The Ladykiller

by Martina Cole

  ‘Oh, George, help me. I’m going to faint . . .’

  As she crashed to the floor once more, Joseph did a roll that would have made a paratrooper proud; Elaine watched the whole charade with wide eyes.

  ‘Listen here, George Markham, this is the last time! Do you hear me?’ Elaine’s voice had risen fifteen decibels louder than usual.

  ‘Next year, we are going away for Christmas. Now pick your bloody mother up and get her out of my house. I’ve had enough!’

  Nancy’s and Joseph’s mouths both opened simultaneously, but snapped shut as they looked at George. He was still sitting on the edge of the bath and laughing his head off, tears running down his face, which he wiped now and then with the back of his hand.

  Lily, who had come up to see what all the noise was about, stared around her in amazement. Her mother had warned her about marrying into the Markham family and she had been right.

  They were funny. Not funny ha-ha, but funny peculiar.

  When Kate received the call saying that Mandy Kelly had died, she drove straight to the hospital. Now she had two murders to contend with. When she saw Patrick Kelly, she was shocked. That he had taken the death badly was hardly surprising, but he looked positively old. Old and haggard.

  She went to him. He was still holding his daughter’s body in his arms and the doctors and nurses could not persuade him to leave the bedside. The body had to be put on ice, and soon. Kate motioned for everyone to move away and went to him.

  ‘I’m really very sorry, Mr Kelly. I can assure you that we shall do all that we can to find the man responsible.’

  Her gentle voice broke in on him. He looked at her with red-rimmed eyes.

  ‘She was only twenty-two, just a baby. Just a kid, that’s all. I’d bought her a shop, you know.’ His voice caught and he sniffed loudly. ‘A lovely little shop. She would have done well and all, she wasn’t a silly girl. She had a good brain, did my Mandy.’ He bit his lip hard. ‘What will I do without her?’ The plaintive note in his voice went straight to Kate’s heart.

  ‘She was all I had.’

  Kate put her arm around his shoulders and he cried into her jacket. She stroked his hair. Patrick Kelly was a Repoman. The best in the business, it was said. He would repossess anything, from a car, to a crane, to a large yacht. He had been nicknamed ‘The Snatchman’ by friends and enemies alike. That his business was not strictly legal Kate was aware, he owned sex shops, massage parlours and many other businesses. Yet, as he was now, broken hearted, Kate felt an enormous affection for him. Whatever he may be, he had been a loving father and husband and at this moment in time, Kate envied his wife the love he had borne her.

  ‘Come on, Mr Kelly, let’s get you home, shall we? There’s nothing you can do here now.’

  She pulled him away from his daughter’s body. As he let go of Mandy he slipped his arm around Kate’s waist and she held him tightly while he cried, his shoulders heaving beneath his expensive crumpled suit.

  When he was spent she walked him from the room, motioning with her head to DS Willis, who had met her at the hospital, to finish off there. She would take Patrick Kelly home.

  Willis watched her leave and felt a spark of respect for his boss. Patrick Kelly was notorious, a villain and a thug, yet DI Kate Burrows had him eating out of her hand. One of the advantages of being a female, he supposed.

  Outside the hospital, Kelly’s driver was waiting for him in his Rolls-Royce Corniche. Kate helped Patrick into the back, relieved that she did not have to drive him home. As she went to shut the door, his voice stayed her.

  ‘Please, come home with me . . . I need to talk to someone.’

  His voice was wretched, and Kate hesitated only a moment before climbing into the car beside him. Maybe he would inadvertently give her some clues. People often did, without even realising that what they said had a bearing on the case in hand.

  He grabbed her hand and held on to it tightly. Kate looked at his strong profile as they drove to his house. He was staring out of the window at the cold deserted streets, his hard chiselled face set, despite his grief. His dark hair, though untidy, looked manly and strong to Kate. Like Patrick Kelly did. He glanced at her; his violet blue eyes held a depth of gratitude that she knew he would never be able to convey in words.

  She squeezed back.

  Lizzy sat with her father and grandmother watching the end of the James Bond film. As the credits began to roll she stretched in her chair.

