by Martina Cole
Annie wondered how Margaret would fare on her own with the scum and the detritus they encountered on almost a daily basis. The wife-beaters, the child-molesters, all of them liars, all of them trying to justify their own failings. These were predators who saw a chance to make a few quid, and pounced on it without a second’s thought. She had seen pensioners battered and children slaughtered, and she had seen the people responsible walk away because they had manufactured themselves a good sob story.
But she kept her own counsel. After all, she had once been like Margaret, and she had learned the hard way that life was not all it was cracked up to be. She was over thirty years old, and she was alone. She could see herself in Margaret. A younger, more eager self and now, with all that was going on, she was wondering where that girl had gone, and if she could ever get her back again.
Margaret didn’t realise that Annie Carr was crying for long moments but, when she finally noticed, she got up from her chair and placed a gentle arm across her shoulders. ‘Hey, Annie. What’s wrong?’
Margaret was frightened by Annie’s tears and she didn’t know what she was supposed to do. She didn’t yet know that this was part and parcel of the job. Feeling completely useless, and wondering why you couldn’t find the perpetrator of such a vicious crime eventually took its toll on you. Margaret didn’t yet understand just how hard it was to try and come to terms with other people’s hate, other people’s viciousness. She hadn’t experienced the sheer disgust that many of the people they had to get involved with would engender within her.
Annie was really sobbing now, and she turned her face into Margaret’s outstretched arms and finally let her emotions get the better of her. Margaret held her tightly, wondering how this situation had come about. Of all the things she had expected from Annie Carr, this wasn’t one of them.
Patrick was aware that Kate was doing what he would usually refer to as stronging it. She had not answered any of his calls, nor replied to any of the numerous messages he had left for her at the station house. He was getting pissed off.
As he opened the door to Terry O’Leary he was not his usual jovial self, and Terry noticed it straightaway. ‘Patrick Kelly, you look like you lost a sawn-off and found a fucking cap gun. I take it Kate’s still not talking to you.’
Patrick scowled, and that just made Terry laugh even more. ‘Jaysus, Pat, have you seen yourself?’
Even Patrick had to laugh at his friend’s incredulity.
‘She’s missing you, I saw it in her eyes. You two are like Bogart and Bacall; great together, shite on your own.’
Patrick opened the fridge and took out a bottle of white wine. As he poured out two glasses he said snidely, ‘Fucking white wine, you’re a right tart, do you know that?’
Terrence laughed good-naturedly. ‘Less calories than beer, and I still get as drunk. It’s a different world now. I don’t do a full Irish breakfast every day, just on a Sunday after Mass, and I eat sensibly and drink in moderation. Short of getting shot by someone with a grudge, I reckon I’ll live longer than most.’
Patrick handed him the glass of wine and, sipping his own, he swallowed the golden liquid appreciatively. ‘Even I have developed a taste for this stuff. Now, what brings you here on a bright and frosty morning?’
O’Leary was suddenly all business. ‘I have a proposition for you. Bates wants in, and that’s fine by me. But what I want from you is an investment in my new business venture. I have the opportunity to purchase a rather large scrapyard in North London. Now, as I am rather well known these days, and therefore have to keep a low profile, I thought you might like first offer as partner. It’s a guaranteed earner, and it’s owned by two brothers who are, for some strange reason, not of the criminal persuasion. A friend of mine has convinced them that it would be in their best interests to unload said scrapyard at the going price to my good self. Now, this yard is ideal for us in that it’s not on anyone’s radar, not the Filth’s, nor any rival families’. It has a lot of land with it that could be utilised by us in a variety of different ways and, best of all, it’s a seriously legitimate business. In fact, I had a forensic accountant give the books a quick shufti, and he was hard-pressed to find a penny out of place.’ Terry gulped at his wine before saying sagely, ‘I mean, come on, Patrick, what kind of eejit runs a straight scrapyard? It’s fucking outrageous. Why wouldn’t you try and get an earn on the side?’ He shook his red-haired head in consternation. ‘Anyway. I think it’s the real deal.’
