‘Kerry is like her father.’
Her voice was harsh in contrast to her features and sounded almost gravelly from too many cigarettes and too much booze. They knew she was an alcoholic. She lit a cigarette and pointed at the thick file on the table.
‘I take it you want me to go over old ground again then? I’ve already spoken to you lot twice.’
Kate looked at the hard eyes before her and remembered what Robert Bateman had said about parents.
‘Have you anything to add to what you have already told us?’ Jenny wasn’t holding out much hope and this came over in her clipped tones.
Donna Alston grinned. ‘No. She’s a little whore. Always was - her father made sure of that. Is she still spinning everyone then? You really should take a leaf out of my book where she’s concerned and throw her out with the rubbish.’
‘Yet you take care of your grandchildren. How do you equate that with the feelings you have for your daughter?’
‘You don’t know Kerry like I do,’ the woman told them. ‘Her father did some atrocious things to her, I don’t deny that. But I also have to tell you that she ran away with him time and again when he was released from prison. Kerry is a waste of fucking space and if it was up to me, her kids would live here full-time. As it is I take them in when the social workers ask me to.’
She pointed her cigarette angrily at the two police-women.
‘I would take them any day, poor little mites, but they won’t let me. “Leave them with their mother,” they say. “She loves them.” Kerry doesn’t know what love is, not real love. Not love for your kids. She sees them like her father did - as a commodity. Something to be used. I was terrified of that ponce for years, but Kerry still sees him, still has contact with him. Can you imagine how that makes me feel? Well, can you?’ She stared into their faces. ‘Knowing what he’s capable of, she takes her kids to him for holidays. But you’ll never find out where he lives from her. They meet at caravan parks and other places like that. She knows better than to let on to me where he is because if I ever find out, I’ll go there and kill him for what he did. And that’s no empty threat, ladies. One day I will have him.’
‘Where was he from originally?’
Donna shrugged again and hawked deep in her throat, making Kate want to throw up.
‘Originally from Newcastle or that way. But you can never get anything from him. Like talking to the wall. He has a southern accent these days but when I first met him he was a northerner. But then, it could have been another act. You’d have to meet him to understand what I’m talking about. Charm the birds from the trees him, and then wring their little necks without a second’s thought. But I think Kerry probably knows where he is. He keeps in contact with her, I know that for a fact. She adores him, and I mean adores him. She spends her whole life waiting for him to get in touch.’
Jenny placed some photographs on the table. ‘Do you recognise any of the men in these photos?’
Donna picked them up and looked at them. Kate saw her jaw tighten and her face go pale as she looked at her grandchildren and daughter in poses that definitely weren’t for the family album.
There were tears in her voice as she said brokenly, ‘No, I don’t. But then, you can’t see any faces, can you?’
They were all quiet. Only the rattling of the tape in the machine could be heard.
‘I will get those kids this time, whatever that Bateman and his cronies say. They’re victims now as well as her. Victims of their own mother, the dirty bitch! And I’ll have them off her this time.’
‘Have you any idea who the children’s fathers may be?’
She shook her head and hawked again in her throat.
‘The eldest is definitely her father’s, I don’t care what anyone says. He ain’t all the ticket either, bless him. The other could be literally anyone’s - and I mean anyone’s. She’ll fuck a table leg if told to. That’s how he trained her, see. But I think it was in her anyway. Look at me other daughter, Mariah. She had the same and she’s all right. Hates him for what he did to her. I tried to stop it all, tried my hardest. I had seventy-eight stitches where he sliced me open when I finally blew the whistle on him. Nearly died for them girls I did, but she hates me, Kerry. Hates me guts. And the feeling is mutual.’
Kate didn’t know what to say.
‘Now Mariah, she heard from her father a few years ago. Told him to fuck off out of it. She’ll tell you that herself. In and out of the nut-house she’s been, thanks to him. Cutting herself up, taking overdoses. Oh, the trouble I have had. But at least I know she felt something, do you know what I’m saying? She knew that what had happened was wrong. Not like Kerry. She seemed to thrive on it all.’
