Damaged Read online

  About the Book

  When the bodies of missing schoolgirls start turning up, former DCI Kate Burrows is dragged out of retirement.

  A new Grantley serial killer is in town and DCI Annie Carr turns to Kate for help.

  She welcomes the distraction from her home life with former gangster, Patrick Kelly, whose long lost son has appeared out of the blue, bringing trouble with him.

  It soon becomes clear the killer is on their doorstep and as the body count grows, Kate and Annie face a race against the clock.

  But they have no real leads . . . and there’s more to these murders than meets the eye. Can Kate take the killer down before another schoolgirl dies?

  About Martina Cole

  © Charlotte Murphy

  Martina Cole’s first novel Dangerous Lady caused a sensation when it was published, and launched one of the bestselling fiction writers of her generation.

  Twenty-five years later, Martina has gone on to have more No.1 original fiction bestsellers than any other author. She won the British Book Award for Crime Thriller of the Year with The Take, which then went on to be a hit TV series for Sky 1.

  Four of her novels have made it to the screen, with more in production, and three have been adapted as stage plays.

  Her unique, powerful storytelling is acclaimed for its hard-hitting, true-to-life style – there is no one else who writes like Martina Cole.

  This is what they say about Martina Cole . . .

  ‘The stuff of legend. It’s vicious, nasty . . . and utterly compelling’

  Mirror on FACELESS

  ‘Her gripping plots pack a mean emotional punch’

  Mail on Sunday on THE RUNAWAY

  ‘A blinding good read’

  Ray Winstone on THE KNOW

  ‘Intensely readable’

  Guardian on FACELESS

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

  The Times on BROKEN

  ‘An extraordinarily powerful piece of family drama’

  Daily Mirror on THE BUSINESS

  ‘The acknowledged mistress of the insanely readable gangster thriller, Cole has delivered another addictive tale of men of violence and the women who love them . . . brutally compelling’

  Sunday Mirror on GET EVEN

  ‘We always get excited when a Martina Cole novel drops on our desk, and she continues to maintain her reputation as one of the best fiction authors around with this gritty and unforgettable story of a family immersed in a world of violence and revenge. Spectacular’ 5*

  Closer on THE LIFE

  ‘Martina tells it like it really is and her unique, honest and compassionate style shines through’

  Sun on THE TAKE

  ‘The queen of crime’

  Woman & Home on HARD GIRLS

  ‘Dark and dangerous’

  Sunday Mirror

  ‘Thrilling, shocking and exceptionally written, you’ll get lost in this gritty novel, which proves there really is only one Martina Cole’

  Closer on REVENGE

  ‘The undisputed queen of British crime thrillers’

  Heat on GET EVEN

  Copyright © 2017 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.

  This Ebook edition was first published by Headline Publishing Group in 2017

  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 1 4722 0110 2

  Cover photographs © Arcangel Images/Elizabeth Ansley (woman and car park); Shutterstock.com (car park details)

  HEADLINE PUBLISHING GROUP

  An Hachette UK Company

  Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

  London EC4Y 0DZ

  www.headline.co.uk

  www.hachette.co.uk

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  About the book

  About Martina Cole

  Praise

  Copyright Page

  Also by Martina Cole

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  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

