The Ladykiller

by Martina Cole

  He nodded.

  ‘Yes. I’ll be there, Katie. I want to know everything. Something is going to lead us to that bastard. I just know it.’

  DS Spencer came into the tiny room and stared at Leonora’s body. She was rapidly greying. He stared at her hard, like Caitlin before him.

  ‘I expect the time of death will be difficult to determine. If the fire was on full all night it would delay rigor mortis.’ Spencer’s voice was smug.

  ‘Once we get all the statements in we’ll have an idea, don’t you worry.’

  Kate disliked Spencer, and knew that he knew that, and somehow it gave him an edge.

  ‘You hang around here and book the body, Spencer. Sir, I’m going to see how the uniforms are doing on the door-to-door. I want to speak to a couple of the neighbours myself before I interview the two who found the body. Maybe one of them will know where her exhusband is. From what I gather she had no children or immediate family. Do you want to come with me?’

  ‘You go, Katie, I’ll meet you at the hospital for the PM.’

  ‘OK.’

  She was glad to leave the flat. The picture of the woman’s body was still in her mind.

  At the first flat she visited, she was offered a cup of coffee and accepted gratefully. She needed something after the scene downstairs. The woman though, friendly as she was, knew nothing. Kate was sure of that within five minutes. She gave them a lead on the missing husband. He’d run off with Leonora’s friend and was now living in Canada. Kate thanked the woman and left.

  She walked to the door opposite and knocked. It was opened by a large man in a string vest. Fred Borrings brought Kate into his little flat and sat her down ceremoniously. It was obvious she had been expected.

  ‘Now then, Miss . . .’

  ‘DI Burrows, sir.’ Kate smiled at him.

  ‘I popped down the pub just before ten last night. You get to know all the sounds in the flats like. It becomes part of your hearing, if you get what I mean; I even know what time people pull their lavatories in the evening. I can time them.

  ‘Anyway, I left here last night at about ten, and as I walked down the stairs I heard a door closing. It was Leonora’s. I assumed she had a visitor, ’cos I remember thinking it was unusual. She very rarely had any visitors did Leonora. Very nice woman, you know, but always kept herself to herself. No men calling, if you get my drift. Some of the women in these flates! My God, it’s like a knocking shop. But Leonora was a good woman.’

  ‘She never had any men friends at all?’

  ‘No. Used to work all the time. Scared of going out at night she was, because of the muggings around this area. We seem to get all the glue sniffers here, I don’t know why. Have to step over the little sods some nights to get up the stairs. They come in the lobbies to get out of the cold, I expect. Poor Leonora. Wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

  ‘You didn’t actually see anyone then?’

  Fred shook his head. ‘Nah. I know what I heard though. I wish I’d knocked now. I do sometimes. See if she wants a packet of fags or anything from the offie. I know she don’t go out at night, see. Whoever went into her house knew her. When I knocked there on me way out she’d call out to me “Who is it?” or “Is that you, Fred?” You know the kind of thing. She never opened the door without establishing who was there first.

  ‘That’s what makes me think she knew him. I’ve been thinking about it all morning. When I heard all the hubbub going on I went down, see. Two bloody old biddies screaming their heads off. It was me who phoned you and the ambulance. I’ve been thinking about it ever since. Leonora knew her attacker, my girl, I’m convinced of it.’

  Kate let the man talk. What he said made sense. If she lived alone, and was not the type to socialise very much, Leonora would be aware of the dangers. Women who had no social life were always more wary of people knocking on their doors than those who got about a bit.

  ‘Did you notice any strange cars parked outside when you went to the . . . ?’

  ‘I went to the Hoy and Helmet. And, no, I didn’t see any unusual cars parked outside. My friend gave me a lift back at about eleven fifteen and I noticed that Leonora’s lights were still on. I could see them through the chinks in the curtains. It’s like I said before - you get to know everything about everyone. Living on top of one another like we do.’

  ‘Have you ever seen Leonora with a man? Maybe a man from work who might have given her a lift home?’

