by Martina Cole
‘There’s also a large warehouse in Surrey that needs to be cleared out, mainly colour tellies and video equipment. The whole lot is to be moved from there and impounded. I’m saying this only once, so listen good. Only a telly or a video apiece can go astray. If I hear that any of the stuff’s being sold on the side there’ll be trouble. Right, Jimmy?’
He hung his head. Pat sussed all right. Everyone laughed.
‘Now we’ve got a lot of furniture snatchbacks today, you know the score. Council flats with leather settee suites and solid oak dining tables, mainly catalogue collection, so look after the gear right. There’s a list outside for each of you, with a route map. Take the big removal vans. It’s the after Christmas rush at the moment so there’s plenty of work. Don’t hassle the occupants of the places unless you have to. I heard through the grapevine that Dinny Morris’s lot slapped a young bird the other week, I don’t like that kind of behaviour. You’d throw a paddy if someone came to take your furniture away, try and remember that. Have a bit of sympathy for them.’
The men looked at Jimmy again.
‘I don’t know why you’re all looking at me! I’d never slap a bird.’
‘Not unless you was living with her anyway.’
Ronald Baker’s voice was hard and the men looked uneasy. Jimmy lived with Ronald’s youngest sister.
‘All right, keep your family feuds outside this office and this company. Lastly, I want you to tell your teams that when they are debt collecting I want all the money paid in pronto. I keep hearing how the men are keeping the Saturday collections at home until the Monday morning. That’s got to stop from now on. I know every scam in the book, and a couple of the collectors have pissed money up the wall by Monday then sworn black was blue they never collected it. Any more stories like that and they’re out, along with their team leader which will be one of you.’
He lit himself a cigarette slowly to let his words sink in. ‘Other than that, I don’t think I’ve got anything else to say.’
The men stood up and began making their way to the door.
‘Can you stay behind for a minute, Ronnie?’
He resumed his seat and waited for the room to empty.
‘I’ve got a special job for you.’
‘What kind of job?’ Ronnie’s voice was neutral.
‘A very lucrative job. Are you game?’
Ronnie nodded his head. His thin-lipped mouth had a tight roll-up stuck in the corner. It moved up and down as he spoke. Kelly could never remember seeing it lit.
‘In Spain there’s a certain old lag who owes a considerable amount of money to a friend of mine. He wants the debt collected this week.’
Ronnie nodded again. ‘How much is my bunce?’
‘Your take will be ten per cent as is usual in these cases. The amount to be collected is eighty grand.’
Ronnie nodded again.
‘Who’s the lag?’
Patrick took a deep breath. ‘William Carlton.’
Ronnie’s taciturn expression never wavered. ‘Tell the bloke I want twenty per cent and he supplies the shooter. I’ll bring the money back by boat.’
‘That can all be arranged. You’re to go tomorrow morning.’
‘Fair enough.’
Ronnie stood up. ‘One more thing, Pat. Jimmy will be out of work for a good few months soon. I thought I’d let you know so you could replace him.’
Patrick nodded. ‘What’s the rub?’
‘He gave me sister a kicking Saturday, thinks no one knows about it, but she phoned me mum. I can’t swallow no more, Pat. She’s only twenty-two and five months pregnant. The slag won’t even marry her.’
‘What about your sister, can’t she leave him?’
‘She won’t. Thinks the sun shines out of his arse.
She’s only a kid, Pat. Don’t know what’s good for her yet.’
Patrick stood up and shook the man’s hand.
‘Thanks for letting me know. I’m sorry to hear about Clare, she’s a good kid.’
‘Thanks, Pat. I’m glad you found the scumbag who done your Mandy. Fucking real, ain’t it? The shite that’s knocking about these days. No one’s safe.’
Patrick saw him to the door and sat back at his desk. Well, the piece of scum who’d killed his Mandy had had his card marked for sure. His days were numbered.
Patrick began to whistle through his teeth as he studied his books.
