The Ladykiller

  Ratchette answered.

  ‘Let’s just say that your idea was put to the big boys and they liked it, Kate. The Chief Constable is against the expenditure, but this man has to be caught. There’s a public outcry at the moment, and now the government is putting the funds at our disposal. So make the best of it. You never know when they may pull out again.’

  ‘But how come you knew and I didn’t?’

  ‘Let’s just say it was discussed first by your superiors, shall we?’

  The message in Ratchette’s voice was clear enough to Kate but she still wasn’t happy about it. Though she was elated that the blood testing was going to happen she was not too sure about the mysterious way it had come about. But Ratchette’s tone would brook no more questions. She changed tack.

  ‘So how many mobile units are we getting? I think that if we take the units to all the big firms, men will be forced to take the test in front of their colleagues. We could catch our man out like that.’

  ‘First things first. We’re getting eight different mobile units. We’ll concentrate on the bigger firms first. There’s the Ford plant and the electronics factory for starters. We’ll also set one up in the town centre. Every male in the age group will be sent letters and documentation that can be produced to prove they have had the test. The sixth form colleges etcetera will be done systematically, and pensioners and the unemployed will be approached by letter to visit one of the mobile units on specified days. It’s all in hand. All we have to do now is begin the groundwork. It’s going out on local radio and television today, so everyone will be aware of what is happening. Firms will be asked to notify us of people who have suddenly taken holidays or sick leave. I think that we’ve covered just about every angle. Anyone on the electoral register who does not take the test will be immediately under suspicion, until we can cancel them out.’

  ‘Come on, Katie, it’s ten past twelve. I’ll buy you a drink and a sandwich.’ Caitlin stood up and winked at Ratchette.

  Kate stood up and stared into her superior’s face.

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  Ratchette smiled.

  ‘Go and get some lunch, Kate. You’ll be working like a beaver now, setting all this up with us and keeping your lines of inquiry open. It’s going to be a hard old slog, you realise that?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Kate and Caitlin left the room.

  Ratchette sat down. Kate Burrows obviously did not realise it but she had a powerful ally in Patrick Kelly. A very powerful ally indeed.

  Kate bit into a beef and tomato sandwich, surprised at how hungry she was. She watched Caitlin chatting up the barmaid as he ordered their drinks. She chewed the sandwich slowly, savouring the rich taste. There was something wrong but she did not know what. Caitlin ambled back to the table with her vodka and tonic and his pint of Guinness with whisky chaser.

  ‘What’s going on, Kenny?’ Kate rarely called him by his first name so it gave the question an edge.

  Caitlin sipped his Guinness before answering.

  ‘Look, Katie, whether you realise it or not, you’ve made yourself a very influential friend, and it was this friend who pushed the issue with the Chief Constable.’

  Kate stopped chewing and stared at Caitlin, dumbstruck.

  Everybody knew. They all knew about her and Patrick Kelly.

  ‘Don’t look so shocked, now. The police force is a very small world, you know. Look at it this way - if a new man or woman comes to a division, within twenty-four hours everyone knows their past track record, their marital status, everything. It’s just one of those things. Now then, the fella you’re going around with is a big man in his own way, and it was natural it would come to the attention of people. I don’t think that the uniforms know, but Ratchette knew, and I knew, and now the Chief Constable knows. I gather he had a visit from your friend yesterday, and apparently he has some even bigger friends of his own. Probably how he’s kept out of clink for so long.’

  Kate was looking into her glass, embarrassed. Caitlin felt a twinge of sympathy for her.

  ‘Shall I tell you something? It’s a thing I’ve always believed. Most people in the force could have gone one way or the other. Either become a villain - and I mean villain as in bank robber and such, nothing to do with perverts or nonces - or become a policeman. You need the inbred cunning to be a villain in order to catch one. That’s why so many of them get on so well.

  ‘Myself, I’ve nicked men I’ve had a great deal of respect for. I’m not talking about gas meter bandits or kiters. I’m talking about men who have masterminded some of the biggest bank robberies in the country. I admire them, Katie, even while I’ve tried to find them and lock them up. Everyone has dreams of winning the pools, whatever. These men set out to steal money that makes the average person in the street drool just thinking about it.

