by Martina Cole
‘I hear he likes to emulate strangling the young women as well. Old Lionel is not a man I would ever consider as a suitor for any of my daughters, but he’s not capable of a real killing. He hasn’t got the fucking balls of a gnat, if you get my drift, Kate.’
Oh, she got his drift all right. Lionel Dart was scum, absolute scum. But then, she had known that for years. He was her boss and, as such, he was supposed to be above all this kind of shit. It seemed to her that, in fact, he was actually using his position to pursue it. Scum rose to the surface, and she was determined to make sure that this piece of scum sank, that it disappeared once and for all. Lionel Dart was a predator, a man who used everyone around him to further his own agenda. He saw himself as above the people he was supposed to be hunting down and yet he took bribes and used those poor girls. All the while doing it without the slightest care for the people he might hurt or crush.
‘I think the sooner I get that fucker aborted the better, don’t you, Terrence?’
He smiled at Kate’s anger. She wasn’t a girl any more, but he could see what had attracted Pat Kelly. She had class, and that was something you were born with, no amount of money could fake it. He should know, he had tried hard enough over the years to emulate it.
Terrence picked up the phone on his desk and said quietly, ‘Stay, Kate. I’ll get Simone here within the hour.’
Margaret was still researching the dead girls’ lives, and it made for fascinating reading. She was astonished at how they had been pushed from one care home to another. Did no one think that these girls needed stability, needed love and care?
As she read the girls’ private files Margaret felt the sense of futility that she knew had to have become a part of their daily lives. They must have felt worthless. None of them would have known that they were entitled to so much more, were entitled to be treated as human beings.
She saw the same thing over and over again. They were written off at a young age and programmed to believe that they were the problem, not the people who were supposed to be taking care of them.
More than a few of the girls had run away on more than one occasion, had tried to make a better life for themselves. They had all been looking after themselves, basically since they could walk. They had been removed from their mothers’ care, from their homes, at a very young age and had then been forced through the care system. At sixteen, they were turfed out on to the streets with a few quid and no real hope of a happy ending.
Did none of these girls’ mothers care that they had children? That these same children would grow up one day, would become women in their own right? Did they feel no responsibility to their offspring? No affection or love?
Coming from a very good family, it occurred to Margaret Dole that she had, in effect, lived a charmed life. She understood now just how lucky she had been with her parents. They loved her. She had grown up surrounded by the love of her mother and father, and later she had fought against that love with all her being. She had felt they were holding her back somehow because they loved her too much. Now though, reading these files made her realise just how fortunate she really was. Holidays, good clothes, nice food, people who cared for her, had seemed the norm. She had never understood how other people’s lives could be, how that might make them rebel, and rebel in the worst possible way. Abuse and violence had been a way of life for most of the girls, they had come out of the so-called care system and been ripe for the job that had finally killed them.
Margaret only wished she had known how fortunate she was a long time ago. Her parents had been absolute fucking diamonds, and she had not understood that until now. It had taken the deaths of these young women to make her understand just how lucky she had been. How lucky she still was. She had a saviour at the end of a phone line, she had a haven to go to whenever the world got too much for her. She had the opportunity to spread her wings knowing she had the back-up of two wonderful people who adored her, warts and all. Picking up the phone, Margaret dialled her parents’ home number. Suddenly she felt a desperate need to make contact with them, to tell them how much she loved and cared for them. She had finally grown up, and it had taken these tragic deaths for her to achieve that. It was a sobering and troubling thought.
Annie had looked everywhere for Kate and she couldn’t locate her. Her mobile was turned off, and Annie finally concluded that she obviously didn’t want to be found. That was up to her. She guessed, rightly, that Kate was following a lead that was best left in the wind for the time being.
Annie had learned early on from Kate that, sometimes, you needed to talk to people who didn’t really want to be interviewed. Consequently, their statements, such as they were, had to be corroborated by someone else. They just gave you the heads-up, it was up to you to make something concrete from it. She knew Kate was revered in the criminal underworld because she never used anyone, or asked anything of anyone that could put them in harm’s way. Kate made sure that they knew whatever they said would be in complete confidence, that she would take what they had told her and make a truth from it without their names ever having been even mentioned.
Because Kate dealt with gruesome, senseless murders and child abuse cases, telling a Filth sometimes wasn’t wrong in these circumstances. These people were bullies and liars, predators of children and the weak. These were people even the hardest criminals would see dead and buried before they had anything to do with them. They were the equivalent of drug dealers who sold to kids, the men who preyed on little children, and the scum that penetrated the vilest corners of society. Cowards who hid behind the scenes, who didn’t have the guts to show themselves for what they really were. Kate knew that when she was looking for scum, even the hardest men were willing to give her a helping hand. They had families and they loved them with a vengeance.
