The Treatment (47 page)

T
RACEY LAMB HAD TO GO TO THE NAREY
hearing that morning—but she didn't want to come back and find Steven had made another mess in the trailer. “Come on.” She put down some bits and pieces on the bunk, some Cokes, some Caramel bars, some biscuits. “Come and sit down here and we'll play a game.”

The chocolate and the idea of a game cheered him up. He sat down on the bed, on top of his tangled sleeping bag, and started to rock back and forward, grinning, showing the gaps in his teeth where they'd rotted from too many sweets. “Gaaayhb. Gaaayb.”

“That's it. Now give me your hands.”

He held them out, delighted that Tracey was paying him attention.

“Good. Now keep still, while I …” She used the electric flex to fasten his hands together. “Good.” She reached around his back to pass it behind him and slowly wound it around his body. She kept things light, laughing and poking him in the ribs to keep him smiling. “Come on— this is fun. See, what the game is, is that Tracey ain't all that good at tying Steven up—see? Steven can always get out, can't he?”

“Yeeeeth.” He nodded, grinning. “Yeth.” He stared in rapt attention as she tightened the electric flex so that one arm was fastened at his side. She stood and fed the
remaining lead first around the handles of the cupboards, then around the window catches and the base of the table. Now he could move around in a circle of only about two or three feet. He could reach the sink but he couldn't reach the windows or the door or do any harm.

“There.” She stood back, wiping her hands on her leggings. “Now, I bet Steven can get out of that—I bet Steven's too clever for Tracey, ain't he?”

“Ye-ehth!”

“Let's see, then. Let's see him get out of that.”

“ 'Kay, 'kay.” He grinned, rocking back and forward, his eyes rolling in his head. He struggled and writhed, the flex becoming tighter around his hands until the flesh bulged and the veins in his neck stood up. Tracey folded her arms and watched, her head on one side.
Yeah—get out of
that,
you little shit.

Then suddenly he was free. He jerked forward, arms flailing like a baby trying to get out of his high chair, a big rotten-toothed grin. “Dud id!”

Oh, you fucking piece of shit.
She kicked the bottom of the table. “Yeah—you done it, didn't you?”

“ 'Gain, 'gain.”

“OK—again. We'll try again.”

“ 'Kay—'kay.” He jolted forward, excited. “Gaaaybb!”

“But this time,” she pushed his hands back in his lap, “this time Tracey's going to try harder.”

This time she used a second piece of flex and an oily tow rope from the boot of the Datsun. She left one of Steven's hands free but this time, although he struggled for ten minutes, while she stood at the door and watched with a cool smile, he couldn't get out. Eventually, trussed up on the bunk like a Christmas turkey, he looked up at her and grinned. He was out of breath but he was thrilled that the game was going so well.

“Well done.” Tracey nudged the slop bucket toward him with her toe. “Right. I ain't going to be long. I'll be back this afternoon. And then, if you've been good,” she
put her face near his and grinned, “if you've been good, maybe you'll meet someone special.”

“On your list number 103, number seven, sir.” The list caller allowed the district judge to find the case on his list. “This is Ms. Tracey Jayne Lamb. Kelly Alvarez is representing.”

Bury St. Edmunds' combined crown and magistrates' courts were housed in a high-vaulted red-brick building tucked away behind the grounds of the ruined abbey. The interior was full of wood veneer and wall-to-wall carpeting. Kelly Alvarez, dressed in a slightly scruffy off-white suit and a red silk blouse, sat on the defense side of the big bench, directly under the huge central atrium. To her right, in the dock, Tracey Lamb stood patiently, clutching her sputum cup and chewing a ball of strawberry bubble gum.

The clerk read out the charges. “Tracey Jayne Lamb, you are charged with conspiracy to commit an act of indecent assault, with others unknown, contrary to common law.”

