Kate slammed the boot of her Mercedes 220 saloon, a birthday present from Patrick two years ago and, turning to look at him, said quietly and deliberately, ‘If it was with Bates, then you knew exactly what you were letting yourself in for. You always said you never trusted him, that you read the small print on every contract, and checked that there wasn’t any really small print invisible to the naked eye. I laughed with you as you said it. Well, he will have been picked up by now, and charged with everything from tampering with a crime scene, tampering with evidence, attempting to hide a criminal act, living off immoral earnings, and anything else I can think of. Once he mentions you, I can’t be responsible for what the police might decide to do. I can, however, distance myself from your fucking devious shenanigans and your obvious involvement in the violent death of a young woman.’
Patrick looked at her and when she saw that he was gritting his teeth, she knew she had hit a home run. She knew she had hurt him, and she was glad. She wanted him to hurt like she was hurting.
‘I’m only on the paperwork, I am a sleeping partner, and I can prove that. So don’t you go trying to stitch me up. I am sorry, I am fucking in bits over that young woman, but it wasn’t anything to do with me personally.’
Kate pushed him out of her way. ‘I don’t believe you, Patrick. You could have told me the score when you heard the murder took place in your property and I would have been upset, but at least you would have spared me the indignity of finding out you were a born-again pimp from a colleague. I should have guessed you were involved, you were too quiet. You already knew about it, didn’t you?’
Pat couldn’t deny it and they were both aware of that.
‘So this is it then?’ he said. ‘I get me collar felt for no more than investing in a legitimate business, and you walk out on our life as if it meant nothing. I have already had my brief explain the situation to your superiors and they are more than satisfied I had no knowledge of anything that went on in that flat. So calm down and stop being so bloody dramatic.’
He was always so cocksure, it had been what attracted her to him all those years ago. He had a way with him, a way of making you overlook his failings because his good points seemed to outweigh them. He was a fucking ducker and diver, a wide boy made good. If it had been anything else she could have swallowed it. But not this.
Now all Kate saw was that girl’s broken body and his reluctance to admit his involvement. She loved him, really loved him. But she knew that his going behind her back, his trying to justify himself by using his brief to prove he was no more than an investor in a business, that he was a dupe, an innocent, was something she could not forgive. He could have come clean about everything, given her the chance to understand their situation. The outright audacity of the man was unbelievable, he thought she was overreacting. He’d let her down before with his tricks and secrecy. And she’d forgiven him then. How could he not understand that it would be impossible for her to swallow it again, and that his actions would impact on her? It would be all over the station by now. Everything that she had worked for over the years would be forgotten in a heartbeat, she would once again be nothing more than the villain’s bird.
He wouldn’t even think about that, it wouldn’t occur to him that this was about more than him and his wants. He had not thought about her and how his actions might affect her and her life. He was a selfish man in many respects, but she had still loved him.
‘You really don’t see it, do you, Pat?’
He opened his arms wide, a look of bewilderment on his face. ‘See what, Kate? What the fuck is there for me to see?’
Kate shook her head sadly and, forcing down the urge to cry, she said quietly, ‘I can’t stay under the roof of a man who has lied to me, who could keep something so important to himself, who would distance himself from any wrongdoing before he felt it was safe to tell his side of the story. You went in with your brief and extricated yourself from a sticky situation. Well, I don’t believe you, or your brief. How can I believe a word you say after that? You must have been aware of what was going on, and don’t fucking insult my intelligence by trying to spin me otherwise.’
‘Oh, I see. So this is all about me trying to save you some embarrassment? I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know how to tell you, did I? Come on, Kate . . .’ He was trying to talk her round now, he’d realised she really was leaving him. ‘I panicked, I was bloody mortified . . . Surely you can see that . . .’
Kate shook her head slowly. ‘I saw a girl who had been battered and tortured, and all you saw was how to save your own arse. I’m working on this case with Annie, we are going to find this nutter, and if that means you get a tug in the process then tough shit.’
Pat was weary now, he had no fight left in him. He saw the determination in her, felt the anger that he knew was justified in part, but he still felt was way over the top. She should have seen all this from his point of view, should have understood his dilemma. She should have been watching his back.
‘Fair enough. You go. And, for the record, Kate, you ain’t a real Filth any more, remember?’
With that he walked into the house and Kate got into her car. As she drove away she resisted the urge to look back. She knew he wouldn’t be looking.
Lucy was already inside the flat when she heard the music and she smiled to herself. Janie loved Oasis, she listened to them constantly. The music told her that she wasn’t entertaining a punter.
She walked through to the kitchen and put the kettle on, calling out for Janie as she went. She assumed Janie was in the shower, getting rid of her make-up and turning herself back into a regular person.
Lucy made the tea and noticed the answering machine was flashing. She pressed the Play button and listened to a litany of punters asking for a call back. That wasn’t unusual. What was unusual, however, was that these messages were all from the night before. They had started at eleven-fifteen, and each one asked why they had not been given access to the premises.
