by Martina Cole
Peter was shaking his head in despair. ‘This is fucking outrageous, Patrick. A little fucking scummer like him having precedence over me? That’s unheard of.’
Patrick was getting annoyed now, and Peter should have taken heed of that fact. ‘Oh stop it, you fucking drama queen. If you weren’t so enamoured of the fucking horses you might not be in this position. No one trusts you any more, Peter, you should have guessed that much by now. The flats and houses have been put under a difficult spotlight, and those poor girls should have been looked after. You knew CCTV was the best option but you vetoed it, and now we are all under the fucking microscope, because of you. So just swallow and keep a low profile for a while. Danny is a good kid, and you get on with him well enough. Well enough to work with him anyway, though at this moment I can’t imagine you spending Christmas together, but who cares? As long as you can sustain a working relationship, I can’t see the problem.’
Peter Bates was disgusted at the turn of events and unwisely he let his ire show. ‘I think you’ve tucked me up, Patrick. I think you and the O’Learys have rowed me out. I might have a flutter, but so do a lot of people . . .’
Patrick laughed, a loud, irritated laugh, then he bellowed, ‘A flutter, a fucking flutter? You owe more money than Northern Rock, Peter. I’m trying to do you a favour here. I am trying to keep you on an even keel. You’ve got creditors coming out of your arse. You are up the proverbial creek, and I am trying to hand you a paddle. You’re finished. Your reputation has been sunk lower than the Mary Rose for a long time. People keep you around because I still vouch for you. But listen to me, and listen good. When I start getting phone calls about your debts, there’s a problem, Peter. Even you must understand that much. You’re up to your fucking neck in it. I can’t do any more than this. I am offering you a positive earn here. I want shot, and you and Danny need a good wage. You for the obvious reasons, and Danny because he is getting to that age. He needs to spread his wings a bit, and I trust him, which is more than I can say about you. If you throw this back in my boat I will disown you, and the next call I get saying you owe money, I’ll give them the green light to personally sort it out with you. Once and for all.’
Peter slumped down in his chair. He could see that Patrick was only trying to help, but the humiliation was too much.
‘I like the buzz, Pat, I like the fact that the horses might bring me untold rewards.’
Patrick waved a hand in front of his face to shut his friend up. ‘No matter what you win, you always gamble it away. But that’s your business, do what you want. I couldn’t give a flying fuck. But the O’Learys won’t be as amenable as me, so remember that and stop fucking trying to justify your bad behaviour. It’s me you’re talking to, I know you better than anyone.’
Peter was chastened. He was still very angry, only now he was angry at himself.
‘I can’t help it, Patrick, I love the thrill.’
Patrick sighed heavily. ‘You’re a fucking imbecile, Peter, a fucking earhole. But for all that, you’re me mate and, for that reason alone, I want to see you sort yourself out.’
Peter was broken, and Patrick knew that as well as Peter did. ‘Look, Pete, I need to get rid, and I am going to do that with you or without you. I want shot of the lot of it. I want to get my Kate back.’
Peter nodded, resigned now to his fate. ‘She’ll be back, Patrick, you and her were made for each other.’
‘That’s what I thought and all, and look where my double dealing got me. You were the first person I approached about all this, I gave you first refusal, then I made sure you had people around you who could guarantee you didn’t fuck up. I can’t do any more than that, Peter.’
Peter sighed heavily. ‘I know that, Pat. I understand more than people think.’
‘So we’re back on track?’
Peter smiled faintly, the colour gradually returning to his face. ‘’Course we are. We’re mates, aren’t we?’
Jennifer was annoyed, really fucking angry. The last thing she needed today was to have to chase up the rent from some bloody lazy little mare too idle to bother paying her dues.
As she opened the front door of the block of flats, she shook out her umbrella. It was pissing down again, and she was drenched just coming from the warmth of her car to the front steps of the flats. She stepped into the foyer, leaving her umbrella in the lead-lighted porch.
This was a lovely property, and Jennifer had toyed with the idea of moving in herself. It was quiet and very pretty around this part of Grantley. It also had a low crime rate, there were never any teenagers hanging around, and burglary was almost unheard of.
She was annoyed that Jemimah had not even bothered to answer her calls. Well, she’d have to face her now, and she was going to tell her straight that she wanted her out. She had done her a right favour and all, letting her have this place. She was a right little piss-taker. She owed too much money now, and she was not going to pay it back unless she absolutely had to. That was the trouble with debt, people balked at paying what was due, they’d rather keep the money and spend it on something else.
Jemimah had been a good little earner, and she had initially paid her rent on time and without any moaning, a definite result in their world where trying to rip people off had become second nature. Then this was the upshot. Well, Jennifer wouldn’t give her the chance to explain herself. She had given her all the chances she was going to get.
As she walked up to the first floor, Jennifer marvelled at the cleanliness and the quiet. She liked that about Cosett Court, it was built for privacy and comfort. She hammered on the front door, taking her frustration out on the ornamental knocker. When no one answered her, she called through the letterbox. She suspected Jemimah was inside, trying to avoid her. Well, she had better think again because Jennifer wasn’t going anywhere without the rent and that was a fact of life. This girl needed a lesson, and she was going to get one, even if it meant she had to give her a well-deserved slap.
