The Ladykiller

by Martina Cole

  She pulled into her drive and sat looking at the house. It was early evening and the day had been too long. Far too long and far too fraught. She rubbed the back of her neck with a gloved hand. She had to walk into work tomorrow and face her colleagues. It was the talking point of the station, she would lay money on that.

  Groaning slightly, she got out of the car. Inside the house, all was quiet. Kate went to the kitchen and turned on the light. She put the kettle on for a cup of coffee. Preparing three cups she went upstairs to her mother’s room. She opened the door slightly and listened. All she could hear were soft snores. She shut the door gently then went to her daughter’s room.

  She opened the door and went inside. Lizzy lay in bed, with just her head showing. Kate tiptoed to her and looked down. Her long dark hair fanned out across the pillow. In the light from the streetlamp Kate could see the long dark lashes against her daughter’s cheekbones. Lizzy really was lovely. She had so much going for her, why had she felt the urge to destroy herself? Because as far as Kate was concerned, that was all people who took drugs wanted to do.

  She felt a tear squeeze itself from the corner of her eye. Turning away, she looked at the familiar little room: the dolls, the make-up scattered over the dressing table, the books, haphazardly placed on their shelf. She had attempted to clean up at least.

  Then Kate saw the piece of paper. Walking the few steps to the dressing table, she picked it up. Words registered in her mind, but she just could not comprehend them. She read the piece of paper again and again.

  Sorry, Mum . . . Sorry, Mum. Tell Gran I love her . . . Tell Gran . . .

  She dragged her eyes from the paper to the bed and the deathly whiteness of Lizzy’s skin made her spring into action. She dragged back the covers and stared. Even in the dim light she could see the blood. Somewhere in her mind she registered the fact it was still pumping.

  Picking up a hand towel from a nearby chair, she wrapped both of Lizzy’s wrists tightly. Her fingers were suddenly stiff, she couldn’t control them. The hammering of her heart in her ears was like a drum beating.

  She ran into her bedroom to phone an ambulance. She registered the blood on the white telephone. It was Lizzy’s blood. Lizzy’s. She answered the telephonist’s questions calmly and rationally, she had no idea how. It was the policewoman in her taking over.

  Please hurry. Oh God, please hurry. She was not sure whether she was speaking out loud. She put down the phone and rushed back in to Lizzy.

  Oh God, please let her be all right. I’ll do anything you want if you let her be all right. I’ll go to Mass every day of my life . . .

  Like many another before, she was trying to bargain with God for her child’s life.

  Then, somewhere in the stillness, she heard the ambulance siren.

  It wasn’t until she was stumbling from the room that she saw her mother. Evelyn stood in her bedroom doorway, her face ashen.

  Kate couldn’t look at her. She went in the ambulance with Lizzy.

  Of all the things she had expected from life, the events of the last twenty-four hours had not been remotely near them. If someone had told her what was going to happen she would have laughed in their face.

  Now, in the middle of the biggest case she had ever worked on, she had problems of a much larger scale and Kate was aware that her life would never be the same again.

  Kate sat in the hospital waiting room. The young doctor was smiling at her. She noticed that his hair had scissor marks in it, as if it had just been dry cut. He had a day’s growth of beard covering a weak chin.

  ‘Well, we’ve stitched her, Mrs Burrows. The cuts were quite deep, but not really life threatening as such. She cut lengthwise along the arm and missed the main arteries. She was unconscious because she had taken some sleeping pills. But she’s awake now, though groggy.’

  ‘Can I see her?’

  ‘Of course. She’ll stay here tonight and the psychiatrist will see her tomorrow.’

  ‘Psychiatrist?’ Kate’s voice was small.

  ‘It’s standard procedure after a suicide attempt. Don’t worry, everything will be all right.’

  Kate swallowed the trite remark. He was only trying to make her feel better.

  She stood up and stubbed out her cigarette. It had in fact gone out minutes before but she hadn’t noticed.

  ‘Can I go and see her then?’

  ‘Of course. Try not to keep her too long. Sleep’s the best thing for her now. Sleep is a great healer.’

  Kate felt an urge to tell him to get stuffed. But she didn’t. Instead she gave him a tight smile.