  ‘Kelly now, he works within the law, and sometimes just outside it, but he’s first and foremost a businessman. Only he’s not a kosher businessman like, say - oh, I don’t know - Henry Ford or someone of that ilk. He’s part of the new breed, and for myself I admire him. Anyone who can get that eejit of a Chief Constable shitting in his pants has to have something good going for him.’

  Kate smiled slightly but her brain was whirling.

  Kelly had gone and made the Chief Constable ‘see sense’. That is exactly how he would put it when she challenged him about it. In the little time she had known Patrick she had got to understand him so well. In Patrick’s mind there was no black and white. Just Patrick Kelly’s opinion. And that opinion was worth more to him than the crown jewels.

  ‘Look at it this way, Kate, he got you what you wanted and - I admit now - what I wanted. This is the most difficult case I’ve ever worked on in my life. We’ve had four horrific murders and literally nothing to go on except for the bugger’s car. And the witnesses can’t even agree on the colour of that! Take this opportunity and use it, girl, it’s like a gift from God.’

  Kate sipped her drink and bit into her sandwich again. What Caitlin said made sense, she admitted that, but she was worried all the same. If her association was common knowledge . . .

  ‘Look, Kenny, can I ask you something?’

  Caitlin took a deep draught of his Guinness and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  ‘Ask away.’

  ‘What’s being said about me and Kelly? I really want to know.’

  ‘What do you think? “Kate Burrows is having it off with a villain.” The usual.’ He watched Kate turn white and could have kicked himself.

  ‘That was a joke, Katie, a bad joke I admit, but a joke all the same. What’s really being said is this. Kate Burrows has been seeing Pat Kelly. Oh, Pat Kelly says the other person, isn’t he the one with the repo business? Yes, that’s him, says the first person. Lucky old Kelly is the general opinion. Christ, girl, most of the senior men have tried to get into your knickers at some time or another, that’s common knowledge. That you’re a respectable woman and a bloody good DI is also common knowledge. You’re making more of this than anyone. Until Kelly is convicted of something, you’re as safe as houses and let’s face it, Katie, he’s not liable to get caught out now is he? Everything he does is more or less above board. Why don’t you relax? You’re too hard on yourself.’

  ‘I’ve fought tooth and nail to get where I am today, Kenny. You don’t know the struggle it’s been.’

  ‘I don’t, no. But, if you’re as worried as you say then all you have to do is stop seeing him. Meself I think you’d be a fool. They used to call you the Mother Theresa of Enfield when we worked together before. You’re doing nothing wrong, child. Has he ever compromised you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Has he ever asked you anything he shouldn’t, like?’

  ‘NO!’

  ‘Then why all the drama and fuss? Jesus Christ, you women make your own crosses you know. And believe me it’s a long old journey when you have to carry it. I know. Personally, I like Kelly. He’s an astute businessma
n, a good friend, I should think and he’s one handsome fucker. You do what you’ve got to do with him. As long as it doesn’t interfere with your work, who cares? They’ll be gossiping about someone else next week.’

  Kate saw the sense in what Caitlin was saying. He was right. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. And if Flowers hadn’t said anything then there was obviously no problem.

  She wanted to believe it. She had to believe it.

  ‘You’re right. I’m worrying about nothing.’

  She picked up her glass and drained it.

  Caitlin laughed softly and rose to get her another.

  ‘That’s the way to do it, girl.’

  Kate lit a cigarette and drew the smoke deep into her lungs. She wished Patrick was with her, when he was near she had no doubts. No doubts at all. Then something occurred to her. How the hell did Kelly get them to agree to the blood testing? That’s why Flowers was so annoyed with her. Everyone knew she had been rooting for it since the word go, and somehow Patrick had made it possible. Suddenly, Kate was annoyed, very annoyed and the most annoying thing was, she wasn’t really sure why.

