by Martina Cole
‘Lie on the coat, dear, or you’ll get a cold.’
His voice was muffled inside the mask and he could feel the warmth of his breath against the leather.
George liked wearing the mask, it made him feel different. He had wanted one of these masks since he’d read Donald Neilson had worn one to murder Lesley Whittle.
Mandy dragged herself on to her sheepskin. Her whole body was aching now. Especially her face and knees. She looked down at her legs and saw the blood seeping through the holes in her tights. She felt panic welling up inside her and fought it down. She had to keep a clear head. She had to get hold of that crowbar. She pushed her hair from her face and George watched her through the mask’s eyeholes. It was a very feminine gesture, a graceful gesture, and George felt an enormous lump in his throat as he looked at her.
His mother had possessed a grace of movement just like that, a feline quality that had set her apart from other women. He smiled into the mask with tenderness.
‘What’s your name, dear?’
Mandy didn’t reply. Just stared at the mask.
George tutted to himself. She was getting difficult again. Women were always the same. You tried to be nice to them, to help them even, but were they grateful? Were they?
He began to breathe heavily and the mask grew even hotter. He was beginning to sweat now and it was all her fault. He kicked her on the leg, a savage kick that brought the tears back into her eyes.
‘I asked you your name, you little slut!’
‘It’s Mandy . . . Mandy Kelly.’
Her name was Mandy! His favourite name! The name of the girl in his video . . . Mandy.
He watched her tiny pointed breasts that poked through her jumper as if surprised to be there and felt an aching in his loins.
He knelt in front of her.
He wished he did not have to wear gloves. He clenched and unclenched his hands in anticipation.
Then she kicked him. He felt the sting as her boot came into contact with his chest. In a split second, she had rolled away from him, across the dirt floor, eyeing a lump of metal!
The dirty stinking bitch was trying to grab a weapon! But George beat her to it. He jumped up and ran to her. As her hand curled around the crowbar he stamped on it with his heel. She screamed, loudly and piercingly.
George picked up the crowbar and before he knew what was happening he had broken open her head. He threw down the crowbar. It made a dull and hollow thud as it hit the dirt floor.
Now look what you made me do, he thought.
It was all her own fault. They were all the bloody same. Troublemakers the lot of them.
Dragging the girl’s body back to the sheepskin, he dumped her on to it and arranged her limbs so that she was open to him. He was sweating like a pig now, even in the extreme cold. It was the mask.
George sat back on his heels and looked at her for a long moment.
Then he began to take off her clothes.
‘Well, I’m starving.’ Tiffany’s voice was like a spoilt child’s.
Patrick Kelly turned from the telephone and bellowed at her: ‘Then fuck off, love. Go on. FUCK OFF!’
Slamming the phone back in its cradle, Patrick Kelly stormed over to where Tiffany was sitting. Kevin saw her flinch. Kelly picked her up bodily and half dragged, half ran her from the room. He threw her from him as they entered the large hall.
‘Get your coat. Get a cab. Get out of my sight, Tiffany, or I’ll punch your stupid face in.’
She rubbed her arm.
‘Oh, come on, Pat. You know I didn’t mean it.’ Her voice was low and pleading and Kelly felt a moment’s pity for the girl.
He breathed out heavily, suddenly feeling deflated. Where the hell was Mandy? It was gone eleven now. He picked up the phone in the hall and dialled a number.
‘Jimmy? Drive the car around the front. Tiffany’s going home.’
Kelly saw her lips tighten. He replaced the receiver.
‘So when will I be seeing you then?’ Tiffany was slightly mollified by the fact he was sending her home in one of his cars and not a taxi.
‘You won’t, love. Not now. Not ever.’ His voice was low and hard.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You heard. Here’s Jimmy with the car. Get your coat and go.’
She watched him walk back into the lounge and shut the door. Bloody cheek! No one, but no one, dumped her without a by your leave. She had a good mind to give him a piece of her mind.
Luckily for Tiffany, she didn’t have one.
