by Martina Cole
‘When was the last time you schlepped Duggan?’
‘A week ago, ten days. I don’t remember.’
He could see her mind wandering, knew she was terrified and toyed with the idea of making her do something disgusting just for the hell of it. She still looked fresh enough to appeal to him, but Lucas was a worried man. He would have an easier time trying to raise the Titanic at this moment.
‘Try and get round Broughton, see what you can get out of him.’
She nodded.
‘Keep me posted.’
She was grateful that the meeting was over. She had been let into the flat by one of Browning’s henchmen and they always made her nervous.
As she stood up Lucas grinned at her.
‘You’re a good girl, Clarissa. I’ve heard nice things about you.’
She smiled in relief. ‘Thank you, Mr Browning.’
He smiled again, this time showing his black broken teeth. ‘You’re welcome.’
He watched her make her escape as fast as possible and grinned again. She had taken to the life and didn’t even realise it yet. But she would, and when she did it would destroy her. Whores were born, not made. He had proved that over and over again.
Ratchette looked at Kate and nodded to her to brief him.
‘We have witnesses that put both mothers at the scenes,’ she said. ‘They have both had ID parades and were both picked out. We have to charge them. Regina Carlton is unfit to be questioned any more. She was taken to Rampton after her suicide attempt. The second mother is still proclaiming her innocence and is still missing one child. On top of all this, we’ve been searching for two days and can come up with nothing. We also have the body, minus head and arms, of a child who seems to have been born and raised with no one knowing anything about him. We have tried all over the country and cannot find a DNA match for him. If it wasn’t so sad it would be laughable.’
Ratchette felt a spark of pity for her. She was a good policewoman, was Kate Burrows, none better. If anyone could piece all this together it was she.
‘What extras do you need?’ he asked.
‘Only manpower really. The national press are going to start screaming for a result soon, you know they are. We need to get on top of this and now.’
He nodded agreement.
‘They want me to bring in someone else, Kate, but you must have expected this. Kelly’s position is delicate at the moment. If the press were to get wind of it . . .’ He left the statement hanging in the air for maximum effect.
Kate sighed heavily. She had been expecting this, only not quite so quickly.
‘Fuck Patrick Kelly.’
‘I’ll leave that to you, Kate.’
‘Well, sir, you and I both have something in common then, eh? Because Pat will use anyone and anything to get himself out of this mess and if he has to fuck one of us to do it he will.’
She was pleased to see the man before her go pale.
‘You knew him long before I did. I mean, you are a close personal friend of his, aren’t you?’ A hint of malice lay beneath the apparently artless question. Kate was enjoying herself. The last thing she had expected to do today, under the circumstances.
Her eyes travelled towards the window and she felt her heart sink as she saw the carrion that passed for the media converging once more outside the police station. She knew that Ratchette was also aware of them. This time she avoided eye contact with her boss.
Marianne Bigby was pretty in a vacuous way. From her dyed hair, carefully permed and styled, to the nose and boob jobs, she was every inch the woman a bad man might consider as a life partner.
As she let Patrick Kelly into her home she was talking. Marianne never stopped talking; it was her biggest failing. Because when she talked she moaned. She also talked fast. Fast and Furious was her nickname.
‘It took you long enough to get your arse round here, Kelly. I want me bleeding compensation, I do, and it had better be good, too. No pennies and halfpennies, thank you very much. And I’ll tell you something else: that ponce left me in debt up to me eyebrows. I knew he was going to get himself murdered, the stupid fucker! I told him over and over, “You’ll get murdered, you will, if you ain’t careful . . .” ’
Patrick and Willy were on auto-pilot. Patrick knew her well enough not to listen until she started crying, a trick Micky Duggan had taught him. Eventually the tears started and he took the opportunity to talk to her.
‘Come on, Mal, I wouldn’t see you without a couple of quid, girl. You know that.’
