by Martina Cole
As he rang off, an almighty cheer erupted from everyone. Caitlin kissed Kate on the cheek and she hugged him. It was over. All they had to do was find him, and now they had his name, that was a formality.
Then Amanda Dawkins tapped Kate on the shoulder. The girl’s serious expression made her frown.
‘What’s up?’
‘I think you’d better put a stop to the party, ma’am. George Markham was blood tested. It was a negative.’
‘What!’
Kate’s shout cut through the noise around her and gradually it died down. She took the piece of paper from Amanda and read the results wearily.
George Markham had tested negatively.
They had been celebrating too soon.
She passed the paper to Caitlin, who stared at it for a long time.
‘Shit . . .’ The word was drawn out from between his lips.
‘I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it.’ Kate’s voice was low. She clenched her fist. ‘I thought we had him there!’
The policemen and women began to whisper amongst themselves as the news penetrated them. The atmosphere in the room went flat in a matter of seconds.
Kate took a swig of her Scotch, she needed it now. ‘So if he’s not the Grantley Ripper, he’s murdered his wife and gone on the trot. It’s a different case entirely?’
‘That’s about the strength of it, yeah.’ Caitlin’s voice was low. ‘Those videos and books, though. Jasus, I would have laid money on him being our man.’
Then another thought occurred to him.
Patrick Kelly also thought he was the man.
Kate watched him as he rushed from the room. If she had not been so disturbed by the news of George’s negative test, she might have wondered what was wrong with him.
She was more annoyed that he had left it to her to break the news to Flowers.
How could they have assumed so much before confirming it? She finished the scotch in one gulp and picked up the phone. She did not relish this job one bit.
Patrick Kelly had spoken to Caitlin and assured him that he knew nothing about a George Markham. The next-door neighbour was probably half asleep and had made a mistake. He listened to Caitlin tell him about the negative blood test and made the appropriate noises of dismay at their mistake. Then he put the phone down and smiled to himself. George Markham’s little plan had paid off.
He knew, and Tony Jones knew, that George’s blood test would have been positive. Now Tony Jones was in hospital and George Markham was about to meet his maker. All in all this hadn’t been a bad day.
Kate arrived at his house by cab two hours later.
‘Hello, Patrick. I’ve had a terrible day. Pay the silly cabman before I arrest him!’
‘Are you drunk?’ Kelly’s voice was shocked.
‘A bit. And if I have my way, I’ll be drunker.’
He took her arm and helped her across the hall and up the stairs.
‘Where are we going?’ Her voice had taken on an aggressive tone.
‘I’m going to put you in the shower, my girl. Now get up them stairs.’
Willy walked out into the hall and Kelly snapped at him, ‘She’s pissed. Pay the cab, then get her some coffee.’
Willy nodded and watched Patrick half carry and half drag a drunken Kate up the stairs.
In the bedroom, he let her flop on to the bed and began to pull her clothes off. She was compliant now. The aggression had turned to a weary resignation.
‘We thought we had him, Pat, but we didn’t. We didn’t . . . All we had was another murderer. He’d murdered his wife . . .’
‘All right, all right, calm down.’
He hoisted her naked off the bed and walked her into the en-suite bathroom. Turning on the cold tap, he held her under the shower. The freezing water made her gasp for breath and she tried to leap out of the shower tray. Patrick held her in there with difficulty, the white silk shirt he was wearing getting soaked.
‘Let the water run over you, Kate, it’ll make you feel better.’
‘You bloody bastard! Let me out of this shower now! It’s fr-fr-freezing.’
Kelly watched the goose bumps appearing all over her skin as if by magic and stifled a grin. Her nipples were enormous!
He was still holding her under the flowing water when, about five minutes later, he heard Willy bring the coffee into the bedroom. Turning off the shower, Patrick wrapped her in a large bath towel.
‘Come on then, into the bedroom.’
‘Flowers told me off good and proper today. Not Kenneth Caitlin, though. Oh, no. Only me.’
He poured out a strong coffee, but when he took it over to the bed she was already asleep.
Her long hair was plastered across her body. Droplets of water made her skin look pearly. The bath towel barely covered her. Never had she looked so vulnerable or so desirable. For a fleeting second, looking down at her, he was sorry for what he had done. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that George Markham was her man. But he could never tell her.
There was something he could do, though, and that was put Frederick Flowers in his place. The thought consoled him for a while.
Kate finally opened her eyes three hours later. She looked around her, trying to get her bearings. Then she saw Patrick.
‘Hello, love, feeling better?’
She pulled herself up on the bed.
‘I feel rough actually.’
‘I’ll ring down for some fresh coffee.’
While he called the kitchen Kate pulled the damp towel around her more tightly, catching sight of herself in the mirror opposite the bed. She frowned. She looked terrible. Patrick sat beside her on the bed.
‘I’m sorry about that Markham bloke.’
‘Oh, don’t remind me about it, please.’
He kissed her bare shoulder.
‘If only we’d checked the blood tests before we put the finger on him, Pat. I feel such a bloody fool, but I would have sworn on a stack of bibles he was our man. The snuff movies, the books. It all fitted in. He’d even been in prison for attempted rape and battery. We found that out too late as well.’
