by Martina Cole
‘Shall I get a priest, Grace?’
Her sister turned on her like a lunatic. ‘That’s right, Vi, put the fucking mockers on him!’
Violet sighed heavily and sat down by the bed in silence, the only thing she could do that wouldn’t make Grace even worse than she already was. It was like being a kid again and frankly, Violet was getting the pox of it. Always taking a back seat to her elder sister, always having to listen to her and what she thought everyone should do. When in reality Grace was useless at things like this, too emotional and too lairy by half.
Violet wondered sourly how long it would be before she got funny with the nurses, doctors, and anyone else who trespassed on her own private little world. In a funny way Violet envied Patrick. At least he didn’t have to put up with Grace and her constant carping.
‘I’m going to make a phone call, Violet. You stay here and try and collar a cuppa from one of these little girls parading round, disguised as nurses,’ Grace said loudly, trying to catch a Staff Nurse’s eye.
Violet closed her own in distress. Her sister was starting sooner rather than later.
Jenny looked into Kerry Alston’s eyes and repeated her question, this time with added emphasis. The girl looked terrible, her fat face grey and dirty-looking. And Jenny could actually smell her. It was a sour stench of sweat and cigarette smoke, mingled with an acrid vinegary scent. In the heat of the interview room it was overpowering and Jenny knew that the young WPC sitting in on the interview was also affected.
‘I really want an answer, Kerry, and I’m going to get one if it takes all day.’ Her voice told the prisoner that she was running out of patience and the girl grinned, showing yellowing teeth.
‘I’m impressed, but I can’t answer that question. I don’t know where my dad is and I don’t know where Jeremy Blankley is either. Sorry.’ The last word was said in a sing-song tone and Jenny stifled the urge to slap her hard for it.
‘You really are a piece of work, do you know that? Do you realise how long you’re looking at in prison? Well, do you?’
She was gratified to see a spark of fear in Kerry’s eyes and carried on in the same low voice. ‘And you won’t do normal time, love, you’ll be a beast. Now in a male prison that’s bad enough. But in a female prison with women who are separated from their kids, kids they love like normal people, you will be in a very precarious position. Scalding water is the usual one, right in your face on the landing. They keep the boilers there, see, for night and morning drinks. You’ll have to watch your back all the time. You see, you’re not half as clever as you think, are you? In fact, if you’re silly enough to refuse a deal, you’ll be put away till you’re an old woman. And you may think you’re hard, Kerry, but you have to see some of the women in prison first - then talk to me about hard cases. Drunks, druggies, lunatics and murderers will all see themselves as far above you in the prison food chain. Have you thought about any of this? I mean, have you worked out how you’ll survive?’
Kerry didn’t answer her. Just stared at her with those washed-out eyes that had a feral light shining at the back of them. She looked mental, and she was going to act mental. But Jenny was determined that this one was not getting away with an insanity plea. Jenny would get fifty shrinks to declare her sane if that’s what it took to get her to do real time.
‘I admire you, Kerry, I really do. In your position I’d be shitting hot bricks and throwing them out the window. But there, you know best.’
She lit herself a cigarette and then said nonchalantly, ‘Now then, this sexual assault when you were at school with Jackie Palmer. Could you enlighten me on that?’
Jenny was pleased to see Kerry’s face tighten with shock. She mentally chalked one up to herself.
‘That was never pursued, even you must know that.’
‘Oh, I know that. I want to know why it was never pursued. Is it because your father and her father were buddies? I mean, you were very close to your father, I understand. Your mother explained to my colleague just how close you were - still are, in fact.’
Kerry didn’t answer her.
‘What’s the matter, cat got your tongue? I thought you were good with your mouth.’
Kerry licked her lips suggestively, a lascivious look that turned Jenny’s stomach. ‘I could show you a thing or two, lady. I’ve got a feeling you would like it as well. All girls together, eh?’ She sat back pleased at the knowledge she had made her antagonist really angry.
‘Have you anything to say, Kerry?’
She shook her head slowly, a deliberate action of nonchalance. ‘As I said, no one pursued those charges, so they are not relevant.’
‘Just because no one pressed charges doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, Kerry. Her father was Old Bill, I understand. Did you ever have any dealings with him, in private like? I understand he knew your father very well.’
Kerry shrugged, her fat shoulders tense with fury, and Jenny realised just how strong this girl was.
‘Why don’t you fuck off?’ she snarled. ‘I know me rights. I ain’t even got me brief here. You’re fishing and I ain’t got to answer fuck all unless it is relevant to the investigation.’
Jenny widened her eyes as if she was explaining something very simple to a small child.
‘But it is relevant because Jackie Palmer is under investigation for the same reason as you. I thought you’d have known that by now? And it’s true that you have been linked before, haven’t you? I mean, when you sexually assaulted another girl at school. Do you see where I’m coming from now, dear?’
Kerry’s arm was drawn back ready to strike when the WPC launched herself on top of her. It took the two of them to get the prisoner on the floor with her arms behind her back and the cuffs in place. All three of them were sweating from their exertions by the end of the scuffle.
‘You lesbian ponce!’