Jenny picked up the photos and held out her hand to the small woman with the tearful eyes and the inner core of steel which had obviously kept her sane through her harsh existence.
‘If you can think of anything at all, anything that could help us . . .’
Donna smiled wearily. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll be the first to know.’
Kate and Jenny arrived at Kate’s at a little after 7 p.m. They had been interviewing the families of the accused all day and were both tired. Kate had the Social Services files under her arm and the dragging weight was a constant reminder of what lay inside their thick covers.
As they opened the front door they were assailed by the smell of a steak casserole and looked at each other in surprise. Then Kate saw her mother’s rotund body bustling down the hallway to greet her and her mouth dropped open in shock and surprise.
‘Mum!’
‘I’ll fecking Mum you, you villain! Right fool I made of meself going to Pat’s and finding out from the housekeeper that you two were at each other’s throats. Now get your coat off and get inside here and then I want to know what the feck has been going on here while I’ve been away!’
Jenny stood awkwardly in the doorway to the kitchen and Kate pulled her inside. ‘This is my mother who’s supposed to be in Australia . . .’
‘Evelyn is the name, and you are? I suppose it’s all your stuff that’s in Lizzy’s room, is it? Well, come away in and get this down the pair of you. I made enough to feed a family of culchies!’
Suddenly the house felt like home again and Kate realised what had been missing all along. Her mother brought the place to life with her ebullient personality and her love for living. Kate wished she had inherited that from her instead of the more self-contained personality she’d acquired from her long-dead father.
‘I was fed up trying to get you on the phone so I thought to meself: if the mountain has to go to fecking Mohammed then it will. I jumped on a plane and here I am. Knackered, tired and shagged out, but still well able for likes of you two!’
Jenny was laughing in genuine amusement and Kate was glad. It was wonderful to see her mother standing in the kitchen with her apron on, her ruddy cheeks glowing with pleasure at cooking once more for the daughter she still treated like a schoolgirl.
The breakfast bar was laden down with food as usual: home-made soda bread, a thick casserole, carrots in butter and cabbage in vinegar. A real Irish dinner that would fill you up and send you to sleep with its heaviness. In the oven was a large apple pie, and home-made custard simmered on the gas stove.
‘No Lizzy, Mum?’ Kate’s voice was wary and Eve sighed.
‘Jasus, she’s well in there, Kate. Men coming out of the woodwork and herself with eyes for only the one. Pray God in heaven she makes a good match. She loves it out there and they love having her there. Sure it has to be better than what’s on offer for her here.’
Jenny picked up the underlying tension between them on this subject and helped herself to food in silence.
Kate hugged her mother tightly. ‘Oh, Mum, it’s good to have you back home, it really is.’
Evelyn pretended she was intent on tidying her neat grey perm as she said, ‘And you can tell me what happened with himself later on, after we’ve eaten. When I got to his house this mor
ning I nearly died! Anyway, I have all your bits and pieces and I’ve put them away for you so that’s all done with. As for him, he hasn’t been near or by the house for days according to that Mary Anne he calls a housekeeper. Anyway, enough! Eat that lot and I have a nice dessert for you both and a bottle of Australian Chardonnay to sample.’
Jenny was amazed at the little woman before her; she thought she was fantastic, and as they ate, they chatted as if they had known one another all their lives. But Jenny had a feeling that Evelyn made everyone feel like that. She was so open and so obviously kind it was impossible not to like her.
‘Oh, Jasus! That eejit Ratchette phoned and said for you to ring him as soon as you got home. But wait until you’ve eaten. He sounds like a right sourpuss if ever I heard one. He can fecking keep.’
Jenny and Kate smiled at one another like conspirators. When Evelyn left the kitchen Jenny said sincerely, ‘She’s great, Kate. You’re very lucky.’
Kate was pleased and it showed.
‘I love her so much. I don’t know what I would have done without her over the years. After Dan and everything that happened . . .’