  ‘That was great! I love Sean Connery. Can I have a glass of Babycham, Gran?’

  Evelyn looked at her.

  ‘Oh, all right then, but just one mind!’

  ‘Thanks, Gran.’ She skipped across the room to the drinks cabinet.

  Dan watched her, a smile on his face. She had really grown up since the last time he had seen her. She had the long-legged coltish look peculiar to sixteen-year-old girls. Her breasts were heavy though; she took after his side of the family in that respect. But facially she was all her mother. She was just like Kate had been when they had first met. From the long silky dark hair to the perfect white teeth. She even had Kate’s distinctive nose.

  She walked back to her seat with her drink and sipped it. ‘Mmmm, lovely.’

  ‘It’s a shame your mother had to go out tonight.’ Lizzy shrugged. ‘It’s her job. Mum really has to work hard to keep us all, doesn’t she, Gran?’

  ‘That she does, child.

  ‘Oh, I know that, but it doesn’t seem fair, her having to shoot off on Christmas night.’ Dan kept his voice deliberately light.

  ‘You get used to it after a while, Dad. I can’t remember the last birthday when she was home early enough for the party! Still, Gran’s always here.’

  Dan nodded and sipped at his brandy.

  Evelyn stood up. ‘Who fancies a turkey sandwich?’

  Both Dan and Lizzy nodded assent and she went to the kitchen. Dan squeezed his daughter’s hand. ‘You’re a good girl you know, Liz. A lot of girls would hate a mother who was never there when they wanted her.’

  She bit her lip and thought hard. ‘She’s there when I really want her, Dad. Don’t you worry about that. When’s Anthea back?’

  The question took him by surprise.

  ‘Oh . . . Anthea and I are not really together any more.’

  Lizzy took a large gulp of her Babycham and put the glass on the little coffee table.

  ‘I’m glad, Dad. I never liked her very much.’

  ‘You didn’t really know her.’ His voice was strained.

  ‘No, but when I used to ring up, she’d be very off-hand with me. I felt as if I was intruding or something.’

  ‘That was just Anthea’s way. She didn’t mean anything. How do you get on with your mother’s . . . er . . . friends?’

  ‘Boyfriends, you mean? She never has any. I know she gets asked out on dates, but she never goes. My friend’s dad wanted to go out with her, and she said no.’

  ‘Your friend’s dad!’ Dan’s voice was scandalised.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, her mum’s been dead for ages. Oh, that sounds terrible, but you know what I mean.’

  ‘Yeah, I know what you mean.’

  They smiled at one another.

  ‘Oh, Dad, it’s great to have you here like this.’

  ‘It’s great to be here, love.’

  If it rested with him, he’d be here for a long time to come. He was convinced that his Katie still held a torch for him, and he’d do everything he could to get that torch blazing again.

  The first part of the plan was getting his mother-in-law on his side. He’d start working on that straight away.

  Kate and Patrick sat on the large settee in Patrick’s lounge; both were drinking coffee. Patrick had been talking about himself for over an hour and Kate let him.

  All the stories about him, true and imagined, had not prepared her for the almost brutal attractiveness that he had in abundance. His dark brown hair, just beginning to grey at the temples, gave him a distinguished
air and softened his rugged features. Dark-skinned and full lipped, he had eyes that were a deep penetrating blue, and from the way he moved Kate could see that he had looked after himself well over the years. Only a slight paunch belied his age. He was a very attractive man. Too attractive, in fact, for his own good. And Kate had a sneaking suspicion that under other circumstances he would deliberately make her aware of the fact.

  Patrick Kelly loved women. But he had only really loved two with all his heart and soul. His wife, Renée, and his daughter, Mandy. Mandy who was lying now in a mortuary, waiting to be dissected by the pathologist’s scalpel.

  Kate closed her eyes. Patrick’s voice was a low drone in her ears. All this unhappiness and confusion pouring out of him like a dam.