Patrick grinned. ‘Is it the McCartneys’ place?’
Terrence was impressed and it showed. ‘You fucker, how did you find out?’
‘Danny Boy told me a few weeks back. He’s a real ferret him, finds out everything. Not that I’m complaining, and you’re right, there’s a lot of potential there. Me and you are just the fellas to tap into it. What’s the initial outlay?’
‘A million each. The equipment alone is worth over a mill and, as the two brothers are happy to take a twofer, we can get the sale over within a month. I thought we could do a nice sideline in crushing motors. Obviously we would not really be crushing them, only the ones that are shite. I think it could be a front for misplaced prestige cars, Mercs, Porsches, and the like, that we can sling into containers and send overseas. It’s a booming business, especially with all the cunts who have bought into the Dubai dream. Personally, I hate the place, it doesn’t do anything for me. I think it’s like Vegas but without the atmosphere.’
Patrick laughed loudly. ‘Kate hated it there when we went out for Jimmy Doyle’s sixtieth. It was too hot and completely charmless. You know like Italy, say, or even fucking Glasgow, there’s a bit of culture, some nice buildings, decent architecture. There was nothing to actually go and see there. It was all too staged. All right for a few days, but I couldn’t do more than a week there at a time.’
Terrence smiled. ‘My old woman loves it. Shopping is all she does out there. Mind you, that’s all she fucking does here. So, can I take it you’re on board?’
Patrick nodded. ‘Yeah. I’ll buy in through one of my offshore companies, that way I won’t be on any paperwork that’s important. Danny will keep an eye out for me, he’s a good kid. Now I’m unloading the flats and houses, I’ll need something to keep me busy. Danny can do all the legwork, just ring him and he’ll sort it. He understands the business too. He bought Dicky Bolton’s place not so long ago.’
‘You and him make a good team, Pat, he’s a nice kid. Everyone speaks well of him. And he was useful when we had our recent difficulties.’ Terrence held his glass out for a refill and, leaning casually against the kitchen sink, he said quietly, ‘I hear the sister put your front window in?’
Patrick smiled ruefully. ‘She did. And she was well within her rights. I treated her abysmally, and she is quite a feisty character, if you know what I mean.’
‘So I hear. Is Kate back on the scene yet?’
Patrick sighed heavily. ‘What do you think?’
‘I saw her the other day and she more or less said she was making you sweat. She’ll be back, Pat. You dropped a hefty old bollock, but we’ve all done it. You two are like me and my old woman, you fight, you fuck, you make up, and you fight again. It’s nature’s way of keeping you on your toes.’
Patrick grinned, and Terry could see the lines that were accumulating around his eyes, that he was getting on in years. He still looked in great shape, but he had the looseness of skin that said you were getting past your sell-by date. It was strange seeing Pat like that, he always thought of him as being in his prime. It was something he was noticing a lot recently, the ageing of his friends. He hated that he himself was spreading, that he couldn’t run any more. He hated that he was breathless at times, and that he felt tired out halfway through the day. It was funny, you spent all your life making money, but when you finally cracked it, you were too old to enjoy it.
Terry watched as Pat opened another bottle of wine, and he waited for him to refill the glasses. ‘Here, Pat, could I ask you a
favour?’
Patrick nodded affably. ‘’Course. What is it?’
‘Do you think you could get Kate to talk to that ugly bird from Victim Support? Only she’s turning up all over houses and flats in Grantley. The girls like her, but I think she might see a bit too much of what goes on. Giving them Bibles and having a chat is one thing, but not on my clock. Two girls have fucking left over her, said they wanted a different life.’
‘Well, you can’t blame them for that.’
‘I know, but not only is she making a dent in my earn, she’s also seeing too much of what goes on. Some of those girls entertain the local dignitaries.’
Patrick laughed again. ‘What, like Lionel, the dirty old fucker?’
