The Ladykiller

by Martina Cole

  ‘Cost me nigh on that again to restore it back to its original beauty, but it was worth it. Renée loved it and so did Mandy. Now though - well, it’s empty without them. What’s a house without a woman in it?’

  Kate instinctively grasped his hand.

  He stared into the dark depths of her eyes. She really was lovely, with a mature quality he had grown unused to in a woman.

  Suddenly he wanted her wholeheartedly. He wanted to feel her arms around him. He wanted her to love him. He wanted, needed, a woman’s loving. A woman’s, not a girl’s. A real woman’s loving.

  Kate read the expression in his eyes and parted her full lips to speak. Then he kissed her - a long slow kiss that set her tingling right down to her toes. And Kate kissed him back, caught up in feelings that had nothing to do with background or career or anything except pure sensation.

  He wanted her. She could feel the want and the need in him. She felt him pushing her backwards on the overstuffed settee and she let him. She lay back gladly.

  This was what she had been waiting for since she had first met him though she had never admitted it to herself until now. Dan was not even in the running any more. She wanted Patrick Kelly.

  She felt his big rough hand running along her body outside her new dress. Felt the tingle as he found the skin of her thighs. Then everything was forgotten except the moment. He pulled away from her and looked into her face, his expression soft and serious at the same time.

  ‘Will you stay the night, Kate?’ His voice was husky. She loved him for having the consideration to stop now. For wanting to make sure she knew what she was doing.

  She nodded.

  Picking her up as if she were a doll, he placed her on to unsteady feet.

  She followed him up the large curved staircase and decided that even if this was for one night only, she would be happy. Even one night with Patrick Kelly was better than none at all.

  Inside the bedroom she stared around her in awe at the sheer scale and opulence of the room.

  Patrick was slowly taking off his clothes and Kate felt scared for a moment. She was not a young girl any more. She was forty years old.

  Patrick walked to her and pulled her red wool dress over her head, exposing her tiny naked breasts that had never really needed a brassiere, and her lower body, encased in black tights. As she pulled her head free she looked at his face fearfully.

  He smiled.

  ‘You’re lovely, Kate. Really lovely.’

  And she believed that she was, then.

  He pulled her to the bed. Finally naked, they gazed at one another in the muted light from the lamps placed either side of the bed.

  In all her years with Dan she had never had this abandoned feeling. Had never felt the exquisite excitement that she felt at this moment. Had never experienced a hunger the like of which was eating at her now.

  In the back of her mind she knew that the situation should never have got this far. The man was a villain. Patrick Kelly was a bad one, a robber, a violent repoman. ‘The Snatchman’ was his nickname. But at this moment Kate could not have cared less if he was a mass murderer.

  She wanted him.

  She had him.

  She kissed him.

  She would worry later. Much later.

  Patrick Kelly kissed her back, then caressed her breasts, biting the nipples gently, pulling them up with his lips, until they were like tiny pyramids in his mouth. The wetness of his tongue as it slipped over them made Kate arch her back with delight.

  Kelly was an experienced lover and Kate was glad. It had been so long for her she was like a dam waiting to burst. She felt his hand move gently down her body, caressing her thighs, then she felt the heat and the moistness as he slipped a finger inside her. She groaned. She could feel Patrick’s erection digging into the side of her leg, his excitement making her more breathless by the second. He played with her tiny button, running his thumb over it lightly, until she tried to pull his hand away. Her whole body was trembling. She opened her legs wider, feeling her juices trickling out on to his fingers. Then he was moving down her body, his dark head moving slowly away from her and as he moved he kissed her skin, the little biting kisses that she was beginning to love so much.

  When his mouth engulfed her sex she held in a long breath. She was going to come. She felt the waves begin to wash over her, and as each wave began, Patrick licked and sucked her, gently pushing a finger inside her simultaneously. Kate had never experienced such ecstasy in her life.

  When, finally, the tremors stopped, she looked down the bed at his smiling shiny face.

