The Ladykiller

  Elaine glanced at the clock by the bed and gave a little squeal, causing George to close his eyes. Acting like a teenager did not sit well on Elaine, but she couldn’t see that herself. Jumping up, she rushed to the wardrobe and took down a bright blue dress that was hanging on the outside. So busy was she taking off the plastic film, she did not even notice George slip from the room.

  Twenty-five minutes later, when she’d left, George went down to his shed and brought out all his clippings. He had a whole scrapbook now and lovingly read every word, over and over again. In one local paper was a picture of Kate Burrows, the Detective Inspector who was working on his case. Beside her was her Chief Inspector, a Kenneth Caitlin. He studied the blurred black and white photos and grinned.

  They couldn’t catch a cold, George thought.

  He smiled at the witticism and went back to the pictures of his victims. As always when he saw Geraldine O’Leary, he felt a twinge of sadness. Her poor children, to have a mother like that! He sipped the last of his brandy and shook his head. They really were much better off without her.

  Later, after he had read his fill, he put on a nice video and, pouring himself another brandy, settled down to watch it. For the time being at least he was happy to be just an onlooker while others perpetrated the deeds on screen. But he knew that before long the urge would come over him, and he would have to go out once more.

  The girl on the screen had become Leonora Davidson and the most violent of the men himself . . .

  George felt the stirrings of excitement.

  Once Tony had taken his test for him he would be as safe as houses. In his mind, he toyed with the notion of getting rid of Tony Jones permanently and decided not to make a decision just yet. He would see how it went.

  But if he tried to blackmail him? Threatened to tell the police? George smiled grimly this time. He would cross that bridge when he came to it. At the moment he needed Jones, and until that need had been answered he had to keep on good terms.

  Tony Jones was worried. Very worried. The more he saw on the news and in the papers about the blood testing, the more convinced he was that he would be caught out.

  If he was caught and they put him on remand, Patrick Kelly would make sure he was dead within twenty-four hours. If he refused to help and George was caught, he would spill the beans and Tony would still be at the mercy of Patrick Kelly.

  The news that Pat Kelly had sold off his massage parlours had rolled through London like a tidal wave. It was being said on the street that his daughter’s death had made him chary of owning anything to do with sex. But at the same time, he had apparently begun to expand on his repo businesses.

  Kelly was one of the hardest repomen in the country. It was rumoured he had even repossessed a jumbo jet for a British aircraft manufacturer who were owed hundreds of thousands of pounds by an African airline. Had repossessed it on the runway with all the passengers on board. Kelly had a reputation all right. He also knew all the right people, including the bird who was working on the murder inquiry. Barrow or whatever her name was. It was the talk of the town.

  He looked out of the door of his shop again. George Markham was supposed to have been there an hour before. It was just after nine and he had closed the shop especially. Now there were men hanging around waiting for the doors to reopen and that bloody Markham was nowhere to be seen.

  He had given Emmanuel the night off, with pay. He did not want anyone seeing or hearing his meet with Georgie. He was losing money hand over fist. It was Saturday night and all the nonces were out in force. Spending their cash on books, films and so-called marital aids. Tony Jones glanced at his watch again. It was nearly nine fifteen. Perhaps he wasn’t coming? Had changed his mind? He felt relieved as he thought that.

  A man banged on the window of the door and he went to it, staring through the reinforced metal glass. It was not George but a man called Merve the Perve. He was well known in Soho and a good spender. Tony shook his head and pointed to the handwritten sign: Closed from 8 to 10.

  The old man gave him a two-fingered sign and Tony gritted his teeth. There went a good fifty quids’ worth of business. He watched Merve walk away and sighed.

  Then he saw George and quickly unbolted the door and let him in. The shop was in semi-darkness as they made their way silently to the back. George sat down without being invited, which was not lost on Tony Jones. The quiet meek little man was slowly metamorphosing into a dangerous individual. He was even scaring Tony.

  ‘I have a list here of the questions being asked and the answers you will give. I understand they want a passport if possible, something with a picture on.’