  Elaine and George had finished their tea and were sitting in the lounge watching Thames News. Since George’s announcement about his redundancy, they had been living under an amicable truce. The murder of Leonora Davidson was the talk of Grantley, and Elaine was well aware that it had happened on a night when George was out walking. A hundred times a day she told herself that it was coincidence, that on the nights of the other murders he had been indoors with her - except for New Year and she was confident that he had been too ill to leave his bed then.

  When the newsreader mentioned the Grantley Ripper Elaine’s ears pricked up. The screen went to an outside broadcast. Grantley Police Station was in the background as a young girl came on the screen. Elaine was watching George’s reaction as the girl spoke.

  ‘The Grantley Ripper case. It has been announced today that the police are going to take blood and saliva samples from all males in the area in the fourteen to sixty-five age group. This means that just over five thousand men and boys will be tested.

  ‘Wide-scale testing has been done only once before in 1983 at Enderby in Leicestershire, after two rapes and murders. The police hope that testing will eliminate as many people as possible in the hunt for the Grantley Ripper. Mobile units will be going around factories and offices, school and unemployment offices. Any man who refuses the test will be under suspicion. We shall be updating you on what happens during the course of the investigation.’

  Elaine looked again at George.

  ‘I think it’s a good thing, don’t you, George?’

  ‘You’re absolutely right, my dear. Best thing that could happen if you ask me.’

  For the life of him he was not sure how he managed to sound so normal. He was sweating.

  ‘I mean, George, whoever this man is, he’s a maniac, a sick maniac, and should be caught and locked away as soon as possible. Hanging’s too good for him. I reckon he should be tortured like he tortured those women.’

  George nodded absentmindedly. His mind was racing. What was he going to do? He could not take the test. They’d be coming to his place of work. He would be forced to take it with his colleagues.

  ‘Would you like me to make you a cuppa, George? I’m having one.’

  ‘Yes, dear. That would be lovely.’

  Elaine walked to the kitchen. Well, he seemed OK. It was her as usual. She was always down on George but couldn’t seem to help it. He affected her like that.

  Anyway, she reasoned, if he had had anything to worry about he would have shown it by now. George was like an open book to her. When she’d poured out the tea George walked into the kitchen and picked up his cup.

  ‘I’m going down to the shed, dear, I want to sort out the bulbs for the spring planting. I won’t be long.’

  ‘All right then. Shall I call you when EastEnders comes on?’

  ‘No. I won’t bother tonight, I’ve too much to do.’

  He walked from the kitchen and Elaine went into the lounge feeling a bit happier. If he was worried about anything he wouldn’t be doing something so mundane as sorting out the spring bulbs.

  George locked himself into his shed and put on the light. He placed a piece of material over the window and then put on the small Calor gas heater. The shed was soon warm and cosy. He sipped his tea, sitting on the old chair, and thought deeply about his predicament. He could see no way out. Finally he got up and moved the gardening catalogues from the desk, pulling out his books reverently. He finished his tea and settled himself into the chair with them on his lap.

  He began idly to flick through them but tonight he felt nothing. Not even the semi-erection he usually got just from the act of having them near him. He looked through the pile and then picked out one of his favourites. He looked at the girl’s face and tried to empty his mind of everything. Closing his eyes he pictured himself straddling her, his penis forcing its way into her mouth against her will. His breathing became heavier and he opened the flies of his trousers, pulling on his penis to try and force some life into it.

  It was beginning to stir. Slowly he began to pull the foreskin back and forth, enjoying the sensation it created. Now he was pushing it into the girl’s vagina, squeezing on her naked breasts, and she was begging him to stop. Pleading with him. He rubbed at himself, faster and harder, the sensations taking away all the worry and uncertainty. He was building up to an orgasm when Elaine began banging on the shed door.

  ‘George . . . George! There’s a phone call for you. Some bloke called Tony Jones.’

  He felt the icy hand of fear on the back of his neck. He pulled his hands from his trousers as quickly as he could. The small space was hot and cloying from the Calor gas heater and he felt a moment’s sickness as he realised what Elaine was saying.