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Chapter Fifty-four

  Chapter Fifty-five

  Chapter Fifty-six

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  Chapter Fifty-eight

  Chapter Fifty-nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-one

  Chapter Sixty-two

  Chapter Sixty-three

  Chapter Sixty-four

  Chapter Sixty-five

  Chapter Sixty-six

  Chapter Sixty-seven

  Chapter Sixty-eight

  Chapter Sixty-nine

  Chapter Seventy

  Chapter Seventy-one

  Chapter Seventy-two

  Chapter Seventy-three

  Chapter Seventy-four

  Chapter Seventy-five

  Chapter Seventy-six

  Chapter Seventy-seven

  Chapter Seventy-eight

  Chapter Seventy-nine

  Chapter Eighty

  Chapter Eighty-one

  Chapter Eighty-two

  Chapter Eighty-three

  Chapter Eighty-four

  Chapter Eighty-five

  Chapter Eighty-six

  Chapter Eighty-seven

  Chapter Eighty-eight

  Chapter Eighty-nine

  Chapter Ninety

  Chapter Ninety-one

  Chapter Ninety-two

  Chapter Ninety-three

  Chapter Ninety-four

  Chapter Ninety-
five

  Chapter Ninety-six

  Chapter Ninety-seven

  Chapter Ninety-eight

  Chapter Ninety-nine

  Chapter One Hundred

  Chapter One Hundred and One

  Chapter One Hundred and Two

  Chapter One Hundred and Three

  Chapter One Hundred and Four

  Chapter One Hundred and Five

  Chapter One Hundred and Six

  Chapter One Hundred and Seven

  Chapter One Hundred and Eight

  Chapter One Hundred and Nine

  Chapter One Hundred and Ten

  Chapter One Hundred and Eleven

  Chapter One Hundred and Twelve

  Chapter One Hundred and Thirteen

  Epilogue

  Martina Cole’s 23 bestsellers (so far) – in order of publication. All available from Headline.

  Dangerous Lady (1992)

  The Ladykiller: DI Kate Burrows 1 (1993)

  Goodnight Lady (1994)

  The Jump (1995)

  The Runaway (1997)

  Two Women (1999)

  Broken: DI Kate Burrows 2 (2000)

  Faceless (2001)*

  Maura’s Game: Dangerous Lady 2 (2002)*

  The Know (2003)*

  The Graft (2004)*

  The Take (2005)*

  Close (2006)*

  Faces (2007)*

  The Business (2008)*

  Hard Girls: DI Kate Burrows 3 (2009)*

  The Family (2010)*

  The Faithless (2011)*

  The Life (2012)*

  Revenge (2013)*

  The Good Life (2014)*

  Get Even (2015)

  Betrayal (2016) *

  On Screen:

  Dangerous Lady (ITV 1995)

  The Jump (ITV 1998)

  Martina Cole’s Lady Killers (ITV3 documentary 2003)

  The Take (Sky 1 2009)

  Martina Cole’s Girl Gangs (Sky Factual documentary 2009)

  The Runaway (Sky 1 2011)

  *Martina Cole’s No. 1 bestsellers – at time of press she has spent more weeks at No. 1 than any other author

  For my beautiful girl Freddie Mary

  Prologue

  2015

  It was hot.

  A real August day when the sun felt relentless and the air was filled with the screaming of seagulls. The landfill site in Essex was busier than ever, with the endless stream of trucks queuing up to unload their cargo. The noise of the gulls amid the constant sounds of earthmovers and lorries was so loud the ground workers had to shout to be heard above it.

  But it was the stench that was the workers’ main gripe. The combination of rotting vegetation, the wasted food mixed in with household chemicals and the carcasses of dead animals was even more potent in the burning heat. It never ceased to amaze the ground-force workers what people threw out without a backward glance. Dogs, cats, puppies – even the occasional exotic pet, such as a snake, and once a three-foot iguana – had been found dumped in with the household waste. One of the old-timers remembered finding a newborn baby years before, its tiny foot poking out of a Tesco carrier bag. Oh, there were plenty of gruesome tales to tell in the pubs they frequented. Rubbish had a strange fascination for the people who dealt with it. They might be nicknamed ‘shit shifters’, among other things, but they shared a camaraderie that was well worth the ridicule.

  On the plus side, many had found expensive objects over the years too; it was astounding what people inadvertently threw away. Jewellery, bundled-up money and wallets along with designer handbags and expensive electrical items – iPads, iPods, phones – the list was endless. The less scrupulous of the men would quietly pocket their finds while others took them straight to the offices in case people were looking for them.

  Today was a Tuesday, a particularly busy day for them as the rubbish accumulated over two weeks in thousands of households was unloaded to be crushed and buried. Among the mass of waste, the rats were as brave as gladiators and the men had long learned to ignore them. Like the gulls they were an inescapable part of the job. Big bastards and all, some of them. Alongside them were often scavengers of the human variety – Eastern Europeans who scoured the place looking for anything of value. They were chased away regularly, but were soon inevitably back looking for stuff to sell or reuse. It was heartbreaking but the men knew they had to scare them off, especially the children – this was no place for kids. It was often a losing battle, as they continued finding them there bright and early, raking over other people’s cast-offs day after day.

  Micky Cartwright was one of the oldest men there; he’d been shit shovelling, as he told anyone who would listen, since he left school at fifteen, and he loved it. He had a large skull which still sported a full head of snow-white hair and, as he rolled himself a cigarette this particular morning, he sighed in exasperation. Unlike many of his workforce, Micky was a staunch Britain First supporter, which did not sit well with a lot of the other workers. Especially the men from ethnic backgrounds. There had been more than one complaint about his language and some of his remarks throughout the years. Today, the heat was getting to everyone and tempers were high. He’d thought it best to step out for a bit.