Lucy was nervous now. The Oasis music had somehow become the Spice Girls. She strained her ears in an effort to listen, was terrified that someone was in the flat, someone dangerous. She could hear her own heart beating inside her chest. She called out her friend’s name once again.
She removed a knife from a drawer as quietly as she could and, holding it tightly against her chest, she walked out of the kitchen and towards the front room. She was sweating with fear. She knew something was wrong, knew that it didn’t feel right. There was a really awful smell coming from somewhere and she couldn’t place it, but she knew it wasn’t good.
Pushing the door open she looked inside the room. It was perfect, not a thing out of place. She turned towards the bedroom and, breathing as quietly as she could, she stepped towards the door. It was shut tight.
The sound of the radio was loud in the hallway, and Lucy tried to convince herself that she was overreacting. But she still couldn’t bring herself to open the door. She wondered if Janie had copped herself an all-nighter, they were rare these days, but not unheard of. Lots of men wanted to wake up with a girl beside them, it was only the price that stopped them getting their heart’s desire.
Lucy saw her reflection in the hallway mirror; she looked ridiculous standing there with a knife in her hand and her face like a terrified child’s. She wiped a hand over her face, her sensible head was telling her not to be stupid. Finally she plucked up the courage and pushed the bedroom door open, calling out gaily, ‘You in there, Janie? You all right, mate?’
Kate was unpacking her bags. As she hung up her clothes and placed her shoes in the bottom of the old-fashioned wardrobe she tried not to think about the day’s events. The room wasn’t bad, she had just forgotten how small the house was in comparison to Patrick’s.
This had been her home for a long time, and she had always resisted the urge to sell it. To get rid of it. Now she was glad about that. Glad she had chosen instead to rent it out. She had loved this house. As she sat on the bed she felt the
pull of her old life overwhelm her. Her husband Dan had deceived her, lied to her, and eventually left her for another woman. He had also tried to win her back when he had realised his mistake. By then though, she’d had enough. She had met Patrick Kelly, and he had made her forget how lonely you could be when you were abandoned by the person you loved most.
It was strange really, how one person could have so much impact on your life. You didn’t even know they existed for years, then one day you met them, and that was it. Your whole life would be changed overnight, you suddenly found you needed someone so much you couldn’t imagine your life without them. Yet you had lived without them for years and years, you had gone to work, laughed, cried, gone on holiday, and all that time you had never even dreamed of them, heard of them, seen them, or even smelled them. Then, one day you crossed paths with them and your life, the life you had loved, had come to enjoy, wasn’t good enough any more. Without that person you felt alone, unloved, unwanted.
Kate wondered how many people had missed out on that. How many people lay awake at night wishing for someone to come into their life and make it all seem worthwhile. When all along, what they really did for you was stop you from being your own person. Kate closed her eyes tightly, she could feel the tears of her disappointment flooding her eyes, the bitter tears that she knew would need to be shed at some point, but not now. It was too soon, it was still too raw. She was frightened that if she let them go, she wouldn’t be able to stop.
Annie Carr knocked gently on the door before coming in with a large brandy and a mug of coffee on a small tray. ‘I thought you might need this.’
Kate smiled at her. ‘I’m sorry to land on you like this, it’s not fair.’
Annie smiled at her sadly, her eyes taking in everything around her. ‘It’s your house, Kate. I never used this room, it always seemed a bit too personal, you know? I’m glad you came here, after all, this was your home for a long time.’
Kate poured the brandy into the coffee and sipped it gratefully. The trouble was, it didn’t feel like her home any more, she had been away from it for far too long.
Chapter Three
Kate looked at the girl’s remains, and remains was the only way to describe what was left of her. The acrid stench of acid was still hanging in the air. Janie Moore’s face and genitalia had been slashed and burned like before. The counterpane underneath had melted. It was obvious the girl had not tried to escape.
‘Have you looked at the toes, Annie?’
The girl’s toes were relaxed, so at least they could assume she would not have felt anything. But she may have been conscious on some level of what was happening to her.
‘How did he get in?’
Kate grinned wryly. ‘This is a premises where letting in strange men is the norm. He must be targeting these girls for a reason. Think about it: Danielle Crosby was left like this girl, open-legged, body posed for the maximum shock, horror of whoever found her. Were these girls hand-picked for a reason, or were they just the ones available? Two girls in three days, that’s a lot. It tells me that whoever this is, they have more than a working knowledge of this area. At least when it comes to the girls and where they’re based.’
‘You think he’s a local then?’
Kate shrugged. ‘Could be, but then again they might have lived here years back, could even have worked around here. Might even have relatives here. Until we find out something concrete it’s all speculation.’
Annie looked around the room, it was a typical sex-worker’s paradise. All peach colours, full-length mirrors and sex toys. It wasn’t as seedy as some of the places she’d seen, but it wasn’t exactly the Ritz either. She wondered at the men who frequented these establishments. What possessed them to come into these places? Nine out of ten of them were putting their whole lives on the line for a bit of strange. If their families knew what they were up to there would be murders. No woman in her right mind was going to accept that kind of behaviour, no matter how much she loved her partner. This was what they laughingly referred to in the station as a Jeremy Kyle situation; a man gets caught with a brass, they all know he’s going to get far more of a punishment from his wife than Lily Law. This time though, there was no humour to be found in the circumstances. It was a tragic and violent loss of a young woman’s life.