  ‘Are you listening to me, George?’

  ‘I’m just coming, dear. I think I dozed off in the chair, looking at the gardening catalogues.’

  Outside in the cold and dark Elaine rolled her eyes. ‘Well, hurry up, it must be costing this bloke a fortune.’

  George stood up and threw the magazines into the desk. It wasn’t until he was halfway up the path that he remembered that his trousers were undone. He hurriedly zipped them up and pulled his jumper down over them. Tony Jones. What the hell did he want now? He walked through the kitchen and went to the phone in the hall.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Georgie? It’s me, Tony Jones.’

  ‘What do you want?’ His voice was hard.

  ‘Calm down, I told your wife I was a friend of yours. You have got friends, I take it?’

  ‘What do you want, Tony?’

  ‘I’ve got some new films in, Georgie, and I think you’ll like them.’

  ‘I’m a bit strapped for money at the moment.’

  ‘Well, pop in and see me and I’ll do you a deal. You’re a good customer, Georgie, and I’d hate to lose you.’ Tony’s voice was friendly now.

  ‘I’ll try and get in over the weekend.’

  ‘You wanna see these films, mate, they’re hot. The birds in them! Tits like you’ve never seen before . . .’

  George was already picturing it in his mind and Tony knew this. He knew exactly how to sell his merchandise.

  ‘One bird’s built like a fucking Amazon and she’s loving it, Georgie. For all her shouts and protests. You can see her coming as you watch.’

  George was feeling hot now. He wanted the films. He wanted them now.

  ‘I’ll be in tomorrow night after work, OK?’

  ‘You know it makes sense.’

  The line went dead. George replaced the receiver.

  ‘Bring me in the paper, George.’ Elaine’s voice was at full throttle and he winced inwardly. He picked up the paper from the telephone table and took it into the lounge.

  ‘Here you are, love.’

  ‘Who was that then?’

  ‘Oh, a friend from work about my
leaving do.’

  ‘Leaving do? For you?’ Elaine’s voice was incredulous.

  ‘Yes, Elaine. For me.’

  George was annoyed now. What with everything that was happening, the last thing he needed was one of Elaine’s little innuendos. Do her good to let her think he had friends. Might shut her up now and again.

  ‘I know you find it hard to believe that people might like me, but they do!’

  She was annoyed at his attitude. ‘I’m sorry, George, but after fifteen years I’d have thought you might have mentioned these friends now and again.’

  ‘When have you ever wanted to know, Elaine? Answer me that if you can. Just when have you ever wanted to know?’

  With that he went back down to his shed. He was aware that he had dropped his guard with Elaine and was glad. Give her something to think about for a change. She took him for granted, always had. He locked himself into the shed and put the Calor gas fire on again.

  Fifteen minutes later he was once more locked into his fantasy world.

  George sat at his desk. He wished he had not bothered to come to work. The only topic of conversation was the blood testing. Peter Renshaw was making one of his lightning appearances. George wished it was time for one of his sales visits to Yorkshire, or better still Scotland. Peter’s insistence on being his friend unnerved him. But hadn’t he told Elaine last night that he had friends? George pondered this for a while. He watched Renshaw monopolising the conversation, his eyes scanning the small crowd around him as if he was trying to catch them out not listening to him.

  George wondered if in fact he had any friends. It was the first time in years such a thought had occurred to him. As a child he had not had many, but that was his mother’s fault. She had not encouraged her children to bring friends home. George unconsciously pursed his lips. He could never remember bringing anyone home. He could not remember one true friend. He began to feel sorry for himself. No friends. Fifty-one years old and no friends. No real friends. Even Elaine had friends. Big, fat, brash till girls who dressed like tarts and spent their life in bingo halls like mutton dressed as lamb. His mother had been right about Elaine. She’d said he would rue the day he married her, and he did. But Elaine had been so sweet once. Long ago. She was the only girl who had ever shown a spark of interest in him and he had been grateful. He grimaced. Grateful to her?