Hector Henderson was worried. Very worried. He had not heard from Elaine for over a week. He had gone round to Margaret Forrester’s house and been informed that Elaine was off work ill. Some kind of flu. Except she’d had all day to ring him while George was out at work, and nothing. Nothing at all.
He chewed on his thumbnail, his big fat face shining with a film of sweat. Suppose she didn’t want to see him any more? He chewed harder at the thought, causing his ill-fitting teeth to make tiny popping noises as they rattled against his gums. Since the New Year he had become fond of Elaine. More than fond in fact. He would even go so far as to say he loved her.
Yes, it was no use denying it, he thought the bally world of her.
She was a good handful was old Elaine, a good laugh, and a very accommodating woman. Bet she could cook too. Stood to reason, the size of her. If only she wasn’t married to that George chap.
He sighed. Elaine might leave him, though. The only thing was, how was he going to convince her to throw the man out? He looked around his little bedsit. They couldn’t live here. Perhaps if Elaine sold her house they could buy a nice flat. He nodded to himself. That would be the best bet. After all, he didn’t want to see her husband with nothing. The last time he had seen her she had been like a ripe plum, ready for the picking, and he had picked her all right. He smiled to himself. Surpassed himself in fact. She did like the old one-eyed snake did Elaine! That was another of her attractions.
He settled himself back in the large armchair. He was worrying over nothing. Elaine had told him in no uncertain terms that she loved him. She was probably lying in bed at this very moment, half dead with flu and a raging temperature. He pictured this in his mind. That was why she hadn’t been in touch, bless her heart. He scolded himself for his earlier, unworthy thoughts. His Elaine was a diamond, a 24-carat diamond. She would see him all right. She would get him out of this dump.
She had to. He was depending on it.
He was startled by a knock on the door. He sat quietly for a few minutes. If it was that old bitch for her rent money she usually gave a warning shout. Nothing. He felt his panic subside. Perhaps it was Elaine?
He leapt from his chair as the knocking began again, his eyes taking in the chaos of the room. He could have kicked himself, he should have tidied up a bit. He glanced in the piece of broken mirror on his mantelpiece. Hurriedly tidying his hair, he opened the door with a flourish, a big smile on his large round face.
‘Mr Henderson?’
Hector nodded cagily, racking his brains to think if he was in any kind of debt.
‘I’m Detective Inspector Burrows and this is my colleague, Chief Inspector Caitlin. We would like to have a few words with you.’
Hector stared at the tiny cards in their hands.
‘What about?’
‘Elaine Markham. We understand from Margaret Forrester that you were close friends.’
Hector stood aside to let them in. Caitlin’s nose wrinkled at the sour smell.
‘I’m afraid we have some bad news for you, Mr Henderson. Elaine Markham has been murdered.’
Kate watched the shock and disbelief on the man’s face and felt sorry for him.
‘No . . . No, it can’t be true. Not Elaine.’
His voice was a distraught whisper. All his dreams were dissolving in front of his eyes. A proper home, a wife, a companion for his old age. Hector knew as sure as eggs were eggs that Elaine Markham was his last chance.
‘Murdered, you say?’
Caitlin nodded.
‘Well, it wasn’t me. I haven’t seen her for
over a week.’
Hector was now out to save his skin. Maybe they thought he had done it?
‘We have a good idea who murdered her, Mr Henderson, you’re not a suspect. We just want you to tell us all you know about Elaine Markham and anything she might have told you about her husband.’
Hector Henderson nodded slowly. He looked around the grubby room and sighed. It had all been too good to be true. His dancing clothes hung from the picture rails around the room, mocking him, and he felt an urge to cry.
Elaine had been a good egg. She would have seen him all right.
Inside the trailer it was hot. Loretta lay on the bed, watching the Englishman. As he brought his arm up to run his hand through his hair she flinched.
‘Don’t worry, my dear, I wouldn’t hurt you.’
He smiled at her, displaying his tiny teeth.
Loretta took a large swallow. She put a hand between her legs to try and ease the burning.