  As Micky looked over the site he saw in the distance a figure climbing over the heaped rubbish and wondered how this fucker had managed to get past the others.

  Walking back into the Portakabin they used to make tea, he picked up his binoculars – a wonderful find from many years before – and, stepping outside once more into the brilliant sunshine, he looked over to see who this was who’d managed to get in.

  As Micky adjusted the binoculars, he wondered if he was actually seeing what he thought he saw. He was so shocked, he continued to watch the shape for a minute or two before running into the site office shouting, ‘Fuck me, lads, you’ve got to see this!’

  Putting down their mugs of tea and coffee, the men followed him outside. There was always something going on amid the bustle of a landfill site; it was one of the perks of the job. Micky handed his binoculars to a man called Jeremy Fewster who was the undisputed ganger in charge of the men and their differing duties, depending on his idea of their capabilities. Shovelling shit wasn’t exactly on a par with rocket science but it was a lot more complicated than people on the outside realised.

  Jeremy looked at the figure in the distance for a few minutes. Like Micky he didn’t know what to make of it. It was so surreal. All the men on break were now trying to see what had captured so much attention but the sun was glaring down and it was difficult to make out anything from this distance. Jeremy started to give them a rundown on what he could see, as gradually even the men in the earthmovers stopped what they were doing to gawp at the strange sight.

  A lone woman of indeterminate age dressed in a patterned sleeveless sundress and a large sunhat, her eyes hidden behind huge sunglasses and wearing a ludicrous pair of bright yellow wellington boots, was gradually making her way to the centre of the tip. She was holding what appeared to be a box or container tightly to her chest as she struggled to get to her destination. Jeremy watched, fascinated, as he could almost feel the power of her determination to do whatever it was she was there for.

  When she finally stopped, she stood for a few moments looking around her at the endless sea of rubbish, wiping the sweat from her brow in a very feminine gesture, with the tips of the fingers of her free hand. He knew how difficult it was to walk through rubbish; it wasn’t as easy as you’d think. He watched her steadying herself before she took the lid off the container and started to scatter what looked like ashes all over the refuse around her. He could just make out the satisfied smile on her face as she did it.

  ‘Well, lads, she’s obviously scattering her old man’s ashes. All I can say is, he had to be some kind of cunt to get this treatment!’

  The men were laughing, some not as heartily as others, as guilt and the thought of something like that happening to them was hammered home. But it was definitely another c
razy story for the shit shifters to reminisce about as the years rolled on.

  For I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God, punishing the children for the sins of the parents to the third and fourth generations of those who hate me

  Exodus 20:5–6

  Chapter One

  ‘See, this is when you are glad to have a pool here. For about five weeks a fucking year it earns its upkeep!’

  Patrick Kelly’s voice was jovial but Kate knew that it galled him that their beautiful pool didn’t get much use in Grantley. Still, they had a stunning villa in Spain if they needed the sun and they had also purchased a condo in Florida, as Patrick liked the golf courses out there. Florida was also where George Markham had died – the man who had murdered Patrick’s daughter, Mandy – and she knew that he liked being close to where that evil bastard had met his end. It gave him a small sense of satisfaction. They had a very luxurious lifestyle and Kate enjoyed it more than she thought she should. She couldn’t shake the feeling that it was too opulent, but it was part of Patrick’s make-up. He needed to feel that people could see and admire his success and, in a way, she understood that.

  After all these years together, she knew she was lucky to have him; they were growing old together these days, but they were happy. He still had it in him to give women the ‘glad eye’, as he called it, but his roaming days were over. At least she hoped so. She knew he still had his fingers in a lot of dirty-looking pies – Patrick Kelly was never going to be able to go completely straight – but she was retired from the force now, and she had decided that ‘what couldn’t be cured had to be endured’. One of her mum’s old sayings; even now Kate still missed her.

  Beverley Collins, their housekeeper, walked out to them where they were sitting on their terrace, smiling as usual. She was a confirmed spinster in her forties with a soft Cork accent and a face that Patrick once said was what his mother would have called ‘unfortunate’. Meaning that she wasn’t exactly a raving beauty, but she was wonderful at her job and that was all that mattered. Also, she had an endearing personality and wasn’t even remotely intrusive. She loved her little independent flat on their property and fitted in with their set-up perfectly.

  ‘There’s a gentleman here to see you, Pat – won’t give me his name.’