The Ladykiller

by Martina Cole

  ‘Do you really think the blood testing will achieve something?’

  Kate nodded. ‘Yes, I do.’

  Patrick sipped his coffee and then smiled back at her. He hoped so because he was footing the bill, but he would spend every penny of his considerable fortune to catch the man responsible for his daughter’s death. It made no difference who got him first, himself or the police, because no matter where they locked him up, Patrick knew he could get to him. In fact, he had more chance of getting to him once he was in prison. There was more than one old lag who owed him a favour.

  He did not say any of this to Kate though. Even though they were now real lovers, admitting their involvement, he saw no reason to disillusion her about his motives in helping to find the man they were after. He would cross that bridge when he came to it.

  All he wanted was a name, and he would do the rest. If it lay with him Katie would never know what he had planned.

  A little while later, under the shower with her, he felt a twinge of guilt at keeping her in the dark. But it soon disappeared. Knowing Kate, she would fight for the man’s right to a trial by jury, lecture on his rights as a human being. He admired her so much. He smiled to himself.

  ‘What are you laughing at?’

  ‘You.’ His voice was jocular.

  ‘Me!’

  She looked outraged so he kissed her. Some things were better left unsaid.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Lizzy was packing her small case. She placed her bright green Kermit the frog slippers in last and pushed the lid down to fasten it. Her long hair was loose and trailed into her eyes. She pushed it from her face impatiently.

  There, she’d done it! Picking up the case she placed it on the floor by her bed and, going to the coffee corner, made herself a large mug. She sat at the table sipping it.

  Her two weeks in the hospital had been a turning point in her life. Every time she thought of cutting her wrists she felt a flush of humiliation. How could she have done that, not only to herself but to her mother and her grandmother? It was a last dramatic act, as if she was saying,

  ‘Well, you know everything else about me, I might as well go out with a bang, not a whimper. Lay a bit of extra guilt on you all.’

  Really she had done it because of her shame at her grandmother knowing about her diary.

  The psychiatrist had explained to her about self-destructive behaviour. Lizzy had listened to the man, respecting his intelligence, knowing that he was trying to help her straighten herself out. And in two weeks she felt she had come a long way. One of the girls here had had a breakdown, and no one knew why. She had finally taken an overdose of aspirin and had nearly died. Her father was a respected lawyer and he had raised Cain every day his daughter had been in the ward. Finally the girl, a tiny redhead named Marietta, had admitted her father had been sexually abusing her since she was eight when her mother had died.

  It was hearing this that had made Lizzy put her own life into perspective. She realised that she harboured all sorts of grudges against people. Against her mother for never being there when she really wanted her, for instance. When Kate had sneaked into school performances with her uniform on, she had wanted to die. She had wanted a mother like everyone else’s. A warm human being who picked you up from school in a nice second-hand Volvo and made you your tea and spent her every waking hour with you. What she had was a woman working her way up a career ladder, with enough obstacles in her way to make Hercules balk at the task.

  Deep inside Lizzy was proud of her mother. When people found out she was a detective they were impressed, and Lizzy had been jealous sometimes. She had inherited her mother’s looks but not her quick brain. All in all Kate Burrows was a hard act to follow, and the worst of it all was that her mother accepted her for what she was; had never tried to force her to do anything against her wishes.

  When they had spent time together, it had been good. Lizzy had loved being with her, getting the attention, but it only made it all the more lonely when her mother went back to work again, caught up in a big case. Lizzy felt then that she was shoved aside. That her mother used up all her energy on other people, other things, coming home sometimes hours after she had gone to bed. She would be half awake, waiting for the soft-footed padding of Kate’s footsteps coming to her bed in the middle of the night. She would feel cool lips on her forehead and want to put her arms around the slender neck and tell her she missed her. But she never had. Her mother had smelt of Joy perfume and cigarette smoke, and the smell would bring tears to Lizzy’s eyes.

  She sipped the coffee again. It was only warm now, and she took the film of skin off the top with her finger and scraped it into the saucer.

  Then her father had turned up periodically, upsetting the whole household with his presence. She had loved seeing him, had loved all the attention he gave her, the presents, the hugs and the cuddles. Then one morning she would get out of bed and he would be gone. Those were the days when he had come back and slept in her mum’s bed. Her mother would be glowing with happiness - then off he went. He would take all the good things with him. Her mother would be hurt, Lizzy would be hurt, and her granny would be annoyed with them all.

  She would hear her mother sobbing in the night and it would tear her apart. In her schoolgirl heart she would vow that if her father turned up again, she would not talk to him, would not let him use her any more. Then months later the vow would be forgotten when she would come in from school to find him ensconced in an armchair, a big smile on his handsome face, and his voice would be like a caress as he told her how she had grown, how beautiful she was, and how he was home for good now.

  But it never lasted.

  Then, lastly, there was her granny, the mainstay of her life. She loved that woman with every ounce of her being. But deep inside herself she had always wondered why Gran had never done anything to make her mother stay home more often. Why she had sacrificed her own life for her daughter’s and granddaughter’s. And somewhere along the line Lizzy had started to think that her granny was a fool. That she was weak and foolish to spend her life looking after her grown-up daughter and grandchild. She got nothing out of it.

  Lizzy had pondered these thoughts now for two weeks, and she was finally making some sense of them.

  She wanted badly to go to Australia. She wanted to get away from the memory of what she had done, to herself and to her family. She wanted time to heal properly, without having to go over the same old ground, over and over again. When her mother looked at her with those big brown eyes, Lizzy could see how much she had hurt her, could see the barely concealed confusion in them, and it hurt her to know that she had put it there.

