Broken Read online

  BROKEN

  MARTINA COLE

  headline

  www.headline.co.uk

  Copyright © 2000 Martina Cole

  The right of Martina Cole to be identified as the Author

  of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the

  Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication

  may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any

  means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of

  reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued

  by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2009

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real

  persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

  eISBN : 978 0 7553 5074 2

  This Ebook produced by Jouve Digitalisation des Informations

  HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

  An Hachette UK Company

  338 Euston Road

  London NW1 3BH

  www.headline.co.uk

  www.hachette.co.uk

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Book One

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Book Two

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Epilogue

  Martina Cole is the No. 1 bestselling author of fifteen hugely successful novels. Her most recent novel, The Business, was the No. 1 bestselling hardback adult fiction title of 2008 and went straight to No. 1 on the Sunday Times hardback bestseller list, as did Faces, Close and The Take, which won the British Book Award for Crime Thriller of the Year. The Take has been adapted for Sky One - with remarkable reviews - and The Runaway is currently in production. The Know was selected by Richard & Judy as one of the Top Ten Best Reads of 2003. Maura’s Game, Faceless and The Graft also shot straight to No. 1 on the Sunday Times bestseller lists, and total sales of Martina’s novels are now at nearly ten million copies. Martina Cole has a son and daughter and lives in Kent.

  Martina Cole is highly acclaimed for her hard-hitting, uncompromising and haunting writing, as well as her incredible success.

  Praise for Martina Cole’s bestsellers:

  ‘A gritty tale that will keep you hooked’ Sun

  ‘Right from the start, she has enjoyed unqualified approval for her distinctive and powerfully written fiction’ The Times

  ‘Martina Cole again explores the shady criminal underworld, a setting she is fast making her own’ Sunday Express

  ‘The queen of hard-hitting crime fiction’ Bella

  ‘Utterly compelling’ Daily Mirror

  For Peter P.

  In memory of Junior Arnold Govia

  Dux femina facti.

  The leader of the enterprise a woman.

  - Virgil

  Prologue

  1992

  Melanie Harvey walked sedately along Bayler Street in Grantley.

  She had been born in the small Essex town, and she was now at college there. She felt this gave her an air of sophistication, being educated, and she was enjoying it, something her teachers would never have believed. But she loved the place, it was her home and it was where she wanted to work and raise her children. Especially since the new order had arrived. Grantley was growing, going up in the world and she wanted desperately to be a small part of it. Gradually the green belt was becoming flats and housing estates - private, of course. The older properties were being knocked down or renovated to make way for the commuters who liked being forty minutes from Fenchurch Street in a place that still felt countrified enough to justify bringing up children there; they would pay through the nose for a small three-bedroomed house. She jogged the same route every morning and was amazed at how fast the places were being built. Obviously they were not meant to last any reasonable amount of time.

  Workmen were whistling at her, but she ignored them. At seventeen years old with a DD-cup she was used to dirty old men as she thought of the workers who catcalled from afar. She ignored them as she ignored everyone. Melanie was quite arrogant in her own youthful way.

  Dressed in a small top, shorts and Reebok bumpers, with her dark hair swept back and encased in a ponytail, she allowed her eyes to scan the old buildings nearby that were being knocked down.

  As she glanced over, she saw a bulldozer begin trundling towards the last of the units to remain intact. The bright sunlight was blocked by cloud for a few seconds and so it was easier for her to see her surroundings.

  That was when she saw the movement on the roof of the building. It was only a small movement but it caught her eye. She stared up. The sun was blinding her again and her eyes were watering. But she had seen something moving, she was sure of it.

  Then, as she once more heard the dull drone of the bulldozer, the sun disappeared behind cloud again and she saw a small blond head. It was just a glimpse, but it was enough for her. She registered the fact that it could only be a child. An adult would have been easy to make out, whereas the low parapet at the top of the building would hide a child, more or less.

  Then she saw it again.

  Realising that the man in the bulldozer was about to start demolishing the unit, she ran on to the site. The men laughed at her as she tore across the uneven ground, her white bumpers kicking up dirt and brick-dust, heavy breasts hammering against her ribcage with each heartbeat. She was trying to attract the attention of the man in the bulldozer. She certainly had that. He was watching her with a mixture of appreciation and fear.

  She was nearly in his path now. He began to brake. As he halted in front of her she was still trying to draw his attention to something above his head.

  The site manager, Desmond Rawlings, ran over to her, his face angry and his language even angrier.

  ‘What the fuck you think you’re doing?’

  Melanie was out of breath, still pointing up at the roof of the building. ‘There’s someone or something up there.’