Jenny grinned down at the heavy-set girl on the floor and said maddeningly, ‘Ooh, temper, temper!’
Evelyn and Kate made their way up to intensive care, too nervous to speak. Evelyn could see the lines of worry etched on her daughter’s face and felt a rush of maternal concern. The feeling never left a mother even when her child was fully grown. In her black trouser suit and red silk shirt, Kate looked slim and almost girlish from behind. Only the weary stoop of her shoulders gave the game away.
Her daughter was devastated and Eve knew it. She didn’t care what they had argued about or how vitriolic it had been, those two had been closer than any other couple she had ever known. They adored one another even while they’d fought and argued about things that for most people would never even be an issue.
As they walked towards the nursing station Eve saw Patrick’s sister Grace approaching them.
‘What do you want?’ Grace spoke in clipped tones.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Kate’s voice was incredulous.
‘You heard me, darlin’. What do you want?’ Grace’s usually cultivated accent had slipped into East End patois with her anger.
‘How dare you . . .’
Grace held one immaculately manicured finger in Kate’s face, her own a mask of anger and despair as she spat out, ‘I dare? I dare when you look down that long fucking beak of yours at me and mine. You left him when he was at rock bottom, so piss off out of it now. Plain enough for you? Or would you like me to punch it right through to your brain? You ain’t welcome here, lady.’
Kate looked at Grace, at her sleek dyed hair and over made-up face, and realised she was enjoying this. Enjoying every second of it. She had always known Grace had a jealous streak but to give way to it now, when her brother was lying in a coma, seemed extraordinary. Grace was still standing there like a jailer, daring Kate with her body language to try and pass. She could see Violet’s frightened face as she observed it all from beside Pat’s bed.
But Grace had not banked on Evelyn. The tiny woman pushed past them both with the aid of a heavily laden leather shopping bag.
‘Feck off, you! You’ll not s
top me going about me daily business, madam.’
She stormed towards Pat’s bedside and Violet moved out of her way. Kate and Grace followed.
‘When your man wakes up and tells us to go, we’ll go. Until then, Grace, we’ll do what the feck we please. Now, move out of me light so’s I can get a good look at him.’
Grace did as she was told. Eve looked capable of blue murder and Grace knew of old that the little woman had a tongue that could cut through glass as and when the fancy took her.
Kate looked down at Patrick’s face and felt the sting of tears. He looked so old. Old and haggard. His lifeless features so unlike his usual appearance that they frightened her. He looked broken and battered, so very white and quiet.
In a way she wished Grace had frightened them away - then she wouldn’t have had to see this parody of Patrick Kelly that was lying in front of her.
The sound of the ventilator was unbearable.
A small part of her wished she had never come.
Jeremy Blankley walked out of the tower block where he lived, whistling contentedly. A tall man with a rangy walk, he fancied himself as a bit of a John Wayne. He had a long unshaven face, stubble well flecked with grey, and hideous false teeth. He dressed far too young for his age and consequently stood out from the crowd, gathering smiles from people that he wrongly assumed were friendly. It never occurred to him that he was being laughed at, not with.
Jeremy was with a young boy of twelve, Kieran Pargiter. Kieran was a rent boy used by the older man as bait. They went regularly to the West End, where Kieran befriended the young lads who were new. Runaways mainly. He introduced them to his ‘mate’ Jeremy, who offered them a place to stay. It was easy. Some of the smaller boys were never seen again.
As they walked towards a car, a dirty C-reg Escort that Jeremy used for mini-cabbing, they were approached by two men. He guessed immediately who they were and shouted out: ‘Filth!’
He began to run. The younger of the two men had him in seconds. Kieran, however, got away.
When they had bundled him into an unmarked green Sierra Jeremy spat on the floor and said aggressively, ‘This had better be good, mate.’
The beating, when it started, shocked him more than he had ever been shocked in his life before. When it was over he heard a voice say, ‘Was that good enough for you, cunt, or would you like a finale? How about a drum roll and a pickaxe handle round the old loaf o’ bread?’
The other man laughed then said in a music hall voice: ‘Here, hold up, Harry, I do believe he’s trying to escape again. What a wanker! Shall I stop him this time?’
The two men laughed heartily and a third man who was in the driving seat leaned back and said, ‘We’ve been looking for you for a while, Blankley. Now you are going to Grantley to see some photos of you doing what you do best. Like little children, don’t you?’
Jeremy’s heart sank into his boots. He had thought they were after him for kiting - chequebook fraud. He’d never have believed in a million years they were after him for anything else. Surely they had all been too clever? Keeping it in the family more or less. What the fuck was going down here?
And, more to the point, who else had had a capture?
Boris was relaxed. He had showered, changed, and was having a drink ready to go out for a meal then on to a club he had recently purchased in Surrey. He was smiling as he walked down into the cellar of his house in Soho.
‘How is Mr Gabney?’
His men stood up respectfully as he walked towards them. As usual his sheer physical presence was enough to command their attention.
‘He has eaten much, and washed and changed his clothes. He is thinner but still dangerous.’
Boris nodded. ‘Open the door for me.’
