by Martina Cole
Now he could have any woman he wanted. He did have any woman he wanted. He let his mind stray to Leonora Davidson. He didn’t feel any regret. She was alone, no husband or children to worry about her. Just a lonely woman. He had done her a favour really. Lately he hadn’t liked thinking about Geraldine O’Leary. Her children had been in the local paper. Beautiful children, like their mother. Elaine said they had taken her husband away to a mental hospital. That he had had a nervous breakdown. He pushed the thought from his mind. He had more pressing things to think about.
‘I say, Georgie . . . I’m talking to you!’ Peter Renshaw’s loud voice echoed across the room. George looked at him. ‘Sorted out your leaving do, old matey. Friday week at the Fox Revived. We’ll all meet there straight from work. I’ve got a surprise for you, old chap. A bl-oody big surprise.’
George smiled at him.
Josephine Denham walked into the office. As usual she looked immaculate. She was wearing large grey-framed glasses that gave her a look of intelligence and sophistication, and was carrying a sheaf of papers.
‘Can I have your attention, please?’
Everyone stared at her.
‘The mobile blood unit will be here on Thursday the twenty-second of this month. The office staff will be the first for testing then the factory and warehouse staff. If we do it on a rota basis it won’t affect production too much. I’ve been talking to the police this morning and they say that they’ll be giving out questionnaires nearer the time. Anyone who is not at work that day must account for their whereabouts to me personally. I will then pass on the message to the police. If anyone is against the taking of the test please feel free to come and see me, though personally I can’t see why anyone would object.’
Her eyes scanned the small sea of faces and it was evident that anyone who refused would be immediately judged guilty, by her at least. When no one answered she turned on her heel and walked from the room, her footsteps ringing on the tiled floor as she walked away.
‘I’d go and see her, but it wouldn’t be to tell her about the blood testing, eh, chaps? I’d give her a portion of the pork sword anytime!’
The men laughed, even George, though his mind was whirling.
What the hell was he going to do?
He looked at his watch. It was eleven thirty. He got up from his seat and began to put on his jacket.
‘Where you off to, George?’ This from Carstairs, a man whom George had worked with for fifteen years and barely knew.
‘I’m going down the pub for some lunch actually.’
‘But it’s only eleven thirty!’
George never left until twelve on the dot. ‘I can tell the time, you know.’ With that he walked from the office.
‘Well I never!’ Carstairs looked at the others.
Peter Renshaw picked up his sheepskin, slipped it on and followed George out of the office. He caught up with him in the Fox Revived.
George had walked into the warmth of the pub. He knew that Peter was behind him and tried to ignore him, hoping against hope that he would take the hint and leave him alone. But not Peter Renshaw. As George ordered his drink, Peter pushed in beside him and ordered his own, paying for the two. George sighed. Picking up his glass he took it to a small window table and sat down. Renshaw followed him.
‘I say, Georgie, you all right?’
He sipped his half of bitter and nodded. Renshaw, he decided, was like a virus. You just had to put up with it until it decided to go.
‘Look, George, I know that this redundancy has hit you hard, but in reality it’s the best thing that could have happened to you. I mean, fifteen years’ loyal service. You’re looking at a good twenty-five thousand, aren’t you?’
George’s eyes widened. ‘That much?’
‘Yes, I was talking to Jones. He says that as it’s not a voluntary redundancy, you’ll all get a golden handshake. Like they did with the dockers and the car workers. They’ll be paying you off, Georgie boy.’
‘Twenty-five thousand pounds?’
Peter smiled now. ‘That’s a lot of dosh, Georgie. I reckon you should get the next round in!’
He smiled. This time it was his secret smile. He was feeling a bit better now. He had four more weeks at work. Then he could go where he wanted. Until then he had to avoid the blood testing.
But how?
Kate’s phone rang and she picked it up. She was up to her eyes in statements, had been going over the same ground over and over again. There had to be something, something trivial, that they had missed.
‘Hello, Burrows here.’
Patrick’s voice crackled over the line and Kate felt her stomach tighten.