‘And the Mayor, the little fat fuck. He gets his goolies slapped with the Chief Planning Officer from the council, that’s how I got planning permission for that block of flats in town. But, that aside, she’s a weird old bird and I want her to start conducting her business off my premises.’
Patrick nodded. ‘It’ll give me an excuse to talk to Kate, she’ll know what to do.’
‘She’d better, because if she doesn’t give her the soft word, I am going to get Simone to turf her out with a flea in her ear.’ Terrence shook his head sagely. ‘Fucking Bible bashers, no good ever comes from those kinds of people. I go to Mass, I take me penance every few months, I don’t try and ram it down anyone’s throat. Once me mum pops off, I’ll leave all that to the wife and kids. But it’s strange the way the girls act towards her. Simone reckons they like her because she makes them feel good about themselves. Fucking birds, eh? Beyond understanding.’
Patrick laughed loudly. He loved Terrence O’Leary. Not only was he one funny man, he was also as shrewd as a gaggle of barristers. He knew the law to the letter, and he listened closely to everything being said around him without ever giving away his thoughts. Patrick wondered briefly what was actually going on in the houses and flats that worried Terry so much but pushed the thought from his mind. Terry had his reasons and concerns and that was his affair. He clearly lived by the old code: people only know what you tell them.
Kate was still perusing the files that had been provided by Margaret. She was impressed at the girl’s acumen. She hated computers herself, but she understood that they were a part of daily life now. Even Patrick played online poker when he couldn’t sleep.
As she read about the girls’ early lives, and about the problems they had encountered, she felt a deep sorrow. These girls had once been newly born babies. They had been brought into the world, and then basically left to fend for themselves. Some women had a lot to answer for where their children were concerned. Kate saw it so much more now, a generation that had grown up wanting everything, but not wanting to work for it. Celebrity was the new religion, and it caused just as much trouble as the old ones.
Kate had now looked over the files for so long that her eyes hurt, and she knew she needed a caffeine hit. There was something there, she just had to find it. To make the connection. Getting up, she heard her mobile ring, and she answered it quickly assuming it was Annie telling her to get home and get some sleep. It was after eleven thirty, and she was beat.
‘Kate?’
It was Patrick’s voice and, like a young girl on her first date, she felt the flutter of butterflies in her stomach. All her anger was gone now, she just felt raw emotion. He had always affected her like that. From their first meeting she had wanted him, and that had never diminished.
‘What do you want?’ Her voice was low and she heard the catch in it. She knew he would be waiting for her to speak first. She stayed quiet. This was his chance to make amends and she only hoped he didn’t muck it up.
‘Can I see you?’
He seemed nervous, and she smiled into the phone.
‘What about?’ She sounded hard now, as if she didn’t care whether she saw him or not. The thought of him and Eve together suddenly crowded her mind. A vivid imagination worked for some people; novelists and artists, but, for the average person, all it brought was heartache. Kate pictured him with that young woman and jealousy threatened to subsume her. It was a destructive emotion, she knew that better than most. She had cleaned up enough murders that were the result of jealousy and bitterness. Bitterness grew from jealousy, bitterness was what festered inside a heart and made a person capable of overwhelming hatred that was without logic or reason. A hate so real, so tangible, that it could cause an international incident at the drop of a hat. Bitterness was the stuff of legends, it was the reason people became fools, and it wasn’t until the bitterness had literally caused murder that those people suddenly realised just how far off the scale their emotions were.
For Kate, hearing his voice after all this time was like ambrosia to the gods. She also knew that, if she could, she would smack the fucker’s face until he squealed in pain. He had hurt her, really hurt her, and she knew it would take a long time for her to even consider forgiving him.
‘Are you still there, Kate?’
She sighed, her earlier euphoria gone now. ‘I’m still here.’
She was determined that she would not talk to him, he had to talk to her.
‘Please come and see me, Kate. I need to talk to you.’