‘Let me drink my beer, and then we’ll get back down to business.’
Loretta closed her eyes. She ached all over.
The Englishman was cold, as she had first thought. Cold and callous. Never before had she had to endure the things he wanted from her, and she had done them all, she’d had to do them. This man was frightening in his intensity. He took his sex seriously. He had lain on top of her and pounded into her, as if he knew exactly what would hurt most.
Luckily for Loretta, she lay passively, letting him do just what he wanted; some inbred cunning told her that this was not a man to fight with. Even when he dug his fingers hard and spitefully into her genitals, she had just whimpered, biting down the scream that was trying to emerge.
She did not want to upset this guy.
George looked into the young fresh face. A trickle of blood ran down from her swollen lip.
She really was quite a pretty little thing.
‘Turn over on your stomach, dear.’
Loretta did as he asked and as she felt him straddle her she bit down once more on her bottom lip. Big fat tears squeezed out from beneath her closed lids. As she felt the sharp pain of George’s penis entering her anal passage she began to beg him to stop, her words becoming incoherent as the pain engulfed her again.
George looked down at the long tanned body and smiled.
Outside in the Florida sunshine, Duane yawned and settled himself more comfortably in his seat.
This guy certainly liked his money’s worth.
Kate came back into the station at two thirty. She had just got herself a coffee when Amanda came to her desk.
‘His car’s been found. In Gatwick Airport car park. Caitlin’s on his way down now, he’ll wait for you outside.’
Kate picked up her bag and rushed from the room. They made their way to Gatwick in record time, barely exchanging a word.
Both were filled with the same thought: He’d left the country. Either that or someone had left his car here for him. They already knew they were dealing with a clever man.
The flights were being checked, as were the ferries. He did not know yet that his wife’s body had been found. George Markham was still in the clear so far as he knew. The press hadn’t got so much as a whiff of this one.
In the car park George’s car was opened. In the back was Cynthia Redcar’s parka. It had a little plastic toy in the pocket. Looking at it, Kate felt a wave of sadness.
Later, the car had just arrived at the forensics workshop and Kate and Caitlin were watching it being dusted for prints, before being stripped, when the call came through.
George Markham had gone to Orlando on a charter flight three days previously.
Cynthia Redcar had been his last little fling before boarding. He was due back on 16 March. He was on a fly drive holiday. That meant he could be anywhere.
But they were interviewing his brother soon. Maybe he could shed some light on the trip. There had been no address books in the Markham house. Joseph Markham’s address had been found on an old letter.
First though, they were going to Kortone Separates.
George arrived back at Edith’s happy and relaxed, and full of good-natured bonhomie as he embraced his nephew, Joss Junior.
‘Natalie is just coming down now, George. She’s so excited.’
George heard her footsteps on the stairs and turned in their direction, a large smile on his face. When she walked into the room his face froze.
In the flesh, Natalie was the living image of his mother. She looked nothing like the photograph he’d seen the day before. Her hair was the same deep red, her eyes the same greeny-blue. George felt his heartbeat quicken. He half expected her to say something cutting as Nancy would have. Instead she ran towards him and embraced him, enveloping him a cloud of Giorgio perfume. George automatically put his arms around her slim waist. He could smell the slightly musky smell of her sweat. Not unpleasant, he decided, but womanly.
‘Oh, Uncle George, I’ve heard so much about you. I feel as if I know you already!’
Her voice was pure American, as was Joss’s, and the reminder of Nancy evaporated. George caught Edith’s eye and realised she knew what he was thinking.
Joss Senior came into the room with a jug of martinis. ‘Who wants a drink?’ he boomed.
Everyone moved outside to the sunshine and George listened to all the family chit chat. Joss Junior, unlike his namesake, was very subdued. In fact he reminded George of himself when younger. George smiled at him now and then and the boy coloured slightly and nodded back.
Edith thought her heart would burst.
She had all the important people in her life around her, something she was sure she would never experience again.
