by Martina Cole
He owed it all to Patrick Kelly and was willing to put his life on the line to repay that debt.
So he watched the hospital, and tried in his own way to take care of Kate Burrows. It was all he could do for Patrick Kelly.
He hoped it would be enough.
Suzy was out of her brains, blazing with drug-induced camaraderie. When she heard the ring of her doorbell she stumbled out to answer it, giggling. The man at the door looked familiar. She screwed up her eyes and finally recognised him.
‘Hello. Long time no see.’ She pulled the door open and the man walked inside.
‘You look well, Suze.’
She grinned at him. ‘I am out of me fucking nut, mate.’ He laughed with her. ‘Tell me something I don’t know!’
He followed her into her spotlessly clean lounge. Even drugged out of her brains Suzy managed to keep everything tidy. It was a kink in her nature that came from being brought up like an animal and rebelling against it at an early age.
Suzy had no qualms of any kind; she would do anything for monetary gain, but she hated dirt and squalor. They had played a major role in her childhood and she had learned early on that you could be as scummy as you liked so long as you didn’t look it. Provided you dressed right and drove the right car, the majority would accept you at face value. It was one of the most useful lessons of her short childhood.
She liked to see people’s faces when they came into her home, enjoyed the admiration and envy of the less well-off. Nowadays, of course, it was an advert for how much she earned and that made the girls and women she dealt with more convinced than ever that they were on to a winner with Suzy.
Now a blast from the past had called on her and such was her drug-fuelled confidence that she didn’t find it strange that a man she had not seen for years should track her down and come calling unannounced.
‘Want a drink?’
He nodded. ‘The usual, Suze. I assume you remember what that was?’
She laughed girlishly. ‘ ’Course I do. Sit down and make yourself comfortable. Fuck me, I was just thinking about you not two days ago.’ She poured him a large brandy. ‘Ain’t that weird?’
He took the brandy and sipped it. ‘As long as you weren’t talking about me, Suze.’
She sat down and crossed her skinny legs. ‘Why should I do that?’ She sounded genuinely interested.
The man shrugged inside his crumpled C&A suit. ‘Well, you was nearly in the shit, wasn’t you, Suze? I heard a little whisper that you were nearly banged up on a lifer. Scary prospect that. Grass up your own granny you would if that was an option, eh?’
Suzy was annoyed. ‘Listen, Barker, I know how to keep me trap shut. Fuck knows I ought to after all these years. And, with respect, if I had wanted to toss you off at any time I had ample opportunity over the years, didn’t I?’
The man sipped his drink.
‘I have been here tonight sorting out old business, Suze. Now you can tell me in minute detail what has been going down here.’
Suzy shrugged. ‘Where do you want me to start?’
‘From the beginning - but first, Suzy, I need to know why you went to Lucas. Why didn’t you come to me? Were you hoping I wouldn’t find out when you know I used the girls as well? You’ve muscled in on me, my dear. I gave you a little taste and you abused it. It seems me and you are treading on each other’s toes now. You see, Lucas contacted me to get you out of the shit. So I think you had better understand from the off that I know more than you may think. Plus, you owe me. I had to go as high as the DPP to get you out.’
Suzy sipped her drink. ‘I appreciate it.’
Barker laughed gently. ‘You are a cunt and no mistaking. First I give you a taster, ask you to do me a favour for old times’ sakes. Then you set up your own operation. Now do I look a twat?’
Suzy was scared. ‘I was under the impression you were out of it now. None of the girls mentioned you at all.’
He shook his head at the skulduggery of the girl before him.
‘Well, they wouldn’t, would they? Unlike you they have the sense to be too scared to mention my name or indeed tread on my toes. But people now think you have Old Bill on your side. You have been asked about me by Burrows, I understand.’
‘I never said a word, I take oath on that. I wouldn’t.’ She was pleading with him. ‘Why would I, Mr Barker? I ain’t stupid. I have been paying off Clive Hamlin from Soho Vice - as you probably know he is a touch. And I also have another Old Bill but it’s someone at Grantley.’