  He passed the paper to Tony.

  The man glanced at it. George’s neat handwriting filled both sides of the paper.

  ‘I can get a passport, but it will cost you. I’ll need a photo of you as well, and your own passport number.’

  ‘I brought a yearly one I had done this morning, just in case.’

  He took it from his inside pocket and gave it to Tony.

  ‘How much more will this cost?’

  ‘Say three grand for the lot.’

  ‘All right, the money will be paid afterwards. When I’m sure it’s all OK. Don’t get it into your head to try anything. It’s a funny thing, you know. Once you’ve killed you lose your fear of it. Killing is easy. It’s become a kind of hobby for me now.’

  George watched Tony for a while until his words had sunk in then said, ‘I want you to take the test on Monday the nineteenth at about six o’clock in the evening. They are coming to my place of work at nine o’clock on Thursday the twenty-second. I want my piece of paper ready for them then, to say that I had it done before. I will meet you on the Duggan Road, just outside Grantley itself, in a pub called the Lion Rampant at eight thirty, I will bring half the money with me then.’

  ‘Why on Monday at six o’clock?’

  ‘Because that is when the police are winding up to leave the unit. If you get there for about half past five you should get in at about sixish. Being one of the last of the day I think they’ll just want to get you in and out as quickly as possible. Also, if you have a passport you’re home and dry. It’s the ones without a positive ID who are being given a hard time.’

  Tony Jones nodded.

  ‘All right. But I can’t get there on Monday. I’ll need a few days to get the passport sorted out.’

  George was annoyed.

  ‘Well, when can you meet me then?’

  ‘Wednesday. On Wednesday. We’ll stick to the same plan of where to meet and that, but I need time to get this thing sorted. It’s Wednesday or not at all.’

  ‘All right, but just make sure you get it sorted by then.’

  George stood up. ‘When you’ve memorised the answers, get rid of the paper.’

  He walked out of the tiny room without a by your leave and Tony Jones stared at the paper until he heard the shop door close. Pushing it into his pocket, he left the room and switched on the lights to reopen for business. As he worked, one thought kept recurring.

  It was of the day that Tippy had walked in battered and cut. He should have realised then that the bloke was two sandwiches short of a picnic. If he could rattle an old Tom like Tippy he was capable of anything.

  How the hell had he got into all this?

  George drove through London and out to Essex. He was listening to a talk show on Radio Essex as he hit the Dartford Tunnel. It was about the Grantley Ripper.

  Women were phoning up, saying he should be castrated when he was caught, given a lethal injection, locked away in Rampton or Broadmoor.

  George was enjoying listening to the silly suggestions. They would never catch him.

  Kate had rung Patrick and told him about the meet with Dan at the Bull. She sat just inside the doorway, watching the people come and go, a feeling of dread on her. She had told Patrick that she would see Dan first, try and appeal to him. If that didn’t work she would leave the pub and give Patrick a sign. He would be wa
iting with Willy, then he could have a word with Dan. One of his special words.

  Kate hoped it would not come to that.

  Dan came into the pub at ten past eight. He was wearing black trousers and a deep red sweater. He had taken his overcoat off as he walked in, and had it draped casually over his arm. Kate noticed more than one woman give him a second glance. Her big manly husband.

  She felt like saying out loud, ‘You couldn’t afford him, girls. He wouldn’t soil his hands on women from a backwater pub.’

  It annoyed her that he could still make her feel inadequate.

  He went to the bar without acknowledging her and came back with a spritzer for himself and a vodka and tonic for her.

  ‘Hello, Kate.’ He sat beside her, his voice smug. He knew just how much he had over her.

  Kate nodded to him. ‘Dan.’

  She watched his mouth on the rim of the glass. Once he had been everything to her. Now she was amazed to find that she felt nothing, not even contempt for him.

  ‘Why did you do it, Dan?’

  He thought for a while, searching her face for some kind of indication of what she was actually thinking.