  ‘She always went to and from work with her friend Dorothy. I’ve never known either of them go to work alone. They even have the same days off.’

  Kate smiled to take the edge off her next sentence.

  ‘You seem to know an awful lot about Leonora Davidson, Mr Borrings.’

  He watched her grimly.

  ‘I happened to like her, missis. I liked her a lot. There’s no law against that, is there? I’m trying to help you so you can find the person responsible. That’s all. You can check out my story. Plenty of people saw me in the Hoy, I use the pub a lot.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary, Mr Borrings.’ It would be checked out as a matter of course but Kate was too wise to mention this. ‘It’s just that normally people are undecided about a lot of things that they see or hear. You know, like after a bank robbery, every witness has the robber in a different coloured sweater with different coloured hair.’

  ‘I understand exactly what you’re getting at, missis.’ His voice was hard. ‘But I am not like that. I don’t waste words. I say what I think and I think about what I say. Be a damn sight better world if more people were like it.’

  ‘Quite. Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time, Mr Borrings. Thank you very much, you’ve been very helpful.’

  The man stood up and nodded at her but his friendliness had gone. Kate knew that he was the kind who normally overpowered people. From the little she had gleaned about Leonora Davidson, he had probably overpowered her. He was like a child who knew the right answer, jumping around in his chair, hand up in the air, quivering with excitement. Only he was the child the teacher normally overlooked.

  ‘I’m quite willing to identify the body formally, missis. Her ex-husband’s in Canada or some such place.’

  ‘Thank you. We’ll let you know if that will be necessary.’

  Kate took her leave and drove off to the hospital for the post mortem.

  When she got there she first went in to see Dorothy Smith. She had been given an injection of Diazepam to calm her down. When Kate sat beside her she saw that the woman had a glazed look in her eyes. She smiled and Dorothy tried to focus.

  ‘Hello, I’m Detective Inspector Burrows. I’d like to ask you a few questions if you feel up to it?’

  Dorothy nodded her head.

  ‘Are you sure you’re OK? I can come back later.’

  ‘No. No, I’ll answer you. I’ll have to eventually. It may as well be now while it’s all still fresh in my mind.’

  ‘Did Leonora ever mention any men friends at all? Not just boyfriends, I mean friends in general. Maybe a man at work who was taking undue interest in her?’

  Dorothy shook her head.

  ‘Never. She didn’t like men much, you see. She kept herself to herself, she was that kind of woman. I’ve known her for over fifteen years and if she had a man friend I’d know about it. We told each other everything.’ The woman’s eyes spilled over with tears.

  ‘She was good, was Leonora, she was kind and considerate. Why would anyone want to do that to her? Why?’

  Kate was powerless to answer. Instead she placed her hand on the older woman’s and squeezed it gently, letting her cry.

  When she quietened, Kate spoke again. ‘What about Fred Borrings?’

  Dorothy pulled her hand from Kate’s grasp.

  ‘He used to look out for her, that was all. I think he would have liked to have been more than friends with her, you know, but Leonora . . .’ Her voice chocked again. ‘She didn’t want anything like that. Her husband used to knock her around and she sw
ore she’d never ever get involved again.’

  Kate stared at the woman without seeing her.

  Then how the hell did the man get inside her house? Maybe he was dressed as a workman, that was an old trick. Knock on a door and say you were from the gas or the electricity board and people automatically gave you entry to their homes. But surely someone would have noticed? She would have to wait and see what was said by the people interviewed. Once all the statements were collated they would have some idea to work from.

  Someone must have seen something, however small. Those flats were a hive of activity. From glue sniffers to heroin addicts, that’s where they congregated. Even their statements, however vague, could spark off a train of inquiry.

  As the post mortem began Kate and Caitlin both had the same thought: once more the man had come and gone without being seen.

  For the first time in years Kate crossed her fingers. She had a feeling that she’d need all the luck she could get.

  Patrick heard about Leonora Davidson from his friend the Chief Constable. He was promised all the information they had about it within twenty-four hours. He was sitting in his drawing room contemplating the new event. However much he liked Kate - and he did like her, he liked her a lot - she was getting nowhere. Neither were the men he had employed, he had to admit. He closed his eyes and rubbed them hard.

