by Martina Cole
It was strange but it was the death of Marie’s daughter that had made him take the final drastic step. That was one tragedy too many as far as he was concerned.
He could smell Marie’s perfume in the office space. It was light and fragrant and like her it was subdued. He missed her around the place. But every time he thought of her with Mikey Devlin he felt sick to his stomach. They were hardly what he would have called a natural couple.
Mikey was a diamond geezer. He should have his usual armful, a young bird who was grateful to be seen with him. Not his Marie. She, whatever she had done, was intelligent and kind. She deserved better than Mikey whatever she might think. She had overcome so much and come out the end of it all a better person. Mikey would only drag her back down into the gutter with him because Mikey was going away and he was going away for a long time, whatever he thought.
None of this could go on much longer. Alan was amazed they had carried on as long as they had without a capture, though that was on the cards, he knew for a fact.
The phone rang and he answered it quickly. It wasn’t Marie and the realisation made him feel sad. She was under his skin and he didn’t know what the hell he was going to do about it. He thought about her all the time and dreamt of her in his home and in his bed. He had it bad, he knew he did. Love was a strange thing. It made you brave and it made you sneaky. As Mikey was going to find out very soon.
Verbena and Ossie had a truce for the moment but she wondered how long it was going to last.
Jason was devastated over his sister’s death, and she understood that; she just couldn’t see, as her son and husband apparently could, what the big deal really was. Sure, it was sad the girl was dead but the life she’d lived had made that inevitable. It was going to happen sooner or later, and if they’d chosen not to see that then more fool them. It was not like she’d been a regular girl, a respectable girl.
But Verbena was too shrewd to say any of this out loud, though privately she had made her feelings clear to Oswald.
She had also vented her feelings loud and clear on Jason’s so-called birth mother. She was damned if she was going to act like Marie’s best friend when in fact she should not be allowed anywhere near her son. If she were a neighbour they would be warning him to keep away, not encouraging him to see her and forgive her for the terrible things she’d done.
It was all completely laughable, but because Marie was a sexy piece Ossie had decided she was OK. Was to be welcomed. Well, that was not going to happen, not in Verbena’s home, she was determined on that much.
Marie Carter was not coming in here like a longlost sister, no way. Her with her big tits and her brash clothes, her smarmy smile and hangdog expression. ‘Look at poor me, I killed two people so feel sorry for me!’ It was as if the men in Verbena’s life had gone mad.
All Marie had done was give birth to those children. She’d never nurtured them, or loved them, or comforted them. Look at Tiffany, dead at nineteen. Beaten to death, mind, and raped, and the police had no interest at all. Because like Verbena they knew that it was par for the course with tarts like her. If she was honest Verbena was pleased the girl was gone. It was one less bloody relative to have to deal with. One less nuisance to have to listen to and smile at and pretend to welcome.
Shame the bloody mother had not gone with her. At least a small child could be moulded into something else. Look how well she had done with Jason. He should be down on his bended knees thanking her for the new life he’d had, not giving out to her over his mother. Her friend had said years ago that children were a thankless task and Verbena had disagreed. Now she understood only too well.
Well, she would bide her time and when this was over she was going to give them both the shock of their lives.
To think that her husband, the man she had adored all these years, could have his head turned by Marie Carter! It was unbelievable.
She finished making the sandwiches and put the soup on to heat. She had made her special vegetable soup, both her men loved it. She was making all their favourite food because she wanted them to realise what they could be giving up. When she gave them her ultimatum she wanted them to be fully aware of exactly how much she did for them.
She still could not believe that in a few short weeks her life had been virtually destroyed because of that woman. But one thing it had proved to her: Ossie was as weak as the next man before a pretty face and a comely figure. It didn’t matter that this one had been a drug addict and a double murderess, she was pleasing to the eye and for that he would forgive her anything.
It broke Verbena’s heart to know that the man to whom she had given herself, had fallen out with her family for, was not worth it. But he was hers and she loved him, and she was damned if she was going to let that other woman have him without a fight.
As her husband and son came into the bright airy kitchen she plastered a smile on her face and turned to them.
‘I’m not really hungry, Mum.’
Her son’s face was ravaged by tears so she walked over and hugged him to her. It was a tight hug and he tried to pull away but she held him in a vice-like grip so he just relaxed against her as he always did.
Watching them, Oswald sighed. Verbena was too overpowering. Why had he allowed her to become like that over the years? Why had he indulged her?
If only she’d believe she had never had any reason to be jealous, but she had always been like this, from the day they had met.
He forced himself to smile and eat the soup and sandwiches when in reality all he wanted to do was take his boy and go out somewhere. Get him some fresh air and talk through his sister’s death with him. Instead he had to sit it out with Verby for a while at least. He knew all the signs and how to deal with them. But he was getting bored with the constant drama. She controlled them both with her assumed helplessness when in reality she was the least helpless of the three of them.
Maisie answered the door with a smile. She looked quizzically at Marie before saying gaily, ‘Can I help you?’