‘Well, he murdered his wife.’
Kate cut him off. ‘But did he? For all we know someone else murdered her and Markham, dumping his body elsewhere. Until we find him or his body we don’t know anything.’
Willy knocked on the door and brought in the coffee. ‘Phone call from the States, Pat.’
He leapt off the bed and out of the room. ‘Shall I pour, ma’am?’
‘Yes please, Willy. I don’t feel very steady at the moment.’
‘I paid your cab for you. You was very drunk, you know.’
‘I know.’
She took the cup from him.
‘You look like you’ve been done and left!’
Kate couldn’t help smiling. ‘I feel like it, Willy.’
He pointed a short fat finger at her. ‘Then let that be a lesson to you. Never have liked to see a woman in drink, it’s horrible.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind in future.’
Willy left the room and Kate sipped at her coffee. God knows how the others must be feeling, they had been even drunker than her. Once the initial shock had worn off they had all started in on some serious drinking. The last she remembered was Caitlin slipping off his chair. One and all they’d been blotto.
But, by Christ, why not? After the news they’d had, they damned well needed something.
She closed her eyes as frustration assailed her again. All day the picture of James Redcar’s tiny body had haunted her.
Patrick came back into the room, sat down beside her and slipped the towel from her breasts, caressing them.
‘I think me and you could do with cheering up a bit. I know a little game you might like to play. Take your mind off your troubles for a bit.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s called lorries and garages. I don’t know if you’ve ever played it before?’
Kate looked a
t him with one eyebrow raised.
‘I can’t say I have, no.’
‘Well, do you see this?’ He put her hand on his erect member. ‘This is my lorry, right. And I have to find somewhere to park it. Get my drift?’
Kate roared with laughter.
‘Oh, Patrick, I need you tonight. I need you so much.’
He looked down into her brown eyes. The lashes were glistening with tears and he felt an overwhelming sadness. Kate was hurting, and he could stop the hurt with a few words. The solving of this case was everything to her, and he could tell her everything she wanted to know.
Instead he began to kiss her, losing himself in her sweet-smelling body as he felt her respond to him. Felt her tongue slip between his lips. Her nails travel down his back and under his body to cup his testicles.
Then she was shuddering beneath him. He watched her face as she thrust her hips into him and he loved her then. Loved her to death.
Soon it would be all over, and Kate would never be any the wiser.
At least, that was his prayer.
Amanda Dawkins had stayed relatively sober. She sat on in the incident room collating everything she had about George Markham. She stared at the picture of him from his file. He had attacked a young girl on a train eighteen years earlier. It had been a vicious assault, and he had been sent to Broadmoor. He had been in and out in three years. His wife had given birth to a stillborn son, and that had helped with his release.
Amanda shook her head as she read his statement: ‘The girl was asking for it, she was smiling at me. Egging me on.’
How many times did a policeman hear that?
She looked at his picture again. At the nondescript man staring out at her. He had lifeless grey eyes and a weak, almost non-existent chin. He did not look like a sexual pervert at all. He looked like someone’s uncle.
She poured another Scotch into the paper cup by her side. They’d really thought they had him.
Her eyes travelled to the pictures on the wall. Cynthia Redcar and her young son were now added to them. The picture of the little boy’s battered face seemed to be imprinted on her mind. Who the hell could hurt a child like that?
She dragged her eyes back to the file in front of her. There had been ructions earlier over this. Caitlin and Kate had wanted to know why George Markham had not been brought to their attention. Amanda had been sorry for Willis then. He had knocked over a whole stack of files and got them all mixed up together. He had then shoved them into a filing cabinet and promptly forgotten them. It was only when they had tapped into the central computer that they had found out they had already been sent a copy of Markham’s file, along with many others. Caitlin’s swearing could be heard all over the building.
Amanda sipped her Scotch and looked at the statement again. George Markham’s handwriting was spidery, barely legible. Then she sat forward in her seat with a jolt. As she scrambled through the paperwork in front of her, her heart began to pound.
Then she found what she was looking for: George Markham’s blood testing statement. He had signed it in a large childish script.
She held the two signatures together, her hands shaking. Then she downed the Scotch in one gulp and picked up the telephone. Kate’s mother answered. Leaving her home number, Amanda told Evelyn that Kate was to ring her as soon as she got in.
Kate was home at one thirty, the day’s events a blur, except for Patrick’s lovemaking. She walked into the house and straight up the stairs to her bedroom. The note on the table by the phone went unnoticed.
She heard the alarm go off at six and pulled herself from bed. Her mouth felt dry, as if it was full of cotton wool. She pulled on her dressing gown and padded into the bathroom. She needed a good hot shower and at least one pot of coffee to get herself set up for the day ahead. After yesterday’s fiasco, she knew that today was not going to be a good one.
In the shower she soaped her body absentmindedly. Patrick had made her feel good. He had held her and told her he loved her, and she had needed that so much. He had been so understanding with her that she felt almost as if he knew what she was going through, as if he had an affinity with her, a special knowledge.