They unlocked the steel-plated door and he entered the damp cellar as if it was the finest restaurant. Willy was sitting up on the Z-bed. He looked haggard and drawn, but at least he now had light and a few novels to pass the time.
‘You are well, Mr Gabney?’
Willy guessed that this was the big boss and in spite of himself he was impressed.
‘Are you ready to talk to me, Mr Gabney? Only I know you were Mr Kelly’s number two and that you were party to everything he did.’
Willy looked up at the large man with what he described to himself as poofter’s hair and sighed aloud.
‘I will never tell you anything, mate. Patrick and me were more than business associates. I loved that man like a brother. You can burn me, bury me alive, rip me arms off - I’ll not utter one fucking word other than a large “Ouch”. Do you get my drift?’
Boris smiled and it completely changed his face. Willy knew that in other circumstances he would have admired, respected, maybe even liked this man before him.
‘You are a brave man, Mr Gabney. I respect what you are saying. If only Mr Kelly had had more friends like you.’ He raised his arms in a show of openness. ‘But soon we will need to talk. Once I explain my own situation you will understand why I had to do what I did. I cannot be seen to be robbed, Mr Gabney, not even by your illustrious friend Mr Kelly.’
The sarcasm was not lost on Willy, who said quietly, ‘Patrick Kelly never ripped off anyone in his life. Remember that for the future. Even if someone had a touch with your money in his club, you were barking up the wrong tree believing he was behind it. You could have found that out with a simple question. Patrick was looking for you, mate, to find out what the score was. He wasn’t interested in what you had as such. He was just hagged that it was all going down on his fucking premises, without his permission or knowledge.’
Boris looked amused and Willy went back to his book as if the man before him was just a nuisance. He heard the Russian’s shoes move away across the cement floor and breathed a sigh of relief. He was scared, shit scared, and just managing to conceal it.
If Patrick was really brown bread, then Willy had lost the person he cared for most in his life. Patrick was so generous, he had even shared his only child with his friend. Mandy had been the light of their lives after Renée’s death. She had kept them both together, often joking that she had two dads. He remembered the looks they’d received at school evenings, the two big men with the tiny blonde girl. Willy knew his own appearance was unusual. In fact, he knew he looked downright scary. But Mandy had never noticed, she’d loved him with all her heart.
He felt the sting of tears but tried to console himself with the thought that Pat was with Renée and Mandy at last. Willy wondered how long it would be before he joined them.
Kate felt the eyes of the team upon her and ignored their unusual interest. She had seen the tabloid stories about Patrick’s shooting around the station; noticed people reading the newspapers in the canteen and quickly putting them down when she walked by.
She didn’t give a shit, and this came over in her attitude.
Most of her colleagues admired her but this was a hell of a thing to live down. Those who had met Patrick at different times understood the attraction, and knew it had been a genuine love match. Others relished the gossip that he had just been using her. After all, a DI in his pocket was a handy thing for any criminal. Especially one like Patrick Kelly. But they didn’t know how Kate and Patrick had felt about one another, how hard it had been for them to follow their hearts. The trouble their different lifestyles had caused them.
They didn’t know anything.
Golding, she knew, had often wondered what Patrick Kelly, with all his looks, money and kudos, was doing with a middle-aged DI. He’d left people in no doubt that he considered it some kind of business arrangement on Kelly’s side, if not on Kate’s. He constantly reminded them of Patrick’s penchant for brainless blondes who were large on knockers and short on intelligence.
Now, as she looked around the dingy canteen, at the dirty cigarette-stained Formica tables and chattering men and women, Kate felt a feeling of unreality descend upon her. Pat was dying. He was going to die and she was as far from him now as if he was on the moon.
He would never know how much she loved him. How much she still wanted him. How much he meant to her whatever their disagreements. Whatever their different lifestyles.
She felt Jenny take her arm and lead her gently from the room. A radio was playing ‘Zoom’ by Fat Larry’s Band and the words seemed to blast away the last shreds of her self-control.
In her office she broke down, trying to keep her tears silent but occasionally giving way to muffled sobs. The other woman held her tightly as her shoulders shook and her whole body felt as if it would crumble from grief.
‘Get it out of your system, Kate. Let it go, mate. Just let it all go.’
And she did.
Jeremy Blankley was so frightened he thought he might have a heart attack. In the cell, he looked around at the green-painted walls, at the pornographic graffiti everywhere, and smelled the usual reek of urine, old farts and badly cooked food. He felt the sting of tears.
He had done a nonce stretch once before, when he was younger. He remembered in vivid detail being asleep in his cell when the PO in charge had brought in three lifers brandishing broom handles in righteous anger. He had been used, he knew that. The lifers had been allowed to let off steam and he had been hospitalised for nearly three months.
This time, though, with little kiddies involved, he was a walking dead man. He knew that if they put him on VPU, the Vulnerable Prisoners’ Unit, even the rapists would look down on him. And that was the best he could hope for. He would be the worst kind of beast, hated by everyone around him from the POs to the other prisoners. He would have to look closely at everything he ate; constantly be on his guard. There were a hundred and one ways to get at someone like him in a prison, from glass in his food or soap, to salt forced into his mouth, and rape with a blunt instrument.
