by Martina Cole
His face darkened. No more alibi.
Then he brightened. His mind was working overtime. If he planned everything just right, he could get away with it all.
If he went away for a while and then came back he could say that Elaine had left him. If he went to Edith’s in Florida he could say it had happened out there. And now that he was redundant he could sell this house and be free. The more he thought, the more viable it all seemed.
He felt absolutely wonderful. He was so clever! He patted himself on the back. Cleverer than a bag of monkeys.
But what was he going to do with Elaine? He would have to hide her away somewhere. He thought of burying her in the garden but dismissed the idea immediately.
He would put her right under everyone’s nose, and still they wouldn’t find her. All he had to do was have a good old think . . .
The phone rang and he jumped in his seat. The harsh tones echoed around the silent house, upsetting George. He crept out into the hallway and picked up the offending instrument.
‘Hello, George. Margaret here. How’s Elaine?’
He felt his heart begin to race.
‘Oh, she’s fine, Margaret, feeling a bit better . . . I doubt she’ll be in this week though.’
‘Can I have a word?’
‘She’s sleeping at the moment. I’ll tell her you called though, Margaret, she’ll be sorry to have missed you.’
‘Okey doke then, I’ll ring her later in the week. ’Bye.’
George replaced the receiver.
The whole conversation had taken less than two minutes, but to him it had seemed like a fortnight.
He stormed out to the kitchen, his temper flaring. Elaine was still sprawled on the kitchen floor, her sightless eyes staring at the skirting board.
‘That was your friend Margaret. Checking up on you as usual. Are you listening to me?’
George knelt down and pulled her head up by her flame-coloured hair. He looked ferociously into her face.
‘You’re nothing but trouble, Elaine. That’s all you’ve ever been.’
Then, as if the reality of events suddenly hit him, he cradled her head in his arms and began to cry.
Evelyn heard the door knocker and went out to the hall to answer it. She could hear loud music coming from Lizzy’s room and smiled to herself as she wiped her hands on her apron. The child was like a young girl should be now, and that thought cheered her.
She opened the front door. Patrick Kelly was standing there.
‘Oh, hello. Kate isn’t here, but come away in anyhow. I was just going to have a coffee.’
He walked into the hall, hearing the loud music coming down the stairs. Evelyn laughed.
‘That’s Lizzy. You’re forgiven for thinking she might be a bit deaf!’
They went through to the kitchen and Patrick undid his coat and sat at the breakfast bar.
‘I’m just making a nice lamb casserole for dinner.’
‘It smells delicious.’
She poured out two coffees.
‘I like to cook. It relaxes me.’
He took the coffee from her and sipped it.
Sitting opposite him, Evelyn lit herself a cigarette and blew out the smoke loudly.
‘So what can I do for you, or is this a social call?’
Patrick smiled slightly. She was a game old bird.
‘It’s a bit of both actually. It’s about your trip to Australia.’
‘What about it?’
‘Well, the truth is, I don’t think that Kate can really afford it, can she?’
Evelyn took another drag on her cigarette. She knew that Kate couldn’t afford it really, that she was trying to get a bank loan to pay for it. But she had told Lizzy she was going and there was no way that she would let her down, even if it meant selling the car and every bit of jewellery she possessed.
Patrick could gauge what Evelyn was thinking. He sighed. Taking an envelope from his pocket he placed it on the table.
‘What’s this?’
‘That, Mrs O’Dowd, is two first-class tickets to Sydney, with a four-day stop over in Singapore. It’s a long old flight to Oz, you know, and you’ll be glad of the break, believe me. I want you to take these tickets and tell Kate that you had some money left over from . . . well, whatever you like. Let her think you paid for them.’
Evelyn fingered the thick brown envelope and looked into Patrick’s eyes.
‘Something’s happened between the two of you, hasn’t it?’
He nodded. It was pointless lying. He told her about Dan. Evelyn did not bat an eyelid all the time he spoke.
‘That would go against the grain with Kate. It goes against the grain with me to be honest. But I’m a bit more of a realist than my daughter. I know that desperate times mean desperate measures. I’ll give you a bit of advice where Kate is concerned, shall I? Always remember that her job is the most important thing in her life. She fought hard to get to where she is and I think that the fact she allowed herself to get involved with you, knowing your reputation, speaks volumes. She’s had only one man in her life, Danny Burrows. Now she has you. Or maybe I should say had you? I don’t know. Only Kate knows that.
‘If you care about my daughter, and I think you do, then you should remember these facts. They’ll stand you in good stead for the future. Kate’s as honest as the day is long.’
Patrick at least had the grace to look away from her, and Evelyn admired him for that. She knew that he loved her daughter, could hear it in the way he spoke her name, see it in the way that he tried in his own way to make things right for her. Like the tickets to Australia. An expensive way to make amends, but Evelyn knew that was what he was trying to do. She opened the envelope.
The tickets were for 4 March 1990, from Heathrow. She looked at him and frowned.
He held out his hand and took the envelope from her. He placed it back in his pocket.
‘I never said I wasn’t going to accept them, did I?’
Her voice was softer now. She held out her hand and he gave her back the envelope. He left a few minutes later, lighter of heart.