So, using the spare keys, she opened the front door and stepped into the hallway. It was clean and tidy, and she said a private prayer of thanks for that much anyway. At least the place wasn’t trashed, it wouldn’t be the first time that had happened. She called out Jemimah’s name once more. Nothing, it was as quiet as the grave.
Jennifer’s eyes were stinging and, for a few seconds, she wondered why that could be. There was an acrid smell, and it was making her cough. When she opened the bedroom door, she saw the cause of her discomfort. It was her hysterical screaming that brought the neighbours running, and the police not long after them.
‘Unlike the others she’s been dead a few days. This girl was already bloated and putrefying when she was found, that’s because of the central heating. It was on, but timed, so this young girl was heated and then cooled down. I would say it’s the same MO as the others.’
Kate nodded at the coroner and as she looked down on the destroyed face of young Jemimah Dawes, she wondered why she was not sunning herself in Spain. According to Miriam, she had already gone. According to Miriam, she had had a text message from her.
She looked around the apartment. The bags were all packed, so Jemimah was obviously going somewhere. This was Jemimah’s home. She lived here, she didn’t entertain here, there were none of the tell-tale signs. No answerphone, no laptop, no mobiles. Most of the girls had a work mobile and a private mobile and they logged on to their sites or shopped for things they hadn’t earned the money for yet. This was odd.
The place was wiped clean, but she’d expected that much. Jemimah’s body was now the second in three days, and Kate wondered if whoever was responsible had not expected her to be found so quickly.
She looked around her once more, there was nothing. Not even a cup on the draining board. It was pristine clean, and it was wrong. Jemimah had let her killer in, that much was obvious, even to the untrained eye. She had been packed and ready to go, her jacket was hanging by the front door. She was wearing street shoes, still high, but more li
ke the kind an office worker would wear.
‘I wonder if it could be a fake cabbie. I know we’ve already looked at the cab drivers in the area, but it would make sense. He could have a police radio, intercept the calls for a certain taxi rank, then turn up before the actual cab does?’
Kate was intrigued by this girl’s death. It was the same as the others, but somehow very different.
‘Get Margaret to look through the cab companies’ computers, see if any of their drivers turned up somewhere and the fare had already been picked up.’
Annie nodded. It made sense. The girl had opened the door, as this particular door had a very expensive lock system, they knew it could not have been picked. Plus, on the inside of the door were two deadbolts. People who had that kind of security were rarely fool enough to let a stranger inside their home. Working girls were no fools, they knew the dangers of their job better than anyone.
James Delacroix came into her mind, but she dismissed him straightaway. But maybe there was another regular, one that the girls weren’t afraid of. But then, they had interviewed so many of the girls’ contemporaries, and none had ever said anything that rang any warning bells. All said the same thing, a few nutters, but that’s why they worked the flats and the houses. They were safer there. This man had the girls’ trust, and only certain people gained the trust of the brasses. Working girls were hard in many respects, immune to the usual daily banter and emotions. If they weren’t that way inclined, then they couldn’t do the job.
Kate looked around again. Maybe it was a policeman; after all, they were guaranteed admittance anywhere. But she had asked all the witnesses, on the quiet, if they had seen a uniform at any time and all had answered no. Lionel Dart sprang to mind. She half dismissed the notion, even as she knew she would have to actually question him about his association. He should know, better than anyone, that no one was above the law. She was quite looking forward to it, see how he felt to be on the hook for once.
‘Jennifer, calm down. You did the right thing, you called me, and you called Peter. Kate will sort it out. Now, drink that brandy, you’re in shock.’
Jennifer was white-faced and shaking, she looked every year of her age and then some. Patrick had never seen her look so terrified by anything before. And Jennifer was not easily frightened, she was as hard as nails. She had come up the hard way as well. Her mother had been a drunk, and her father had been an even bigger drunkard, if that was possible. She had dragged herself up and, to her way of thinking, she had made something of her life.
Pat knew the murders were gruesome, but ordinarily he would have had first-hand knowledge from Kate, and so he had not really understood just how macabre they actually were. It was his fault, he had not read about them because he didn’t want to be upset by them. Not just because they were too awful to contemplate, or he didn’t care. He cared deeply because he owned some of the properties where the girls were murdered. Though he knew that was just a coincidence, he still felt a level of responsibility. But his main reason for not wanting to know too much was because Kate was at the centre of it all. She would be pivotal in the investigation, and he knew she had every right to feel angry with him.
Jennifer held her hand over her mouth and bolted for the bathroom. He could hear her retching loudly, and poured her a glass of iced water. He had never seen Jennifer so rattled and, for the umpteenth time, he wondered how Kate did her job on a daily basis.
Margaret Dole was still trying to access files and information. It was a slow process because hacking into government databases was getting harder and harder. They were difficult to access, but not impossible. She was working on a computer that was still waiting for the latest in technological advances, and consequently it was a hard slog. She looked around her desk and picked up her coffee cup, only to find it empty.