Kate looked around the flat with interest. She saw the usual paraphernalia indigenous to Toms, but she also saw that this was quite a homely place outside the bedrooms. The girls who worked here had brought in a touch of normality. She saw the usual mix of make-up and cleansers in the bathroom, the hall cupboard held an array of hooded sweats and warm jackets. There were boots and shoes that were not the usual Tom attire. She had even found a child’s coat and hat in a carrier bag. Her first instinct was to wonder if the place was being used for paedophilia, but the garments still had the price tags on so she guessed they were just the property of one of the girls involved here. There was nothing else to make her think any different. Most of the girls were there to keep their kids clothed and fed anyway. Like lap dancers and hostesses, they were simply trying to keep their heads above water. In this climate it was the only way some women could exist. This place had obviously been used by the same girls over a long period of time. She guessed that they had got used to being here, felt safe, and had probably forgotten how dangerous the job really was. Perhaps they’d let their guard down, assumed that men were all friendly and easily controlled. The reality was so different. Most men were harmless enough, but there were plenty of nutters about as well. These were the men who saw working girls as beneath them and who felt it was perfectly acceptable to hurt them. These men felt a surge of energy by humiliating them, or causing them injury. It was these men that the girls often forgot about until they were standing in front of them with a knife and a smile. Only this one didn’t use a weapon as such, he seemed almost to be trying to cleanse them. The use of acids and industrial cleaners on the girls was clearly important. It was as if he wanted to make them pure again.
Kate kept that opinion to herself because she knew that everything said or speculated upon could find its way into the press. It was a different world now, the old ways were long gone. Young policemen and women were as caught up in the celebrity culture as everyone else. Nothing was kept quiet any more, kept in-house, even if it meant that the person they were looking for was given an out. It was the era of the snide, the internal grass. Everything was fair game these days, even if it meant ruining an ongoing investigation.
Kate wondered how much of this crime scene would hit the papers by the weekend. How much of the girl’s life would be plastered across the front pages. It was always the same now. Her family wouldn’t be allowed the decency to grieve in peace, it would all be in the public domain and her whole life would be out there for anyone to read. And they would no doubt say she was asking for it because she was on the game.
She sighed in exasperation, wondering if her private life would be exposed along with these poor girls’. It wouldn’t be the first time she had been the subject of the tabloid press’s scrutiny. Only this time she didn’t have Patrick’s strength to see her through it. Twice she had been the lead investigator on very high-profile cases, and even though she helped solve them, put the perpetrators behind bars, each time she had also been publicly ridiculed because of her alliance with Patrick Kelly. Until now, she had held her head up and accepted it as part and parcel of her life, and the people she worked with had grudgingly admired her stance. She had fronted it out. Now, though, she knew that Pat’s involvement in this investigation, however tenuous it might be, would be used against her. It was a different world to the one she was used to, and she also knew that if he was a part of this, then she had no option but to distance herself from him once and for all.
She saw the girl’s Versace handbag on the worktop in the kitchen, it was a Jekyll and Hyde, a snide, a good imitation of the real thing. Opening it she saw the usual; a purse, a few bits of make-up and an Oyster card. In the purse wa
s about fifty pounds in cash and a photograph of the girl with her two small children. She looked happy as she gazed into the camera, a huge smile on her face. The kids looked even happier, were well dressed and well cared for, which was not unusual for the children of brasses. Kate remembered reading somewhere once that, contrary to popular belief, the offspring of Toms were better dressed and cared for than the majority of the so-called regular population’s children.
Janie Moore had been a lovely-looking girl with two beautiful children, and now her life was over. Snuffed out on a whim. Her kids were left motherless, and her life left without meaning. No one would remember her as a good mother or daughter, or as a friend, all they would remember was how she died, and what she was working as.
It was bloody tragic. Like Danielle, Janie Moore would be remembered as nothing more than a victim from this day forward. Everything else about her would count for nothing.
Patrick was going through all the paperwork concerning the properties he owned. He already knew that another poor girl had been offed on what was legally his premises and he was once more trying to convince himself that he was not in any way responsible.
He had already had what he would describe as a full and frank conversation with Peter about his stupidity in trying to clean the flat after Danielle’s death. He’d now had to call in a favour to sort it out with the Filth. Kate would add that to his crimes. Peter Bates had been shown the error of his ways, thanks in part to Danny Boy and his persuasive personality. But it had been an eye-opener for him on a personal level.
Danny Foster was to all intents and purposes his manager, he was down on all the legal paperwork as the person who ran the businesses. After all, Pat was now retired. So any flak that might come in his direction would, in actual fact, be Danny’s problem; that was what he was paid enormous sums of money for. But it still didn’t make him feel any better. Danny was his fall guy.
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