Suddenly she hung up. He had thrown her and made her feel too vulnerable. She also felt furious, who the fuck did he think he was? That he loved her, she had no doubt. That he still craved a bit of strange, was something she had forced herself to overlook. But it was the simple fact that it had been Eve he had turned to, his protégé’s sister. It was so fucking crass and so shaming, not just for her but for him as well. She knew that everyone in their world would know about his liaison, would know that he had replaced her within moments by a younger model. That was what really hurt. She hated him for that, not so much that he had found someone else, and found them so bloody quickly, but that he had then paraded the young woman in front of all their friends. She had been left a virtual outsider, dumped like a hankie full of snot. It had galled her beyond belief that Pat had not once thought about how that would make her feel. He had removed her belongings from the home they shared, had not even had the guts to say anything to her face; he had left Desmond to do his dirty work.
The Desmond who was now what was commonly referred to as MIA. Not to be confused with the military term, missing in action, of course. Desmond, the stupid idiot, was assumed to be murdered in action. Desmond’s widow had tried to claim on the insurance already, so the mortgage would be paid off. She would be well off. The fact that she had tried to scam the missing money herself had not been held against her. She had coughed up eventually, and finally seen the error of her ways.
Kate didn’t bother herself with this kind of crime, she accepted that, from the moment Desmond had resorted to skulduggery for his own ends, he had been living on borrowed time. He knew that the people he mixed with were not the kind of people to overlook that kind of a piss-take and so murder was an occupational hazard for someone like him.
Kate always felt that the one thing in her favour was the fact that she was more interested in what she deemed the real crimes. She liked defending people who couldn’t defend themselves. She knew it was wrong to overlook blatant criminal activity, while pursuing other crimes, but she also knew that pursuing some so-called crimes were a waste of her time and effort. There were certain crimes, especially those that were part of the criminal network, that would not, and could not, ever be solved. Not until it was too late anyway.
Kate deliberately distanced herself from everything that pertained to gang-related crime. She didn’t feel the urge to investigate those crimes. She had learned, over the years, that the real criminals, the real rogues, were actually not that important in the grand scheme of things. It was the burglars, the car thieves and the nonces that people wanted off the pavements. It was the bullies who terrorised old ladies for a couple of quid for a few pints. Rob a bank, and the criminal world would protect you to the hilt. After all, you were only ea
rning a crust, murder an enemy before he murdered you, and that would also be ignored. It was no one’s business but yours. But to try and scam your own was a different matter entirely. Try to force an earn that you had no right to only guaranteed that you were shunned by the local populace, that you were seen as the parasite you really were. If you tried to make a penny from any of your peers, you were deemed as scum because you had stepped over the unwritten line. You were loathed by everyone concerned, family and neighbours included and, worst of all, you would forever be classed as grade-A scum. A marler, a thief of other people’s hard work, you’d be seen as an outcast, forever remembered as an idle ponce. Too lazy to work for yourself.
Kate understood and accepted that. She knew, better than anyone, that it was a necessary evil because the same loyalty and the same ethics were expected in her job, were needed in the police force. Like the criminals they tried to apprehend, the police lived by a similar hierarchy, it was another profession that relied on not just loyalty, but trust.
Kate overlooked Patrick’s lifestyle and she had fitted into his world, but he had never really fitted into hers. The worst part being that she felt more comfortable in his world than she ever had in her own.
Her phone rang again and this time she looked at who was calling her. It was Annie. She answered the call, gutted that Patrick had not bothered to call her back.
Chapter Twenty-One
Kate was annoyed with herself. She knew she shouldn’t have aborted Pat’s call, but she was still hurting. She believed he was sorry now, but it wasn’t enough for her, it still didn’t make things right. Although she had forced the issue, had been angry at his involvement in the flats and houses the girls worked out of, she could have overcome that. Deep inside, she had always known he was not directly involved. After all, he had been running women when she first met him. She had accepted him for who he was.