‘Where did you go today, George?’
He blanched. ‘Oh, I just drove around, you know. Had a little look about.’
Natalie squealed, ‘I know, let’s take him to MGM tomorrow. Oh, Uncle George, you’ll just love the studios.’
George beamed. He liked Florida right enough. It really brought him out of himself. An hour later he was half listening to Joss, Joss Junior and Edith chatting while he watched Natalie swimming in the pool.
She was Nancy Markham all over again, from the big fat breasts to the jutting hip bones. George watched her closely and nodded to himself. She had her grandmother’s lust for sex too. That was evident in every move she made. A flicker of repugnance crossed his features. He watched her pull herself from the pool and dry herself, rubbing hard at her skin with the towel, causing her breasts to shimmy in their tiny top.
They were all the same. Every last one of them. Abruptly he got up and went to his room.
Edith, Joss and their children all gave one another puzzled looks.
‘I think the flight probably caught up with him,’ said Edith. It sounded lame even to her own ears.
George locked himself into his bathroom. He sat on the toilet seat, his mind filled with thoughts of his niece’s body and presence. Erotic visions played in front of his eyes. He felt the familiar urge rising in him. He would show them. He would show them all. They were all bloody whores!
His mother, Edith, Elaine . . . he pictured all the women he had murdered, and then somewhere, tacked right on the end, was his niece Natalie. In his mind’s eyes he saw her beneath him, begging for him to stop hurting her, and he smiled.
Downstairs Natalie sat with her family, feeling safe and secure. Happy to be with them and part of their lives.
George heard her tinkling laughter; it wafted up to him on the heavy Florida air, and somewhere in his mind he decided she was laughing at him.
Well, he would teach her a lesson she would not forget.
Edith watched her children with pride. She had spent a lifetime protecting them. She did not even guess that the biggest threat her daughter had ever faced was sitting upstairs in her own home.
Peter Renshaw was nervous. Kate could sense the sweat coming from his pores.
‘I understand you were quite friendly with Mr Markham?’
&n
bsp; ‘I knew him as a workmate, that was all.’
Kate frowned. He was hiding something.
‘Look, Mr Renshaw, I understand you arranged his leaving party for him. I got the impression that you were one of the few people who was actually close to George Markham.’
‘Look, why is everyone interested in George all of a sudden? What’s he supposed to have done?’
Renshaw’s voice was high and uneasy.
‘What do you mean by everyone? Who else has been looking for him?’
‘No one. No one at all. Why would anyone want him?’
Kate watched him chew his fingernail.
‘Listen here, Mr Renshaw.’ She stressed the ‘Mr’. ‘You can either chat to me here or I can haul your fat arse into the station. It’s up to you. But I warn you now - I don’t like people holding out on me. Now who else was looking for George Markham?’
‘If I tell you, do you promise me you’ll keep it to yourself?’ His bulbous eyes were pleading.
Kate nodded.
‘It was a local hard man . . . Patrick Kelly. He pulled me up a few days ago.’ He looked at Kate and stood up. ‘Here, are you all right?’
‘Patrick Kelly?’ she whispered.
Renshaw nodded. Then watched as she stormed from the room. He shook his head. He hoped to Christ she kept her promise.
Kate drove back to Grantley at record speed. Patrick had already seen Renshaw. He already knew who they were looking for. George Markham was in America and Patrick had taken a call from the States . . . She felt icy fingers at the back of her neck. Hadn’t he told her he would pay his daughter’s murderer out? Hadn’t he told her that?
He had known where George Markham was all along. He had made love to her knowing that. Knowing he had murder planned.
Patrick must have thought she was the most stupid bimbo he had ever come across in his life. He’d been laughing at her. If he knew where Markham was then Markham was a dead man - unless she did something about it.
She drove as fast as she could to Grantley Police Station and went in search of Caitlin. By this time she was in a fury so passionate it was making her shake.
Patrick Kelly had a lesson to learn: never to mug off Kate Burrows again!