  ‘Thank you.’ Slipping past him she went into her daughter’s ward. Lizzy had the curtains pulled around her bed and Kate stepped towards them gingerly.

  She saw Lizzy’s eyes open and tried hard to smile.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mum. I really am sorry.’

  ‘Oh, Lizzy!’ All the pain and anguish inside her rose like a tidal wave and enveloped her.

  Mother and daughter cried together.

  ‘Everything will be all right, Lizzy, I promise you. We’ll work this out, I swear. We’ll work this out.’

  ‘Oh, Mum, I wish Gran hadn’t seen my diary.’

  Kate could hear the little hiccoughing sounds in her voice.

  ‘We’ll make it right between us. You just concentrate on getting better.’

  A nurse rustled into the tiny space. Kate could smell Pears soap and the smell brought back memories of when she had been younger. When Lizzy had been a baby.

  ‘I think you’d best get yourself off home now. She really does need her sleep.’

  Kate nodded. Kissing Lizzy on the lips, she pushed back her hair from her face and tried valiantly to smile.

  ‘I’ll be here in the morning, OK?’

  Lizzy nodded and closed her eyes. Kate walked from the ward. As she pushed open the swing doors to the corridor, Patrick walked towards her.

  ‘Oh, Kate, I’m so sorry.’ He put out his arms and she walked into them. Feeling the strength of him, the security he offered. He pulled her to him, stroking her hair and kissing her forehead. At the display of sympathy she was undone. She sobbed into his cashmere overcoat, smelling the peculiar odour of him, Old Spice and cigar smoke.

  As he accompanied her out of the hospital and towards his car, it did not occur to Kate to ask how he knew where she was. How he knew what had happened.

  She was just glad to see him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Evelyn heard a car pull up and poked her head through the heavy curtains of the front room. She sniffed loudly. It was a big expensive car, must be someone for one of the neighbours. Then as she looked she saw Kate getting out of the back. She frowned. Too much had happened today for anything else really to surprise her. She saw the man emerge from the car and as they both turned towards the house she quickly shut the curtain.

  She sat back on the settee until she heard Kate’s key in the lock. She couldn’t summon up her usual boisterous welcome for her daughter. She heard Kate speaking then a man’s voice, a deep, dark brown voice. Wiping her eyes once more with a sodden hanky, Evelyn waited for them to come into the room.

  Patrick helped Kate with her coat then shrugged off his overcoat. He slung them on the banister in a casual manner. Somehow this little act pleased Kate. Her home was not very grand and she knew it. But Patrick was acting as if he lived her kind of life, which indeed he had once. Only, from his beginnings, Kate’s home would probably have been something to aspire to.

  Patrick followed her into the front room, his eyes taking in her home. He noticed everything, from the good but worn carpets to the books that abounded in the room. It looked comfortable and warm. He saw a tiny woman sitting on the settee, dressed all in black. She had a remarkable face, one that denoted a quick intellect and a kind heart. He warmed to her immediately.

  ‘Mum, this is a friend of mine, Patrick Kelly. He brought me home from the hospital.’

  Evelyn inclined her head. She noted the bre
adth of his shoulders, the long legs and dark good looks, and decided Kate had better taste than she’d given her credit for. Then the name registered. It was the man they had been talking about at Christmas dinner. Evelyn pushed the thoughts from her mind. With a name like Kelly, he must have some Irish in him so he couldn’t be all bad.

  ‘How do you do?’

  Patrick smiled at her, and she found herself smiling back.

  ‘The child?’ She stared into her daughter’s drawn face.

  ‘She’s fine, Mum, or at least as fine as she could be in the circumstances. The cuts weren’t deep enough to really harm her. I found her just in time. She’s to see a psychiatrist in the morning.’

  Patrick sat on a chair by the fire and Kate turned to him. ‘Can I get you a drink? I’ve got some Scotch somewhere. ’ She went to the drinks cabinet and opened the door. She poured out three large whiskies.

  When everyone had their drink Kate sat beside her mother. Patrick looked at them. They were like two peas in a pod, both with the same high cheekbones and widow’s peak. Both had a slightly Roman nose. Individually, all their features were beautiful, but altogether they just missed being wholly lovely. Instead they had what was termed attractive faces. Women who looked better as they got older. Kate certainly looked all right to him.