She sniffed loudly. ‘If he was here now, Pat, I’d kill the ponce myself. Imagine him getting topped like that. I mean, the embarrassment for me! Not like he went down to Old Bill or got himself shot. Oh no, he had to get bashed up, him. Useless ponce he was . . . But that was him all over, no thought for anyone else. I mean, where’s the prestige in that, eh? But I warned him about Broughton. I fucking warned him when the ponce came round here, all testosterone and baseball bats. I saw him off that time. On me own as usual because that cunt Micky was strumping something in the club.’ She pointed one long red nail in Patrick’s face.
‘I blame you for it all. Letting him run that club - him, who couldn’t run a bloody race without fourteen guide dogs and a police escort! Thanks to you he was dragged into gambling dens and the like. You know what a fucker he was for the horses and that. Like a kid in a candy store he was with all that dough. Money coming out of his arse and betting like there was no tomorrow. Him who couldn’t win a fucking argument.’
‘Not with you anyway, girl. He couldn’t get a fucking word in!’ Willy’s voice seemed to shut her up for a second.
She went over to him and, wagging her head with each word, she said shrilly, ‘I am the grieving bleeding widow, thank you very much.’
By now, Patrick had had enough. ‘Sit down and shut up for two minutes, Mal. You are getting comp so put a fucking sock in it.’
‘The kids are in private school. I have the house, this flat, me car . . .’
‘It will all be taken care of,’ he said wearily. ‘Now why did Broughton come round here with baseball bats?’
Marianne shook her head as if she didn’t understand what he was asking her. ‘Don’t you know?’
Patrick took a deep breath and said as evenly as he could, ‘No, Mal, I don’t know. That’s why I am asking you.’
For the first time she fell quiet. Finally she said, ‘He was after Micky over the money you took from the club.’
Patrick screwed up his eyes. ‘What are you on about? It’s my money - it’s my club.’
She stared into his face, the lines of strain round her eyes etched into her fake tan.
‘Not the takings, Pat. The five hundred grand the Russian bloke left there.’
Patrick felt as if he had been pole-axed.
‘Five hundred grand, left in my club by a fucking Russian? Are you on drugs, Mal, or are you off your fucking skull? What Russian?’
‘Mr Stravaneely or something. He has a right weird name, I don’t know what it is. He does the mortgages and that for the big Russian drug dealers.’
Patrick felt his heart sink into his bowels.
‘I thought you were in on it with him? That’s the impression I got. They’re using the club for transfers of money and as a front.’ She was babbling now in fear. ‘You must have known, Pat.’
‘Fuck me, Pat. You’re a dead man,’ Willy commented. As if he didn’t know.
‘Is anyone else involved?’ he pressed Marianne.
She shrugged. ‘I only know about Broughton. But you know what he’s like - probably has half of Silvertown in it with him. Couldn’t piss on his own, him.’ She could see the fear on Kelly’s face and it was frightening her. If he was scared then there really was something to be scared of.
As he walked from her flat she called out shakily, ‘Don’t you forget my comp. I want it before you’re trashed, thank you very much.’
‘One thing I will give Mal, she knows how to ge
t round a bloke, Pat. No wonder poor old Duggan was like he was, listening to that going all hours of the day and night.’
‘We are well in the shit, Willy,’ said Patrick hollowly.
Willy unlocked the door to the Rolls. ‘That’s one way of putting it, I suppose.’
‘Where’s the latest Russian hang-out?’
‘Girlie Girls, from what she said, mate,’ Willy told him, starting up the engine. ‘Perhaps you should show your boat there at some point. Save all the hag of looking for them, like. Let them find you.’
‘They’ll find me when they want me.’
‘Wise words. Good job you fell out with Kate. They would love to get their hands on her, Pat. They live by bent Old Bill. Any bent Home Office, in fact. I mean, they do everything now. Passports, guns, you name it. They call parts of Notting Hill “Moscow” these days.’
‘Willy,’ Patrick’s voice was low. ‘Why don’t you shut the fuck up?’
They drove out of London in silence.
WPC Hart put a mug of coffee on Kate’s desk.
‘You look tired, ma’am.’
