1988, during the disturbances following the reelection of Daniel arap Moi to the presidency. Her father was a lawyer, her mother a doctor, and they had hoped she would follow in one set of footsteps or the other. Now they did their best to hide their disappointment and understand the choice their daughter had made.
'She's very lovely, I'll say that for her.'
'Is she? Can't say I'd really noticed.'
'Charlie, you're a terrible liar.' Lynn smiled.
The press conference was more than usually crowded, national interest as well as local, more sleek digital cameras and state-of-the-art recorders than the average car-boot sale on a Sunday morning. The Assistant Chief Constable sat polishing his glasses, papers on the desk in front of him, Bill Berry to one side and a reluctant Charlie Resnick to the other.
When the Press Officer had got wind of Catherine Njoroge's involvement in the enquiry, she'd done her utmost to get her up on the platform.
'A young black girl murdered and we're going on national television with three middle-aged white men. How do you think that looks?'
'It looks,' the ACC told her, 'as if we're taking it seriously. Not playing to the fucking gallery.'
Sometimes, she felt like saying, that's not such a bad idea. But this time she bit her tongue and got ready to deflect the fallout as best she could.
Though they were present, no one from the Brent family would agree to join the officers on the platform, no matter the urging: Her mother was too distraught, her father too angry. Instead, they sat together at the back of the room, indignation mixed with sorrow on their faces.
'Our sympathies,' the ACC was saying, reading from his prepared statement, 'are with Kelly's family, as they struggle to come to terms with the loss of their daughter. As a Force, we share their abhorrence at this thoughtless crime, and their anger. The anger, indeed, of the whole community. And we would ask all members of that community to assist us in bringing Kelly's killer to justice. Someone out there knows who did this, and we would urge them, for the sake of Kelly's family, to contact the police.'
A low rumble of voices from amongst the crowd.
A few more cameras flashing.
The inevitable questions about gun crime from Sky News, Channel 4, ITV.
The ACC slid several pages of bar graphs from the folder in front of him.
'It is important,' he said, 'to see this tragic event in context and to set it against the wider picture. In the operational year to date, the figures for all recorded crime in the city are down, and although there has been a slight, but nonetheless regrettable increase in recorded crimes against the person, there has also been a significant increase in the number of such crimes detected.
'Much of this is due to our joint initiatives with the city council and an increased emphasis on citizen-focussed policing and enhanced community engagement.
'And I can tell you'-holding up a sheet of paper-'that in February, the last month for which figures are available, there has been a clear and definite fall-'
'Why?' a voice interrupted from the back of the room. 'Why you going on about this? Statistics, that's all it is. Well, my daughter's no statistic. She's flesh and blood, my flesh and blood-this family, my family-and now she is out there, laying in a morgue somewhere.'
'Mr. Brent,' the ACC said, attempting to override him. 'This is not the place.'
News cameras swivelled and refocussed and captured Howard Brent, still shouting at the top of his lungs, being escorted out of the hall.
Lynn saw it less than an hour later, edited down, on BBC News 24. Read-just a quick cutaway-the acute discomfort on Resnick's face, before the cameras homed in on Brent, standing on the steps outside the building where the press conference had been held. A handsome man of West Indian descent, still comparatively young, soberly dressed in a dark suit and tie, his voice now more under control, though the anger was still evident in his eyes and his stance.
'My daughter was the innocent victim of the violence on our streets. Violence that is threatenin' to tear our community apart, but which the police do nothing about. And why? Because they don't care.
'My daughter Kelly lost her life because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But the bullet that took that life was not meant for her. That bullet was meant for a police officer, intent on making an arrest. An officer who, when she was under attack, used my daughter as a shield. A human shield. And if that officer is watching now, I hope she is feelin' guilty for what she has done. Sacrificed my daughter's life for her own.'
What Lynn was feeling was sick, a cold sickness that spread through her and kept her rooted in front of the screen.
Four
The Incident Room was in the Central Police Station, with views out across the new Trinity Square development towards the Victoria Centre and the clock tower that was the last remaining sign of the old Nottingham Victoria railway station. Not that any of the twenty or so officers assembled were, at that moment, concerned with the view.
Conversations faltered as Bill Berry entered with Jerry Latham, the office manager, and then picked up again as Berry and Latham stopped to share a few final words. Resnick, who had been no more than a pace or two behind them, stood to one side, surveying the room. A number of the officers he knew in passing, a few he knew well- Michaelson, Khan, Fisher, Mc-Daniels, Pike. Most were as new to him as he was to them.
Anil Khan, who had worked with Resnick as a young DC, and was now a sergeant in Homicide and on the verge of promotion, came up and shook his hand. 'Like old times, sir.'
'More or less,' Resnick said.
'Lynn-she's all right, I understand?'
'Thanks, yes. Give her a few days, she'll be fine.'
'You'll pass on my best wishes?'
Resnick assured him that he would.
'The girl's father,' Khan said. 'That was way out of line.'
Howard Brent's angry accusation had been repeated endlessly the previous evening, channel to channel, rolling news. In response, the Press Officer had issued a statement, citing Lynn Kellogg's exemplary record and making reference to a commendation she had received from the Chief Constable for the skill, determination, and professionalism she had shown in a recent murder enquiry. 'Detective Inspector Kellogg,' the Chief Constable had said, 'is a credit to the Force and the agencies she represents. She fully deserves our gratitude and our praise.'
The statement continued: 'We understand that Mr. Brent's remarks were made when he was under considerable personal stress, and the Force continues to have every sympathy for him and his family at this difficult time.'
'Horseshit,' the ACC said, when it was passed by him for approval. 'But horseshit we can live with.'
Of the nationals, only The Guardian gave the story any particular prominence on its front page; the Sun offered an exclusive interview with Kelly's grieving mother on page five, and the Mirror countered with a centre- spread of colour photographs showing Kelly as Mary in a school production of Godspell.
'All right.' Bill Berry brought the room to attention. 'Before we get down to the main business, a word or two about Mr. Brent. Unless you've had your head in the sand the past twenty-four hours, you'll be aware of how he's been shooting his mouth off.'
There was enough angry muttering to suggest this was the case.
'Well,' Berry continued, 'we've been taking a closer look at the righteous Mr. Brent, and he's not the paragon he seems.
'For one thing, rather than being the concerned family man he's setting himself up to be, it seems he walked out on the family home when Kelly was just seven, her brothers eleven and nine. While he was AWOL, he was being chased by the Child Support Agency for nonpayment over a period of almost two years.'
Positive sounds from the assembled troops: payback time. They were enjoying this.