  ‘Because, Kate,’ he pointed a finger at her, ‘you pushed me too far this time.’

  ‘I pushed you too far?’ Her voice was incredulous.

  He nodded, warming to his theme.

  ‘That’s right. I came to you for solace, if you like. I’ve always taken you for a good woman, but what do I find? I find the mother of my child with a bloody villain! My God, Kate, I just couldn’t believe it. You had the gall to pass me over for a thug.’

  He took another long drink of his spritzer.

  ‘It has nothing to do with you any more, Dan. My life’s my own. I’m working on a big case . . .’

  ‘Nothing to do with me? When my child is being neglected!’

  Kate grabbed his hand and pushed it back on to the table with such force the glass he was holding spilt its contents over the red sweater.

  ‘You listen to me, Danny Burrows. I put up with more than enough crap from you over the years, but this time, boy, it’s over. It stops. If I lose my job, who’s going to pay my mortgage? Not you, that’s for certain. You couldn’t pay your own way in a million years. That’s why you fuck the Antheas of this world. You’re a ponce, Dan, and I will not stand back and let you make a mockery of my life like you have of your own. I’m warning you . . .’

  Kate was getting annoyed. She had known this was useless and now wondered why she had even tried to get him to see her side of it; he was incapable of real feeling. Intelligent feeling.

  ‘You’re warning me? That’s a turn up for the book. You should be down on your bended knees, girl, because at this moment in time, I -’ he poked himself in the chest - ‘can make or break you, Kate Burrows. Your career is in the palm of my hand.’

  He held his hand in front of her face and clenched it into a fist.

  Kate saw how much he was enjoying himself, and was saddened. Once, a long time ago, this man had been the most important thing in her life. She had slept with him, cooked for him and had his child; he had walked out on her and she had held a torch for him for so long. Now, she was seeing him as her mother had seen him and she felt that her life had been wasted because she would not let go of her futile dreams for too long.

  She stood and picked up her cigarettes and bag.

  ‘Where do you thing you’re going?’

  ‘This is getting us nowhere. You make all these accusations about me yet you can prove nothing. You know something, Dan? You bore me. You bore the arse off of me. I only wish I’d realised it ten years ago.’

  She walked from the pub and Dan followed her. Outside in the gravel car park he caught up with her and, grabbing her arm, swung her round to face him. He slapped her. Not hard, but a stinging slap.

  It was then he saw Willy and Patrick.

  Kate saw his face change in the gloomy light of the car park and turned to see Patrick running across the gravel towards them.

  ‘You fucking bitch, you set me up!’

  As Dan turned to make his way to his car, Willy caught up with him and Kate watched as Dan was dragged towards Patrick’s BMW. A young couple pulled into the car park and got out of their car. They were watching Dan and Willy, a shocked look on their faces. Kate went to them and got out her ID. ‘Grantley police, we’re apprehending a known drug dealer. Did you happen to see anyone on the road as you drove here?’

  Both shook their heads, not wanting to get involved. Patrick walked sedately to the BMW with Kate, taking her arm and nodding at the couple. Willy had already forced Dan inside. Kate felt as if she was caught up in a nightmare. She went to the car and got in the front, Patrick got in the back with Dan, Willy wheelspun out of the car park and on to the Grantley Road. Kate twisted in her seat and looked at Dan. He was terrified.

  Willy slowed the car and Patrick lit a cigarette. He passed it to Kate in the front seat and then lit one for himself. He puffed on it until the end glowed bright red.

  Kate watched him and he winked at her.

  Then he grabbed Dan’s hair and held the cigarette a fraction of an inch away from his eyeball.

  ‘I could blind you, Danny boy, I could blind you without even thinking about it.’ Kate went to say something and Willy put his hand on her leg to warn her to keep silent.

  Patrick carried on talking in his sing-song voice and Kate watched, fascinated now, as Danny sat stock still. Not moving a muscle.

  ‘You see, you’ve annoyed me, and when I get annoyed I do terrible things. I could even cripple someone if they annoyed me enough. And you have annoyed me, Danny boy, believe me.’