Kate stretched. ‘I am. Anything I need to know?’
‘You had a phone call earlier,’ the girl informed her. ‘Robert something or other. Social Services - about Regina Carlton. I said you would call him back tomorrow.’
Kate yawned. ‘Thanks, pet. Get yourself off home.’
The WPC nodded and said gently, ‘That’s what you should be doing.’
The phone rang and Kate picked it up. ‘Hello, Lizzy. How’re things?’
There was joy in her voice to receive the call and, smiling goodbye, the constable left her alone.
Kate listened to all her daughter’s doings in Australia. It was Lizzy’s third visit there and Kate had a strong feeling she wasn’t going to come back this time. She didn’t mind. Australia fitted Lizzy like a glove and Kate knew that she was happy out there. In the sun, in the land of youth. She so wanted her daughter to be happy.
‘How’s Granny?’
Lizzy laughed. ‘Loving it as usual. Going to the beach all day, then getting ready for a barbecue.’
‘Sounds good. Any nice boys about?’
Lizzy quietened. ‘A few, nothing spectacular.’
Since Kate had read her daughter’s shocking diary entries all those years ago when she was a schoolgirl, any mention of boys, men or sex always left them both feeling uncomfortable. Kate was again reminded of how you could never fully know someone, not really. It seemed to be the story of her life.
She had thought she was lucky with her teenage daughter and then found out that Lizzy was on drugs and sleeping with anyone who had a joint, a pleasing face or a nice car to offer. Afterwards Lizzy had taken an overdose; Kate had picked up the pieces as best she could and they had all somehow got on with their lives.
Nearly losing her daughter had been a turning point for Kate. She had turned to Patrick Kelly.
Now she listened to Lizzy rabbiting on and thanked God her child was better again. But the sound of her voice, echoing down the phone line, made Kate feel lonelier than ever.
Her eyes strayed to the picture of the little Nike trainer. It was an image she knew she would never forget.
‘I miss you, darling.’
‘I miss you too, Mum. How’s Patrick?’
‘Oh, he’s fine. You know Pat - nothing fazes him.’
Lizzy missed the sarcasm in her mother’s voice. ‘Give him my love. ’Bye.’
And she was gone.
Kate stared at the receiver for long moments, then replaced it gently. What she ought to do was get back to her own house and air the place. Lizzy would miss living at Pat’s, that was for sure. Another reason for her to stay on in Australia. Kate chided herself for thinking such things about her own daughter but inwardly acknowledged they were true. Lizzy always looked after number one. It was something she had been taught by her father. Dan had been the same. Only interested in what he wanted, needed, cared about.
Kate sighed heavily. Why should Lizzy worry? She was young and the young had no real cares. Life seemed so long still, and they had no idea how quickly it passed by.
Kate sipped her lukewarm coffee, grateful for the rush of caffeine. She was missing Patrick so much it hurt.
She had been the same after Dan had gone. Dan the womaniser. Dan who thought he could get through life with a set of white teeth and a big cock. She knew how to pick them all right.
She could hear phones ringing, people talking, lives being lived. It all seemed separate from her. She had had everything she’d wanted stripped from her by a few choice words from Ratchette and she knew she could never take Pat on again.
No matter how much she might want to.
Chapter Five
‘Forensically, we can put both mothers at the scene.’
Kate nodded, then commented, ‘You could put them with the children at any time, surely, because they are in such close contact.’
‘That’s true, but I can only report what I’ve found and that’s evidence to suggest that both mothers were at the scenes too.’
Kate wiped a hand across her face.
‘Any good brief will shoot you down in flames,’ she said. ‘Was there anything at all from the sites that was found on the mothers’ clothes or shoes?’
‘Nothing too positive,’ Leila told her. ‘We have taken dirt samples from where they live to get comparisons. I bet they’ll be near enough to rule them out.’
She stared at her friend. Kate looked terrible. ‘You should think about getting help on this one, Kate.’
Kate took a long drag on her cigarette. ‘Ratchette thinks so too. What he wants, though, is me out of the way. It’d make his life a lot easier.’
