by Limey Lady
‘Ages ago;’ Sean chuckled. ‘That’s your confession, is it?’
‘Yeah; and it’s all you’re getting.’
‘I knew it. I can read you like a book. And she’s nearly as bad.’ Sean took a moment or two to imagine the girl naked, surprised by the way his body reacted. ‘You jammy bastard; what's it like to get in-between those tits?’
‘They feel even better than they look. And that's all I’m saying. She's married now. And I like Donna.’
‘Spoken like a true gent. Although the possibility I might tell DeeDee may come into it.’
‘Dee already knows, so you needn't bother.’
Sean pulled up a chair and sat opposite Pat. He reckoned the gleam in his eyes would speak better than words.
Clever bastard, aren’t I, he thought smugly.
Sure enough, Pat wilted . . . as always.
‘Okay, so DeeDee doesn’t know all the finer details. And I’d prefer it if you keep it zipped.’
‘Seeing as I don’t know the finer details, I’ll have to. Although I suppose I could make something up.’
‘Stop playing the twat.’
‘No worries. Your dark little secret’s safe with me . . . along with dozens of others.’ Sean smiled to himself. ‘Now then, what do I have to do to get a drink in here?’
Pat produced a bottle of Bushmills and two glasses out of a drawer. ‘This has been here since last Christmas, waiting for you. Just for Christ's sake don't tell Padraig I’m drinking it. He still thinks this is a Proddy whiskey.’
Sean only grunted. That sectarian business didn't do anything for him at all; never had. Pat only ever mentioned it to annoy him.
How’s Debra?’ he wondered, not really caring. ‘Are the curtains and paint all right? Have you started house hunting yet?’
‘She might have found one.’
Sean was shocked in spite of himself. ‘What happened to my two years?’
‘Don't worry yourself about your two years. You know that old chap who lived next to your mum?’
‘Cliff?’
‘Yeah; that’s him. Well he died and the house is up for sale. Dee's cunning plan is to buy it, then make one big cottage out of the two small ones.’
‘I thought Mum had frittered her house away. Don’t they call it skiing nowadays?’
‘Dee reckons it's not as bad as she’d thought. And we’ve fallen lucky with the timing. She's doing her best to shift her place in Bristol and I'm on standby to market mine.’
‘You’re selling Five Rise Manor?’
‘Yeah; I will if I have to.’
‘It must be love.’
‘It must be a big profit. It must be if Dee’s right, anyway. Hopefully she is.’
‘So this is a business venture?’
‘Yes. But a long term one. We’re going to live there, not sell it.’
‘Does that mean no retirement after all?’
Pat shrugged, evidently torn. ‘We're a long way away but, if it comes off, I'll be happy to stay in the legit stuff.’
Sean jumped in like the scavenger he was at heart. ‘And this house business is entirely DeeDee's idea? She's not scared of Mum's ghost or anything?’
‘Apparently your mum will only haunt her own bit of the house. Our bedroom's going to be in the other half.’
‘Go for it,’ Sean grinned. ‘I didn't want you to quit in the first place. If you need to use my share of the equity in Mum's estate, just do it.’
‘I'll leave that to Dee. No way am I ever borrowing from you. Do you know what Kyle and Moggs are doing to that poor sod from Eldwick?’
Sean laughed and held his glass out for more Proddy whiskey. ‘It's working, isn't it? He's paid three and a half grand already. He'll be clear in a couple of months at this rate. Which is a fuck of a sight faster than anything he ever promised Swanny.’
‘Yeah, well Moggs isn't happy about it.’
‘He wants to take it up with Kyle, then. It was his idea.’
‘Seriously Sean, Kyle is the biggest liability we've ever had. If he's not frigging about with bouncers, he's upsetting good guys like Moggs. Something's going to snap. And I’m amazed Angel’s stood him this long. He can't do with him.’
‘I got Kyle deliberately, wanting to rattle Angel’s cage.’
‘Well he's pissing everybody else off as well. Just don't ever ask me to do a job with him.’
‘Received loud and clear,’ Sean gave a little salute then immediately forgot all about Kyle Cassidy. ‘Talking about jobs,’ he went on, ‘our friends from Leeds want to step things up. I'm going to need two or three new drivers.’
‘Another two or three,’ Pat echoed. ‘How much more do the bastards want?’
‘Everything we can get them. If the finders can show a bit more initiative . . .’
‘Come on, Sean, my arse.’
‘Well they can try, can’t they? If they do, we can all make a bit, can’t we?’
‘Like me and Joe, you mean?’
‘Yeah; you two always do okay.’
‘Bollocks. We haven't sold one legit in over a week.’
‘Where is Joe anyway? He’s not looking for a new job, is he?’
‘No, he's slipping a couple of lengths to his latest piece of skirt.’
Sean grinned. ‘Did you hear about my latest piece of skirt?’