‘I know. Lucas told me. Now I want to know who that is.’
Suzy took a deep breath. ‘I’ll tell you anything you want, Mr Barker.’
He relaxed back into the luxurious seat. ‘See? Life can be so easy.’ He looked around the flat. ‘Looks like you have got yourself another partner, doesn’t it?’
Suzy nodded. She tried to look pleased.
But she wasn’t successful.
Maureen was missing Willy. She had heard a whisper that he was dead. Knew someone had done the dirty on Pat Kelly and that he was fighting for his life in hospital.
Since the news she had gone into a decline. Her hair needed dyeing and styling, her nail varnish was chipped and her face, devoid of make-up, looked old and haggard. In fact, her son Duane was seriously worried about her. In the last few weeks his mum had gone downhill at an alarming rate.
He had even resorted to lying to cheer her up, telling her that his mate’s dad had thought she was his sister. Usually something like that would have lifted her spirits for days. Instead Maureen had looked at him with those hollow eyes and said disdainfully, ‘You what! Got a white stick and a fucking dog, has he?’
Still he was feeling sorry for her. He knew she had been bounced around by blokes before and he had accepted that. She had accepted that. Taken the blow, picked herself up and brushed herself down. Maureen’s natural good humour always seemed to cushion the shock. But this time it had been more serious.
Willy had by all accounts been kidnapped. Maureen had explained to her son how they had been having a right nice time at the fight when he had simply disappeared. At first she’d thought he had blanked her, then she’d heard rumours. The circles she mixed in, she got to hear a lot of things. Duane tried to point out that not all of them were true. And she had forcefully asked him what he was trying to say? That she had just been dumped then?
He couldn’t win.
He wanted desperately to help her, but he didn’t know how. So he brought her cups of tea without her asking and had stayed by her side, forgoing his usual evenings out on the rampage with his mates. He was genuinely worried about her. For the first time ever she wasn’t strong and he was scared inside. His mother had always been strong for them all. She had to be. A succession of useless bastards had seen to that much.
He wondered if Willy’s body would ever turn up and if it did, what would be her reaction.
Duane, who had until recently taken his mother completely for granted, had finally realised just how much she did for him, just how much he needed her. Loved her even. Silly old bag she was, he hated seeing her so down and lonely.
When the doorbell rang, Maureen didn’t move from the settee. She had the TV on and Ricki Lake was ridiculing a bunch of women who had had babies by their sons’ friends.
In the old stained and ripped candlewick dressing gown she seemed to live in these days, and with a Superking dangling from her lips, Maureen shouted, ‘Get that, Duane. And tell whoever it is to fuck off, I ain’t in the mood.’
He sighed heavily and walked to the door.
Two minutes later he watched as his mother’s face sagged in shock, seeing Willy standing in the doorway like a bruised and battered ghost. She shot from her seat like a bullet from a gun and hugged him to her as if her life depended on it. Her voice was drenched in tears as she repeated his name over and over again like a mantra.
He finally pushed her away from him and said gruffly, ‘Fuck me, girl, you do look rough!’
<
br /> Maureen wiped the tears from her cheeks and said loudly, ‘You ain’t looking exactly the dog’s knob yourself, mate!’
Duane saw that Willy was in pain and pulled his mother away, helping the big man to the sofa.
‘Shall I run you a bath, mate, and get you a bit of scran?’
Willy nodded gratefully. ‘That would be a touch, son, thank you.’
Duane went out to the kitchen and put the kettle on, feeling extraordinarily pleased to be doing these mundane tasks for Willy. Just seeing his mum’s happy face and hearing her running a brush through her tangled hair was payment enough for him.
Unlike all the others his mum had taken up with over the years, Duane had a feeling Willy Gabney was going to stick around.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Girlie Girls was packed again. Boris looked around him at the women who were paying hard-earned cash to have a young man dance at their table.