‘I wish my mother was like that. But we get what we’re given in this life and nothing can change that. Look what we’ve had to deal with at work, eh?’
‘Food for thought, I suppose. But do you believe that some people are born bad, like Kerry’s mother seems to think?’
Jenny thought about it for a second.
‘To be honest, I really don’t know, Kate. Some people seem capable of great hatred and some of great love. All this about there being a thin line between them just muddles things, I think. One thing I do know, though, is that with Evelyn as a mother, you couldn’t help but grow up well, eh?’
Kate didn’t answer her, she just smiled.
Evelyn had been a major force in Lizzy’s life too, and look what had happened to her. Kate suspected that though her mother had probably wanted to come home anyway, Lizzy was misbehaving in some way and this had spurred her on. It wasn’t anything she could put her finger on, it was just a guess. And her guesses were usually spot on where her mother was concerned.
As Eve bustled back into the kitchen the phone rang and Kate got up to answer it.
‘Let the machine pick it up, child. I haven’t seen you for five minutes and knowing that twit Ratchette you’ll be off out the door in seconds!’
They all heard his voice over the answer machine and laughed.
‘Hello, Kate. I really don’t want to tell you this over the phone, but I’m afraid that Patrick Kelly was shot today in Ilford High Street. When you pick this message up could you please ring me? My home number is . . .’
They sat together in complete silence as they realised what he had just said. Kate looked at her mother. Her lips were moving but no words were emerging. It was as if she had gone dumb. She was shaking her head in disbelief.
‘Pat’s been shot . . . God in heaven keep him safe!’ Eve blessed herself and poured Kate more wine. ‘Get that down you, you need something, girl. Then we’ll ring that fecker back and find out exactly what has happened.’
Kate was visibly shaking. It was as if her whole body was moving of its own volition. Her huge dark eyes were dry but filled with pain. Eve would have given anything to take that expression from them.
‘Who the feck would shoot your man? It’s getting like fecking Belfast in this place. Shootings and stabbings . . .’
‘Evelyn, I really think we should get Kate a doctor.’
She passed out just as Jenny finished speaking, slipping heavily to the floor. Evelyn was crying now, cradling her daughter’s head.
‘I knew it was time to come back, I had a feeling she needed me. Jesus Christ, she’ll go mad with grief. The girl will go mad with grief. If ever a pair were meant to be, it was them. They were that close.’
She was still sobbing when Jenny picked up the phone and called Leila, explaining what had happened. They wanted to keep this as quiet as possible from their colleagues. Gossip would be rife enough without everyone knowing Kate had fainted with shock. Even in her grief she would want to keep something like that private. It was the way she was made.
Willy woke up when someone threw cold water over him. He was already frozen.
‘Your boss is dead.’
He heard the words but was unsure whether to believe them. ‘It would take more than you to waste Pat Kelly,’ he said in a weak voice.
The unseen man laughed. ‘Don’t you want to know where this leaves you?’
‘Not really. By the way, mate, thanks for the drink. I needed one.’
Sergei shook his head in amazement. He had seen some hard men in his time but Willy Gabney was as tough as old boots and the other man was impressed by his resilience.
‘I shot him myself,’ he boasted. ‘Today, in his car. I watched as the bullets hit him and he bled away his life’s blood.’
If Sergei was determined to get a reaction, he was disappointed.
‘I don’t believe you, son. Pat Kelly will take you and break you. For your sake I hope he is dead, mate. If he ain’t, you’d better fucking run.’
Even in his obvious distress the man was still as hard as nails. The Russian walked from the cellar. Looking at the two men waiting outside the door he said in awed tones, ‘Still he is fighting with his words.’
The younger men were as impressed as he was.
‘I heard him talking to himself earlier. He was muttering on about Millwall or somewhere. And he was counting all night, one to a thousand, over and over again fast.’
They were all quiet for a moment, admiring Willy in their own way.
‘Are we to kill him?’