Marie pushed her into the flat none too gently and answered her sharply.
‘I hope so, love. Maisie, isn’t it?’
Maisie looked like a child but though Marie was shocked at her youth she made sure it did not show. Patrick had always liked kids, it was in his nature.
Maisie was nothing if not streetwise. She felt the animosity coming from the woman before her and decided to listen first before she tried to fight her way out of anything. She wondered if this was one of Patrick’s real women, a proper girlfriend who had found out about her.
She walked into the lounge and Marie followed her. They surveyed each other warily. Finally Marie smiled.
‘Relax, love. I’m not here for a tear up. I’m Tiffany’s mother.’
The words had the desired effect. She saw the girl swallow noisily and sit down. She was wearing a tiny leather skirt and her narrow little face was thickly covered in make-up. This somehow made her look much younger and Maisie obviously knew that. It was all part of the act.
Her tiny breasts were held in place by a white crop top. On her feet were impossibly high black leather stilettos. Her hair was backcombed to within an inch of its life. She was obviously expecting a punter and this depressed Marie even more. It was like looking at her own daughter, like looking at herself. Fools . . . they were all such fools.
‘I heard about her, I really am sorry.’
Marie laughed.
‘I’m sure you are! Now, I understand you and Pat are close. So who did he give her to? I need to know exactly who he gave her to. And before you answer, remember, if you hold out on me I’ll kill you, sweetie, without a second’s thought. You must have heard about me from people? I’m a known face with the girls old and new. A legend, you could say. And I am more than capable of killing again. So think on that before you answer me. This is personal, love.’
Maisie was hard, she knew she was hard. She’d had to be to get as far as she had. But she instinctively knew that this woman
was capable of all she said and that she would extinguish her without a second thought.
‘Can I get you a drink only I think we need to talk properly, don’t you?’
As they sipped coffee together Maisie put her case.
‘I don’t take drugs and I don’t drink, right? I am here purely for the dough. I am young and I am streetwise. I saw my own mother used and abused by men, and though I sleep with them for money it is purely a means to an end. Patrick Connor means fuck all to me and if you want to turn off his lights then I will do nothing to stop you. What he did to Tiffany was wrong, and I am as guilty as he is in some ways. I get girls on the game, they trust me and I connect with them. But Patrick is too far off the wall even for me. I was going to tuck him up when the time was right anyway. But I digress, as they say. I’ll tell you all you need to know on one condition.’
Marie was shocked at the way the girl was talking but hid her feelings and answered her.
‘What’s that?’
‘I take what he’s got, and you leave me alone.’
Marie was silent for a few moments.
‘Fair enough. I give you my word,’ she said finally.
Maisie smiled and her whole face changed. This was a real smile, not a professional one. Marie found herself smiling back.
‘There are three men he uses who are into the gang thing. I don’t know them but I have seen the videos. Tiffany’s is over there.’
She pointed to the wall unit and Marie felt her breath catch as she realised she would have to watch it. Needed to watch it to get her anger up for what she intended to do next.
‘He was watching it all night. Tell the pathologist to look for GHB in her system - they dosed her up on it at the finish because she was screaming so much. He knew she would die, he told me that. He wanted her to know she was in the rubbish bin. He also wanted her found quickly so he could hear about her death. He is one weird fuck, but I expect you already know that.
‘He used her death to keep all the other girls in line, me included. He also intends to blackmail the men, though they don’t know that as yet. One is a high court judge, another is in the CPS. So as you can imagine they’re worth more than money to Patrick Connor. They keep him on the street. He’s sure he’ll never get burned. So there you are, a potted history of Tiffany’s death. He used her to get to them and used them to get to her. One of the girls in the other videos is only about thirteen. Even I balk at what they’ve been doing to her. Fred West eat your heart out, eh?’
‘Do all the girls die?’
Maisie shook her head.
‘Wished they had, most of them. But no, only your Tiffany and one other girl. A runaway from Bradford.’
Marie digested this information.
‘More coffee?’ Maisie offered.
She nodded.
‘Aren’t you expecting a punter?’
Maisie shrugged.
‘He can wait. If I don’t answer the door he can’t come in, can he?’
She went out to the kitchen.
‘Can I slip in a drop of hard for you? Brandy? Scotch?’
Marie followed her out and watched her every movement. She didn’t trust the girl that much. Not yet anyway.
Maisie read her mind and grinned.
‘I tell you something, mate, I wish you’d been my mum.’
Marie shook her head.
‘No, you don’t. Believe me, that’s the last thing you would have wanted.’
‘At least you’re trying to make amends now. My mum doesn’t give a flying fuck about me or me sisters.’
‘Will you watch the video with me, Maisie?’
She smiled sadly.
‘’Course I will. But I warn you, it’s not pleasant viewing.’
Marie held back the tears with difficulty.
‘I didn’t think it would be.’
Maisie put a slim arm around her shoulders and hugged her gently.
‘I ain’t never having kids, I know that much.’
