Chapter 5

The following morning Steven received a telephone call from Nick.

"I've got the gen on Mary O'Donovan for you. It's not pretty."

"I didn't think it would be. Go on."

"Born Liverpool of a Liverpool-Irish mother 14th June 1924. Father was a docker. First came up on our books in June 1942 for soliciting and fined £10. Found in an alley 2nd June 1946 having been badly beaten up and from which she died. There was semen in her vagina and copious bruising round the anus but no sign of actual penetration. We believe that after normal intercourse her john tried to sodomise her, she resisted fiercely and he beat her up close to the point of death. We've no idea who beat her up. We've got a sperm sample but nothing since has turned up to match it. She left a five year old daughter, Rosie, who was taken into care. I think you know about her."

"Thanks, Nick. It's much as I suspected. Poor kid!"

"Right, well I hope you'll have something for me soon."

"I hope so too but it may take a couple of months or so."

"All right. Good luck!"

"Thanks."

Steven relayed what he had learned to Becca when she brought him coffee.

She showed no emotion.

"Thanks, Uncle Steven," she said. "I suppose I ought to have guessed at something like that but not when she was killed. I thought as a kid that she was too young to die and that she'd sugared off with some bloke and didn't want me along. That's what's made me so bitter: that she'd have left me to all those bloody do-gooders who just wanted to get into my knickers."

She was silent and Steven respected it. Suddenly her attitude changed. She bent forward put her face in her hands and was wracked with sobs. Steven moved from his chair and knelt in front of her taking her hands in his. He did nothing more, waiting for her to react.

"Uncle Steven, hug me, ple-ease."

He did so. Only their faces and shoulders could be in contact.

There were no words to comfort her. All he could do was let her sob her sorrow out. He could rub her back and that he did, not sensually but firmly and lovingly.

At last she calmed down and, taking Steven's head in her hands, looked him in the eye.

"Thank you," she said. "Thank you."

He smiled at her. "Not nice," he said, "but I hope it helped."

She nodded. "A lot. Now I can start again, I think."

"I hope so too. Just let me know if I can help."

"I will. I will," she replied fervently and kissed him.

Steven sat back on his heels. "Good. I'll be there."

She reached out and pulled him back into a hug. "Thank you," she whispered. "I know you will."

She finished her coffee and left him. Steven reflected on Becca's reaction and what she had said. She appeared to have expunged her grief and bitterness and to be looking forward optimistically. Their time together the previous day and now seemed to be improving her attitude to him. She really did seem prepared to trust him.

At lunch Stephen broached the business of busting the paedophile ring at the children's home.

"Would you really do that?" she asked wide eyed.

"Yes," he replied firmly. "Those people are taking advantage of helpless kids when they should be helping them. The whole set up stinks. In order to give the police something to go on I need your help."

"How?"

"I want the names of all those who molested you, what they did and, if you can remember, when."

"The when might not be that clever."

"That doesn't matter too much. Just do the best you can. The other thing is I want you to list the children who you know were molested and by who then we'll get them to write statements, like you."

"OK but I won't know them all."

"Fine. You and I are just lifting the corner of the rug. We'll leave it to the police to pull it right up."

"Golly! This is going to cause a right old stink."

"You bet it is and serve them jolly well right."

"When do you want it all by?"

"The sooner the better but don't rush yourself."

"The trouble is, Uncle Steven, I'm ever such a slow writer and I always used to get ticked off for my spelling."

"Would you like to tell me and I'll write it? You'll just need to read it through and sign it."

She nodded shyly.

"Don't worry, Becca my dear. We can't all be good at everything."

She smiled gratefully at him.

"I'll tidy up in here and then I'll be ready."

"Good. We'll do it in the study where the typewriter and the paper are."

"OK."

She joined him ten minutes later and he sat her in a comfortable chair.

"Where shall I start?" she asked.

"When was your first spanking?"

"Just after my eleventh birthday."

"What was it for?"

"Talking in class."

"Who spanked you?"

"Mr Oliphant."

"In front of the class or in his room?"

"After class in the classroom. He wasn't a resident."

"Did he take your knickers down?"

"Yes."

"Did he stroke your bottom?"