  ‘Oh, Patrick . . .’

  She watched him climb from the bed and put on his dressing gown. His member was still swollen and purple.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Kate’s voice was husky and bewildered.

  ‘There’s only one thing to do after an experience like that.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘That is to go down to my wine cellar and get a bottle of nice cold vintage champagne. After a couple of glasses I think you’ll be ready for round two.’

  He kissed her on the mouth and she tasted herself on his lips. As he walked from the room she hugged herself. Already, she wanted him to hurry back.

  Patrick walked down the stairs in a daze. She was so juicy. He had never experienced anything like it before. It was as if he had opened her up in some way. It had taken all his willpower not to plunge himself inside her there and then.

  But instinctively he knew that she needed gentle loving, the hard, penetrating loving would come later. Tonight she needed a long soft loving, and he was the man to give it to her.

  He could not believe his luck. Who’d have thought she’d be so sexy? He got the champagne and two glasses and went back up the stairs. He smiled to himself as he realised he was practically running. It was a long time since he had been like this.

  Too long.

  Louise Butler was sobbing hard. In fact she was getting on George’s nerves.

  ‘Shut up!’ His voice cut into her, sending shivers through her body.

  ‘I . . . I want to go . . . go . . . home. Please.’ She drew the last word out on a whine.

  George gritted his teeth. The mask was hot again. His white cotton gloves stood out like beacons on the steering wheel. He glanced at her. She had drawn her lips back over her teeth while she cried, rocking herself backwards and forwards in the seat. Long strands of snot were hanging from her nose.

  George shuddered.

  Trust a woman to make a mountain out of a molehill! Anyone would think he was going to murder her. He was completely oblivious of the Swiss army knife clutched hotly in his hand, which caught the moonlight as he steered the car and drew Louise’s eyes like a magnet.

  He was the Grantley Ripper. He was the man everyone was talking about. He was going to kill her. She knew that as surely as she knew she would never get to the rave in Woodham Woods.

  She cried harder, feeling a wave of sickness wash over her.

  George drove to a large quarry near Woodham. He parked the car by the side of the deserted road and dragged Louise out of the passenger seat. The ground was hard beneath her feet and she stumbled, falling heavily on to the frosty ground. George dragged her upright by her hair.

  ‘You are annoying me, young lady.’

  He pulled her through a hole in the fencing. In the distance Louise could hear the music from the rave and every now and then a shrill cry broke the night. She was crying desperately, all the fight had left her body. She could only wait and see what was going to happen.

  George pulled her towards a large hole that was blacker than the night around it. Giving her a final shove, he pushed her inside. Louise cried out as she felt her body tumbling down into the blackness. She felt her legs being pushed up over her head and heard the crack as her ankle hit a lump of granite. Her tracksuit and flying jacket dragged on the ground as she slid and bumped down into the blackness. She lay at the bottom, winded and in pain. She heard the
man in the mask sliding down slowly and knew she should try and make a run for it but her ankle was already swelling inside her Reebok. Her hands and face were skinned from the descent, the gravel sticking to the skin and stinging.

  She lay there in the pitch black. She had a pain in her chest that was not due to the fall, it was fear. Pure, naked fear.

  George scrambled down to her. The mask was hot and he loved it. Loved the feel of it and the smell of it. He also loved the fear that was emanating from this girl. Thumbing lifts! My God, asking for trouble, just asking for it. Well, she had got it now, by Christ. She had well and truly got it now.

  George felt the rage roar in his head. A red hot rage that made his hands tremble. Pulling a torch from his pocket he played the beam across her prostrate form. He frowned. She was unconscious. He sighed heavily, then taking back his heavily booted foot he kicked her in the chest, sending her skidding across the gravel. Still she did not move.

  George sighed again. The mask was making his head itch.

  Still she did not move.