Marie answered her seriously, ‘Much longer in this game and the choice will be made for you, darling. Remember that. You’ll end up like me or my daughter. Bear that in mind.’
Maisie didn’t answer her but it was a sobering thought.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Mikey was at Patrick’s flat. It had taken a five hundred bar and a good few shouted fucks to get past the security guy. He was obviously scared out of his life of Patrick Connor and Mikey was reluctantly impressed by his adversary’s ability to keep his security tight. He had always admired tight security and loyalty, even if that loyalty was born of fear. If you kept your own house in order you had nothing to worry about. You could relax and let life pass you by without the constant fear of either a capture or a takeover.
At least, that was how it should work out anyway. But the security guy had soon been had over with threats and a few quid. Still, in fairness, he was a straight guy, not a worker as such, so Mikey still felt the man had acquitted himself well. He knew his goons looked what they were and the bloke must have realised at some point they were serious trouble.
He looked around the luxurious Docklands flat with interest. It was the usual naff place. Fitted kitchen with barely enough space to swing the proverbial cat but good solid units. A coffee maker that was never used, all stainless steel and designer nameplates. A lone jar of Nescafe told its own story. He was disappointed in a way. The place was so predictable. Like something from a BBC2 drama production.
He headed into the bedroom. It was all mirrored wardrobes and Schreiber units once again. As he searched the place, putting any money he found on the bed, he came across a video hoard and smiled to himself as he looked through the titles. One was marked in black felt pen: Judge.
He already had a good idea what they were for. He slipped one into the machine in the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed to watch it. He lit a cigarette and drew the smoke into his lungs noisily. He could hear his blokes tearing the rest of the flat apart. He knew they would do a good job, and pushing a pair of Calvin Kleins away from him with his foot Mikey settled down. It was a comfortable bed, he would give the ponce that much. He would bet it had seen some action as well.
The film came on.
He’d expected the usual bit of old bluey, namely some old geezer giving a young bird one. He had already sussed the tapes were for blackmail of some kind. But what he saw shocked Mikey to the core.
This was not the usual old crap he had expected. Instead there was a young black girl, still in her teens and terrified. This was not acting, this was for real. The man, middle-aged with grey hair and a large gut, was unaware he was being filmed. That much was obvious because he kept going out of focus. He was definitely unaware of what was going on, and judging by what he was doing to the poor little mare, he would not have wanted any of it filmed.
No one in their right mind would want anyone to see that, not unless they were after a twenty-year stretch in a nonce home anyway. This must have been what had happened to Marie’s daughter. She was a slapper by all accounts, but even slappers were entitled to have a say in what happened to them.
He thought of his own daughters, their trusting faces as he had picked them up as little kids. Their innocent smiles when he’d said something amusing. Rage built inside him. He could not believe that anyone could peddle this shit with a clear conscience. The world had gone mad as far as he was concerned.
He ground the cigarette out on to the cream-coloured carpet and immediately lit another. He was mesmerised by the figures on the screen, unable to believe that anyone could get their rocks off by causing so much pain and suffering. The girl was bleeding profusely now, her face a mask of terror as she tried unsuccessfully to escape her attacker. She was losing consciousness rapidly and the man was still at her. He watched in morbid fascination as the figures on the screen went through their grisly ritual.
Of all the things Mikey had ever seen or heard of, of all the things he had done and been accused of doing, nothing had pr
epared him for the feelings this film engendered in him. It was fucking unbelievable what some people wanted to do, and the fact that someone like Connor made their sick fantasies possible just made Mikey want the man dead more than ever. It was a righteous crusade as far as he was concerned. Even if the filth knocked on his door, one peep at this lot and Mikey would be the recipient of a rather large round of drinks, surely, rather than a capture of any kind. No man could look at this obscenity and not be moved. Unless they were weirdos like the geek he was watching.
The plight of the girl on the screen made him feel so helpless and disgusted that he knew when he got his hands on Patrick Connor the man was going to die. Painfully and begging for mercy, he was going to die.
‘Jesus fucking Christ, Mikey!’
He turned to see Old Billy watching the screen in amazement.
‘What the fuck is all that about?’
‘That, mate, is Connor’s idea of a lucrative business.’
‘That old geezer is Judge Martin. The hanging judge of the Bailey. Old ponce! Been up before him meself. Cunt he is, put away Jimmy Lauder and Morrie Burns. And all the time he was a fucking pervert, the dirty old cunt!’
The other men were watching now, brought in by the sound of Billy’s voice. They all stared at the screen as the girl breathed her last and the judge still kept at her.
Twenty minutes later they were on their way. They had over twenty videos and nigh on sixteen grand in a black bin bag.
They all fell quiet as Mikey made sure his cattle prod was in perfect working order.
Marie was waiting for Patrick outside the gym. It was early evening and she was looking out for him as she sipped coffee in the café opposite. As she watched the people walking by she marvelled at how easy some people’s lives were. Though they didn’t realise that, of course. Everyone’s troubles were their own. How many times had she heard that old chestnut over the years?
