by Martina Cole
Patrick’s handsome face was twisted with rage. He was so angry that he could feel himself losing control once more.
The DI sensed this and decided to antagonise him.
‘Would you please come to the station? Of your own volition, of course. We would appreciate a statement as to your whereabouts since last night.’
He slid one shiny shoe into the doorway. The two policemen watched as Patrick Connor battled with himself.
‘You winding me up? You dare to fucking wind me up?’
He was shouting again though trying his hardest to keep a lid on his emotions. He had had a lot of cocaine and was getting paranoid. He knew he had to get them away from here before he went to his bedroom and came back to them armed with his newly bought machete.
He was capable of murder and he knew it. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt like it and he knew it wouldn’t be the last.
‘Get your foot out me door or I’ll use reasonable force to remove it for you.’
The DI was nervous and it showed. He was a big man; he had a tickle now and again, took a few quid to turn a blind eye, but Connor was a lunatic and needed putting away. It was imperative he was put away. Also, he was being paid a good wedge by another dealer to take Connor out of the ball game. And he would. It was getting personal now.
After a few seconds Smethurst removed his foot and Patrick shut the door in his face. He watched through the spy hole until they got into the lift, then he breathed easily once more.
They had come to his door, they had actually come to his home! He was on the big list now and knew he had to watch his back. But if he went down he would take a good few with him, police as well as civilians.
He went back to the lounge and saw Tiffany looking at him still wrapped in the towel. He had forgotten she was even there. He stared at her long and hard but she knew he couldn’t see her. He was planning something and she knew that whoever was on the receiving end of his anger would regret it dearly.
He poured himself a large Chivas Regal and drank it down in one gulp. Then he dialled a number on his phone and shouted into the receiver, ‘Paul? The filth just came to my home, motherfucker. My home!’
Chapter Twenty
Marie was sitting alone in the lounge. She knew something had happened between the other three but she wasn’t sure what. She could take a good guess, though. Jason had just run upstairs and Ossie had followed him.
She glanced round the room. It was beautiful, decorated in creams and beiges. It must take a lot of upkeep. She had had no real possessions for so long that the thought of trying to make a home seemed alien to her. But then, she had not made a very good job of it when she had last had the opportunity. She thought of all the home classes she had attended in prison and smiled wryly.
‘Your home is where you relax. Where you spend most of your leisure time.’ She could still hear the lecturer’s voice as she’d said it. Marie had nearly answered: ‘And there is nothing like a wrap of the big H to relax you in your home, ma’am. That is why most of us are here.’ But she hadn’t.
That poor woman couldn’t even imagine the so-called homes of the people she was preaching to. She had always seemed highly nervous of her class of degenerates. Now Marie was feeling that same nervousness herself.
She was more nervous than she had been on her arrival. She had known instinctively that Verbena was going to be a problem, just had not expected it to manifest itself so soon. In fact, she wondered if she should get a taxi or something and leave. Let them all talk about what was happening. It was obvious Verbena had a problem with her and Marie could understand that. She didn’t want to take the boy from her, couldn’t do that even if she wanted to. He had a lot of his life invested in the couple who had adopted him. She couldn’t expect him to want her over all this – the lovely home and the holidays and the good education.
She only wished Verbena had given her the time to thank her properly for all she had done for Jason. And Marie was grateful. She really appreciated it all. If only Verbena could see past her face and body she knew that they could get on with one another. Marie was capable of getting on with anyone. Her years inside had made sure of that.
Verbena walked into the room and the atmosphere was instantly charged. Marie stared at her for long moments. Verbena was a heavy woman, well-rounded. Her eyes were spectacular; their greeny-blue colour made them seem almost catlike. She obviously loved her son and husband, the only thing that differentiated her from Marie’s mother. Louise had the same problem with wanting to own people, but unlike Verbena had had no time for her husband at all. This woman had the same air of simmering animosity; it came off her in invisible waves. Warning people to back off, leave her boys alone and if possible sever any contact with them.
Marie was heart sorry for the woman but she wanted her son in her life and she would have him. No matter what this woman thought.
‘I hope you’re happy.’
The words were spoken in a low voice, almost a whisper, and Marie knew that Verbena had thrown down the first gauntlet.
‘Not at all. Why would I be?’
Verbena snorted in a most unladylike way.
‘Oh, I don’t know. You come waltzing into my home and try and inveigle yourself into my family. I never wanted you here and neither did my son. In fact, when the social worker asked about him seeing you, I told them he had said no. But it still happened, didn’t it? My husband saw to that. You want the boy back and now you’re determined to take him from me.’
Marie stood up. She was taller than Verbena and as she walked over to her saw the first flash of fear on the other woman’s face.
Standing before her Marie said gently, ‘I would never try and take him from you. Why would I? This is all he knows. You have done a fantastic job with him. Jason’s your son now, not mine. You took care of him, something I had never been able to do. Not properly anyway. I understand how you feel. Believe me, I understand.’
Verbena refused to be won over.