Kevin sat in the armchair. Neither man said a word as they heard the crunch of the wheels on the gravelled drive. Kelly poured himself another drink. He did not bother to offer one to Kevin.
‘Well then, I’ve tried all her mates. All me relatives. Everyone. Are you sure she ain’t got another bloke who she could be out with?’
Kevin bridled despite himself.
‘Of course I am. She’s not that sort of girl.’
Kelly nodded at him as if agreeing.
‘One thing I want to get straight in me mind. Why did you have her car? And if you had it, how was she going to get home?’
Kevin’s heart was beating a tattoo in his chest. He had been waiting for these questions all night.
He licked his lips nervously.
‘Well.’ He cleared his throat. ‘She said to me to use her car today to pick up some things like I said I would . . .’ His voice trailed off.
Kelly walked to his chair and stared down at him.
‘Yeah? Go on.’
‘I arranged to pick her up from the phone box in Portaby Road. Only when I got there - I was a bit late like - she wasn’t there.’ Kevin could see Kelly’s slate grey eyes hardening by the second. ‘So I come here, thinking she’d got a cab or something.’
‘What time was you supposed to pick her up then?’
‘Eight o’clock.’
‘And what time did you finally get there?’
‘About twenty to nine.’ Kevin’s voice was so low Kelly couldn’t hear it.
‘What time? Speak up, lad, for Christ’s sake.’
‘About twenty to nine.’
Kelly’s face screwed up in abject disbelief.
‘What do you want for Christmas, son? A Rolex or fucking Big Ben hung round your neck, eh? You left my baby standing outside a phone box for forty minutes in this weather!’
Throwing the brandy glass to the floor Patrick Kelly delivered a stinging blow to the younger man’s ear, knocking him off the chair.
‘You ponce! You little ponce! My Mandy could be fucking dead because of you. Start saying your prayers, boy, because if I don’t locate my baby soon, you’ll be dead. Do you hear me!’
Kevin wiped his running nose with the back of his hand. He was absolutely terrified.
‘Y-Y-Yes. I’m sorry . . .’
‘You’re sorry, are you? You’ve been driving round in my Mandy’s car for weeks. Oh, I know all about it, sonny boy. I’ve had you watched. Now I don’t doubt you’ve heard some stories about me. About my businesses up West, and the heavies that work for me. Well, you take all you’ve heard and times it by ten and you’ll get a little inkling of what you are so desperate to marry into. I make the Godfather look like Little Red Riding Hood. You remember that, boy, because if anything, anything at all, has happened to my little girl, you’ll be deader than an Egyptian mummy!’
Kelly’s face was contorted with rage. He had the same sick feeling inside him he had had the day Renée had died. It was like history repeating itself.
She had been killed driving home from her mother’s in West Ham. She had been over two hours late and he had known deep in his heart that something had happened. Her Mini that she loved so much she had named it Jason had been hit by a lorry on the A13, outside the Henry Ford public house. But his Mandy wouldn’t be in a car accident, because this pratt in front of him had her bloody car!
He went to the phone and picked it up. He dialled a number and turned back t
o face Kevin, who had pulled himself off the floor and was now sitting back in the armchair crying.
‘Bloody real, ain’t it? Patrick Kelly, the most feared man in London, phoning the Old Bill!’
Kate was at home putting the finishing touches to the Christmas tree with Lizzy. As her daughter put the old fairy on the top, she remembered when Lizzy had made it. She had been only five at the time and every year since, the pieces of cardboard and tattered lace had graced the top of the tree.
‘That looks lovely.’
Lizzy stepped back to admire her handiwork. ‘Not bad. I’m really looking forward to Christmas this year, Mum.’
‘So am I, love.’
As she spoke there was a loud banging on her front door. Lizzy ran from the room and a few seconds later there was a loud squealing. Kate closed her eyes briefly. The wandering hero had returned, as per usual. Her mother walked from the kitchen and looked at Kate, her eyebrows raised.
‘It’s himself?’
‘It is.’
‘Well, it makes her happy anyway.’