  George knelt on the gravel, and taking the knife more firmly in his hand he stabbed her in the stomach. As the knife entered her she seemed to try to double up, but it was only a reflex action. George was puzzled. He pulled the heavy leather of her flying jacket from her arm and tried to find a pulse. There was none. She was dead. George was fuming. How dare she die on him? How dare she just die like that! He pushed the knife into her calf, through the thin material of her shellsuit and the soft plump skin, hitting the bone.

  George sat on his haunches, biting his lip inside the mask. He pulled it off and felt the cold air bite into his hot skin, his scanty hair standing up and waving gently in the breeze. George spat into the dirt and pulled the knife out of the girl’s leg, then he began to undress her.

  He carefully pulled down the bottom of her tracksuit and cut off her panties. He opened the flying jacket and folded it then unzipped the tracksuit top. He was surprised to find that she was very big-breasted. He cut the white lycra bra so that her breasts sprang free.

  He had placed the torch on a small mound of dirt and the light shone on to Louise Butler’s cold and lifeless skin.

  George cheered up. He glanced at his watch. He had hours before he had to get home. He began to hum.

  In the distance the rave had really got underway. The music was blaring and the partygoers were dancing. It was New Year’s Eve. Everyone was waiting for twelve o’clock, for 1990 to begin.

  Everyone except Louise Butler.

  ‘Happy New Year, Kate.’ Patrick’s voice was soft.

  ‘Happy New Year, Patrick. I hope it’s a good one for you, I really do.’

  He smiled sadly. ‘Well, I’ve got to be honest, girl, I ain’t looking forward to it.’

  Kate felt a great sadness for the man lying beside her. While they had made love she knew that, for a short time anyway, he had forgotten the events of the previous week. It had crossed her mind that he was using her, but wasn’t she using him? He was only the second man she had ever slept with. In forty years, she had had two men. In this day and age it was laughable! Only she wasn’t laughing.

  Kate had surprised herself with the intensity of her response. She had never known any other man but Dan, but after tonight she was more than aware of what she had been missing all these years. Dan made love like he did everything else: with only himself in mind. Patrick Kelly, whom Dan would look on as an ill-educated lout, had actually spent time on her enjoyment. Oh, and she had enjoyed it! More than she had ever thought possible. The earth-shattering orgasms that she had read about were not a con, they were there just waiting for her to experience them. She snuggled into Patrick’s hard body, enjoying the feel of him.

  ‘I bet this would go down like a lead balloon if it was known in Grantley Police Station. The DI knocking off a local villain!’ His voice was jocular and Kate found herself laughing with him.

  ‘Knocking off? Thank you very much, Mr Kelly!’

  Patrick held her tightly.

  ‘That’s just a figure of speech. You’re a good woman, Kate.’

  She put her face to his and kissed him. Let the outside world hang. At this moment all she was interested in was him. She would worry about the rights and wrongs of the situation in the morning. As she felt his hands travel across her body, she closed her eyes and with them her mind.

  ‘Oh, Happy New Year!’

  Elaine had been kissed until her lips were sore and her lipstick just a faded memory. She had not enjoyed herself so much in all her married life. Normally when they were invited to a party George never wanted to go. Elaine had therefore always declined. Since her newfound freedom, however, she had decided that she would get as much out of life as she could. With or if possible without George. And tonight had been her watershed. She had been danced off her feet and had loved every second of it.

  She looked around the crowded room for her best friend, Margaret Forrester, and smiled as she saw her sitting on her husband’s lap. Elaine wished she could have a marriage like that. Where everything was just plain and simple, laughing and joking the norm. Her face fell as she thought about her life with George. Still, they were going to Florida and she was going to Spain, so at least this year she had something to look forward to. And this party looked as if it could go on for hours yet!

  ‘Would you like to dance?’ Elaine turned to face the man who had spoken. He was about fifty-five and fat, but jolly with it. She had already danced with him three times. Someone had put on a Roy Orbison album and she slipped into the man’s arms to the strains of ‘Crying’. She loved Roy Orbison, and she loved all the attention.