Evelyn let him out and as she closed the door looked up the stairs. The thump-thump of Lizzy’s music was still audible.
It was just as well the child had no idea he’d been here. Kate was astute enough to put two and two together. Evelyn only hoped she would believe her story about insurance money left over from her father’s death.
She went into the kitchen and put the envelope into her apron pocket. It gave her a warm feeling knowing that it was there. She would see her other grandchildren and it would be thanks to Patrick Kelly.
No matter what anyone thought, she liked him. He was a product of the world they lived in and his lifestyle gave her not a smidgen of bad conscience.
As for what he had done to Dan . . . she shrugged. He’d been asking for that for years.
Her only regret was she hadn’t been there to see it for herself.
Chapter Twenty-Four
George looked at the clock. It was five thirty-five and still dark. He rubbed at his eyes. They felt gritty and he could smell a funny smell on his hands. He leant out of bed and turned on the small bedside lamp. As the glaring brightness penetrated his eyes he grimaced.
His hands had rust-coloured stains on them. He held them up in front of him as if he had never seen them before and sat up in bed. He was fully dressed. He frowned.
Pulling back the covers, he slipped out of the sheets and stood uncertainly on the carpet.
His mouth felt dry and fluffy and he swallowed with difficulty. What he needed was a cup of coffee. He made his way downstairs humming to himself. He walked into the kitchen and turned on the fluorescent light. It flickered into life, illuminating Elaine’s body. Ignoring her, he walked to the sink and filled the kettle. Stepping over her silent form, he made himself a strong, sweet coffee and took it to the kitchen table. Then he went into the lounge and brought back his Christmas cigars. He lit one and puffed on it for a f
ew seconds to get it fully alight.
He sighed with happiness. Coffee and cigars. Cigars and coffee.
He grinned to himself. He was totally free now.
Finally he looked at Elaine.
Today she was going to disappear forever. He knew what he had to do. But first he needed a shower.
George had had his shower and was now in the process of putting Elaine into two large black bags. He covered her head and shoulders first. Her sightless eyes were getting on his nerves. Her head had stuck to the floor in a pool of blood that had congealed to a reddish-brown. It still had long strands of ginger-orange hair stuck in it. He would have to scrape it off the tiles. He finally had the bag over her head and tied it around her neck with string. Then he looked at her lower body. He had turned her over to make it easier for him and now her legs were wide open. He imagined her without her tracksuit bottoms and smiled to himself, feeling the familiar excitement. The blood everywhere was making him feel aroused.
He liked blood. He liked the sticky feel of it, like crimson semen. He pulled off her trainers and tracksuit bottoms, staring at her milky white legs as if fascinated. She had on a pair of white panties and her thick red pubic hair poked out of the sides with a jauntiness that pleased George immensely. Like this, Elaine was his perfect woman. Faceless, undemanding and completely available.
He poked a finger into her crotch, feeling the softness there. He ran his finger inside the silky material of her panties and round her pubic hair.
He licked his lips, feeling the sweat that was now beading them. He hooked his fingers into her panties and pulled them down her legs slowly, gently, revealing her most intimate parts.
He unzipped his trousers, locked in the almost sublime feelings of his fantasy world. He began to knead her thighs, feeling the cold strength of them. He tried to part her legs further to remove her panties, but they wouldn’t budge! He pulled at them harder, trying to force them open.
George had not allowed for rigor mortis.
His breathing was laboured now, from his exertions and from his fantasies.
He frowned.
Elaine had always been the same: difficult. Even in death, she was still inaccessible.
He wiped a clammy hand over his face. Suddenly, the chaos around him registered. He had better get cleaned up. He had plenty of time for fun.
Real fun, with better women than Elaine.
He began to bundle her into the other black bag, his movements more urgent now. Finally he sat back on his heels and stared at his handiwork. Elaine was trussed up like a chicken.
Standing up, he zipped his trousers back up, carefully tucking in his shirt first. He would have a nice cup of tea, then he would start the second phase of his operation.
Kelly was waiting outside the pub where Kate and Caitlin had gone for lunch. As she saw his black BMW she felt a lurch in her breast. Caitlin grinned at her and said: ‘I think you’ve got company, Kate. I’ll see you later.’
He waltzed into the pub and left her standing alone on the pavement. She could see Patrick’s face through the windscreen and against her better judgement walked over to the car and got inside.
‘Hello, Kate.’ Patrick’s voice was normal and she swallowed hard.
‘Patrick.’ She let him drive. The closeness of him made her feel breathless. She could smell his aftershave. Despite herself she was glad to see him. This fact, admitted to and accepted, annoyed her.
Patrick drove to his house and she got out of the car and followed him inside. They had barely spoken a word. In his dining room the table was laid for two and the smell of a delicious roast assailed her nostrils.
He held her seat for her and she sat down.
‘I’m sorry, Kate. I know that what I did to Dan was wrong. But I swear I was just trying to help you, that’s all. I wanted the CIB off your back and that was the only way. I had no intention of hurting him, just scaring him.’