  He automatically looked up and saw nothing. ‘Is this some kind of game, love?’

  Melanie shook her head. ‘There is definitely someone up on that roof, mate. Go and look for yourself.’

  The driver of the bulldozer was climbing out of his cab now. ‘What’s going on, Des?’

  He shrugged, heavy body sweating under the jumper he had put on because it was cold that morning and the donkey jacket he wore with ‘Site Manager’ written on the back.

  ‘Fuck knows. This bird reckons there’s someone up there.’ He pointed once more to the roof of the building. Now all the men were looking up.

  ‘I can’t see nothing.’

/>   ‘Well there is something there. I saw it myself.’

  But Melanie’s voice was not so assured now as she realised that she couldn’t see anything either from this vantage point.

  ‘I was on the street when I saw a little blond head up there. You’d better check, just to be on the safe side.’

  Des sighed heavily. He had everyone on his back. The contractors were useless; everything was going wrong, he was weeks behind his schedule. None of the drawings matched and the steel was late as usual. Now, on top of everything else, he had some silly bird telling him there was a kid in the building he was about to knock down.

  They were surrounded by men and Des knew they were all enjoying the light relief. Melanie was growing confused. Suppose it had just been a trick of the light?

  ‘I’m sure I saw something . . .’

  A small man with green eyes in a dark-tanned face volunteered: ‘I’ll go up and look, Des. Keep the young lady happy, eh?’

  He nodded and sighed. What he wouldn’t give for a few hours in the bookie’s, a wad of cash in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. The green-eyed man disappeared into the skeleton of the building. Des had a quick shufti at the girl’s breasts before meeting her cynical eyes.

  ‘Had your look, you old perve?’

  The other men laughed and tried not to do the same thing.

  The noise died down then as they all turned to stare at the roof of the building. Melanie was nervous, wondering if she had actually seen anything and hoping she had because otherwise this lot were not going to be very happy.

  She consoled herself with the fact that, whatever happened, she had done the right thing.

  Regina Carlton pulled herself out of bed with difficulty. She pushed the sleeping man beside her. He grunted and turned over, emitting a loud fart in the process.

  Regina pursed her lips and sighed. ‘Where the fuck did I find him?’

  The words went unanswered as she glanced wearily around the chaotic room. Clothes were strewn everywhere; the place was ripe with the smell of dirty laundry and unwashed crockery. She lit a B&H and pulled the smoke deep into her lungs. The nicotine rushed straight to her brain and she sighed happily.

  Scratching her sagging stomach, she wandered from the room and down the hallway to the kitchen. After putting on the kettle, she searched through the debris on the table until she found a bottle of pills. She opened the canister and popped two blue ones with a sip of water then lit herself another cigarette from the butt of the previous one. The kettle boiled and she made herself coffee, sniffing the milk suspiciously before abandoning it and settling for black.

  Walking back into the hall, she opened her kids’ bedroom door.

  Michaela, aged five, was still asleep, her golden hair spread over the dirty pillowcase. Hannah, ten months, was lying awake in her cot, a soaking nappy filling the room with the smell of ammonia and making her mother’s eyes water.

  She looked towards the bed that should have held Jamie, two, and frowned. Walking back into the lounge area, she scanned the small room then went back into the kitchen, even looking under the table.

  ‘I’ll slaughter that little fucker!’ Her voice held anger rather than fear.

  She walked back into the lounge and, pulling back a smoke-stained net curtain, scanned the area in front of her block of flats.

  No Jamie.

  Coffee finished and feeling the first buzz from the Driminal she had taken earlier, Regina went back into her bedroom and pulled on a pair of jeans and a Bart Simpson sweatshirt. Dragging her hair back into a ponytail, she surveyed herself in the mirror of her dressing table.

  Her eyes were dark hollows, her cheekbones lost in a face that was puffy from too much of everything, from booze to drugs to sex. Meanwhile her body was thin but sagging, from her breasts to the skin at the top of her arms.

  She was twenty-five years old.

  Regina went to the bed and shook the man awake.

  ‘Fuck off, will ya? I’m trying to sleep.’

  She looked down at him and felt nothing. Not even annoyance. Lighting up another cigarette, she went in to the girls and woke Michaela up by slapping her behind through the quilt cover.

  ‘Sort Hannah out and make a cuppa, love.’

  Michaela sat up immediately.

  ‘You seen Jamie?’

  The child shook her head.

  Regina went out of the flat and down the four flights of stairs to the street. An old lady on the second floor ignored her as she stamped past, a thunderous look of annoyance on her face.