  If only he had something to go on. One little clue was all he needed. He knew that Kate was doing everything she could but this man was taking the piss now. He was sitting somewhere, laughing up his sleeve at them all, and Patrick Kelly was not a man who could stomach that. Every time he thought about it, it brought on a red hot rage.

  He had picked out a white coffin for his daughter, with a deep red satin interior. The coffin was lead lined, airless and insect proof. The thought of his lovely child under the ground in the cold and the damp, with centipedes and other lifeforms crawling all over her face, in her mouth and through her long blond hair, made him feel sick. But the man who had put her there . . . now he was a different kettle of fish altogether. Patrick Kelly would see to it that he rotted away, that he died as horrifically as he had killed.

  Kelly rubbed his eyes again. The strain was beginning to tell now. He knew he was dangerously close to exploding point. He glanced at the photograph of Mandy on the mantelpiece. It had been taken a few weeks before her death at the birthday party of one of her friends. The girl had had it enlarged and framed and sent it to him, a kindly act that had brought tears to his eyes. Whoever had taken the picture had caught Mandy with her head back, her eyes half closed, her teeth looking like perfect pearls as she laughed. It was one of those lucky photographs that occasionally get taken with a cheap snapper camera, and he loved it.

  Willy tapped on the door softly before entering the room.

  ‘It’s Kevin Cosgrove, Pat, he wants to see you.’ The big man’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Want me to smack him one and send him on his way?’ Willy’s voice was hopeful.

  Kelly shook his head. ‘No. Show him in.’

  He felt the tightening inside his chest again. He wondered lately if he was getting some kind of heart trouble, but had dismissed the thought.

  Kevin walked into the room. Even Kelly was shocked at the sight of him. He had lost weight and his usual pristine appearance was gone. His hair was unkempt and he needed a shave.

  ‘Christ Almighty, you look like a paraffin lamp.’ Kevin stood uneasily in the doorway, his face white with fear. ‘I came about Mandy’s funeral, sir.’

  Patrick knew that it had taken the boy a lot of courage to come to his house and in spite of himself was impressed. He knew men who were harder than granite who would not have had the front to walk into his home after what he had done to Cosgrove.

  ‘What about her funeral?’ His voice was soft.

  Kevin looked around the room, fixing his eyes on a Japanese vase before answering.

  ‘Well, I wanna go. Please.’

  The last word was quiet and drawn out. A plea in itself.

  He stared at the boy, battling it out in his mind.

  ‘You can go, boy, but keep away from me and mine. I mean it, Kevin, I’ll always blame you for what happened to her. Always. If you hadn’t’ve left her there alone . . .’ Patrick’s voice trailed off, he could feel the tightening around his heart again. ‘Go on, piss off. Before I lose me rag again. And remember what I said, Kevin. Keep well away from me, son. I don’t know what I’d be capable of if I saw too much of you while I was burying her.’

  Kevin hung his head and turning on his heel walked from the room, closing the door behind him. Patrick stared at the door for a long time. Finally, Willy came into the room with a pot of coffee. Placing the tray on the small Edwardian table by the sofa he poured out two cups, one for Kelly and one for himself. He laced them both liberally with brandy. Kelly watched the big man’s clumsy attempt at being a butler and felt amused.

  ‘I thought you could do with a bit of a natter, Pat. I don’t think it’s good to be on your own all the time. You need a bit of company now and then. Cheers.’ He held up his coffee cup and sipped at it, burning his mouth.

  ‘Bloody hell, is that Mrs Manners trying to weld my lips together or what?’

  Patrick laughed loudly.

  Willy was a tonic sometimes without even realising it.

  ‘Have you heard any more, Pat?’

  All the formality was gone now and the serious business of the day was about to begin. Kelly had an understanding with Willy. He allowed the man a free rein when it was necessary. They went back a long way.

  ‘No. Nothing really. I’ll have all the gen on the new murder by tomorrow.’

