by Martina Cole
Kate grasped her hand, and said quietly, ‘You must have seen something, somebody as you went into the building.’
Geraldine shook her head once more. Kate could see she really wanted to help them now, knew she was racking her brains trying to find something she could tell them so they would leave her alone.
‘Well, it was so early, no one was about. I think there was a lady who passed me as I walked to the flat. I park the car a few streets away to make sure no one can put me near the place, so I can’t be certain which road it was on. Other than that, the streets were deserted. It was still dark. Please let me go home to my kids. If I knew anything at all I swear I would tell you . . . My mum and my friends think I work nights in a nursing home . . . I can’t tell them the truth, can I? No one will find out, will they? You won’t tell anyone?’ Geraldine was on the verge of hysterics once more. The fear of people finding out about her, coupled with the death of her friend, was really taking its toll.
‘Who was the woman you saw? Could she have seen anything? Did she go into any of the nearby houses?’
Geraldine shook her head in abject terror. ‘I wasn’t taking any notice, I didn’t think it would be important. I mean, who really bothers to look at people?’
The girl was absolutely petrified, and Kate thought she probably didn’t have anything to say worth hearing now. She was a bloody useless idiot, a fucking no-brain, as Patrick would say. She wouldn’t notice if a madman brandishing a machete asked her the time. But she was all that stood between her and the murderer.
Alana Richards had been drugged, mutilated, burned, and left naked and open for whoever was unlucky enough to find her. This time, however, the cause of death was manual strangulation. As before, the whole place had been wiped over, and there was nothing untoward to be found. The girl’s phone had been taken away, but nothing else was missing. He had once again chosen his victim and his time frame so well that no one had seen anything, or heard anything. He was too clever by half.
Jennifer James opened the front door and seeing the uniform she said aggressively, ‘And what can I do for you?’
Margaret Dole smiled and said quietly, ‘Can we talk inside?’
Jennifer grinned. ‘Have you got a warrant, darling, only this is my home, and I don’t have to let you in if I don’t want to.’
‘I haven’t got a warrant, and I don’t need one. This is private business and I don’t want to talk about it out here.’
‘And what kind of business would that be?’
Jennifer was intrigued now. This girl looked interesting; she had the look of a bent Filth about her and she was still in uniform. Best time to get them, while they still thought they knew it all.
‘I looked over the evidence you gave to Kate Burrows, and I found some interesting anomalies that I would like to discuss with you.’
Jennifer opened her front door wide and, waving her arm in a grand gesture of welcome, she allowed Margaret into her home. Then, shutting the front door, she said quietly, ‘One word out of place and I’ll aim you out that door so fast you’ll burn a hole in the carpet.’
Margaret accepted the threat with good grace and followed Jennifer into the kitchen. She knew she had something that would get her what she wanted.
Kate went over everything once more and, once again, she could find nothing that was useful.
‘Are there no CCTV cameras anywhere along that road?’ Annie shook her head. ‘It’s hardly bloody footballers’ wives territory, is it?’
Kate kept her temper, she knew that Annie was as frustrated as she was about the lack of anything even remotely resembling a clue. They were both on short fuses these days.
‘I am aware of that, but people in less salubrious areas often need the comfort of CCTV more. I just wondered if anyone had come up on the database, that’s all. It’s not a bad little road, it’s quiet, the houses are set well back to afford privacy, and often it’s the privacy that makes burglars think the house might be a viable option.’
Annie wiped a hand across her face. She knew she was being unfair, but she was tired and she was hungry. She was also feeling that she and Kate were living in each other’s pockets. She had rented the house from Kate two years previously, and been glad of it. Now though, Kate was back for good, and she had gone from being an apologetic friend in need to the actual owner of the house and Annie didn’t like having become the lodger.
Kate sat back at the kitchen table and opened the files once again. ‘We’re missing something, we have to be. There’s nothing we can find that ties the girls together in any way, in fact, two were complete strangers to the others. We know that he takes their phones with him, but from the phone logs we can get nothing except that he rings them all from differing locations, providing it’s him ringing, that is. Of course most of the girls take calls on pay as you go, and so do the men. Who can blame them? So we have nothing to learn from that. But I believe he is choosing these girls, they are not random. He makes sure he has enough time to do his business with them, he has to plan for that, he can’t take the chance of someone interrupting him. He needs time to clear up after himself, and take away anything that might incriminate him. We are missing something.’
Annie knew Kate was right, but she also knew that, as much as she wanted her expertise and help, she wanted to come home sometimes and just forget about work for a few hours. She also realised that she was using work as an excuse because she didn’t like Kate taking over her home; it was her home now, and Kate should understand that.
‘Look, Kate, it’s been a long day, and I need a bath. I also need a few hours’ sleep so, if you don’t mind, I’d rather not go through it all again.’