Kate plastered a smile on her face as her daughter tugged her father into the room. Kate was aware of the chaos of the room and grinned, this time genuinely. Gone were the days when she took trouble for Danny.
‘Hello, Dan, long time no see.’
He looked great, as usual. He was tall, blond and deeply tanned. Kate wondered, not for the first time, why men looked better as they got older. He was hugging his daughter to him with real affection.
‘Hello, Kate old girl.’
‘Not so much of the old, Dan, if you don’t mind.’
They looked at each other over their daughter’s head.
‘Oh, Mum, Dad’s laden down with gear. Presents for all of us.’
Kate saw the question in Dan’s eyes and sighed inwardly. He had his suitcase with him which meant he wanted to stay ‘for a while’. Over the years he had done this to her a few times. It meant that the current recipient of his affections had either caught him out with her best friend or just caught him out in general.
Evelyn walked into the room and Dan immediately embraced her, lifting her off the floor as he kissed her.
‘Evelyn, you never change!’ For once he was being truthful. She looked the same at seventy as she had at sixty.
Evelyn waited until he put her down and then said, ‘Neither do you, Dan.’ They looked at each other, the animosity between them almost tangible. ‘I see you’ve got your case with you this time?’
It was a question and Dan avoided her eyes, turning instead to his daughter.
‘I thought I’d spend some time with my girl. Now how about a cup of tea for a cold traveller?’
Lizzy skipped from the room to the kitchen, her grandmother following her. Dan looked at Kate. His deep blue eyes were sparkling.
‘You look great.’
‘So do you. How’s things?’
She picked up a couple of Christmas tree decorations and began to hang them precariously from the branches.
‘All right, I suppose. Look, Kate, can I stay, just for the holidays?’ His tone was wistful and Kate, with her back to him, afforded herself a little smile.
‘Of course you can, Dan, provided you don’t mind the settee?’
‘I’m quite used to it now, Kate.’
‘I’m sure you are.’
The silence between them was heavy. Kate made herself relax. She put up with Dan’s invasions for Lizzy’s sake, knowing that the girl enjoyed them. Dan was a wastrel, a lazy good for nothing - and his daughter adored every bone in his body.
Kate had never attempted to put her daughter wise about her father. Instead she allowed him to come into their lives when it suited him and then gritted her teeth and smiled until he breezed out again. Kate could even sympathise with Lizzy; once upon a time he had had the same effect on her. She was living for the day when Lizzy found out her father’s shortcomings herself. Then she would pick up the pieces and breathe a sigh of relief.
Lizzy came back in the room with a mug of steaming tea. Dan had ensconced himself on the sofa and Kate watched from the easy chair as Lizzy gave him the mug, careful not to let one drop fall on to her father’s natty outfit. She would bet her last pound that every bit of money he had was already spent. His presents would be large and as expensive as possible. Now he wanted somewhere to recuperate and relax that did not cost anything. Kate knew he was mugging her off and it annoyed her.
‘So how’s Anthea?’
‘Oh, she’s fine, fine. Got her boys home for Christmas, so I thought I’d come and see my poppet.’ He ruffled Lizzy’s hair as he spoke and she smiled at him.
Kate felt an urge to be sick but fought it down bravely. ‘When’s she expecting you back?’ It came out sweetly but Dan and Evelyn, who had walked into the room, both knew it was a loaded question. He was saved from answering by Lizzy.
‘Oh, Mum! He’s only just got here and you want to know when he’s going?’
The phone rang and Kate went out to the hall to answer it, glad of the respite.
‘Hello, DI Burrows speaking.’
‘Kate? Ratchette here. Bit of bother, I’m afraid. Could you sort it out for me, please?’
‘What’s up, sir?’
‘It seems that one of the town’s leading citizens has mislaid his daughter.’
‘Who?’
‘Patrick Kelly.’ Ratchette’s voice was flat. ‘I’ve had the Chief Constable on to me. It seems the girl went missing at eight this evening. The boyfriend was supposed to pick her up from Portaby Road and when he got there she was nowhere to be seen. She’s not a girl to go off without telling anyone apparently, so the Chief Constable himself wants the matter thoroughly investigated.’