Also, as Kate was the love of Pat Kelly’s life, she was regarded as one of their own. Almost, but not quite. She was still a Filth, but a Filth to be not only tolerated, but respected. After all, she had the protection of Patrick Kelly, and that was worth fortunes in her world, and theirs. Kate knew her worth, and she used it to its full advantage. She had always trodden a fine line between the criminals she mixed with and the criminals she took a pride in apprehending. But it worked for everyone. She kept the real scum off the streets and they could ply their trades without her feeling the urge to go after them. It was a win-win situation for all concerned. Kate was one of the good guys, she made the streets safer for the average person while, at the same time, overlooking the skulduggery in front of her face.
As Annie waited for Kate to get in touch, she knew how lucky she was to have her on her side. Seeing Margaret’s spite and jealousy had been a real learning curve for her. It had shown her how petty and childish she could be. She depended on Kate’s experience to help her get on in her chosen profession, but she also accepted that Kate’s reputation was distracting. It didn’t matter how experienced she was, Kate would always be the one people listened to, respected. After all, she had, during her illustrious career, brought in not one, but two serial killers. That was something most people in her world could only dream about. Mainly because serial killers were actually few and far between. Films and books might make them seem commonplace but, in real life, they’re rare. So rare as to be almost unheard of in most police stations around the country.
Sitting back in the chair, Annie hoped that Patrick and Kate resolved their differences, once and for all. Kate was always happier when Patrick Kelly was in the equation. Annie envied her the trust and the love she had had for so many years. She envied Kate’s happiness. Kate had once said that the best thing that had ever happened to her was Patrick Kelly.
Lionel Dart was almost hyperventilating. Kate sitting there like an avenging angel was not something he felt comfortable with.
‘We’ve been here before, haven’t we, Lionel? Many times.’ Kate’s voice was pure venom, her dislike for him spewing from her like a fountain of hatred.
‘It seems that you were a reg
ular visitor of a young woman called Candy Cane. What a great name. But she was also known as, or aka as we say in the force, Valerie Kent. Now I know about your other peccadilloes, the hairbrush and the play-strangling. You like brasses but, unfortunately, they don’t like you. They all say the same thing. They talk about your sexual dysfunction, your need to be used by them. Now, you got away with all this for a long time. I couldn’t prove anything conclusively against you and, believe me, I tried. But Candy’s house is owned by Terrence O’Leary. This puts a completely different complexion on everything, as I am sure you understand. While Patrick is not what you would call entirely straight, he’s straight enough. The O’Learys on the other hand . . .’ Kate left the rest of the sentence unfinished.
Lionel was terrified. He knew that Kate would not be there without a good reason, without some kind of proof. He knew she hated him, and he also knew that she had good reason to. He had thought of himself as untouchable, but now he knew he was fucked, as he would put it.
Candy was his Achilles heel. He had recognised that from the moment she had taught him the meaning of sexual satisfaction. He had always known that if it came out, he was finished. But that it was Kate who had outed him was more than he could bear. He had accepted money and bribes over the years, and he would hold his hands up to that much, but he had also done a lot of good as well. He might have a weakness for young women, but what man didn’t? Who didn’t feel the urge for the fullness of a youthful breast and the firmness of a younger girl’s body? What man was really happy with a wife who was scarred physically and mentally by the act of childbearing and who was uninterested in trying to explore the sexuality they were born with?
Was it any wonder men turned to strangers for their succour? Was it any wonder they didn’t come home any more unless they absolutely had to? Why did people like Kate Burrows, a gangster’s fucking moll, put themselves above the likes of him? Who gave her the right to fucking stand in judgement of him? He was a man, a man with needs, needs that were not going to be assuaged by his wife of thirty years.
He hated that he had been lumbered with a wife who was not only sexless, but who was also an imbecile. He had married a pretty, slimmish girl with a nice smile and a pleasing look about her and ended up with an overweight idiot who avoided him like the plague. But he was a man with a man’s appetite. He had wanted to be loved, and he had wanted to feel the warmth of another human being close beside him. Personally, he couldn’t see the harm in that.
‘Are you listening to me, Lionel?’
He wasn’t, but they were both aware of that fact. Kate saw the fear in his face and was glad. She knew she had to make this fucker walk. He was dangerous, he was a bully and, worst of all, he was a tyrant who preyed on the vulnerable and the weak. He bullied people who couldn’t argue back because they depended on him for their livelihood, their jobs.
‘I want you to take early retirement or whatever else rings your fucking bells. But your days of running this place while lining your own pockets are over. I can prove it. You have no interest in the girls who have died except to get your face in the paper or give a statement on Sky News. You’re a fucking parasite, and I am determined to see you outed and gone from here sooner rather than later. You’ve got a week before I expose you for what you are.’
‘You can’t do this to me, Kate.’
Kate grinned. ‘Can’t I? You just watch me.’
Chapter Nineteen
Strangely, Kate hadn’t felt any euphoria at Lionel’s downfall, she just still felt the disgust that police like him engendered inside her. She loathed him, she always had. But still, she knew a scandal would not do anyone any favours, least of all the person who would be taking over his position. You always had to think ahead in her profession and try and protect your colleagues. Not because you agreed with what they had done, but because anything that tainted them eventually tainted everyone around them. It was like a disease that spread and infected everyone it came into contact with.