She walked through the building to the canteen and, as she poured herself a large black coffee into a Styrofoam cup, she saw Miriam Salter sitting alone. She wondered, like a lot of the officers, whether she ever went home these days. She was still wearing the outlandish clothes she had been wearing two days previously and she was staring into space. She had taken a nasty blow to the head and Margaret wondered if this might be what ailed her.
As Margaret passed her table she asked gently, ‘How are you, Miriam?’
Miriam broke out of her reverie and said happily, ‘Why thank you for asking. I’m fine. Just thinking. Poor Jemimah, it’s unbelievable that she’s gone, poor child.’
Margaret sat down opposite her. ‘I hear you were quite close to her.’ She sounded sympathetic and concerned, and was amazed to find that she was.
‘She was a lost cause. I really thought she had turned over a new leaf, she seemed desperate to get out of the life. I suspect she must have taken on one last punter for a bit more cash to take to Spain, and look what happened.’
It sounded feasible, it was something a girl like Jemimah would do, and Margaret nodded her agreement. ‘Well, she picked the wrong one this time.’
Miriam shrugged, her heavy shoulders almost making contact with her ears. ‘The trouble is, they think that what they look like is everything, that they are doing no harm to anyone, least of all themselves. They never stop to think of the families they help destroy, or the danger they might be in. It’s all about them, and making money. They look all sweetness and light, but they aren’t, Margaret. They’re hard. Hard girls, and they think about no one but themselves. But I know that if they would just listen to their hearts they would see the error of their ways. Then they would see that they’re living their lives in a vacuum, that they’re not allowing themselves to reach their full potential. But it seems I have been wasting my time.’
There was a deep sadness in Miriam’s voice that made Margaret feel, for the first time ever, a genuine liking for this strange woman. ‘You tried, Miriam, which is more than most people do. You help lots of people, the victims of burglary, victims of rape and other violent crimes. You do a lot of good. It’s like us lot, we can’t solve every case. We wish we could, but there’re always those that get away from you.’
Miriam nodded, and her wiry hair looked almost alive. ‘Alec and I were kindred spirits and we really believed we had a vocation. But since I lost him, I wonder what I’m doing at times. It’s so very hard. He always knew the best thing to do, always had the right words for whatever situation we found ourselves in. I miss him so much.’
‘I’m sure you do, Miriam, but your faith is strong, isn’t it?’
Miriam sighed, softer this time. ‘Yes. My faith is still strong. But you see, Alec and I, we were a pair of misfits. I know that people stare at me, but I was born looking like this. I suffered my whole life because I wasn’t like the other girls. Alec and me, we teamed up as kids and we looked out for each other. We both felt the power of religion, and of helping people less fortunate than ourselves. Since he’s been gone, I don’t know anything any more. I feel shaken, unable to deal with everyday life.’
‘Well, I think you are coping marvellously, everyone does. My mum was the same after she lost my dad, she felt nothing was worth the bother any more. She didn’t care whether she ate or washed. It’s a natural part of the grieving process. This will pass, I promise you. It’s only natural to feel out of sorts after losing someone so close to you.’
Miriam nodded, and wiped her eyes with a napkin. ‘You should consider going into counselling, my dear. You’d make a wonderful, caring ear for someone who needed to talk about their feelings.’
Margaret smiled then, and grabbing Miriam’s pudgy hand, she squeezed it gently. ‘You’ll be back to yourself in no time. Just remember, you’ve suffered a great shock, and you need time to let yourself adjust to that.’
Miriam nodded, and watched Margaret as she picked up her coffee and walked from the room. She really tried to be good, be kind, but it seemed that it had taken the death of her Alec to make the people in this station house even give her the time of day. Life was strange, but then people wer
e strange. She knew that far better than anybody.
Patrick was watching Sky News. Jennifer was asleep in one of the spare rooms and he wanted to catch up on the latest developments. Especially since it was poor Jennifer who had found the girl. He knew it was selfish, but he was pleased she had come to him. That meant Kate would have to come here to talk to her. Jennifer had already been routinely questioned, but she’d been in no fit state to talk about anything of importance. So he was hoping that Kate would come to the house to question her further.
Pat felt almost excited at the thought of seeing her. At their age, it was difficult. When you were young you were quite happy to make a prat of yourself. He would have turned up at her house and refused to leave until she agreed to speak to him, but those days were long gone, thank fuck, and he had a bit too much pride for those kinds of shenanigans. Not that he wouldn’t use them, as a last resort of course, if he thought they would do any good.
He also knew that flowers would not be appreciated by Kate, she was not that kind of woman. She would see them for what they were, a beautiful bribe, nothing more. What he needed was a face to face, to explain everything to her in glorious technicolour. Right from his initial attempt to hide his ownership of the properties, to his insanity at trying to replace her with a younger model.
He saw the latter was going to be the hardest, and he understood that. He knew how he would feel if the boot was on the other foot. Unlike Kate though, he would have fronted his rival for her affections and taken the bastard’s head off.