Kate sat at the table, staring at the paperwork in front of her, aware that she had stepped over some imaginary line. She could hear the bath running upstairs, and she knew that Annie was feeling the pressure as much as she was, more so in fact, because while Kate was there in her capacity as a long-serving officer, was there because of her expertise, Annie was the one who still had to prove herself. Kate knew, better than anyone, how hard that could be.
She looked around her, saw the kitchen she had once been so proud of, remembered her mum waiting for her to come home with a good meal on the table and a ready ear if she needed it. She had also brought up her grandchild and cleaned and scrubbed the house. She had been the reason Kate could follow her star, and she had.
Now her mother was dead and Lizzy and her family lived in New Zealand, they were reduced to cards and phone calls and the rare visit. She had not felt the gulf between them until now, had not realised that her daughter had slipped from her life so completely. She had assured herself that she had been a good mother, she had let her child go, encouraged her to escape from Grantley and follow her dream of a better life. Now she felt that she had just let her go because it made her life with Patrick easier.
Kate suddenly understood her mother’s insistence that life was to be lived, to be enjoyed. Because of her mother’s goodness she had been allowed to make a career for herself, she had been allowed to do something with her life. But her mother had also warned her that sometimes people were more important, and she should remember that.
She sat at the table with her head in her hands. She knew she still looked good for her age, she kept her hair short, and she was the same size she had always been. But it didn’t change the fact that she was older, a lot older, and she was lost. Patrick had been everything to her, and she had walked away from him. Getting up slowly, she went to the fridge and, opening it, she took out a bottle of white wine and poured herself a glass. The fridge was full of food that was alien to her, Annie’s food. Processed and unhealthy.
She glanced around the kitchen and saw Annie’s pots and pans and Annie’s personal belongings, her mail, her handbag, and the cosmetics that she left on the window sill. It dawned on Kate that she was a stranger in her own house.
She sipped the wine that had been purchased by Annie, and, sitting back down at the
table, she lit one of Annie’s cigarettes. Inhaling the smoke deep into her lungs, she wondered what the future held for her. Then, taking a deep breath, she once more looked over the paperwork she had brought home, as if it would miraculously make some kind of sense to her.
Chapter Seven
‘Come on, Des, you know I can’t get involved in all that old fanny. I’m the number two. I can’t start criticising Patrick’s mates. What do you think I am? On a death wish?’
Danny was annoyed, he had no intention of pushing his nose in where it wasn’t wanted. He also had no interest in doing Desmond’s dirty work. He was a brief, dirty work was what he got paid for. He heard Desmond sigh heavily, and Danny knew he was trying to keep his temper in check. Desmond wasn’t used to people refusing him anything. He worked for the Faces, and that gave him his credibility.
‘I just want you to ask around, Danny, that’s all. I can’t, because it would look odd if I started asking questions, wouldn’t it? But listen to me and listen good, we need to get the SP before Patrick starts snooping for himself and, believe me, if he susses anything before us, and starts creating, the first thing he will want to know is why you didn’t notice anything peculiar. Why you weren’t watching his interests.’
Danny saw the logic of that. He also knew that Patrick only dealt with people he trusted, so how was he supposed to go and investigate people Patrick thought were beyond reproach?
‘But I don’t have anything to do with the girls as such, I just collect. How can we be sure there’s a scam going on?’
‘We can’t, but I don’t like the way the monies have dropped off. It isn’t because of the nutter. After all, the punters know it isn’t them so they aren’t that bothered. Bates keeps saying the business has dropped off lately, but I know for a fact that it hasn’t. Look at the website; we are getting more interest than ever. We’ve never had so many hits. How can we be losing out?’
‘OK, Des, I’ll look into it, but Peter won’t like it.’
Desmond laughed. ‘Well, you’d better make sure he doesn’t find out then.’
Desmond put the phone down and sat back in his very comfortable and expensive leather chair. He looked around his office; all art deco and leather furniture, it looked class, and it was class. Right from the antique law books to the stripped pine flooring. He was proud of this establishment, and he knew it was because of Pat Kelly and his cronies. He knew he was a very lucky man, he had a good life, and that life was dependent on people like Pat Kelly.
He prided himself that he could smell a dead rat before it was stinking, and all his instincts were telling him that something was not right. Now it was up to Danny, and he hoped against hope that the boy would use his loaf and not attract too much attention as he sniffed around.
Peter Bates was not a man to suffer insults lightly, and he would take any questioning of his integrity as a personal affront. He was, to all intents and purposes, one lairy fucker when the fancy took him, especially when he was in the wrong.
Eve was dressed to impress, and she knew exactly who she wanted to impress. As she applied her lipstick, she looked herself over with a critical eye. She knew she looked good. She made a point of looking good, it was part and parcel of her job. She had to be seen to be in control, and that meant looking in control.
