Power on Her Own Read Online Free Page B

she’d never thought she’d live in one smelling like it. At least it wouldn’t smell like that when she’d finished with it. The trouble was, knowing where to start.
    The kitchen. She couldn’t live without a proper kitchen. Aunt Cassie had survived with a minute kitchen and a scullery. Knocking out the wall between them would make a lovely long light room. She could picture it now: a working surface there, the sink where it would catch the sun. And a nice round table in that corner by the radiator. Pale green and a warm coloured wood. And some pretty tiles. All she had at the moment was an old brown porcelain sink in the scullery, complete with a splash-back that looked like Challenger coming in to land, minus a few tiles. Kate supposed she could risk the stove, but was reluctant, on grounds of hygiene, for one thing. Arthritic joints don’t take kindly to wielding a Brillo pad. No such thing as a microwave, of course: she’d have to eat the tikka cold. At least what it lacked in thermal power, it made up in spice. She’d go to that chippie again.
    And then to bed. She was making do with an inflatable mattress and sleeping bag on the living-room floor until the builders had sorted out the plaster in the upstairs rooms: during the hurricane Cassie had lost a chunk of roof, which she’d had to have repaired. But apart from having the plaster directly underneath patched, she’d never wanted the mess of having the rest of the ceilings skimmed. That was Kate’s priority: to get the upstairs into a state where it could be decorated. And the problem was the money it would take. The house she and Robin had shared in Croydon had been in her name, while he’d paid his way with household expenses. Until she’d sold it, she couldn’t afford the £10,000 or so it would take to knock this house into shape. Or at least until she’d got a regular tenant.
    The more she tried to sleep, the faster the problems marched across her eyes: the guttering, the garden, the bathroom, the front wall. And the wiring. That was her first priority. Aunt Cassie had admitted that when you turned some switches on, there was a smell of hot rubber. And then there was the matter of that boiler …
    At least there was still some whisky left. Tomorrow she’d check out Sainsbury’s own brand. Except it was well into tomorrow already, and still sleep was no nearer.
    And then she slammed the whisky glass down and peered at the cut on her leg. Glass? She’d have noticed broken glass when she’d laid the girl on the ground. Wouldn’t she? Pulling her clothes on, bloody trousers and all, she knew she had to go. And knew, just as well as she knew there was no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, she’d find no glass.
    One of those lads had used a knife on her, hadn’t he?

Chapter Three

    â€˜So the good news is the kid’ll live,’ Harvey announced. ‘The bad news is he’s deeply traumatised. Still not speaking. Crying. Sucking his thumb. Wetting the bed, dirtying himself.’
    Anger sizzled round the room.
    â€˜Is there – sexual interference, Sir?’ Kate asked the question first.
    â€˜No doubt about it,’ Harvey replied. ‘Abnormally bad damage to the poor little bastard’s anus and rectum.’ Looking round the team, he added, ‘There isn’t one of us wouldn’t want to crucify the bugger that did it. Now, I reckon paedophiles don’t hunt alone.’
    â€˜Isn’t that down to Vice, Gaffer?’
    â€˜Darren Goss lives in Newtown, Selby. Newtown’s our patch. We’ll be liaising with Vice, of course. But we’ll be working our arses off here to sort it. Right?’
    â€˜All of us, Sir? They did say that Miss Power wouldn’t be out on the streets with the rest of us.’
    â€˜
Detective Sergeant
Power will be working back here, Selby.’
    â€˜All the time, Sir? Coming in at eight,