She was so lucky to have him.
She wrapped herself in a large bath towel and, pushing on her slippers, walked down the stairs to make her coffee. It was six fifteen.
As she walked past the telephone she saw the piece of paper that her mother had left for her and picked it up and read in the hallway light.
She dialled the number.
‘Hello, Amanda?’
‘Oh, Kate, I’ve been worried out of my mind! Look, I think George Markham is our man . . .’
‘What!’ Kate’s voice rose.
‘I went back through his files. The signatures on his statements are different. He must have had someone take the test for him.’
As the enormity of what Amanda was saying penetrated, Kate felt a surge of excitement.
‘Who else have you told?’
‘No one.’
‘Oh, Amanda, you’re brilliant! I’ll see you in about twenty minutes, OK?’
‘OK.’
‘And, Amanda . . . thanks a million.’
‘Any time. Oh, and one last thing. I put a call out for his car again. I told them to concentrate on the Kent area. That’s obviously the last place he was.’
‘Great, Amanda. You’ll make DI yet, my girl.’
The two women laughed and said goodbye. Kate put down the phone and did a little jig. She had known he was the man. She had known it in her heart. He was wily. He must have a very good friend if he would take a blood test for him. Especially a blood test on a murder case. A man who could arrange a bluff like that was obviously not lacking in imagination.
She threw on her clothes, pulled on her coat and picked up her bag, her coffee left by the phone to go cold. Forgotten now.
She would find George Markham wherever he was. Find him and put him away.
The earlier depression had disappeared. Kate felt wonderful.
Chapter Thirty
Ratchette and Caitlin were both looking at her expectantly.
‘I have proof that George Markham is our man.’
She watched their eyes widen.
‘Last night, Amanda Dawkins checked through George Markham’s file. It seems the signatures on his statements for the blood testing and his previous arrest differ. I can only assume he had someone else take the blood test for him. He’s definitely our man.’
Caitlin’s face lit up.
‘I knew he was the bugger we were after. I just knew it in me guts.’
‘Well, we have Amanda Dawkins to thank for this. She saw what was under everyone else’s nose. I think she deserves to take full credit.’
Ratchette smiled gently.
‘Another good woman coming up in the ranks, eh, Kate? This is excellent news. I’ll get on to Flowers immediately.’
‘Make sure he knows it was Dawkins. I think she did an exceptional job.’
‘I will. So where will you go from here?’
‘Amanda Dawkins put another call out on Markham’s car. This time she asked them to concentrate on the Kent area. That was obviously his last port of call. I can only guess his wife was on to him, he murdered her, and now he’s trying to disappear. At some point someone would have wanted to know where she was. She’d been dead a few days so he has a head start on us. My guess is he picked on Cynthia Redcar while in Kent. God knows where he’ll strike next.’
‘Well, you follow up any avenues you have to. And tell Dawkins well done. I’ll see her myself later. Now I think you’d better tell all the officers on the case. A bit of morale boosting wouldn’t go amiss today.’
Caitlin left the office with Kate and put his arm around her shoulders. ‘Sure you women like to stick together. If it had been me and Ratchette you’d have accused us of pushing you out.’
Kate grinned at him.
‘Kenny?’
‘What?’
&nbs
p; ‘Up yours. That’s how you would have answered me if I’d accused you of pushing me out!’
Caitlin laughed out loud. ‘You’re learning, Katie, and that young Amanda did good. It’ll be one in the eye for Spencer anyway.’
They walked into the incident room and Caitlin called for silence.
‘I have an announcement for you all that I think will take the sour expression off your faces.’
Everyone stood staring at him.
‘Thanks to a certain young lady,’ he pointed to Amanda Dawkins, who went red with embarrassment, ‘we have reason to believe that George Markham is our man.’
There was a murmur of surprise.
‘It seems he got someone to take the blood test for him. The signatures on his statements don’t match. We must concentrate on finding out who that was, and on looking for George Markham. One can only lead to the other.’
The telephone rang and Amanda Dawkins picked it up, glad of something to do. Everyone was grinning at her.
‘Today we will concentrate on people who knew the Markhams: workmates, friends, relatives. Anyone at all. Let’s get going!’
The excitement was back in the air. Cigarettes were being lit with a flourish, the disappointment of the night before evaporated. Kate watched the change in her team and felt the adrenaline in her own veins.
They would find George Markham. She was convinced of it.
Patrick ate a hearty breakfast and went into work. He had managed to shrug off his feelings of despondency over Kate. Had convinced himself that what she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her. Once George Markham was out of the way, he would be able to relax once more. His debt to his daughter would be paid in full. He could live again.
He smiled at the men in his office and they smiled back, wondering who had put the smile on his face in the first place.
‘Gentlemen,’ he announced, ‘I am officially calling off the hunt for the murderer of my daughter. The man who gave me the information will be paid in full in a few days.’
He saw the men’s faces drop.
‘Now then, down to business. Larry, I want you to go down to Colchester today and repossess a Jag. The owner is a Paki and he ain’t paid more than one instalment on it.
The credit company think he may have ringed it. I want you to find out.