  Patrick rose from his seat and picked up a bottle of brandy. He brought it back together with two Waterford crystal glasses. Like everything else in the house, they were of the best quality, but as he poured out two generous measures, Kate was made aware that money meant very little when you had no one to share it with.

  ‘My old mum used to take in washing, you know. Me dad had had it on his toes years before, leaving me and my four sisters. My mother worked like a black to give us a decent life, but she was held back, like we all were then, by lack of education and decent jobs.

  ‘I found my old man a few years ago. He’d only gone as far as North London. He’d shacked up with some old bird who was on the game. She kept him in the style he had rapidly grown accustomed to. He’d been a good-looking bloke in his day. I went to see him and told him I was his son, like. He just smiled and asked me if I had any money. He never even asked after my mum or my sisters. Not even casually.

  ‘But I told him. I told him Mum died of a massive stroke, that she’d been riddled with rheumatism from years of washing other people’s dirty clothes, but he wasn’t even interested . . .’

  Kate saw him drop his head on to his chest.

  ‘All those years my old mum had been waiting for him to come home, and he never even thought about her.’

  ‘What did you do?’ Kate’s voice was low.

  ‘I smacked him. Punched him all around his little bedsit. An old man, and I kicked him in . . . me own father. Then, as I left, I gave him fifty quid. Threw it on the bed. I told him that was all he would ever get from me. I can still see him crawling over the bed. His face was bleeding but he grabbed that money like a dog with a bone. I hated him then.

  ‘I came home and I looked at my Mandy and I patted myself on the back. Oh, yes, I thought, my child will never know pain like that. But she ended up knowing a worse pain than I could ever have given her. A much worse pain.’

  He sniffed loudly. ‘Well, whoever this pervent is, I’m gonna catch him. I’ve already got blokes sniffing about, and when I do find him . . .’ He left the sentence unfinished.

  ‘You’re much better off letting us find him, Mr Kelly.’

  Patrick laughed at her. A hard bitter sound.

  ‘You must be smoking, as the youngsters say. Do you honestly think I’ll let the social workers and the bleeding hearts get their poncey hands on him? Do you? Do you think I’ll allow him to go to some nice top security hospital, where he can roam the grounds freely and have a television and video in his room? Where he can con his way out in a couple of years and end up working in a children’s home or something?

  ‘No way, darlin’. I intend to see he pays dearly for the death of my girl and for that other woman. She had three little kids, for fuck’s sake. Be honest, do you really think he is entitled to a life while my child is rotting underground? No way.’

  Kate hung her head because part of her grudgingly agreed with what Kelly was saying. It was all right being high-principled, saying if you resorted to violence you were only bringing yourself down to an animal’s level. But what Patrick Kelly said struck a chord with her. She had a daughter of her own. But on the other hand, she’d dedicated her life to the idea that justice should only be done through the proper channels.

  She would find the Grantley rapist and when she did she would put him away. That was the law, and that’s what she was paid to do. She could understand his temper, his wish to destroy the man, it was natural for him to feel like that. But although she might sympathise, she would never agree.

  You could not fight violence with violence. This man, whoever he was, was sick. Sick in the mind. He needed to be taken away from society. And when she found him - not if, when - he would be put away for good.

  There were always two sides to any coin. When Kelly calmed down he would see that much for himself.

  At least, she hoped so. She could hear Kelly’s deep breathing and she sighed gently, reminding herself that he had lost his most precious possession.

  ‘What’s the time?’ Kelly asked finally.

  ‘A quarter to twelve.’

  He looked at her sadly. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve kept you from your own family, tonight of all nights.’

  ‘Don’t be sorry, Mr Kelly.’

  His face was close to her and Kate felt an absurd fluttering sensation inside her. As if she had just run a long race and was breathless. ‘I am working, you know.’

  Patrick Kelly stared into Kate’s brown eyes. The sadness there gave them an added beauty. He felt as if the whole mystery of woman was hiding in their depths.