‘Andy’s telling everybody you're seeing Snow White,’ Pat said. ‘I hear she's a bit of all right, even if the name makes her sound sweet and innocent.’
‘She's sweet but she's far from innocent.’ Sean was going to give a couple of examples but stopped himself. ‘What are they running there anyway?’ he said instead. ‘Snow White meets the Ice Queen . . . is it a bank or a fucking pantomime?’
‘I think they were in films for kids, not pantomimes.’
‘In that case I dunno about the Ice Queen, but Snow White's definitely the adult version. Here, have a look at her.’
Sean handed over his mobile and watched as Pat flicked through a sequence of pictures of Heather taken in various rooms of his house. She was naked in all of the snaps, posing in some, caught unawares in others.
‘What do you think?’
‘It’s Heather,’ said Pat.
‘Yeah; fit, isn’t she?’
‘I thought you never went back.’
‘She said something like that, but I talked her out of it.’
‘You shouldn’t go flashing snaps like this around.’
‘Sorry Sir Galahad. I thought you liked hard, round tits.’
‘I do. But it’s Heather, not some slut.’
‘Get over yourself. And be honest. What do you think?’
‘Stunning,’ said Pat. ‘But I bet she wouldn't want some of these posted on Facebook.’
‘I wouldn't do that. I respect her just as much as you seem to do.’
‘Is she going to be Anne-Marie's replacement?’
‘No, no,’ Sean said quickly. ‘Anne-Marie really was sweet and innocent. Out of bed she was, anyway. No-one's ever going to replace her. No, I see Heather as more of an investment. She's already saved me thousands. One of these days she’ll get me into her bank's millions.’
‘And in the meantime you're going to keep getting into her knickers. Sounds like a fair deal to me.’
‘A risky one though.’
‘What do you mean, has she a psycho ex or something?’
‘Not that I’m aware of.’
‘What then?’
‘The girl's a fucking nympho,’ Sean said sincerely. ‘Honest to God, Pat, she's screwing me to death. Before long I'm going to be begging you to give me a hand with her.’
Pat laughed then passed back the phone as it started to ring.
‘Sean? It’s Andy. You’ve got visitors and they don’t look happy . . .’
*****
The bar in Departures at Leeds/Bradford International was busy. Penny and Yvonne queued for drinks while Sally and Paula bagged a table. When they were all gathered around Paula took c
harge, as she usually did.
‘Right,’ she began, ‘as Maid-of-no-Honour-at-all, I would like to propose a toast: to Sally and all who sail on her during these next four days. And also to those who sail in and under her.’
The four hens giggled and drank the toast.
‘Okay,’ Paula went on. ‘We’re all well acquainted, but let's just remind each other where we’re all at in life. And I mean honestly, as mates. No dinner party bullshit. I'll start by saying I'm on my second husband and it must be love. I've hardly been unfaithful this time. And my last fling seems like years ago. I haven't had this sort of freedom since my divorce and I'm really up for it.’
‘I haven't even married my first husband yet,’ Sally said. ‘So I'm still a virgin, obviously. I don't really know what to expect. But I'm sure I'm going to enjoy everything that comes my way.’
‘I'm on my third,’ said Yvonne. ‘I cheated on the first two, but I’ve been good this time . . . so far. I'm nervous but up for it as well.’
‘I'm still on my first,’ Penny confessed. ‘I haven’t cheated even once, and I am really, really nervous.’
‘I don't know why you should be,’ said Sally. ‘We know what you were like at school. You've had more different cocks than the rest of us put together.’
Penny protested but joined in the laughter all the same.
‘I've had seven,’ Sally said. ‘Not too bad for a blushing bride.’
‘We'll have to get you up to at least ten before we fly back,’ Paula remarked. ‘Seeing as you're not a virgin after all. I am already at ten, by the way. I just counted.’
‘I'm on seven as well,’ said Yvonne.
They were all looking at her so Penny told the truth. ‘Twelve. But it's been exclusively that twelfth one since I moved in with Geoff.’
‘You’ve no reason to be nervous,’ Paula said earnestly. ‘This isn't cheating. Cheating's when you go behind your partner's back. There has to be emotion and betrayal involved to make it cheating, doesn't there, girls?’
‘Yes,’ said Yvonne. ‘And that's coming from an expert.’
‘I'm no expert,’ Sally added. ‘But we’re not exactly sneaking off, are we? Everyone knows what can happen on a hen night. And what happens in Amsterdam stays there, right? Okay, so Amsterdam is more stags than hens, but come on; we couldn't be much more open about what we're going to get up to, could we?’
‘I told Geoff we were looking at the museums,’ Penny said. ‘He didn't seem to believe that, so I did an upgrade to cannabis cake.’
‘Four days is a long time for museums and cannabis cake,’ said Yvonne.