  Evelyn broke the silence.

  ‘So she’s to see a head man, is she? Well, I think it’s for the best, Kate. There’s something drastically wrong with the child.’

  She nodded, her eyes on the floor. Patrick’s heart went out to her.

  ‘You’re the man who lost your daughter, aren’t you?’ Evelyn asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Tragic to lose a child like that.’

  He looked into the old woman’s face, saw the sympathy there and the understanding.

  ‘My son went to Australia, you know. I’ve not seen him for twenty years. It’s like he died. I hear from him regularly but it’s not the same as holding them to you. Watching them grow and turn into whatever they become. He’s a big grown man now and all I have are photographs to chart his years. It’s not like seeing for yourself.’

  Her little speech touched Patrick to the core. He felt the empathy between them. Knew that she had warmed to him, that she wanted to ease his grief, and for a dangerous few seconds he thought he would cry. He swallowed the lump that had come to his throat and downed his whisky.

  ‘Are you family Irish, Mr Kelly?’ Evelyn had to keep talking, had to stop thinking about Lizzy.

  ‘Yes, My father was a Dublin man and my mother was from Cork. I was born in Glasnevin. I came over here when I was two.’

  ‘Jesus save us, I know Glasnevin well! Is your mother still alive?’

  Patrick shook his head. ‘No, I’m afraid not. She was a wonderful woman.’

  ‘I bet you have some great memories of her?’

  He smiled again.

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  He saw his mother in his mind’s eye, her arms red to the elbows from doing other people’s washing and ironing, her knees permanently swollen from scrubbing floors. But he also saw the tiny smile she had, that serene look when she came home from six o’clock Mass every morning. Her pressing a shilling in his hand every birthday, no matter how hard up they were. Oranges at Christmas and a small toy. Oh, he had fond memories all right.

  Kate watched her mother and Patrick as if in a trance. She could see that if the circumstances of their meeting had been happier they would have had a good drink of her mother’s secret stash of Bushmill’s and reminisced all night. She was glad Patrick was here. He was like a big dependable rock, taking both their troubled minds off Lizzy. But her daughter had to be helped and that was what scared Kate.

  Getting up she went to the cabinet to replenish their glasses and found that the Bell’s bottle was nearly empty. Seeing this Evelyn got up from her seat and said, ‘I’ll go and get me Bushmill’s.’

  She went from the room and Patrick smiled at Kate. ‘Try and relax. Lizzy’s in the best place for her at the moment. Tomorrow’s time enough to worry.’

  ‘I feel so bloody useless. How could all that have gone on under my nose?’

  Patrick grasped her hand and pulled her to him.

  She stared into his eyes.

  ‘Look, Kate, you’re not the only person this has happened to. Every parent says this at some time. I remember when I found out Mandy was sleeping with that geek Kevin, I felt like throttling the pair of them. But it’s something that’s happened and you can’t make it unhappen. No matter how much you might want to. I told you, build some bridges now. Let some good come out of this.’

  Oh, he sounded so right, but deep inside Kate she felt she had failed Lizzy somehow.

  Evelyn bustled back into the room with her Irish whiskey. ‘I call this my Holy Water, it’s as good as a tonic. My cousin from Coleraine sends it to me, may God bless her and keep her. It’s the mountain water that gives it the taste. You know her name’s actually Katie Daly. It’s true.’

  Patrick laughed.

  ‘Katie Daly’ had been one of his mother’s favourite songs. It was about a girl who made poteen, an illegal Irish whiskey, and the troops who came to arrest her.

  Evelyn poured everyone out a generous measure. Kate sipped the liquid and felt the burn as it hit her throat. ‘Tomorrow, when she sees the head man, I’ll go with you, Kate, and we’ll try and sort this business out. We’ll make it all right, you’ll see.’

  ‘But to cut her wrists like that, Mum. She was more worried about you reading the diary than anything else.’

  ‘And so she should have been, the ungrateful little villain!’

  Patrick sipped his drink. This was getting personal.

  ‘I think I better go soon, I know you have a lot to talk about.’

