Stretching to pick up the whisky bottle, Pete fell forward, just managing to slop some liquid into his glass. Shit, he was more tired than he’d realised. He struggled back up onto the couch and listened to the voice droning on. Eventually Joey ran out of steam and Pete was able to get a word in.

  “So what if she’s dead? I pay you enough to cover any future earnings. You said I can do what the fuck I like with them. Anyway, this one’s batteries’ve run down. Whatcha got for me this time?”

  He heard a long drawn-out sigh, as if the idiot wanted to say no to him. Yeah, like that was ever going to happen. He grinned. It didn’t matter what he did to the girls, his money would always buy him more. Thank you, God, for royalty payments. The gift that keeps on giving.

  “I had a delivery last night,” Joey said. “I’ve got two that haven’t yet been taken that might suit you. Just arrived in the country, untouched. Very fresh, just as you like them. One fair, one dark. Which one you want?”

  Pete swallowed another mouthful of whisky before answering; wondering if he should take both. He was tired, but could always keep one for tomorrow. “How much for the pair? One to watch while I do the other one could be fun. Hang on, though, they street kids? I don’t want no gutter stuff.”

  “I’ve just told you, they’re both fresh. You don’t need to know their backgrounds, but these two are from good families. We picked them up on their way to school and shunted them off to the home. They were only in there for two days and they’ve been in transit since.”

  “School? That mean they speak English? You know it freaks me out if I can understand them when they start jabbering on.”

  “The dark one does a little, just a few words.”

  “Knowing my luck she’ll start spouting when I’m at it. Can’t stand that. Don’t mind if I don’t know what they’re saying, but can’t stand it when they speak English.”

  “Then you’d better just take the blonde. She speaks only Albanian.”

  “Pity. Two would’ve been neat. She a natural blonde?”

  “She’s ten, not likely to be dyeing her hair.”

  “No, but you wouldn’t think twice about bleaching it to suit a punter. So, I’ll ask again. She a natural blonde?”

  “You know, Pete, you are getting close to being scratched from my list.”

  Pete laughed and reached again for the bottle. “Yeah, right. I pay way over the odds and you know it. I keep you in business, my friend. Now, let’s cut the crap and talk money. How much and how soon can you get here? I’m up for it and having that useless piece of shit on the floor is pissing me off.”

  “I’ll be there in an hour.”

  “I’ll be in the studio. Call me from the side gate. I’ve got decorators in the main house and I don’t want them seeing I’ve got visitors. You can’t trust any of the fuckers not to spot something and decide to sell a story to the redtops.”

  Pete disconnected the call and cleared a space on the coffee table. As he cut a line of coke he cursed his boring sex life. Whatever he did these days, nothing seemed to give him the buzz he got from his music. Whether he took them up the arse, or thrust his prick down their throats, it all felt the same. Pity he couldn’t have had both girls, though. That might have done the trick. Then it hit him. Shit, he could gag the dark one. In fact, that’s what he’d do. Shove something in her mouth to keep her quiet. He could tie her up and make her watch her mate on the job. That would add a bit of spice.

  He picked up the phone again. Fuck, he deserved some excitement in his life. In fact, after all the work he’d done on the new track, he owed himself a bit of a treat.

  CHAPTER THREE

  7th October (morning)

  Paolo could barely keep his eyes open. His body craved sleep, but there was little chance of that until much later. He glanced over at Lydia, his ex-wife, and wondered if it was worth trying just one more time to start a conversation. Somehow she must have felt his eyes on her, because she looked up from the magazine she clearly wasn’t reading and glared. She held his gaze for a few seconds. He felt her disgust and anger wash over him in a torrent and was relieved when she went back to pretending to read the magazine. Okay, maybe reaching out wasn’t such a good idea, he decided.

  Every time they came to one of these conferences with their daughter’s psychiatrist, they sat in complete silence in the waiting room. Lydia couldn’t even seem to bring herself to greet him without snarling. He looked at the clock for what seemed like the thousandth time, but it was only five past ten. How could it be possible that only five minutes had passed since he’d sat down?