  ‘That little ponce had some front, didn’t he? Coming round here like that. I was going to give him a right-hander just for his sauce.’

  Patrick waved his hand.

  ‘Forget him. He’ll get his comeuppance one day. If God don’t see to it, then I will.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking, Pat . . .’

  Kelly closed his eyes. That was a turn up for the book, Willy thinking.

  ‘You know that Old Bill bird you’ve been knocking . . . I mean, going out with?’

  Kelly nodded, on the defensive now. ‘What about her?’ He wasn’t in the mood for a lecture from Mr Charisma today.

  ‘Well, I heard you two nattering one day. She was saying about how they took blood samples or something for DPP or something?’

  ‘DNA. It’s DNA. DPP means Director of Public Prosecutions. Anyway, what about it?’

  Willy’s round face looked puzzled. ‘Then what’s DNA mean?’

  Patrick was getting agitated. ‘How the fucking hell do I know? I’m not a scientist, am I?’

  ‘All right, all right, Pat, keep your hair on.’

  ‘Well, what are you trying to say?’

  ‘She was saying that they could do that here, but it would cost too much money.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘To take the bloody blood tests. Stone me, Pat, don’t you listen to nothing people say?’

  Looking at Willy’s open face it dawned on Kelly that for once he had a good idea.

  Kate had told him, one night while they were having dinner, that DNA was a genetic fingerprint. Everyone knew that much from the papers. Until now he had not really understood the full meaning of what she’d been saying.

  ‘Do me a favour, will you? Get on to the Chief Constable and tell him I want facts on all the cases ever solved by DNA. Remember that now - DNA not DPP. We’ll be here all day otherwise with files of every poor bastard the Old Bill’s ever fitted up.’

  ‘I’ll do it now, Pat.’ Willy stood up and went to the door.

  ‘And, Willy.’ The man turned around. ‘Thanks a lot. You’ve been a great help, I appreciate it.’

  Willy grinned.

  ‘DNA . . . DNA . . .’ He was still saying it as he walked out of the door, as if terrified he would forget it.

  Patrick picked up his coffee and sipped it, savouring the bite from t
he brandy.

  Maybe he could get Kate’s wish granted.

  Maybe then they could all get somewhere.

  Caitlin and Kate had the majority of the collated statements in front of them and both were feeling down. Not even a sniff of anything out of the ordinary.

  The post mortem had revealed that although Leonora Davidson had been strangled by her attacker, the cause of death was most likely ‘Vagal Inhibition’. In other words she had literally died of fright.

  ‘Well, another murder and we have nothing to go on. Bloody hell, someone must have seen something. It stands to reason.’

  Caitlin nodded.

  ‘There are clues here, it’s just sorting out what could be viable. People see things and don’t take in what they’re seeing.’ He poked the papers in front of him. ‘One of these must have seen the man only they don’t realise it yet. Either he’s local and so they’re used to seeing him, or he was walking nearby and they just passed him on the street. He has been seen, only he hasn’t been tied in with it all yet. I think he’s stopped using his car. So either he cabs it wherever he goes or it’s all within walking distance.’

  ‘He could have caught a bus.’

  ‘There you are then, so he has been seen by people. If we could trace just one person who saw someone different on their bus coming home from work, whatever, we’d be in business.’

  ‘Well, Spencer has been in touch with all the minicab firms and he’s checking out all the people who got cabs between nine and twelve on the night of Leonora’s murder. So far he’s come up against malice, upset, aggravation - and nothing else.

  ‘The murders are causing strife now. One murder is exciting, two is exciting, four means we aren’t doing our job and every person interviewed now thinks their face is in the frame.’

  ‘Sure they’re all fecking eejits. Listen, I’ll get Willis to go and see the bus drivers. You know, one of them might have seen something, or more precisely someone.’

  Kate nodded.

  ‘“Vagal Inhibition”, I’d never heard of that before. It sounds terrible.’

  ‘It make me sick to me stomach even to think about it. Get yourself off, Katie. I’ll stay on for a while here. You get some sleep.’