Kate could hear the desperate tone in his voice. Could see the absolute honesty in his face. But she also could feel the pull that this man had on her. She looked around the beautiful room: at the plush carpet, the watercolours on the walls, at the expensive linen and cutlery, and knew that she had missed all this but most of all had missed the man. Missed him with all her being, no matter what he had done. He was like the breath of life to her and she needed him. Whatever the attraction was between them, it was powerful enough to make her admit that what he had done to Dan didn’t really matter when he was with her, when he was close to her, when she could reach out and touch his face.
She looked at Patrick and he looked at her. It was more than an exchange of glances: it was like a tangible force, there between them. Each knew the other intimately, each felt the attraction that had brought her here today. Each wanted the rift between them breached so that they could get on with their lives.
Kate’s eyes were like dark pools of liquid light. Patrick searched them for some sign that she had relented. That he was forgiven. As she picked up her wine glass and smiled at him, he felt as if someone had given him an injection of pure happiness.
‘Cheers, Pat.’ She sipped the heavy red liquid and as she did so knew that there was no going back. She had accepted his way of living one hundred per cent. Dan would be forgotten, everything would be forgotten, except for their urgent desire.
Patrick opened the serving dish that had been placed on the table by Willy just as they had driven up and filled Kate’s plate with slices of beef.
As she took the plate from him their fingers touched and the jolt that went between them was like a physical pain.
‘How’s Willy?’
Patrick filled his own plate and grinned. ‘He’s fine.’
‘Good. I rather like Willy.’
And she did. She knew that Patrick would go mad if he knew that Willy had been to see her, but it was the talk she had had with him that had helped her sort out her own mind.
‘Can I see you tonight, Kate?’
She smiled, taking a mouthful of juicy beef and wiping her lips with a napkin.
‘I don’t see why not.’
Putting down his own knife and fork he walked around the table and took her in his arms. They did not kiss, but as he rubbed his face in the softness of her hair, she felt as if she had indeed finally come home.
He was dangerous to her, she knew that. But she was determined to have him.
An hour later she was back at work, lighter of heart than she had been for days and raring to go. She looked and felt great, something which was noticed by just about everyone in the incident room.
DS Spencer, still smarting from Amanda Dawkins’s practical joke, whispered into Willis’s ear: ‘Screwing a villain seems to cheer her up no end.’
Willis gave him a dirty look. Spencer got on his nerves. In fact, Spencer got on everyone’s nerves.
‘Why don’t you piss off, Spencer?’
Willis walked away from him. Collating all the blood tests was much harder than anyone had thought, but it had given them an added impetus. It was a new avenue. It was their big chance to catch the Grantley Ripper.
When a man was blood tested his fingerprints were taken also. If he had a record then the fingerprints were matched. It was another way of confirming their alibis. If a man had no criminal file then his passport or some other form of identification was necessary. A driving licence was adequate, but something with a picture on was much more solid. This is what was taking all the time. Not enough manpower to keep abreast of the mounting names. Still, it was better than nothing and much better than they’d had before.
Willis picked up yet another file. He was dealing with the known sex offenders. Due to a delay in the computer system, they had only just received all the names of sex offenders in the area who had been tried and convicted in other parts of the country. These were known as ‘floaters’, passing through on their way to another prison sentence. They were the flotsam and jetsam of the criminal world, hated by police and villains alike. The pi
le was in alphabetical order and Willis picked up the first file.
Name: Desmond Addamson.
Willis flicked through the file: rape, arson and flashing, along with robbery with violence. He had turned up in Grantley in the middle of January. Too late for the first murders. He picked up the phone. The man had better be checked out anyway. He would start with his probation officer. As he picked up the phone, he knocked the pile of files from his desk. He dropped the phone and tried to save them. Too late.
The files landed with a muted thud and papers were strewn everywhere. A small cheer went up from the others in the room and Willis smiled good-naturedly as he bent down to scoop up the papers. He would be there for ages putting all the papers back in their proper folders. He placed the last lot on the desk and there, staring up at him, was George Markham’s face. Younger, with browner, thicker hair, but unmistakably George Markham.
Willis glanced at the photo without seeing it.
George had had a nice cup of tea and was now in the process of thinking how to get Elaine up into the loft. He had thought long and hard about where to put her and then it had come to him in a flash of inspiration. There was only one problem: Elaine was big. How was he to get her up there?
The answer was so cunning that he grinned with satisfaction. He was clever all right.
He stood up and looked at Elaine’s body, wrapped in the incongruous plastic bags.
‘I’m off out, dear, I won’t be long.’
He went into the hall and put on his good overcoat. Then, carefully locking up, he drove to Grantley shopping centre, parked his car in the multi-storey car park and walked through the town centre to a small plant hire shop.
Stellman’s Plant Hire had been in Grantley for twenty years. It was the first time George had ever been in there and he stood uncertainly among the debris of lawnmowers and wallpaper strippers. A young man came up and smiled at him.
‘What can I do you for?’
‘I beg your pardon?’ George’s voice was timid once more.
‘A joke, mate.’ The boy stared at George and shrugged. ‘What can I do for you, sir?’ He tacked the ‘sir’ on the end at the last second.