  Eternity dragged on and on and then, finally, the door to Jessica Carter’s office opened. Before the psychiatrist could speak, Paolo was on his feet and moving towards her.

  “Good afternoon, Dr Carter.”

  “Good afternoon, Detective Inspector. Please come through.”

  Lydia took her time replacing the magazine on the table next to the chair. She stood up and Paolo felt guilty at how frail she looked. Her hollow cheeks and drawn face emphasised her weight loss. Something else to lay at his door. Maybe one day, if he stayed alive long enough, he’d be able to forgive himself.

  He waited for Lydia to enter the office and then followed her in. He prayed today would be the day they heard some good news about Katy. Maybe, just maybe, she’d break through her silence. He might be able to get over his guilt regarding Lydia, but he knew if he lived forever he’d never, never forgive himself for what had happened to Katy. Sighing, he took the seat next to Lydia’s. Please, he begged silently, please let the news be better than last week.

  Dr Carter moved behind her desk and sat down. Paolo tried to gauge what she might have to tell them by the expression on her face but, as always, she gave nothing away. She leaned back and smiled. Paolo hated this part. This was where the hopes and prayers he’d built up all week came crashing back down again. He could sense it. Surely if the news was good Jessica Carter would show it in some way?

  “Thank you both for coming,” she began and Paolo’s heart sank. Her voice told him all he needed to know, but he still held out a tiny hope. Her next words crushed it. “I’m sorry; there has been no change in Katy’s mental and emotional state.” She turned to Lydia. “I know you are anxious to do so, but I’m afraid I have to advise against taking her home.”

  “Why?” Lydia demanded and Paolo winced at the anger in her voice. “It’s been three months since the attack. She looks fit enough now. I’m sure if she came home, back to her old life, she’d start talking again. It can’t be good for her, stuck away with…with…real nutcases.”

  “Mrs Storey, if I felt she would get better by going home, then that is exactly what I would recommend. I agree with you that physically she has recovered remarkably well, but she remains locked in her head and won’t communicate with anyone outside of therapy sessions. As I’ve explained before, this is purely trauma related and she will recover, but the recovery process cannot be forced.” She turned her head slightly, so that she was no longer just addressing Lydia. “I’m sure you both want her to be discharged, but when I mentioned the possibility of going home, she became so agitated she had to be sedated. I really don’t feel she is ready yet to face the outside world.”

  Lydia leaned forward. Her distress was almost physical. Paolo wished there was something he could do to help her, ease her pain in some way, but knew anything he said would just make matters worse.

  “With all due respect, Dr Carter, I don’t agree with you. Her home, my home, is exactly where she should be. I want a second opinion.”

  “That is your right, of course, but–”

  “There’s no but about it,” Lydia hissed.

  Paolo put his hand on her arm. “Sorry, Lydia, I don’t agree. I think getting someone new in to see Katy would upset her too much.”

  She shrugged off his touch as if burnt. “What do you know? It’s your fault she’s in this state. If you’d kept your work to yourself, none of this would hav
e happened.”

  Paolo felt that old familiar punch to the guts. He couldn’t argue with the facts.

  Lydia brushed away tears. “I’d stop you seeing her if I could. I’d–”

  “Mrs Storey! Please, this isn’t doing anyone any good, least of all Katy. In fact, this constant blaming of her father is one of the reasons Katy doesn’t want to leave the hospital.”

  Lydia sat back as if she’d been slapped. “No, that’s not true. How can you say that when Katy doesn’t even speak to you?”

  Jessica rested her arms on the desk and leaned forward, her face showing only concern.

  “I talk to her every day,” Jessica said, “and her body language tells me quite a lot. Depending on the questions I ask, she lets me know how she’s feeling about a wide range of emotionally difficult subjects.”

  “Such as the attack?” Paolo asked.