Leila sat down and said gently, ‘You can choose someone yourself, Kate. Someone who has dealt with this type of crime before. Face it, they would be working with you, not against you. Choose the person yourself and you guarantee that. If Ratchette chooses, they’ll row you out.’
Kate’s eyes scanned the small office. ‘It’s a dump, Leila, but it’s my dump. Ratchette is worried about my relationship with Patrick. He thinks shit will stick . . .’
Leila smiled, showing crooked white teeth. ‘Which it will, love. But you’ll weather it. You are one of the most able officers I know. Even Ratchette can’t dispute that. You’ve put away a lot of bodies over the years, mate. That can’t be forgotten by anyone. It’s all there in black and white. Plus your relationship with Patrick has given you quite a bit of kudos. Old Bill love real villains, even you must have realised that. Pull in a good colleague, Kate. Get some help. Specialist help.’
‘Perhaps you’re right.’
Leila pinched Kate’s cigarette and inhaled.
‘I thought you’d given up?’
‘Only in public. In private, I puff away like the Magic Dragon.’
Kate laughed. ‘Fancy a drink later?’
Leila nodded. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’
‘I can’t stop thinking about that little boy, Ivor. Where the hell could he be?’
Leila shrugged. ‘He must be dead. It’s been nearly four days now. Any more from the mother?’
‘Not a dicky bird. Still insisting that she left them all night and they were gone when she got home. The father was in Liverpool - he has a watertight alibi. No one else has a key to the place, the kids were locked in the room. In reality, what she’s saying is unbelievable. But she has never deviated from it.’
Leila closed her eyes. ‘Look, Kate, once her brief gets in the heavy mob, you won’t get near her. They will have psychiatric reports - the works. You need someone now. Let me look through my files and see who I can find, eh? If she was placed at the scene, you’ll have something to work with. Hopefully, the boy will turn up alive. Until then, I would give her the sympathy vote, and hope against hope that she can be brought to court with a bit more than you have now.’
Kate was tired, she was also worried and her face looked older
than usual. She had to find the child and fast.
‘I am going to interview Anderson again at five,’ she said. ‘All she seems to do is eat. And I mean eat. Christ knows what’s going through her mind. But I have to charge her today and charge her I will, whatever her brief says. She is in her right mind, I would lay money on that. I think she is laughing at us.’
Leila grinned. ‘Wouldn’t be the first time. Certainly won’t be the last.’
‘That’s true. A late drink then, eh?’
‘Ring me on my mobile. In fact, why not come to the flat? I’ll do a few sandwiches.’
‘You’ve got me - I’ll see you later. And please, do look through the files - see if you can come up with someone relatively normal for me to work with.’
Kate watched Leila’s pert bottom wiggle out of her office, and she smiled her first real smile of the day. Leila was sexy and funny. She was also a good friend, and Kate badly needed one of those at this moment in time.
Ratchette is out to get me, she thought. Pat is on his way to a capture and I want to make sure I don’t go down with him.
Well, she had a few cards up her sleeve yet. So they had both better watch out. Kate Burrows was angry and the sooner Kelly and Ratchette realised that, the better.
David Mentorn was a happy child. It was in his nature.
As he staggered across the parkland in his heavily soiled shoes, he was laughing. Jonathan Light, his friend and co-conspirator, was also giggling. Both blond, blue-eyed and of stocky build, the two boys could have been brothers. Today they were playing truant from school. At twelve, they thought they knew more than their parents and teachers and they hopped off now and again for an adventure.
David’s mother was a lone parent, his father having disappeared a few years earlier. She worked in London and commuted there daily. Jonathan’s mother, on the other hand, didn’t work and was known to be here, there and everywhere all day. No one seemed to care what the boys got up to.
As they approached the fence leading to the gravel pits they were still laughing. They knew they could make as much noise as they liked. The mud on their boots was heavy, and when Jonathan started walking like Frankenstein’s monster, David rolled to the ground doubled up with mirth. It was an action he soon regretted.