  ‘You seen my Jamie?’ she asked the old bitch in a rasping voice. After fifteen minutes even Regina was getting worried. Her little boy was missing. With everything else she had on her plate, that was the last thing she needed: the police looking too closely into the chaos of her everyday life.

  ‘Fuck him, the little bugger! Like his father, always causing aggravation.’

  She went back into the flat to begin clearing it of anything dodgy before she felt comfortable enough to phone the Old Bill.

  But before that she phoned her social worker. Regina knew she was going to need all the help she could get.

  PC Black and WPC Hart arrived within fifteen minutes of the call. As they entered the flat they both grimaced as the smell of urine and stale sweat hit the back of their throats.

  Regina smiled sourly at them, ready for a fight.

  They looked around the shabby abode and decided to stand rather than take a seat.

  ‘Hello, love, I’m WPC Joanna Hart and this is my colleague, Richard Black. Now, we understand your little boy is missing?’ the female constable began.

  ‘I rang you, didn’t I?’ Regina’s voice held contempt but also an underlying fear that Hart was quick to pick up on.

  ‘Look, love, we’re not the enemy, OK? If your boy’s missing then the sooner we get the preliminaries over with the better, eh?’

  Regina relaxed visibly. ‘He’s a wanderer. As young as he is, he’s streetwise. Let’s face it, he’d need to be with me as his mother, wouldn’t he? I’ve been everywhere he might be and I can’t locate him. He is definitely gone.’

  WPC Hart felt a surge of compassion for the woman before her, one she had dealt with on several other occasions, seeing her drunk, drugged and aggressive.

  ‘I might not be mother of the year but they’re my kids, right? I care about them,’ Regina continued.

  PC Richard Black snorted and shook his head sadly. ‘Yeah, it looks like it.’

  Regina was across the room in a split second and WPC Hart put herself smartly between the two antagonists.

  ‘Look, Richard, you have a nose round the neighbours. I’ll deal with Miss Carlton, OK?’ Her firm tone of voice was a command and, turning slowly, her colleague left the room.

  ‘Fucking wanker! Judge me, will he? Who the fuck does he think he is?’ Regina took quick puffs on her cigarette, barely inhaling. The WPC smiled.

  ‘You want to try working with him.’ Her voice was low, conspiratorial. Desperate to establish some kind of rapport.

  ‘Oh, fuck off, lady. You ain’t playing your mind games with me. I know you and your sort. I know what you think and how you think. So cut the fucking crap and find my boy.’ Regina was scared, and it showed.

  Hart was saved from having to answer by a loud voice coming into the room from the cluttered hallway.

  ‘Hello, love. It’s me - Bobby.’

  The voice was high-pitched and effeminate. A tall man walked into the room. He had dyed brown hair, worn rather long and with two-inch roots showing, and blue eyes in a friendly open face. He held his arms wide and Regina walked straight into them and broke down. WPC Hart watched them for a while, glad to see someone who could maybe help the situation.

  ‘Are you a relative?’

  Regina faced her and sniffed. ‘He’s better than a relative, love. He’s me social worker.’

  The man held out a limp hand. ‘Robert Bateman, darlin’. Social worker to the stars.’r />
  WPC Hart sighed heavily. This was all she needed.

  PC Black came back into the flat and said loudly, ‘A little boy, answering to the name Jamie, has been found on a building site on the other side of town. Blond, blue-eyed, fit and well.’

  Regina visibly relaxed. ‘That sounds like him. That sounds like my boy.’ Her voice held relief though her face betrayed nothing.

  ‘How did he get there?’ WPC Hart’s voice was suspicious.

  Black shrugged. ‘How should I know? They’re taking him to the hospital for a once-over.’

  ‘Oh, Bobby, run me over there, will you?’ Regina asked.

  The social worker smiled widely. ‘Of course I will, dear. What about the other two?’

  Michaela was standing in the doorway with a changed and sweeter-smelling Hannah in her arms.

  ‘They’ll be all right. Me bloke’s asleep in the bedroom, he’ll watch them.’

  Robert rolled his expressive blue eyes at the ceiling. ‘Do the kids actually know him, dear, or is he a transient?’

  Regina closed her own eyes a moment. ‘They know him well enough. Now can we go, please?’ Her tone of voice brooked no argument.

  Five minutes later they were gone.

  Michaela was spooning Weetabix into Hannah’s mouth when the man walked out of the bedroom, naked and with a half-erection from the need to urinate.

  He looked at the two children in the untidy kitchen and said acidly, ‘What the fuck you staring at?’