‘Don’t you patronise me! I know what you’re doing and you will never, ever get me kissing your backside like those two. I know what you are, and I know what you want, and I will do all I can to prevent you from taking my son and turning him into a piece of dirt like you and your daughter. Now get out of my home!’
Marie stifled an urge to slap this supercilious bitch across her fat face. Instead she smiled again, a cold smile.
‘Do you know something? I wouldn’t want to be you for all the money in the world. As bad as my life was, at least I can sleep at night now. I accepted myself a long time ago. I was a drug addict and a prostitute; I am also branded a murderer. But I would rather be me than you because people like you are leeches. You drive everyone away with your so-called goodness. You should meet my mother, darling, there’s nothing between the pair of you. Self-righteous prig is the term that springs to mind. You will drive that boy away from you with your attitude as sure as you will make him hate you because of it. Whatever my faults, and they are legion, I have attempted to change my life. My advice to you would be to do the same before it’s too late.’
She walked from the room and out of the house and as she shut the front door felt as if she could cheerfully commit another murder. Instead of feeling worried by her feelings, though, part of her welcomed them. Because at last, finally, she was feeling like a normal person again. She felt angry but she could control the emotion. Something that had frightened her for years was her fear of losing her temper again. She was over that, she was like everyone else. She got upset and she walked away.
It was a small victory, she knew, but at least it would stop her from thinking about what she had left behind in that house. Her son. Her future.
In prison a therapist had taught her to think about what she had achieved instead of what she had failed at. That had been good advice and she pondered it now.
As she walked down the tree-lined avenue she thought how astonishing it was, her son living in all this luxury, with everythin
g money could buy. Yet even in this bastion of respectability there was still room for someone just like her mother. Money did not make you happy. The truth of it had never hit home before but she had just seen it clearly illustrated.
Verbena would never be happy because she couldn’t let people go. If only people saw themselves as others saw them, how differently they would view the outside world.
But at least Marie had touched her child, he had accepted her, even seemed pleased to see her. That was one victory she had gained.
She wasn’t crying and even that fact pleased her. She was stronger than she’d thought and that meant maybe, just maybe, she might cope with living on the outside. If only she could make things right with Tiffany as well as keep in contact with her son; little by little she could right some of the great wrongs she had committed in her life. And pay back some of the people who had wronged her.
She was going to best Patrick Connor and take her daughter from under his influence even if she had to kill again to obtain what she wanted.
Patrick felt the noose tightening around his neck and was powerless to do anything about it.
The fact that the police had come to his flat rattled him. It was their way of saying they had him in their sights. He wondered who the grass could be. Not Maxie anyway, he was dead meat. But Patrick was shrewd enough to know that he had made a good few enemies over the years and any one of them could be putting his face up for a capture.
The fear factor had always worked for him until now. So what he needed, he reasoned, was to make a big splash that would tell everyone in his world just what he was capable of when pushed.
The more he thought about that idea, the more attractive it became. He saw himself as an avenging warrior, someone to be reckoned with. He forgot that he was going against his own rule: never make important decisions while under the influence of cocaine. All sense of reality went out of the window then and the feeling of euphoric strength it caused made you feel invincible even when you weren’t. It was why people took the damn drug in the first place.
But Patrick was rattled, seriously rattled. His eyes alighted once more on Tiffany. Was she the person who was grassing him? Helping to get his arse kicked by Old Bill? Could they be using her to get at him? He knew they had wanted him for a long time. That they had known about his nefarious dealings but had never been able to link him to anything except his legal businesses for years. He paid his accountant a good wedge to make sure that he was pristine on paper, but his reputation had as usual preceded him and they were sniffing round once more.
They had by-passed the security of his flat and come to his front door. That spoke of tenacity and determination. Told him they were serious about giving him a capture, and if that happened he would go away until he was an old man. He could see the fright on Tiffany’s face and that reassured him. She would not have the guts to grass him up. She was a shitter, like all her kind.
He would have to start putting the frighteners on people, it was all he could do. Scare them into telling him what he wanted to know. But first he had to sort out this girl before him.
He smiled at her tenderly.
‘All right, Tiff ?’
She smiled back at him, relieved that he was calmer now. That the main force of his anger was spent. All she wanted to do was keep him as sweet as she could and hopefully make him like her a bit again. It was important to her that he liked her again because then she could relax a little.
Mikey and Alan were at the house in Essex. As they sipped brandy Alan looked around at the great baronial hall and smiled.
‘This is some drum, Mikey.’
Devlin grinned.
‘I know. I paid the Nash for it. But it’s like me mother always said - you get what you pay for, eh?’
Alan nodded.
‘So it would seem.’
Mikey drank his brandy down and immediately refilled his glass.
‘You don’t like me seeing Marie, do you, Alan?’
The question startled him and he was caught on the hop.
‘It’s none of my business, Mikey.’
Devlin shrugged.
‘I suppose not. But then she does work for you and I ain’t fucking stupid. I can see the way you look at her. She affects me like that an’ all, Al. There’s something about her, ain’t there? A sort of niceness only some people pick up on. Hard to believe she was a brass at times, she’s so feminine and dignified. Know what I mean? Yet I don’t care about her past. She’s nice to be with, like. Calming is the word I’m looking for.’