‘What happened to you last night? I tried ringing but your phone was either unplugged or you were out on the razzle.’
His voice was playful, but Kate detected a note of uneasiness as well. Carefully hidden but there nonetheless.
She closed her eyes.
‘I had some work to finish. I meant to ring you today but I’m up to my eyes here. I take it you know about the blood testing?’ Her voice came out harder than she’d intended.
The phone went quiet.
‘Can I see you later, Kate? I think we need to talk.’
She sighed. Caitlin was supposedly reading statements but she knew that his ears were on red alert.
‘I’ll ring you from home. When I finally arrive there.’ She replaced the receiver without saying goodbye.
She looked at Caitlin who was now watching her openly. ‘What are you staring at?’ She sounded childish, petulant, and knew it.
‘I don’t know, it’s not labelled.’ Caitlin’s voice was like a little boy’s.
‘Oh, sod off, Kenny.’
Caitlin laughed, then said seriously: ‘Don’t you be a fool now and bite the hand that feeds you. He did you a favour, girl, if you could only see it.’
Kate dropped her eyes and made a pretence of reading another statement.
What Caitlin said held the ring of truth but her pride was hurt. Kelly had managed what she had been trying to do for months without a murmur in response.
It galled her.
Patrick stared at the receiver in his hand.
She had put the phone down on him. She had actually put the phone down on him! He couldn’t believe it.
He replaced the phone in its cradle, a flicker of annoyance on his handsome face. Who the bloody hell did Kate Burrows think she was? She had stood him up last night. Now she’d put the phone down on him, apart from all that sarcasm about the blood testing. He’d been under the impression that was what she wanted.
As he walked into the morning room Willy, who had been reading the paper, hastily got up from his seat.
‘Comfortable were you? I hope I’m not interrupting anything?’
‘Sorry, Pat, but I was just having five minutes off like.’
‘Go and get the motor, Willy. If that’s not too much trouble like, I’d hate to think I was overworking you . . .’
Willy rushed out, the paper rustling as he tried to fold it as he went.
Patrick smiled. His eyes strayed to the window and suddenly he was assailed with a memory of Renée. He could see her now, in his mind’s eye. She’d had no qualms about slamming the phone down on him. She’d shout, ‘Out there, mate,’ pointing to the window, ‘you might be a big man, but in this house you’re only my husband. Get it?’
He laughed. She’d had so much spirit.
Maybe that’s why he liked Kate so much.
Slamming the phone down on him, the cheeky cow!
Five minutes later he was in the back of the Rolls Royce on his way to his Manor Park parlour.
He grinned.
She’d actually put the phone down on him.
He couldn’t believe it!
Maybelline Morgan was known for her large breasts and her larger mouth. She was now arguing violently with Violet Mapping over a customer.
‘I always have him, Vi, and you bleeding well know it!’
Violet gritted her teeth. ‘He didn’t want you, Maybelline. He wanted the blonde girl and that’s that.’
Maybelline’s eyes were like pieces of flint. She wagged a deep red-varnished nail in Violet’s face.
‘Don’t fucking push me, Vi. I need the dosh and you know it. You’re not bumming me out now. I know that little bird’s flashing her clout for you, that’s why she’s getting all the good punters.’
She pushed her finger roughly into Violet’s chest. ‘I’ll take you out first, and then her. I’ll rip you to fucking shreds . . .’
Violet knew that the argument was being listened to by the majority of the girls who were sitting outside the office door. If she didn’t shut Maybelline up she would lose her authority. She grabbed at the other woman’s hair, bringing her knee up into her stomach at the same time. Maybelline bent double. Still clutching her hair, Violet slammed her face into the corner of the heavy wooden desk. Maybelline dropped on to the carpeted floor, her eyebrow dripping blood.
Violet smiled at her nastily.
‘Don’t ever threaten me again. Now you can get your stuff and piss off.’
