‘He said he’s seen the medical reports on the kids that were taken into care.
A number of them were physically abused. He also left the name of the woman at Hackney Social Services who he said you wanted to talk to.’
‘Right, pick me up as soon as you can. I want to talk to her.’
‘Jim, if you don’t mind me asking, what the fuck is going on?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘This case at Hackney. Why the interest? We’ve got enough shit of our own to deal with. This is Macpherson’s problem.’
‘Right, you get on with what you’ve got to do - just give me this woman’s fucking name’ rasped Talbot.
‘Jim, I just asked. It seems like you’ve become obsessed with this bloody case and-‘
‘The name,’ Talbot snapped.
‘Maria Goldman.’
‘Right. Look, if you’ve got other stuff to do, then get on with it. I’m going to speak to this Goldman woman.’
‘I’ll pick you up,’ Rafferty said, wearily. ‘We’ve been digging around on those three suicides, too. Remember, the case we were working on before this shit at Hackney came up?’ the DS said, sarcastically.
‘And?’ Talbot said.
‘Apparently, two of the three dead men had reported strange phone calls about a week before they topped themselves.’
‘What do you mean, strange?’
‘Parriam and Hyde both got calls warning them off.’
‘How come this has just turned up?’
‘We spoke to their secretaries.’
‘You mean it’s taken this fucking long?’
‘Hyde’s had been away on honeymoon; Parriam’s has just come back from sick
leave.’
‘Were threats actually made?’
‘They were told to back off. That’s all.’
‘What about Jeffrey?’
‘Nothing strange there.’
‘Look, Bill, just pick me up as quick as you can, right? We’ll go over this shit later.’
‘I think it’s important-‘
Talbot cut him off. ‘So is this abuse case, now get a fucking move on.’
He slammed down the phone.
Rafferty looked at the handset for a moment then slipped it gently back onto the cradle.
Frank Reed held his daughter tight, feeling her warm breath against his cheek.
‘Did you have a good time?’ he asked her, glancing up at his wife who looked down at them impassively.
‘Come on, Becky, we’ll be late,’ said Ellen glancing at her watch.
Becky kissed her father on the cheek. ‘I love you, Dad’ she said then turned towards the door.
‘Go on, run out to the car’ Ellen told her.
‘I could have taken her to school’ Reed said, irritably.
‘It’s on my way to work’ Ellen said, picking up her daughter’s small holdall.
She turned to leave.
‘Thanks, Ellen,’ he said, almost grudgingly.
‘For what?’
‘For letting me have Becky for the weekend. I know I’ve got every right to access but…’
‘I’ll be in touch, Frank’ she told him and turned away.
He watched as she walked down the path towards the waiting car. Becky was already in the back, waving to him.
He waved back.
Christ, it hurt to see her leave.
Ellen slid behind the steering wheel and started the engine.
‘That’s it, Becky’ she said, a smile touching her lips, ‘You wave goodbye to your Dad.’ She glanced across and looked blankly at Reed for a moment, silhouetted in
the doorway. ‘It might be a while before you see him again.’
The car pulled away.
Sixty-three
‘As I explained to you when you rang, I can’t let you see any of the children’
said Maria Goldman, holding open the door of her office.
Catherine Reed entered, glancing around the small, immaculately tidy room. She accepted the chair offered to her and sat down opposite Maria.
The journalist afforded herself a brief glance around the office. She spotted a small television set and a video, set up in one corner, the clock on the video flashing constantly. The walls were a mass of filing cabinets and shelves and what spare space there was seemed to be covered with a collection of posters and leaflets.
‘Have you finished with them all yet?’ Cath enquired.
Maria nodded.
Cath reached into her pocket and pulled out a small notepad.
‘You don’t mind if I use this, do you? I’ve got a lousy memory.’ She smiled.
‘Would you like a coffee?’
‘Thank you. No sugar.’
Maria got to her feet and headed for the office door.
‘The machine’s just down the corridor,’ she explained. ‘I won’t be a minute.’
As she disappeared, closing the door behind her, Cath sat motionless for a moment, then crossed to the door and peered through the tiny crack between frame and partition. She could see Maria standing in front of the vending machine, feeding coins into it.
Cath hurried back to the desk, stepping around Maria’s side, glancing over the
stacks of papers arranged there.
She saw a large book that looked like a ledger of some description.
Cath flipped it open, scanning it for anything which resembled a list of names.
Nothing.
She pulled open the top drawer of Maria’s desk.
Manila files but no names.
In the next drawer there was a framed photo of a man in his early thirties.
Smart, good looking.
She was about to open the next drawer when she heard footsteps heading back up the corridor.
Cath scuttled around to the chair and sat down, sucking in a deep breath, picking up her pen and drawing rambling circles on the top of the page.
Maria entered carrying two styrofoam cups of coffee. She pushed the door shut with her backside and handed one of the cups to Cath.
‘Now, what can I do for you, Miss Reed?’
‘Call me Cath, please’ she said, sipping her coffee. ‘I wondered if you’d finished interviewing all the children that were brought in.’
‘Yes, we have.’
‘And from what you’ve heard, are you satisfied that there is child abuse involved?’
‘Unfortunately yes.’
‘In every case? There were seventeen children seized, weren’t there?’
‘Seized sounds a bit melodramatic,’ Maria said, smiling.
‘Well, dawn raids are pretty melodramatic, aren’t they? You obviously felt the need to go through with