  “Yes, I talk to her about that, amongst other things. One of the topics that upsets her greatly is knowing how much blame you carry.” She turned her head and looked directly at Lydia. “Katy doesn’t blame her father, Mrs Storey. I feel it’s important for you to know that.”

  “Katy may not, but I do and I always will. Whether Paolo agrees with me or not, I am going to take steps to get a second opinion on the best way forward for Katy. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the hospital to visit my daughter.”

  She grabbed her bag from the floor and stood up, glaring first at the psychiatrist and then at Paolo. “You haven’t heard the last of this, either of you.”

  Paolo waited until Lydia had slammed the door, then shrugged. “In fairness to Lydia, she has good reason for the way she feels. She cannot possibly blame me more than I blame myself.”

  “Mr Storey, you’ve said that before and I’m going to repeat the same advice I gave you last week. You have to forgive yourself. You were not at fault. You specifically told Katy that you would see her at home and that she was not to involve herself in your case. She disobeyed you and, as a direct result, was picked up and viciously attacked by someone she had good reason to trust. How could you possibly have foreseen that would happen? No, don’t answer, that was a rhetorical question. The attack Katy sustained has damaged her, I’m not disputing that, but she will recover. She is a very strong young woman. However, her recovery will take longer if you don’t allow her to accept responsibility for her own actions.”

  “But…” Paolo began.

  “No buts,” Jessica said. “You didn’t cause her attack and there was nothing you could have done to prevent it, short of locking her in her bedroom until you’d solved the case. I’m quite sure you’ll always feel a degree of guilt. That is a natural reaction. But the more you walk around in sackcloth and ashes, the more Katy feels responsible for your distress. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “I think so. You want me to hide my guilt over failing to protect my daughter. Forget somehow that every waking moment I carry the image in my head of that bastard on top of Katy as he’s about to kill her?”

  “No, I’m not asking for that. I’m asking for you and Mrs Storey to stop adding to the guilt that Katy feels. She is blaming herself for the fact that you two cannot even be in the same room without war breaking out. She needs to be able to come to terms with what happened to her, without also feeling responsible for the way you and her mother react to each other.”

  Paolo walked outside into the early October sunshine and shrugged off his suit jacket. It was unseasonably warm, but he wasn’t complaining. The weather people had promised another week like this before a cold front was due to arrive. He hoped they were right. As he made his way to the car park behind the office block, he mulled over the psychiatrist’s words. Maybe she was right. Maybe he and Lydia were putting additional strain on their daughter. He wondered how to get through to Lydia that they had to stop fighting in front of Katy. Sighing, he thought that might be impossible, given how his ex-wife felt about him. He was almost at his car when a movement further down the line of parked vehicles caught his attention. Lydia was standing with her back to him. From her arm and head movements she was clearly having an animated conversation with someone.

  He waited until she’d finished her call and then walked over.

  “Lydia, wait up. I need to talk to you.”

  She spun round, looking furtive, almost guilty. “Paolo! What do you want?”

  He stopped at the car next to hers, desperately trying to frame the right sentence so that he didn’t put her back up again – something he was so good at, without even trying.

  “I wanted to talk to you about what the psychiatrist said…about how our arguing is affecting Katy.”

  “Really?” Lydia said, her eyes narrowing. “Funnily enough, I’ve just been talking about exactly the same thing and have put steps in place to do something about it.”

  Paolo felt a massive wave of relief. This might be easier than he’d hoped.

  Lydia moved towards him. “You see, Paolo, I think the doctor is right. Katy shouldn’t have to listen to you apologising, or hear me blaming you for what happened to her. She needs peace and quiet so that she can get better. Do you agree?”

  Paolo nodded, stunned by Lydia’s change of heart.

  “Good,” Lydia said. “I’m glad you agree. I’ve just been speaking to my solicitor.”

  “Solicitor? What? Why?”

  “To get a restraining order, stopping you from visiting Katy until she’s well again.”

