Karen Downes - Sold in Secret: The Murder of Charlene Downes

A mothers desperate search to find the men who trafficked and killed her daughter

Karen Downes

with Joe and Ann Cusack

Published by Blink Publishing

2.25, The Plaza,

535 Kings Road,

Chelsea Harbour,

London, SW10 0SZ

www.blinkpublishing.co.uk

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Paperback 978-1-788-700-98-6

Ebook 978-1-788-700-99-3

All rights reserved. No part of the publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted or circulated in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission in writing of the publisher.

A CIP catalogue of this book is available from the British Library.

Designed and set by seagulls.net

Copyright Karen Downes, 2018

Karen Downes has asserted her moral right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Every reasonable effort has been made to trace copyright holders of material reproduced in this book, but if any have been inadvertently overlooked the publishers would be glad to hear from them.

Blink Publishing is an imprint of Bonnier Books UK

www.bonnierbooks.co.uk

To my beloved mum, children, grandchildren,
and all the other poor victims of grooming gangs.

Trembling, I stood in the witness box. I could hardly breathe; I took a sip of water. My heart was thumping so hard, it felt like it would burst right out of my chest. Desperate to avoid all the eyes around me, I looked down at my feet. This was the first time Id bought new shoes in years. Most mothers bought new clothes for celebrations sweet-16- and 18th-birthday parties, weddings and big family occasions but I had to buy a new outfit to look my best for my daughters murder trial.

It was an odd thought, whirring round in my head, as the barristers shuffled their papers and a deathly hush fell. This was my day, the day I thought we would get justice. The world would hear about my little girl. I thought we would get the truth and perhaps some closure from the ongoing nightmare which had dominated our lives ever since our daughter had skipped out of our front door, four years ago, never to be seen again. I wanted an end to the misery of not knowing. The gnawing, sickening, agonising endless wait of not knowing.

The wait had weighed down on me; I was stooped, weary, cowed. This was my chance to fight back. One thing I felt sure of was that things couldnt get any worse, but I was wrong.

Today, the third day of the trial, was my chance to speak out. As arranged, a car had come at 8am to take me to court. The night before, I hadnt slept at all. I felt wired; wide awake, lying in Charlenes bed, surrounded by her teddies and her Darren Day and Westlife posters. I thought back to all the times shed sung her heart out, hairbrush in hand, as she gazed at her idols on the wall. She was near, so near. I could smell her in the pillow. I heard her ghostly giggle in the stillness of the lonely hours before dawn. And she was far, so far. Almost as far away as I now was from myself.

The driver had played Kaiser Chiefs, at full volume, all the way to Preston Crown Court. It had seemed somehow inappropriate, disrespectful even.

Ruby, Ruby, Ruby, Ruby! screeched the radio.

And now, as I was beginning to recount my evidence to the court, I heard the same tune, over and over, grating and jarring, like a roadblock in my brain.

Come on, Karen, I steeled myself. Dont let her down. Not now.

I was her mother. She had just one mother just one hope. And this was my time to be strong. I breathed again, I took another sip of water, and I swallowed the panic.

Reliving the day of Charlenes disappearance was in many ways like reading off a script. I had been over it so many times over the years, it no longer felt real.

I looked across at the two men in the dock. They stared straight ahead; they didnt even look at me.

Shouldnt they be made to look at me? I wondered. Shouldnt they be made to answer my questions?

I held a tatty little photo of Charlene in my hand. My mind drifted back; her kooky smile, her teenage back-chat and her trademark giggle. What I wouldnt give for one last cheeky broadside from her now

I found I was suddenly ice-cold, shaking. I had come here for the truth, for justice, for a shred of comfort even, for my family. I wanted to stand up in court and scream. They didnt know her, none of them did. I was here to fight for my daughter. But how could I begin to confront this? I felt swamped, sickened, helpless.

Charlene was a child; a little girl. My little girl.

The last day we had together, shed been singing along down her hairbrush to her Darren Day DVD. Shed had a tantrum over one lost trainer. And she had kissed me, put her arms around me and promised to be home safe.

Now her memory was being picked over by faceless, nameless men in wigs, like crows with a carcass. So fascinated by her death. So disinterested in her life.

Blackpool! I announced, throwing my arms wide. What do you think?

Our four children stared at me, taking in the news for a moment, before the little ones started whooping and jumping up and down.

What, forever? asked my second eldest daughter, Becki, the concept baffling her for a moment as it had me.

I nodded and smiled. My husband Bob and I were both from Coventry; it was all wed ever known. But now, it was time for a change. We hadnt been happy for a long time. I wanted something more, something different, something better, for my family.

Of course, it hadnt always been that way. Once upon a time, it had seemed that, as long as we had each other, Bob and I could make anything happen. Naively, I had thought that if we loved each other, we would want the same things, make the same decisions, have the same goals. But as the years wore on, the traits I had once admired, or at least forgiven, became irritations.

If I was totally honest with myself, Bob wasnt the man I once thought. Or perhaps he was, but what I now wanted was different. And whether wed both changed or neither of us seemed irrelevant, really. Bob didnt really talk about feelings and emotions and so I had absolutely no idea whether he thought the same about me. The fact was, we had four children, a life together, a past. And those shared memories of our family as it grew were enough to keep that bond strong. Each of our childrens achievements and heartbreaks, which we felt even more keenly than they did, especially the heartbreaks, were imprinted on Bob and me like tattoos. I didnt want to let that go. And so I was practical enough to know that we needed to forge some sort of future together too.

I had been just 18 when wed met at a rock and roll night at a local pub, The White Swan. Bobs satin shirt caught my eye straightaway as he gyrated on the dancefloor. He was quite the centre of attention and I felt myself blush as he smiled at me.