‘He didn't even consider the four days. Time doesn't matter to him anymore. Come to that, hardly anything matters to him anymore. He probably wouldn't have cared if I'd told him I was going to blow all we have on diamonds.’
‘You want Antwerp for diamonds nowadays,’ said Paula, helpful as ever.
‘I'll stick with Amsterdam and the cannabis cake.’
Paula grinned. ‘Cake and a few nice cocks, that’s what you need. That combination is much cheaper than rocks, and more enjoyable, if not so long-lasting. Agreed?’
‘Agreed,’ Penny said meekly.
While Paula and Yvonne got more drinks Sally squeezed Penny's hand. ‘Should I take it Geoff is still not getting better?’
‘No. His make or break treatment seems to have stopped him getting worse. But there's no sign of any improvement. He’s still in limbo. And it looks like he's going to stay like that forever.’
‘The girls all know,’ Sally said quietly, ‘if it gets too much, just back out. We'll understand.’
‘Thank you,’ Penny said. ‘But Paula’s right; after the last few months too much is exactly what I need.’
*****
‘We’ve got him!’
Word went through the nick like wildfire.
Carson and Zalinski had got Leatherjacket. It was the break they’d been waiting for since April. The temptation to announce it to the world was enormous.
Yet Jack Carlisle was taking nothing for granted. He wanted his ducks in a row before a single word got out about this. Despite rumours circulated by Ayling, he was too young to have been in the Job when they’d finally got Sutcliffe, but he’d heard all the tales. And how close to a disaster had that been!
Check, check and double-check. That was the way to play it.
And that was even though he was starting to believe in miracles.
Carson and Zalinski had been out on patrol when they’d noticed an Audi behaving oddly. Suspecting kerb-crawling, they’d pulled it and, in Zalinski’s words, “almost keeled over” when the driver wound down his window and blasted them with fumes.
They had intended to give the kerb-crawler a bollocking and send him on his way. The reek of alcohol was too much to ignore, though. He had tested well over so Zalinski had cautioned him and slammed him up in the back of the squad car. Meanwhile Carson did his civic duty and went to lock the Audi . . . finding the semi-automatic pistol lying in the passenger-side footwell.
The officers had hastily conferred, agreeing their kerb-crawler (who by then they had confirmed to be one Trevor Lockwood) didn’t look like a local street thug. He was too old, to start with. But what business could he have with a weapon like that? Apart from involvement with drugs, that was. It hadn’t taken them very long to decide they had grounds to investigate. Searching inside the vehicle first, stumbling across ammunition for the weapon but nothing else.
The full length leather jacket had been in the boot. That was when they had started to get excited.
Although they were “traffic” and hadn’t worked the case, both officers knew the hunt for the serial killer hadn’t been going anywhere. The brass weren’t openly admitting it, but so far they had come up with less than bugger all. The killer had left metal stakes and just the one spent cartridge behind him, nothing else: no prints on anything; no hairs, fibres or DNA; absolutely fucking nothing other than one single boot print that might have been a Timberland.
That was assuming it really was his.
But now, given a break like this . . .
*****
Jack Carlisle’s only other break on the triple murder, kept as a jealously guarded secret from the media, had come from a possible witness. Amber was a prostitute who had worked in Shipley for the last two or three years. She had come forward to say she’d been doing some “car trade” not four hundred yards from the scene of the crime. According to Amber, her client had been the sort who took hours explaining what he wanted and then got his tickle and squirt over with in ten seconds flat.
Needless to report, a quick squirt had been fine by her, because her punter had paid with a smile and offered to drive her back to the town centre after he was done.
‘I said no,’ she had told them. ‘Once they’ve paid and done whatever, I don’t want to see them again. Not for a day or two, anyway. So I got out and walked.’
Her route had taken her between closed units and office blocks, parallel to the main road. It had been weird, she’d explained. The orange street lights over moving traffic seemed a lot brighter than the whiter ones in the deserted business park. And, although her footpath was as quiet as the grave, she could hear shouts, laughter and the occasional blast of music coming from not too far away.
‘It was like I was out in the cold, missing the best New Year’s Eve party ever. But I knew I’d get there sooner or later. And I’d had a good night. I reckoned I’d give it five to see if I got another trick, then jack. I’d arranged to meet Jaylo in Lloyds at ten. We were planning a big drink.’
When she got to the undeveloped corner plot, Amber had heard a noise she described as: ‘more of a yelp than a squeal’. She’d added that it sounded like the noise Jaylo made when she was pretending she wanted to cum. The one that really meant: Get on with it. Only that particular patch of spare land was one Jaylo sometimes used, so maybe she’d been putting two and two together and it had been someone else.
Anyhow, she’d resisted the impulse to go cross country because she’d been in heels, and that ground was very, very dodgy. So she’d gone the long way round and, as she’d turned the corner more or less so she was facing the railway bridge, she’d seen him.