It was strange really, she ran the club with a fist of iron, and she employed very young, very good-looking girls because they brought in the majority of the customers. She was also surrounded by very young, very good-looking girls because they were a large part of the clientele, they were out on the pull and looking for Mr Right or, in most cases, Mr Right Now. Even so, she knew a lot of the male customers gave her more than a second glance. Yet she was always suited and booted, as befitted the manageress of a busy nightclub. She didn’t show her body off, just a hint of cleavage, and the benefit of very high heels. It seemed to attract a better class of man, they liked the fact she wasn’t on permanent display.
Patrick Kelly was one of those men and she knew he was as aware of her as she was of him. Which was strange because she had never really been attracted to the type of men who frequented the club before. She saw herself as a bit too shrewd for that, saw herself as above that kind of male. In her thirties, she felt she was far too experienced for the kind of men she met during her work. Most of them were married, a lot of them were on their second or even third wife, or live-in mistress, depending. Most of them still had their eye on the main chance though. Privately, she thought of them as incorrigible. Still on the search for a bit of strange, for the latest conquest.
Eve only dated men who had proper jobs and proper lives. But she had to admit to herself that they had never kept her interest for long. Plus, they had been few and far between the last few years, she worked the wrong hours for any kind of proper social life. But that didn’t bother her too much. She liked her independence, and she liked her own company. She didn’t usually feel the need to be part of a couple - she liked the sexual freedom that her lifestyle afforded her. She had no illusions of marriage or babies, all she wanted was good sex, and a good time. Eve prided herself on not wanting a permanent relationship, especially not with a local villain who could, and would, move on to another pretty face sooner rather than later.
Now though, she found herself looking out for Patrick Kelly. She knew it was silly, it was like a schoolgirl crush, but she couldn’t help herself. He was old enough to be her father, but she didn’t care about that, there was something about his eyes, his demeanour, that made her want to be near him. Touch him. That her brother Danny worked for him didn’t help, she wasn’t sure he would be too pleased if he knew how she felt. He thought the world of Patrick, and he respected him, but she had a feeling he wouldn’t exactly be thrilled at the prospect of her lying down for him.
As she thought of having sex with Patrick Kelly she felt an excitement she had not felt for a long time. She thought about sex with Patrick a lot, and the more she thought about it, the more she wanted it to happen. He attracted her, and she knew she would not rest until she had him beside her in her bed.
He was coming in tonight to look over the books, something they both knew was a sham, a pointless exercise, an excuse, as it was a job normally split between three different parties. The tax man, the accountant, and the managers. Still, she knew it was make or break time, and she was ready for whatever might come her way. She wanted to smell him, feel him, fuck him. He interested her in more ways than one. He made her think about something other than work. He made her think about herself, about how she felt sexually. He reminded Eve that she was still alive and it had been a long time since she had felt like that.
Her hair looked good, her make-up was perfect, and she had worn her sexiest underwear, just in case. She had been plucked, waxed and moisturised within an inch of her life, and it felt good to be a part of the world again. Even for just a short while. It had given her the rare urge to be part of a couple, even though experience had taught her that it wouldn’t last, it never did. But she always enjoyed the chase.
She went back into her office and poured herself a neat vodka on the rocks because she needed Dutch courage. She threw it back in one swift movement then, stretching like a cat, she waited for Patrick Kelly to arrive.
Kate was walking quickly, the cold was settling around her, and she could see her own breath. It was damp and raining again, the start of the real cold weather. She walked the streets looking at the houses near the scene of Alana’s murder, trying to work out if any of them had vantage points from where the occupants could have seen someone arriving, either from their windows, doors, drives, or even the pavement.
Kate still couldn’t believe that no one had seen anything, she knew from experience that often people saw something important, but at the time it looked innocent, uninteresting. She also knew that people didn’t really take any notice of their surroundings any more. Years ago, people looked out for their neighbours, they noticed a strange car or a noise late at night. Not an
y more. People ignored things now, they didn’t want to get involved. They were frightened of come-backs, retribution. So Kate walked the streets to try and find some kind of common denominator, something that could help her make her case. She found herself doing this a lot, and each time she didn’t see anything that could be of any help, yet she still did it, still tried to understand the logic of the crimes. There was a logic somewhere, she just had to find it. So she watched, she saw the girls arrive, and she saw the men arrive. And she waited to see if anything untoward might occur. The men were always furtive, but not unduly worried. She guessed from the websites that many were from out of the area, and she understood the sense of that. She also knew that some of the men were locals, others were willing to travel long distances for their entertainment. It was soul-destroying in some ways, these were men whose wives and daughters would never even suspect that they were capable of such blatant skulduggery. She knew that sex caused people to do things, reckless things, that they often found left them surrounded by guilt and shame. She also knew that these same people would nevertheless repeat those acts time and time again. It was the fact they were doing something so heinous that got them going in the first place. But for all that, the majority were harmless, they were looking for a quick buzz, a sexual high they felt they couldn’t ask for and, in most cases, wouldn’t want from their wives or long-term partners. It was sad really, that in this day and age men could find anything they wanted at the click of a button, things that were once only available to them in their fantasies.