The older man shook his head. ‘We may need him yet. He knows much and we may need that knowledge. Feed him soon. Get him washed and then we will decide. Once he realises that his boss has gone he will see the sense in helping us at last.’
‘Maybe not, though. Such loyalty is hard to buy. It is given through respect.’
They all admired William Gabney, yet any of them would have killed him at one word from their own boss. William Gabney’s kind of respect for authority they understood. They shared it themselves.
They gave him food and a bottle of whisky. Somehow they knew that vodka would not be appreciated.
Book Two
Virtue knows to a farthing what it has lost by not having been vice.
- Horace Walpole,
Fourth Earl of Orford, 1717-97
The Extraordinary Mr Wilkes, 1794
I was so young, I loved him so, I had
No mother, God forgot me, and I fell.
- Robert Browning, 1812-89
A Blot in the ’Scutcheon, 1843
Chapter Twelve
Patrick’s sisters arrived at St George’s Hospital in Ilford together and slipped past the waiting press photographers easily. Grace, with her blonde hair and heavily made-up eyes, looked much younger than she was. Violet, on the other hand, looked older than her age. Unlike Grace, who had a face and skin made for foundation, Vi always looked like a garishly painted old woman when she wore make-up.
Neither of them spoke as they went up to the ICU together. A young Asian doctor with tired eyes smiled uneasily when he greeted them.
‘How is he?’
‘Very bad. I am afraid he is on a life-support machine.’
‘Will he make it?’
The doctor shrugged. ‘We really don’t hold out too much hope. But he is strong, and he is obviously a fighter . . .’ His voice trailed off.
Violet watched as Patrick’s chest rose and fell every four seconds as the ventilator did its work. The noise was intimidating, the banks of machines scaring both the sisters. Seeing their Patrick, always so strong and full of life, reduced to this was shocking to them.
‘Jesus Christ, Grace. What more can happen to the poor sod? Renée, Mandy, and now this. I told him not two days ago he was getting too old for all this. He looked rough, Gracie, real
ly rough. He’s going greyer by the day, and falling out with Kate ain’t helped. But who can blame her? This is the last thing she needs with her job and that, ain’t it?’
Grace took her brother’s hand gently. ‘Oh, well, God forbid he should interrupt her bloody work, Vi.’
Her voice was sarcastic and Violet bit her lip. Grace had always been a force to be reckoned with in their family. Both Violet and Patrick and automatically given way to her because she was so aggressive. But this was one time Violet was not going to let her call the shots. Pat loved Kate and she was good for him, whatever bloody Gracie thought. And Pat had come to Violet when he was down because he knew she would stand by him and not give him grief of the earhole.
‘I mean, Kate’s a funny fucker,’ Grace went on. ‘I know she looks down her nose at me and mine. Oh, she’s never said anything, but I know . . .’
Violet grasped her sister’s hand in hers. ‘He loves the bones of you, Gracie, always did. But he had to have a life of his own as well. Kate was good for him, whatever you thought.’
Grace glanced around the room and sniffed. ‘Well, where is she then? Miss high and fucking mighty . . .’
Vi left it. She knew how upset her sister was. She also knew she was dealing with a jealous woman. Kate had come in and usurped Grace’s influential position in Pat’s life and she wasn’t going to forgive that one lightly. After Renée, he had relied on Grace and she had enjoyed that very much. Too much, in fact. But Violet couldn’t say that because anything that could be construed as criticism caused all sorts of rows.
Grace was hard work, always had been.
Violet looked down at Patrick and felt frightened inside at the whiteness of his face. He looked like a waxwork, as if all his vibrant personality had drained away. He had taken a bullet to his neck and one to his buttock, something she knew would annoy the life out of him if he ever woke up.
The consultant had said on the phone that he was very poorly, whatever that was supposed to mean, and that the next twenty-four hours would be crucial. Patrick had severe trauma to the brain, apparently. Violet believed that doctors had enough on their plate without constant questioning from relatives. As long as they got her brother better she didn’t care what they did to him. But looking at his beloved face, she didn’t hold out much hope of that. He looked dead already.