If Lionel’s association with Candy Cane ever became common knowledge, the whole case would go down the toilet. Anyone she apprehended would have their lawyer arguing that it was a police fit-up, that they were protecting the real culprit.
Simone was in her early thirties and all lip gloss and well-cut hair. She came across as being open and friendly, but she was as hard as nails. She had to be, but she didn’t look it yet, she was still young enough and new enough to the game, to keep the impression of youthful naivety.
‘Thank you for seeing us.’
Annie’s voice sounded friendly and approachable. Kate was pleased, she was really getting the persona right now. She used to talk to people like someone from The Sweeney and Kate knew from experience that that kind of behaviour only worked on a certain type of person. Generally, it was easier to chat and gain the trust of whoever you were interviewing, that way they tended to open up more. Kate had learned, early on, the power of respect, of treating people as an equal. With a suspect you could make them see that you had their number straight off. They were, in essence, fair game. But witnesses were a different ballgame. Even if you believed they could be the perpetrator, you couldn’t treat them like dirt. So many young policemen and women didn’t understand the game until it was too late. The law stated that a person was innocent until proven guilty and for Kate, that meant just that: until you could prove their guilt, you treated them like visiting royalty. Once you had the proof, of course, you were then within your rights to fucking slaughter them, left, right and centre. Kate had explained the process to Annie on more than one occasion and her nagging was finally paying off.
Simone was someone who could unwittingly give them the push they needed, but she had to be coaxed. She might not even realise that she had information that could be of relevance to them. If the person interviewing them was aggressive and intimidating, if that person came across as an avenging angel, anything of value was often lost. It was the minutiae, the little things that really mattered.
Unlike Annie, Kate could see through Simone’s friendly demeanour. Annie, God love her, missed the hardness of her eyes and her natural distrust for the police. Kate knew that O’Leary would have primed her about what she could, and could not say. Kate understood that, and would work within those parameters. Simone would only tell them what was relevant, she would never tell them anything she thought could be used against her or, more importantly, the people she worked for.
Kate deliberately took over the conversation, doing it with a flourish that left no one in any doubt about who was in charge. ‘Look, Simone, I’ve spoken to Terry, and I know he has already talked to you about this meeting. Well, I just want you to be clear that I have no interest in your daily grind, OK? I simply want to ask you a few questions about your clientele. I swear to you that we are not questioning you about your daily life. Your job is private and personal and I guaranteed Terry that. But you have to be honest with us. We’re not making a statement of this, we are just interested in your take on the people who use your establishment.’
Simone didn’t answer for long moments, and both Kate and Annie knew that she was wondering how to answer their queries without putting herself or her workforce in danger.
Annie Carr had enough sense to keep quiet at this point, she realised that it was in her interest to let Kate orchestrate the interview. She saw Simone weighing up her options, and she knew that if she sat back and kept out of it all, they would be rewarded.
Kate smiled. ‘Just tell me if there were any punters you were chary of, anyone that you felt wasn’t right. I know that you girls have a built-in shit detector, it’s what keeps you from being hurt, and that’s what I’m interested in now. We know about James Delacroix but over the last twelve months, has there been anyone else who gave you food for thought? Who you felt was dangerous? Was there anyone you had problems with, no matter how small or insignificant they might have been? We need to know.’
Simone started to relax, she felt more comfortable now. This was
n’t a real interview by the Filth, all they wanted was an opinion and she was more than willing to give them that much at least. She wanted this fucker caught as much as they did. Probably more, if the truth were known. She had seen the fear that had spread through the working girls, saw the unease and distrust that had become even more a part of their daily lives. She knew that their fear was interfering with not just their work, but with their real lives, with the lives they lived with their families. It had taken its toll on them, they were all terrified that they might become the next victim.
Simone knew Kate Burrows by reputation and she knew the girls were pleased she was involved in the investigation because that meant they were being looked after by one of their own. She had tamed Patrick Kelly, and that in itself was kudos enough. She was still wary though, still felt the need for reticence. It was what had kept her safe all these years, it came naturally to her.
Kate said quietly, ‘Is there anyone who came to the house that made you feel uneasy? Was there anyone who you felt was capable of hurting someone, and not in a kinky way. Really harming them? Someone you felt was wrong somehow? You’d be surprised how often a woman’s intuition is proved correct.’
Simone sighed heavily. She was racking her brains for anyone she could think of who fitted their bill. But there wasn’t anyone. She shook her head sadly. ‘I’m sorry, but there is no one who springs to mind. I really want to tell you what you want to hear, but I can’t. None of the girls have said anything along those lines about the men who currently frequent our establishment. And, believe me, they would be very vocal about something like that. They know the value of honesty when it’s about safety. They aren’t fools, they wouldn’t compromise their safety for money. And in reality, we are at the safest end of the market. The men who come to us are actually completely honest about what floats their boat.’