  ‘Wh-Wh-What do you want?’ Dan’s voice was high as a schoolgirl’s.

  ‘I think you know what I want, I think you know what your wife wants. And I think you know we’re going to get it. Because if needs be, I will hunt this country high and low for you, Danny, and I’ll get you in the end. Like AIDS I am. You won’t even know I’m there for years, but when I do show up the consequences will be devastating. Do you get my drift?’

  Dan swallowed loudly. Kate heard it above the low drone of the car engine.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So you’re going to be a good boy and tell the CIB that you gave them a load of old cod’s, ain’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Right. Willy, stop the car and let the man out.’

  Patrick took the cigarette away from Danny’s face and flicked the ash on the floor.

  Willy stopped the car. Leaning over Dan, Patrick opened the door and pushed him out violently on to the road. He shut the door as they pulled away, leaving Dan lying in the road, so frightened he thought he was going to wet himself. He saw his overcoat being thrown out of the window and felt the sting of tears.

  Kate had sat there and let it happen. He couldn’t believe it.

  But one thing was certain: he was going to do what Kelly said. As he had always admitted to himself, he was not the hero kind.

  Kate stared out of the car, not sure if what she had witnessed had really happened.

  ‘All right, Kate?’ Patrick’s voice was low.

  She nodded.

  He sighed. It was a shame they had had to do it in front of her.

  ‘Look at it this way, Kate, if I hadn’t’ve frightened him - and that’s all I did, frighten him - you could kiss your job goodbye. He asked for that, girl. He damn’ well asked for it.’

  ‘Could you take me back to my car, please?’

  ‘Turn the car round, Willy, Kate wants to get home.’

  Patrick had a feeling of utter futility. He had been trying to help her, but maybe he had gone too far. Sometimes he forgot that she was from a different world. This night would make or break them, he knew that, but either way she still had her job and that, he knew, meant a lot to her. He had given her that much at least.

  Kate was still shaking when she got home. She went upstairs and locked herself in the bathroom, running
herself a hot bath. She stepped into it and lay there, trying to work out her troubled thoughts.

  Tonight she had seen another side to Patrick Kelly. It had not endeared him to her. She was finally seeing exactly what she was taking on, and it was frightening.

  But for all that, in a funny kind of way, she had enjoyed seeing Dan get his comeuppance. All those years of being hurt by him, of knowing that he had used her. Seeing the contempt he had for her tonight had hurt her more than she had thought possible. He had enjoyed having something over her. She had not enjoyed what Patrick had done to him, but she had enjoyed seeing Dan’s fear, seeing him grovel like that.

  It was these feelings that frightened her more than anything.

  George had had an accident. He had dropped his hot chocolate all over the living-room carpet and had spent the best part of an hour cleaning it. He had gone to the shed and got the Bex Bissel, starting to clean the carpet. Then the patch where the stain had been looked cleaner than the rest and he had ended up cleaning the whole carpet. Now, three hours later, he was finally finished and he was wondering if he still had time to watch his film when he heard the low throb of a taxi. He looked through the curtains as Elaine paid the man clumsily. She was as drunk as a lord.

  The bloody bitch!

  He watched her lurch from the taxi, clutching her bag, and trying to walk up the cement pathway to the front door. He could hear her fumbling for her keys and trying to place them in the lock. Everything seemed magnified a thousand times. The front door banged open and he heard her heavy footfalls approaching the lounge. He sat on an armchair waiting for her to come into the room, but she passed by it and made her way into the kitchen.

  He heard the click of the fluorescent lights and her heels clattering on the linoleum, then he grimaced as he heard her retch into the spotlessly clean sink.

  He stood up slowly and followed her. Standing in the doorway, he watched her back and shoulders heaving as she brought up port and brandy into the white sink.

  He walked to her.

  He saw the deep red stains in the sink like clotted blood and turned on the cold tap. He watched mesmerised as the stain became a light pink before swirling around and down the plug into the sewer.