Kate could hear the annoyance in Ratchette’s voice.
‘I’ll go and see him, don’t worry. It’s probably nothing. How old is the girl, by the way?’
‘Twenty-two. I think she had a row with the boyfriend and is holed up at a friend’s but the boy’s too frightened to tell the father.’
Kate laughed softly.
‘Well, you can’t really blame him for that, can you? Patrick Kelly isn’t exactly a calm and caring individual.’
‘No, Kate, he’s not. But he’s very friendly with the Chief Constable. At least, that’s how it seems to me anyway.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll sort it out.’
‘Thanks, Kate. Give the girls my best, won’t you?’
‘Of course. I’ll let you know what happens, sir.’
The line went dead in her hand.
She walked into the living room and smiled her best smile.
‘I’ve got to go in, I’m afraid. A girl’s gone missing.’
‘Oh no . . . Who?’ Lizzy’s face was concerned.
‘No one you know. Look, I’ll be as quick as I can, all right?’
‘Mum’s on the murder-rape, Dad, she’s in charge.’
‘Really, Kate?’
‘Yes. Look, you lot catch up and I’ll be back soon.’
She went from the room and pulled on her coat quickly. Evelyn followed her out with Lizzy.
‘I hope the girl turns up, Mum.’
‘I think she will, love, don’t worry.’
‘You make sure you ring me as you’re coming home and I’ll have something hot for you when you come in. Wrap up now, it’s bitter cold out there.’
‘Mum, I’m forty years old, you know.’ This was said playfully.
‘You don’t look that old, Mum. You only look about thirty-eight.’
‘Thanks a million, Lizzy, I feel much better!’
‘You don’t mind Dad staying really, do you?’
Kate looked into the lovely face and felt a twinge of guilt. ‘No, of course not.’
Lizzy kissed her and went back into the living room. Kate and her mother looked at each other for a few seconds.
‘She’s growing up at last, Kate.’
‘So it would seem. See you later, Mum.’ She kissed the t
iny woman in front of her.
Evelyn held her daughter’s arm. ‘You be careful out there now, with a maniac on the loose. I’ll sort out his lordship if he starts his antics.’
‘’Bye, Mum.’
Picking up her car keys Kate went out into the cold night air. She felt a strange sense of relief to be out in her car. As she pulled away her mind was once more full of the investigation. They were nowhere near solving the case. It had not been planned but was a spontaneous act. Geraldine O’Leary had been murdered by a random killer. Those were the worst kind of cases. In almost eighty-five per cent of murders the killer was known to the victim, the percentage was even higher in rape cases. She honestly believed that whoever had murdered Geraldine O’Leary had not known who their victim was going to be. But even knowing this brought her no nearer to solving the case; quite the opposite in fact, it made everything harder, much harder. The door to door had not been much use, though there were a few leads they were following up. A sighting of a dark coloured car in Vauxhall Drive at about six fifty-five. They did not know the make, only that it was a saloon. It was like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack. She turned right at the crossroads that led to the outskirts of Grantley and Patrick Kelly’s house. She did not need to find out his address. In Grantley, everyone knew where Patrick Kelly lived.
Especially the police.
Kate felt a flicker of annoyance, even though this call had got her out of the house and away from Dan. If Frederick Flowers was so worried on Patrick Kelly’s behalf, why the hell didn’t he come out here and investigate the matter himself? Normally a person had to be missing for over twenty-four hours before the police were interested, especially when it was a grown woman. It was different with children, but this Mandy Kelly was twenty-two, for Christ’s sake. She pulled into the sweeping gravelled drive and stopped in front of the large Georgian house, set in three acres of parkland. It was lit up like Battersea Power Station. Seems that massage parlours and repossessions paid well and earned friends in high places as well. Kelly’s electric bill came to more than her mortgage by the looks of things.
The entire house was floodlit and even the trees had lights in them. You’d have no chance of creeping up to Patrick Kelly’s door without being seen. Nursing her resentment she walked up to the front door and rang the bell.