Maybelline pulled herself up with the help of the desk and faced Violet. Her long bony face framed by flame-coloured hair was twisted in hatred. Putting her hand into the pocket of her skirt she brought out a knife. The blade flicked into view and glinted in the fluorescent light.
Violet went white which was not lost on Maybelline. She rushed forward, slashing at her with the knife. Violet put her arms up to defend herself and felt the coldness of the steel as it bit into her skin just above the elbow, scraping on the bone with sickening ferocity. Maybelline brought the knife up and slashed at Violet again. This time she caught her on the side of the face. Both women were sticky with blood.
Violet made an effort to grab Maybelline’s wrists. Using all her considerable strength, she managed to hold the other woman’s arms apart.
Patrick Kelly and his minder walked into the massage parlour to a scene of pandemonium. Women and girls were clustered around the office door and Kelly could hear shouting and swearing coming from inside.
‘What the hell’s going on in here?’
The women parted like the Red Sea as they recognised his voice. The two men forced their way into the office.
‘Bloody hell!’ Patrick’s voice was incredulous. Without speaking further he grabbed at Maybelline and Willy grabbed at Violet. After another struggle the women were separated. Patrick banged Maybelline’s hand on the desk until she dropped the knife. Then he threw her from him and stepped on the knife. Willy let go of Violet gladly. ‘What’s going on here? You -’ he pointed at Violet - ‘what the fuck has happened here?’
Maybelline answered.
‘She’s picking the Toms, Mr Kelly, and we’ve all had enough. That little bird she’s screwing has made over a thousand pound this week. Every decent punter that comes in gets her. Me and the other girls ain’t made more than a couple of ton. If something ain’t done we’re going to the Paki down the road. At least he sees his girls all right.’
Patrick was dumbstruck. There was blood everywhere and the thought of HIV was not far from his mind.
‘I want you two to go out to the kitchen and get cleaned up, then I want you both back in here and we’ll try and sort it all out. You’ve got ten minutes. So get your arses in gear.’
The two women left his office and were immediately surrounded by the other girls. Willy shut the door and looked at his boss with raised eyebrows.
‘I gotta be honest, Pat, that Maybelline’s got a point, you know. I heard that Vi’s mad about this little bird. Well, it was bound to happen, weren’t it? Even the old lezzies must go funny as they get older.’
‘Willy, shut up! I pay you to drive my car and do the minding. If I wanted a gossip I’d have employed Nigel Dempster, all right?’
Walking out of the office Patrick went to the kitchen. He tapped a young black girl on the shoulder.
‘Do me a favour, Suzie, get a bucket and cloth and clean the office, would you, love? I’ll bung you a score.’
‘Yeah, all right, Mr Kelly.’
Ten minutes later Patrick was behind the desk and Maybelline and Violet were standing in front of him like recalcitrant schoolgirls.
‘I’m telling you, Mr Kelly, unless we get a fair crack of the whip we’ll have it on our toes. This ain’t the only place to work, you know.’
‘I’ve always looked after my girls. I resent the implication that I’m doing you down, Maybelline.’
Violet spoke. ‘I was out of order, Pat. I admit it.’
Maybelline smiled at her and Kelly shook his head. These women amazed him. One minute they were at each other’s throats. The next they were best friends again.
‘I don’t like my girls carrying weapons. If I find out you’ve brought a knife or anything in again, Maybelline, there’ll be trouble. Big trouble. Get it?’
‘Yes, Mr Kelly.’
‘Now then, Violet, I want you to get your priorities right in future because if anything like this happens again, I’m gonna out the lot of you. Now fuck off the pair of you and leave me alone.’
The two women left the room.
‘Pour me out a brandy, Willy, a large one.’
Willy went to the drinks cabinet and opened it. He held up an empty bottle of Remy Martin.
‘Only got Scotch left, I’m afraid.’
Patrick clenched his fists. ‘That’ll do.’ He got up from the desk and went to the door. ‘Violet!’ His voice was so loud the girls jumped in their seats. Violet rushed from the kitchen, her face white.
‘What, Mr Kelly?’