Alan realised even if Mikey didn’t that he was well and truly in love.
‘She’s a terrific woman, Mikey. Had a few bad breaks, but then haven’t we all? I think she’s coped well. I certainly couldn’t do a lump like she did and come out of it still relatively normal. Most lags come out lunatics. Only a few are tough enough to survive it and those are the ones with strong minds and hearts.’
Mikey was nodding.
‘That’s what I think and all, Alan. She’s a grafter, ain’t she? Like me.’
Alan didn’t want to answer but knew he had to. He nodded his head and said gently, ‘Yep. She’s a grafter all right.’
A car pulled up on the drive and Alan went to the French windows.
‘They’re here.’
Mikey went to the door and Alan sat and waited while the two guests were greeted. When they finally came into the room he stood up and stretched out his hand.
‘Pleased to meet you.’
The first man smiled, showing a set of very white even teeth. He was a handsome Indian though small by any standards, no more than five foot one, and so thin he was almost emaciated. The other man was big, over six foot, with a paunch.
‘Mohammed Ali and Perjit Amarera. Our Indian friends,’ Mikey introduced them. ‘And this is my associate, Alan Jarvis.’
They all sat down and studied each other warily. It was always like this on a first meet, everyone trying to suss the others out. Alan relaxed. He would have nothing to do. Devlin would work this room and work it well. He had seen him in action before. He listened as they discussed mutual friends and enemies alike. After a while, and a few brandies, the plan was discussed: how to bring in heroin from Sri Lanka and distribute it all over Europe.
Once the work talk started the atmosphere changed once more, became energised, and when Mikey left the room Alan knew he was going for a line and hoped that he didn’t overdo it. The Asians were renowned for never touching the stuff they produced and had an aversion to working with people who did.
They knew how dangerous it could be in the wrong context. It was a recreational drug, not one to use while making serious decisions.
So Alan sat back and smiled at the two visitors and hoped their business would be concluded soon, then he could go home and try and get some much-needed sleep.
Carole Halter stood by the road and smiled at a passing driver. She was drunk, and she was also five grand better off so she didn’t really need the work. But she knew she should keep at it so as not to arouse any suspicion. The girls would all know the trophy money had been paid and would soon put two and two together if she disappeared, then she would be in line for a good hiding. They might fight the fuck out of each other but they were loyal when a girl was sold or had a reward out on her head.
Unless they wanted the money, of course. Then they would have done what she had and pretended they’d had nothing to do with it, just as she was doing now.
But it was burning a hole in her bag.
She was going to get a cab soon and visit her daughters. Then Carole was going to blow the rest on a good time.
As she got into the car that had stopped for her she bashed her shin and swore under her breath. The punter was big, with iron-grey hair and a wrinkled face. She could smell the odour of sweat, old sweat, and decaying teeth. But she forced a smile anyway. After all, she was a professional.
‘How much for a blow job?’
He had a Northern Irish acc
ent and it sounded harsh in the confines of the car.
‘Ten quid, money first, and I use a condom. Twenty-five quid without. Money first.’
He grunted and drove away.
She lay back against the upholstery and tried to stop her head spinning. She was really drunk and she knew it. Just as well with him. She would not have taken him on sober. He stank. He was still driving ten minutes later when it occurred to her that she had been in the car a long time.
‘Where are you fucking going?’
She was belligerent with the drink and it manifested itself in her voice. He didn’t answer her, just carried on driving. She looked out of the window and saw that they were in a derelict street.
‘Stop the fucking car now!’
He carried on driving without answering her. Instead he turned on the radio. It played loud rock music. He was driving fast and she was getting frightened. She put a hand across the car and tried to undo his trousers. He pushed her hand away aggressively and she shrank back into her seat.
Carole was in trouble and she knew it.
She glanced around the car. In the back there was a baby seat and a few toys, a bottle half filled with orange juice and a hammer. It was the hammer that caught her eye. She tried to open the door of the car, but the man just grabbed her by her coat and smashed her head towards the dashboard. She hit it with a massive noise and knew she was in the company of a nutter.
He finally spoke.
‘One more move and I’ll batter your fucking brains out.’
He carried on driving then as if nothing had happened, the sounds of Meatloaf filling the car. ‘Bat Out of Hell’ had been a favourite of hers once, many years ago when she had been young and the world had seemed an exciting place. When her tits had still pointed upwards and she had no cellulite. When her body had been her fortune even if her face had never been that beautiful.
She had heard of people saying their lives had flashed before them but this was ridiculous. She was thinking back to a time when she had been happy, as if she knew she was going to die.
She was used to rough treatment from the men who paid her for oral sex, and occasionally for full sex. They were ashamed of themselves for the most part, that was why they were so aggressive. Now she tried to calm herself down and keep her wits about her but it was hard when she had drunk so much and, with five grand in her bag, had so much to lose. It would be just her luck to get murdered tonight of all nights, when she finally had a few quid at her disposal and was happy.