One of the bouncers was joking: ‘Give me the blokes any time. They have a fight and that’s it. But the women . . . they’re like animals!’
Boris smiled. He had heard it all before.
As the women squealed with delight at the young men in thongs and baby oil he pushed his way through to the offices. Inside he was greeted by Pascal, Patrick’s runner. He was keeping the club ticking over until Kelly could formally agree to sell it to the Russians. Boris had no doubt that Patrick would agree to the sale. After all that had happened he would see that it made good business sense.
Boris knew that everyone was amazed at his taking over the operation but he also knew they would not question him about it. He was too well connected these days.
Pascal was going over the books with his usual worried expression. It was a look he had perfected over the years to keep anyone from guessing what was going on in the razor-like mind he kept carefully concealed, just as he hid his sharp eyes behind thick-lensed glasses.
He, unlike most of the people in the club, did not see Patrick Kelly just rolling over and handing his club to the Russian. It didn’t add up. If Patrick ever got up and about again he’d want what was his, in Pascal’s opinion. And that included the club. So he was doing two sets of books, one for the Russian and another for Kelly.
It was the least he could do, and whatever happened he wouldn’t lose out. But he would rather keep books for Patrick - he felt more relaxed with him. These Russians made you feel that if you pushed them in any way at all you were finished, in more ways than one.
So Pascal worked out the real earnings and the buncedup earnings and what the difference was and where it was to go. A foot in each camp - the safest option until things were finally sorted out.
Kate was amazed to see Golding standing outside the entrance to the ward. He looked nervous and she hurried out to meet him. It was 6.35 in the morning and she was still half asleep after spending the night dozing in a chair.
He smiled at her and she smiled warmly back. He had come up trumps lately and it had shaken her that she could have been so wrong about someone.
‘Sorry to barge in like this, ma’am, but we have another murder and another missing child.’
She closed her eyes in distress. ‘Who?’
‘A little bird called Bernice Harper. Pro, works in a massage parlour. Kid called Mikey, another one that was borrowed. She’d been stabbed to death. Twice in the belly, but the one between the shoulder blades seems to be the one that did the trick. Her kid is three and he’s gone missing. She was another one who was under supervision. She had a record, mainly for petty offences - obtaining money by false pretences, kiting and shoplifting, and the regulation ones for soliciting. The first soliciting offence goes back to when she was thirteen. Pretty girl and all. Shame really.’
‘If she was working last night then maybe the child is still with a neighbour or a friend?’
Golding shook his head. ‘A woman who lives next door said she heard a commotion late last night, crying and everything, but it was par for the course so she didn’t take any notice. But no reports of anyone going in there or being seen nearby. Whoever this is came and went without attracting attention.’
Kate sighed. ‘I’m not surprised. It seems another thing these women have in common is that they all seem to live such complicated lives that nothing they do attracts undue notice.’
He pushed a hand through his sparse hair. ‘We’ve alerted the next-of-kin but the mother didn’t seem too surprised, by all accounts. Didn’t even ask about the child. I took a photo of the lad from the scene and guess what? He’s in the photograph we seized from Kerry’s.’
‘Get me a copy of the pictures and then meet me back here in about an hour, OK?’
‘I have a set in the car, ma’am. Can I drop you home to get showered or anything?’
She shook her head. ‘I have my car.’
He went to walk away.
‘On second thoughts, I’ll meet you at the police station at nine,’ Kate told him. ‘I have someone I want to talk to first.’
‘Fair enough. How is Mr Kelly?’
‘Bearing up, like the rest of us.’
Golding smiled a goodbye and she watched him walking away, her mind already completely focused on the new development.
This was someone who was able to get about completely undetected. That meant they were either very clever or very well known. Well known - meaning frightening. That was all it could be. Gut feeling said Suzy knew who it was, and they were trading together in kiddie porn. It fitted, made sense. But who the hell could it be and how was she to find out with a block put on questioning Suzy?