  Kate nodded. The driver was sitting outside waiting and suddenly she remembered him.

  ‘Oh, your poor Willy must be freezing!’

  ‘I beg your pardon, Kate Burrows?’

  Despite herself she laughed at her mother’s scandalised face.

  ‘That’s his driver, Mum. Willy’s his name. He’s waiting outside for Patrick.’

  ‘Oh I see. Well, bring him in. We don’t stand on ceremony in this house.’

  Patrick drank up quickly. Somehow he didn’t think Kate’s mother was quite ready for Willy yet.

  ‘No, I’ve intruded long enough. I just wanted to make sure that Kate got home OK.’ He stood up and the two women stood with him. He shook Evelyn’s hand. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs . . .’

  ‘O’Dowd. Evelyn O’Dowd.’

  He smiled at her again. ‘Mrs O’Dowd, I hope we meet again, in more pleasant circumstances.’

  ‘So do I, son.’

  Kate went out to the hall with him and Patrick kissed her gently. ‘You stop worrying now, Kate, and if you need anything, anything at all, you just ring me. OK?’

  Kate nodded, too full of unshed tears to answer.

  She watched him walk down the path and get into his Rolls-Royce. When the car was out of sight she shut the door and went back into the warmth of the lounge.

  ‘Well, you’re a dark horse and no mistake.’

  ‘Oh, Mum, he’s just a friend.’

  Kate sat down and picked up her drink again.

  ‘Just a friend is he? Well, if you want my advice, I’d say make him more than a friend, if you get my meaning. Men like that don’t grow on trees.’

  ‘He owns massage parlours, Mum.’

  Evelyn O’Dowd had her own set of principles, which she changed and updated depending on the situation.

  ‘Well, we can’t all be policemen can we? He’s a good kind man by the looks of him. You take my advice and grab him quick, then you can show him what he’s doing wrong.’

  Kate sipped her drink.

  ‘If the Chief Constable knew that I was seeing Patrick, all hell would break loose.’

  Kate didn’t know that the Chief Constable knew all about her and Kelly. Patrick Kel
ly and Frederick Flowers went back a long way. They were much closer than anyone knew - except the two of them, and they certainly wouldn’t be telling anyone.

  Evelyn bridled in her chair.

  ‘Well, in that case you just refer him to me, young lady. What you do when you’re out of that station is none of his business.’

  If Kate hadn’t had so much on her mind she would have laughed at her mother’s scandalised voice.

  ‘It’s not like that, Mum, and you know it. Patrick’s a nice man, you’re right there, but he is also just on the verge of being a criminal.’

  ‘I’m on the verge of being one meself, child, if I had the name of that person who gave Lizzy the drugs I’d scalp the face off them.’

  Both women were silent.

  ‘Listen to me, Katie. If you like this man, and you’re happy seeing him, then you do what you want. No matter what your Chief Constable or Dan, or me or Lizzy or even King Street Charlie feels. You only live once. Live your life how you want. Before you know it you’ll be old. Old as me. And when you get to my age you get a different perspective on life. Suddenly, every day seems just that little bit shorter. You feel the ache coming in your bones. You know that the best, most fruitful part of your life is over. I read once that when people get old and go senile, they go back to a time in their life when they were useful. To when they had young children, and a husband coming home from work. Meals to prepare. Maybe a little job as well. I could understand them wanting to escape back to a time when they were “needed”. Maybe because my days of being needed are nearly over.’

  Kate slipped off her chair and knelt in front of her mother.

  ‘I’ll always need you, Mam.’ At the word mam, Evelyn pulled her daughter into her arms, memories flooding back to her. Kate and her brother had both called her mam as children.

  ‘Well, Kate, I’ll be here for you for as long as you want me. The same for Lizzy, God love her. I could cheerfully cut the legs from her, but I’ll always love her. Mary Ann that she is.’

  Doctor Plumfield surveyed Kate and Evelyn as they sat in front of him. Kate had asked for another day of leave to try and get her family affairs sorted out. It had been granted grudgingly and she knew she was on thin ice as far as her superiors were concerned. Sympathetic they may be, but at the end of the day she was a DI and should put her work first. Particularly a murder investigation.