  He felt like he’d wandered into a twilight world. Not be able to see his daughter? He’d never let that happen. “Are you mad? On what grounds? You’ll never get a restraining order. I’ll fight you all the way.”

  His phone rang. He ignored it while his fevered brain tried to put words together that would get through to Lydia. One of the tunes Katy had chosen for him, so that he’d know who was calling, played on endlessly. It was Dave Johnson, his detective sergeant. It stopped briefly and then started again. He wanted to ignore it, sort something out with Lydia, but Dave had been given strict instructions not to call this afternoon unless it was urgent. He had to take the call. Turning his back to Lydia, he flipped the phone open.

  “Dave, your timing stinks. This had better be important.”

  “It is, sir. We’ve found the body of a young girl, about ten or eleven. Dressed like a hooker, it’s almost certain she’d been forced to work on the streets. Barbara Royston says the girl had been sexually active for some time.”

  “Cause of death?”

  “Looks like an overdose, but you know Dr Royston. She won’t commit herself until after the autopsy.”

  “No, I know. Where are you?”

  “Heading back to the station.”

  “Okay, I’m on my way.”

  He snapped the phone shut and turned back to Lydia. “I have to go. A child’s body has been found. Please don’t go through with this, Lydia. Trying to cut me out of Katy’s life will make it harder for her to recover, not easier.”

  Lydia looked at him as if he’d crawled out of a drain. “You don’t care about Katy. You only care about your precious work. Look at you, raring to get back to the office to weep over some unknown brat when your own daughter is…is…” she broke off as tears streamed down her face.

  Paolo took a step forward, reaching for her, but she moved away.

  “Don’t come near me. Don’t touch me. Your bloody work killed one of our girls and destroyed our marriage. Now you’ve allowed your job to put our other daughter in hospital. I’ll never forgive you. Never. I hate you.”

  She wrenched open her car, slipped into the driver’s seat, and slammed the door. The engine roared into life and Paolo had to jump out of the way as the car shot out in reverse. He watched helplessly as Lydia manoeuvred out of the parking space and turned the car, the tyres chucking up gravel as she ground the gears and sped off towards the parking barrier. The car screeched to a halt just before the bar and then stalled.

  Paolo thought about how distressed Lydi
a must be to drive so badly and realised he’d managed to achieve exactly the opposite of what he’d hoped.

  Well done, me, he thought, I really handled that well.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  7th October (afternoon)

  Pete drank in the screams of his young fans as he strutted across the stage. Their mothers had done pretty much the same thing twenty-odd years before. He leant forward as he belted out the song, trying to find the one girl he would choose for tonight, but it was like setting a starving dog loose in an abattoir, there was too much choice. Kids of ten and eleven dressed up to look years older. How could he screw just one when there would be twenty or thirty ready to drop their pants if he so much as smiled at them? He felt his erection pulsing. God, he could get his rocks off right here on the stage. What a buzz, what a fucking buzz! Then he spotted her – the one he’d been searching for. What was she – nine, ten? Certainly no older. She looked sweet and innocent. No makeup, nothing to make her come across as anything other than what she was, a kid out with the grownups and having a great time. Was that her big sister with her? She’d have to go.

  He sashayed across the stage, getting ever higher on the adulation of his fans, until he was right in front of the girl. Locking eyes with her, he sang himself straight into her heart. He could feel the connection. Shit, he was horny as hell. He could come right now, just from knowing he’d be inside her later. He pictured her sweet little face scrunched up. Pleasure or pain, it didn’t matter which.

  Suddenly a different tune cut across the music on the stage, competing with Help me, Mama. What the fuck was going on? He took his hands off the guitar and looked around. The crowds of eager girls had disappeared. The other music continued, driving him insane. It just kept on and on and on and on and…

  He shook himself awake. The intercom played that irritating tune over and over, ruining the best dream he’d had in months. Dragging himself up, he staggered over to the box on the wall and pressed the button.