‘Emma, can you give us an update on handy man downstairs?’ Kelly asked. Anyone who hit women – and they came across a lot – was referred to as ‘handy’; it was a derogatory slur just for the office, but everyone knew who she meant. The man – Paul Edderbridge – was already known to local police, and he’d been gobbing off at the authorities since primary school. The fella was angry and needed to take it out on somebody. His old man had been in and out of prison his whole life, and Paul had grown up with no rudder, watching his mother beaten to a pulp most nights of the week by the men who filled his father’s shoes. Behaviour like that left a lasting impression on young lads’ brains, and they often, contrary to what one might think, became violent abusers themselves. It was depressing, and working with domestics was like trying to divert a tsunami with a beach spade.

‘Is it any different this time?’ Kelly asked. They all knew the score: man beats woman, woman spends a few nights in hospital, man says he’ll change, woman presses no charges. It was about as frustrating as it got – that and people beating babies and denying it. Everybody at the station hated domestics, not because they weren’t huge crimes but because few women, and even fewer abused men, would ever press charges. It was the bane of proactive policing.

Emma shook her head. ‘She’s been interviewed in hospital and she’s already sworn he did nothing. She slipped, she said.’

‘Again? What about the kids?’ Kelly asked.

‘Social services are on it but they’ve got no concrete evidence they’re in danger.’

‘Until one of them “slips” too,’ Kelly said, exasperated. ‘How long have we got?’

‘He can be released in two hours, and we’ve got nothing.’ Emma confirmed what they all knew. Paul Edderbridge’s girlfriend was taking him back, even as she was being helped out of her hospital bed. That was the power of an abuser. It wasn’t the woman’s fault; his girlfriend wasn’t weak, and it wasn’t just about that. Kelly had seen it herself a thousand times. It was as if they were under a spell. The abuser menaced the victim in all sorts of ways, until, gradually, they believed they were worthless. Usually, the threats involved the kids, and that was the Holy Grail for a mother; she’d almost always sacrifice herself for her kids. The irony, that her children would be safer without the abuser in their lives, never came up.

‘Okay, release him,’ Kelly said with resignation. They all knew that he was guilty as hell, but there was no case without a willing victim, or a dead one. They had to let it go.