‘Stop drinking my fucking booze! No wonder this place is like a madhouse. You’re all either drunk or drugged!’
He slammed the office door.
He took the large Scotch from Willy and drank it straight down, handing the glass back for an immediate refill. Then, sitting at the desk, he opened the drawer and took out the ledgers. If Violet was skanking off the other girls to subsidise this little bird there was a good chance she was skanking off him too.
Bloody Violet! He would have laid money on her being the most dependable of all the girls working for him. They had been friends for years.
‘Willy, go out and get me a bottle of Rémy Martin and give the bill to Violet. OK?’
Willy nodded and left the room. Patrick began to study the ledgers. The phone rang and he picked it up.
‘Yeah? Kelly.’
‘Pat, thank God you’re there, I’ve been trying to trace you. You’d better get your arse over here, mate.’
‘What is it, Karen?’
‘Trouble, Pat. Big trouble.’
The phone went dead.
Kelly closed his eyes. If one more woman put the phone down on him today he would throw a paddy. He put the ledgers away and waited for Willy’s return.
‘Come on, you, we’re off to Barking. Karen’s been on the blower, there’s hag over there.’
He walked from the office. As he passed Violet with the girls, he pointed at her.
‘Don’t touch me booze, and don’t touch the ledgers, Vi.’
He went out to his car and began his journey to Barking. More bloody girl trouble, he supposed. Poxy Toms weren’t worth the hag half the time.
The trouble was bigger than he had ever expected.
As he walked through the dark-glassed door of his massage parlour in Barking, Kelly was amazed to see the girls all white-faced and quiet. He walked into the office where Karen, the head girl, was drinking a large brandy.
‘Is that my brandy you’re drinking?’
‘Oh, shut up, Pat. Come through.’
Karen’s voice was trembling and he followed her without question.
Karen took him to the cubicle area, big tears rolling down her face as she pointed to a curtained booth.
‘It’s in there, Pat. I can’t go in. I didn’t know what to do. I ain’t called the Old Bill, I just didn’t kn
ow what to do!’
Her voice was wretched. Willy had followed them inside and now Patrick motioned to him to open the curtain. Against his will he felt a prickle of fear.
Willy pulled the curtain open and both he and Patrick stared in amazement. Lying on the table was a girl. Her long blond hair was nearly touching the floor and her eyes were closed. If not for the impossible angle of her neck you would think she was sleeping. She was semi-naked. Her tiny cropped top was still in place though her breasts jutted from under it where it had been pulled over them. Her lower body was exposed and her legs were wide apart.
‘She’s dead, Pat. I found her like it. The bloke must have walked out the front door.’ Karen’s voice broke again.
‘What did he look like, Karen?’ Patrick shook her roughly. ‘Did you get a look at his boat?’
She shook her head. ‘No. They all look the same to me.’
‘Well, someone must have bloody seen him. Cover the poor little cow up, for Christ’s sake.’
He went to the front of the parlour. All the girls were in different stages of shock.
‘Did anyone see the bloke? Can anyone remember him?’
They shook their heads but an Asian girl spoke up.
‘I think he was the old bloke who came in this afternoon. That’s the last time I saw Gilly.’
‘What time this afternoon?’
‘At about one. One thirty.’
Patrick was stumped. He looked at his watch. ‘Do you mean she’s been lying there dead for over five hours? She’s been lying there dead, and you lot were doing the fucking business, and not one of you noticed she was gone?’
All the women stared at him.
‘What did he look like?’
The Asian girl thought. ‘I don’t know. About forty-eight, fifty. He had a beard . . .’
‘No. I had him. That’s Mr Jenkins. I have him every week.’ A dark-haired girl looked at Patrick timidly. ‘He’s ever such a nice man, Mr Kelly, very polite.’
‘I’ll call the Old Bill.’ Patrick’s voice was quiet.
It was like his Mandy all over again, only this time it was his fault. Some piece of scum had taken that girl and murdered her, and it was his fault because he owned the place. He owned every brick and every cubicle and every girl who worked here.