The district judge frowned at Lamb as if he hadn't noticed her in the dock and now was slightly offended to see her—as if she had just walked in unannounced. “Miss Lamb.” He took off his glasses, pressed his hands flat on the desk and sat forward in the high-backed leather chair. “You understand that this is a very serious offense and it can't be tried here? We're here today only to set a date for a transfer hearing and talk about bail.”

Lamb gave him a sarcastic smile, as if he were asking her whether she knew the alphabet. “Ye-es.” She pushed the gum into the corner of her mouth, spat a gobbet of phlegm into the cup and straightened up, allowing herself a small smile. “I know.”

“Right.” He closed his eyes in disgust and turned to the Crown Prosecution Service solicitor. “You've said you won't oppose bail?”

“That's right.”

“Are you
sure
you don't want to oppose?”

“Yes. I'm quite sure.”

“You know I have the right to overrule that decision.”

“Yes—I—”

“Good.” He tapped his pen loudly. “Because I think that's what I might well do.”

“Sir.” Alvarez half stood, accidentally knocking a pen off the table. “Sir, it's important to recognize that this offense is very old; there's no evidence that the defendant is still in contact with any of the victims.”

Lamb chewed a little harder, narrowing her attention on the district judge. No one had said she might not get bail. She hadn't even thought about it. Now the CPS solicitor was standing, nodding at the judge. “That's common ground, sir, we agree with the defense.”

“And,” Alvarez pushed her hair behind her ears, “the defendant has no offenses for the last eight years. Miss Lamb was given police bail and appeared on time today for the Narey hearing. There is absolutely nothing to suggest that she might fail to appear again. Um …” She scanned the papers in the Narey bundle. “She has been living in the same place for thirty years, and the alleged offense took place over twelve years ago. And my learned friend, the prosecution, has already indicated that he won't be obstructing or asking for conditions.”

“Just a moment, just a moment.” The judge scratched his head. “This is a very serious offense we're talking about. This isn't a shoplifting charge. We need to think about it very carefully.”

“Sir,” Alvarez said, “leave to speak to my client?”

“Oh, well.” He threw his pen on the bench and leaned back, one elbow on the arm of the ornate chair. “I suppose so.” He flapped a hand at her. “Go on. Go on.”

At the dock Alvarez stood slightly angled away from him, one hand resting on the handrail. She looked up at Lamb with bulging eyes. “I want to offer him some security,” she whispered. “Do you know anyone who could put forward something—”

“
I thought you said I was going to be out of here.
”

“You are, you are, I just didn't expect this.” She bit her lip. “Look at the prosecution—they didn't expect it either.
Now, I need something to offer him. Do you have someone who could put some money down on your be—”

“
No, I fucking haven't
.” This was all wrong. If she wasn't bailed then Steven …
he'll get out of that rope— won't he? Won't he get out?
But when she thought about him tugging at the flex, chewing it madly, she knew there was a chance he wouldn't. “
You never said I wasn't going to be out of here.”

Alvarez lowered her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Tracey, just think, please—is there anyone who—”

“Miss Alvarez?” The judge was getting impatient.

“Yes, sir. I'm just trying to establish if I can offer any security.” She turned back to Tracey, her head bent closer. “Are you sure you can't—”

“No. I just said no.”

“Miss Alvarez, I don't know if anyone will be able to offer your client security, but it's academic anyway.” He cleared his throat, pressing his fingers to his lips. “Because I have a feeling that Miss Lamb—I have a feeling she might be tempted not to turn up for the next hearing.”

“That ain't true!”

“Sir!” Alvarez went quickly back to the bench. “Sir, the defendant came to court today, sir. She was perfectly aware of the seriousness of the charges, and yet she still came to court. I'm sure Miss Lamb would comply with any conditions you'd like to impose. She would be prepared to report at such times as you think appropriate. She would keep residence at her home address.”

“Look,” the district judge shook his head regretfully, “it's not for me to teach you your jobs, but this is a serious offense.” He shook a Biro in Lamb's direction. “She's got previous convictions.”