  ‘I’m ever so sorry, but I’ve forgotten your name.’

  The man grinned, showing pristine but ill-fitting dentures. ‘It’s Hector . . . Hector Henderson. And you’re the lovely Elaine.’

  She felt a tingle going down her spine that could have been romance or could just as well have been the drink. Whatever it was, she liked it.

  George was pushed from her mind as they took to the tiny space allocated for dancing in Margaret Forrester’s front room.

  Joey Meeson watched as Lizzy danced, her body undulating to the thumping rhythm of the acid house music. About an hour earlier they had each dropped an Ecstasy tab. He could feel himself ‘coming up’ now. Everything around him had taken on a rosy hue and he felt excitement in his guts. Lizzy’s hair was flying around her head as she danced faster and faster. Since he had been going with her he had been having a great time. No one would think her mother was an Old Bill. Lizzy wanted to try everything and she did it in style.

  Joanie also watched her. Joanie was cold and fed up. She glanced at her watch and sighed. She was supposed to be sleeping at Lizzy’s house tonight and Lizzy was supposed to be staying over at hers. That meant they had to stay out all night whether she liked it or not. Lately Lizzy was getting on her nerves. All she was interested in was getting out and getting laid.

  A black boy with extensions on his hair walked over to her and asked her to dance. Joanie bucked up. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be such a cop-out after all . . .

  Lizzy went over to Joey and put her hand on his arm.

  ‘Enjoying yourself, Liz?’

  ‘Oh, it’s great. Really great. Look at the lights!’

  To Lizzy, with her heightened awareness, the lights were a swimming halo of blues and red.

  ‘How about we go to my car for a while?’

  Lizzy giggled. ‘OK.’

  She was so far gone that Joey had to help her walk across the field to where he had parked. As they made their way through the throng of people, boys and girls laughed and joked with them. One boy, dressed like a refugee from Woodstock, was spinning around in circles. His hair was braided with flowers and he smoked a large joint. Lizzy and Joey laughed at him. The further they got from the rave the more bodies they had to step over. Some were making out; others were just tripping out of their skulls, lost in their own world.

  Joey o
pened the Sierra and they both got in the back. He kissed her hard, pushing his tongue down her throat.

  ‘Happy New Year, Lizzy.’

  She looked up, trying to focus on his brown eyes.

  ‘Happy New Year, Joey.’ He slipped his hand up her top and she giggled.

  ‘One moment, please, I’ve got a New Year’s present for you.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Joey was smiling in the darkness.

  Then he felt his trousers being undone and her dark head slipped down on to his lap.

  ‘Oh, Lizzy. Happy New Year.’

  She was wild all right, and he loved it.

  George decided to bury the girl’s body in the gravel. Let them look for this one. Let the police earn their bloody money for once. He covered her over and ran the torch around the dirt, checking that he had not left any incriminating clues. Then he walked backwards, scraping the gravel with the side of his boot. He was certainly not going to do their job for them. Oh, no.

  He scrambled up the side of the quarry to his car. The heavy thump of acid house music was everywhere. George frowned as he put his mask neatly in the brown carrier bag before driving home.

  The youngsters today were like animals. What sort of parents would allow their daughter out until this time of night? There was no decency in the world any more. The family was a thing of the past. In this self-righteous mood he drove home.

  Well, he would make them all sit up and take notice. 1990 was going to be his year. He would make all the parents and husbands in Grantley frightened. Then they might take a bit more care instead of allowing young girls to roam the streets like common prostitutes!

  A man had to be in charge. It was a man’s duty. And George Markham had never shirked his duty.

  He was back home, showered, changed and in bed by eleven forty-five. Elaine tripped in at four thirty and George was well and truly asleep. She felt a moment’s remorse as she looked down at his sleeping face. Then she thought of Hector and smiled. Hector Henderson. She said the name to herself a few times, enjoying the feeling it created. A good strong name. Hector Henderson. He had given her his phone number!