There was only one person she trusted enough to ask and she was going to do that now, before she changed, washed or ate.
Kate could tell that Robert was surprised to see her, but his wide smile of welcome made her feel better about calling so early in the morning.
‘I hope you don’t mind, Robert, but I really need your help.’
He grinned. ‘Come away in. I’d just made some coffee.’
She followed the delicious aroma into his kitchen which was now spotlessly clean. ‘I was up half the night cleaning. I find it so hard to keep up with everything, don’t you? After all these years with my father I can really sympathise with working mothers!’
He poured her a mug of fragrant coffee and she sipped it gratefully.
‘My one extravagance,’ he explained, ‘but I refuse to start the day with crap coffee. And tea! My dear, my stomach has to be awake for at least three hours before I can take it.’
Kate smiled.
‘So, what can I do for you, Miss Burrows, or can I call you Kate?’
‘Kate will be fine. I want to ask you a few things, off the record. We’ve had another murder. Bernice Harper.’
She saw his face pale at her words and his eyes fill with tears.
‘Dear God, not poor Bernice! How did it happen? And how is little Mikey? Shall I arrange care . . .’
His voice trailed off at her expression.
‘Mikey is missing, I’m afraid,’ Kate told him. ‘That’s the second child in a week since Sharon Pallister’s son hasn’t been found yet. For your ears only, we have literally nothing to go on other than Natasha and Suzy - and Suzy has friends in very high places.’
‘I’m not surprised.’ Robert smirked nastily. ‘Always made sure she was covered, did Suzy. I knew her before I came here. I was in Wales years ago, ran a care home for girls there. She was a skinny, ugly kid with a ruthless streak even then. If I told you what she’d do for a Kit-Kat it would blow your mind. But then, her mother was a thing. That’s the only description I can give, a positively disgusting thing. They were living in Tilbury then. Her mother was the worst kind of Dock Dolly. Take on anything after a few drinks in the Anchor and expected her daughters to do the same. I know Suzy gets up everyone’s nose, but considering how she was brought up, it’s no surprise really. I mean, put yourself in her shoes for five minutes. Where would she learn compassion, caring, how to love, if no one showed her
?’
Kate knew he was right but she couldn’t share his feelings. To her, excuses didn’t count when someone was a whoremaster of children.
‘As far as I’m concerned, Robert, after that upbringing she should want to make sure that other kids are spared the same experiences.’
‘There speaks the product of a decent home and a decent upbringing. I know everyone thinks I jump on my soap box too readily about my girls but someone has to care for them. Someone has to try and get through to them and put them on a better path. My job is thankless, I am fucked off out of it twenty times a day. But I keep trying and every now and again I make a small impression. I get a girl to see what she’s doing. Get them to put their kids first. The public give so much money to good causes - the poor kids in Romania, whatever. Yet here two neglected children die per week, with babies more likely to be battered to death than toddlers or school-age kids. We have women who are pushing out kids like a conveyor belt with practically no back-up. Paedophiles find certain council estates havens for their covert activities. Some abuse can be traced back generations to grannies and great-grannies, all of them abused by relatives or a family friend.’
Robert paused for breath and looked at Kate, who was listening intently. ‘I see myself as a small cog in a dirty great big wheel,’ he explained, ‘and I try to help them instead of ridiculing them - make them see their bad points themselves without pointing them out as glaringly obvious like everyone else they come into contact with. I try and make a friend of them instead of treating them like the dirt they are to so many people in this world. In short, I try to give them a bit of self-respect. That, to me, is the key to dealing with society’s rejects.’
Kate had listened to him, but Robert knew he still had not wholly convinced her. But he would carry on doing what he had to do. Someone must help these people and it might as well be him. At least he genuinely cared about them.
‘Are there any more girls you think might be a part of the paedophile ring - who might be allowing their kids to be used?’ Kate asked him.