“Yes, but not related to this.”

“She
knows
the length of sentence …” He waited for Alvarez to subside. “She knows the length of sentence were she found guilty, so.” The judge made a note in the court register, leaned over to murmur something to the jus-tice's clerk, then looked up at the court again. “So—
no.
No.” He ratcheted his body round until he was facing
Lamb. “None of the conditions you could offer me would suffice. So, Miss Lamb, stand up if you would.”

She stood, eyes narrowed bitterly, chewing the gum, hating him.

“I've told you that I can't deal with this case here, and because of the nature of the case and the witnesses who might be called, I think it's safest to transfer the proceedings to somewhere where they can give video evidence if need be—do you understand?” He didn't wait for her to answer. “In the meantime, because I feel there's a serious risk that you might simply decide not to return to court, I'm going to remand you in custody. You can come back and see us here one week from today—that's the third— and we'll have another look at the situation. Thank you.” He turned back to the court clerk and raised his eyebrows. “Shall we continue?”

Morning. Her arms were weak as water and there was something new: a strange wavering of the air as if the room were splitting in two. In the night Smurf had vomited up something that looked like coffee grounds in water and when Benedicte saw the flat eyes, the crusty mucus around Smurf's mouth she knew. She put an arm around the dear old neck and pressed her lips against the ear. “Smurf, I'm so sorry.”

Benedicte had found Smurf twelve years ago as a shiny puppy at Battersea Dogs' Home and brought her home on a red canvas lead. She had danced around her ankles at the bus stop, rear end fishtailing from side to side with excitement, claws ticker-tackering on the pavement. Smurf made washing day hell. Every pair of socks disappeared. She liked to doggy-paddle in the sea with Josh when they went to Cornwall, and since they weren't sure when she was born they gave her Valentine's Day for her official birthday. Now there was ammonia on her breath and her breathing was labored, her lips puffing out with each breath.

“I love you, old Smurf.” She lay next to the dog and pressed her face against the velvety head, feeling the eye
blink, the soft rusty smell of the fur, the rasp of the graying muzzle hairs. She kissed the dog once, just under the ear where the skin was soft, and Smurf shifted slightly, sighed. She half lifted her tail and dropped a thin paw on Benedicte's bare foot.

There is no point in trying, at the end is only evil, no matter what you do, no matter how hard you work, you can't build a wall strong enough.

When she looked up, half a minute later, Smurf had stopped breathing.

Caffery woke early, before he meant to, with Alek Peach's face in his head. Rebecca was next to him, asleep. He rested his head on his arm and watched her breathing in and out, her little pixie face quite smooth and untroubled. He thought about last night and wondered if he should wake her and do it all over again. But Peach's face came back suddenly, and when he couldn't fade it or get rid of it, he rolled out of bed and went into the bathroom.

Something unspeakable had happened at number thirty Donegal Crescent, and he was starting to think that Alek was the primary living victim. He forced it along his mind as he showered, had coffee, ironed a shirt. Rebecca was still asleep when he left. He didn't wake her, and regretted not kissing her all the way to Shrivemoor. But by the time he got to the incident room, it was still Alek he was thinking about.

He went through the two DCs' statements from yesterday and set their parameters for day two. “Call me for anything, OK? Absolutely
anything
.” When they had gone he asked Kryotos to chivvy up General Registry with Peach's paper record. She had it by 11 A
.
M
.
“You ready for this?” She sat down in the SIOs' room, the docket on her lap. She looked astonishingly healthy that morning, as if all the light in the room were reflecting from her skin. It made him feel even more tired. “I found out who the victim of his indecent assault was.”

“Go on, then.”

“Carmel Regan. His wife. She was two days short of
her thirteenth birthday and he was nineteen. Her dad didn't like it, obviously, shopped Peach. They stuck together even while he was doing time. And something else.”