  Kate was in Grantley Police Station by one fifteen. Kelly had put his car at her disposal and she had let the driver take her to Grantley Hospital, where she had picked up her own car. The less people knew about her and Patrick Kelly the better. Yet, she reasoned with herself, what was there to know? She had comforted him in his hour of need, that was all. But Kate knew that it was more than that. On her side at least. She pushed the thought from her mind, annoyed with herself. He was a bereaved man, that was all.

  Inside the incident room Amanda, Willis and Superintendent Ratchette were all working.

  ‘I’ve been with Kelly, he’s pretty cut up. I never thought I would ever say this, but I feel sorry for the man.’

  ‘Well, Kate, we have no new developments, except that the car, the dark blue Orion that was seen on the waste ground, was also seen driving near Portaby Road earlier in the evening. A woman walking her dog said it made a U-turn near her and that’s why she remembered it. First thing in the morning we’re going to be interviewing these people.’

  ‘Right. I’ll see to it.’

  Ratchette raised an eyebrow. ‘Let one of the youngsters do their share. It’s Boxing Day. You’ve earned your rest.’

  Kate shook her head violently. ‘No, I’ll do it, sir. I want this bastard caught.’

  Willis and Dawkins both looked at her curiously. She hardly ever swore.

  ‘Amanda, would you get me a coffee, please? Black with lots of sugar. Willis, you can start filling me in on what’s been happening here today.’

  He picked up the file he had been working on and brought it over to Kate.

  Ratchette watched her closely. She’d been drinking, that much was evident, but there was something else . . . something he could not quite put his finger on. Well, it would all come out in the wash as his wife was fond of saying.

  Chapter Nine

  George and Elaine had taken their Boxing Day constitutional in Grantley Woods. As they drove past Vauxhall Drive, George smiled to himself. He wondered fleetingly what Elaine would do if she knew that he was the ‘Grantley Ripper’.

  At the moment though all she was interested in was her holiday with the girls, and her two nights out a week. George knew that she was a bit nonplussed at his eagerness for her to have her own social life. She thought it was an act of selflessness on his part. She could not have been more wrong.

  On the nights that Elaine went out with her friends, he went out on the prowl. He liked the word. Prowler, prowling, prowl. It was similar to prowess, another of his favourites. While Elaine was out gallivanting, he could do his prowling in peace and watch his videos without interruption. He had talked her into ringing him when she
wanted to come home so that he could pick her up, make sure she was safe.

  He grinned to himself. All he really wanted to know was when she would be arriving so he could clear away. Her absences had done wonders for their marriage. Now, when they were in, they managed a sort of truce. He didn’t annoy her and she shut her almighty trap. He wished she had done it years ago.

  Bugger Elaine! He grinned again. No chance. She wouldn’t even let him have what she termed normal sex.

  ‘George, what are you thinking about?’

  Elaine watched him sceptically. She hated his long silences. He parked the car outside their house and smiled at her.

  ‘I was just thinking how lucky I am to have a wife like you.’

  Elaine leant back in the car seat to get a better look at him. ‘Really, George?’

  ‘Really. You’ve been a good wife, Elaine.’

  ‘Oh. Well, thanks.’

  They got out of the car and George noted that she did not return the compliment.

  Elaine walked up the garden path and he followed her. As she opened the front door the phone began to ring and she rushed to answer it.

  George slipped off his Burberry and hung it up in the hall cupboard.

  ‘It’s your sister Edith from America!’

  George took the phone.

  ‘Hello, Edith!’ There was genuine affection in his voice. He had always been close to her. Both had taken the brunt of their mother’s tongue and had a natural affinity.

  ‘Hello, Georgie. I just had to ring you - Merry Christmas!’

  ‘And to you, dear, and Joss. How are the children?’

  Elaine smiled at George’s happiness. God knew the man had little enough from his family, and she had always liked Edith herself. She had the same manner as George, a sad kind of demeanour that on a woman was attractive while on a man like George it was annoying. Elaine went into the kitchen and made two Irish coffees. What the hell? It was Christmas. When George had finished on the phone he came in to her, beaming.

  ‘She sends you her love and wants us to go over and stay with them.’

  Edith asked them over every year. Elaine bit her lip for a second, her round face thoughtful.