  She had only been interested in how she felt, and what she wanted. She had never spared a thought for her mother and the struggle she had had trying to bring her up, buy their home, and keep them clothed and fed and warm.

  It had been an illuminating time, this last two weeks. But it had also been a time of gentle healing.

  She looked at the red lines on her wrists. Every time she saw them she would be reminded of what she had done. So would her mother and her grandmother.

  It was best she went away to Australia, to give her mother a chance to get herself back together.

  She finished the dregs of her coffee. Looking at the doorway opposite her, she felt her heart lurch. It was her father, with a bunch of flowers and that cringe-making smile he had.

  She admitted to herself, for the first time, that her father actually irritated her.

  The thought made her sad.

  She took the flowers, dutifully admired them, and then sat and talked to him, avoiding any questions about her mother’s private life. She was going home later and couldn’t wait to get there.

  She smiled at her father’s little jokes and did not mention that she was being discharged as she knew he would insist on taking her home, there and then, and that was the last thing her mother needed now. Danny Burrows laying down the law according to him. She also notic
ed that his watch and gold jewellery were not in attendance. He’d obviously hocked them.

  Lizzy had grown up all right.

  Patrick stood with Willy, looking at the mound of dirt that was his child’s grave. The flowers were still fresh and he rearranged them to cover up the earth completely. There had been over a hundred wreaths and he had sent them to Grantley Hospital to be torn apart and used in the wards. It had gratified him to see the number of people who had turned out for her. Even Mandy’s teachers from school had come. And it wasn’t just because of him - Mandy was a popular girl. He corrected himself. Had been a popular girl.

  He heard Willy whistling between his teeth, and turned to look at him. He was reading Renée’s gravestone. He looked at Pat and smiled.

  ‘Do you remember that time Renée locked you out the house?’

  Patrick frowned.

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘When you was first married - you had that bedsit in Ilford.’

  Patrick smiled as he remembered. It had been their first home, when he was still trying to make his mark on the world. They had both been seventeen, two children playing at grown ups.

  Willy carried on, ‘It was Christmas Eve and me and you had been up the Ilford Palais, remember now? You got pissed out of your head and I had to take you home. Then, when I finally got you there, Renée had bolted the door and wouldn’t let you in. You ended up kipping round my mum’s.’

  ‘Yeah, I remember. And the next day when I went home she threw me Christmas dinner at me.’

  Both men laughed together, basking in the shared memories.

  ‘She was a girl, old Renée. I really thought a lot of her, Pat.’

  ‘Well, I’ve lost them both now.’

  He walked away from the graves with a heavy heart. Willy slipped into step beside him.

  ‘That Kate bird reminds me of Renée sometimes. I don’t mean in her looks, but she’s got the same air about her like.’

  Patrick nodded. ‘I know what you mean.’

  ‘Is it serious like? The relationship?’ Willy’s voice trailed away. He knew he was on dangerous ground, but his natural nosiness overcame any fear.

  Patrick stopped on the newly cut grass of Corbets Tey Cemetery and stared at his old friend.

  ‘It’s serious enough, Marjorie Proops. Happy now you know all the scandal?’

  Willy jutted his chin. ‘Well, you’re me mate, ain’t you? I just want to know that you’re all right like.’

  Patrick shook his head. Making a fist, he punched the air gently by Willy’s face.

  ‘We go back a long time. You know everything about me as I do about you. I know you just want to know how I am, and I’m all right, bearing up.’

  Willy smiled. ‘Well, that’s all right then! Fancy coming for a beer in the Robin Hood? I ain’t been in there for years. The Flying Bottle we used to call it when we was young, remember? We’d sit outside in the summer with Mandy in her pushchair and worry in case we saw someone we knew who’d tell Renée we’d taken the baby to a pub!’

  Patrick nodded, smiling as he was assailed by a vivid memory.

  Mandy in a white and pink organdie dress, her little fat legs wriggling with excitement every time Willy made a face at her.

  For the first time it occurred to him that Willy must be feeling her loss almost as much as he was. She had been like his child as well. He had chronicled her growing up. Never missed a birthday or Christmas.

  Patrick felt a lump in his throat and swallowed it down hard. He linked his arm through his minder’s and Willy patted the gloved hand.

  ‘I remember it well.’

  Evelyn had made an Irish stew, a real Irish stew that was thick enough to stand the spoon up in it. She tasted it and added another dash of salt, stirring the mixture for a while. When the smell was just to her satisfaction she placed the suet dumpling on the top and put a large cover over the pan. Evelyn’s Irish stews could last for anything up to a week. She added to them every day, different vegetables and different meats. The cereals and pulses gave a pungent thickness that made the final end of the stew into a thick broth.

  Lizzy was home today and she wanted her to be welcomed with the smell of good hearty food.

  Everything was ready. The soda bread was going in the oven the minute she heard the front door open, so they could have it nice and hot with melted butter. Her trifle was wobbling itself to death in the fridge and the little bottle of Bushmill’s was snuggled into her apron pocket, where she could have a snifter without being seen.

  She settled herself on the stool.

  It would be grand to have Lizzy back home. There had been too much going on in the last few weeks, and Evelyn nearly admitted she was getting a bit old for it all.

  Still, Kate looked better and that was good. Her child was dear to her heart and she was glad that Kate and Lizzy were finally coming to some kind of understanding of one another’s ways. They were as alike as two peas physically, but temperamentally they were like chalk and cheese. She hated to admit that Lizzy had a lot of Dan’s selfishness in her. But she blamed herself for that. She had doted on the child from day one.

  She forced these thoughts from her mind. The child was coming home and she wanted everything to be lovely.

  But she knew that what she had read in Lizzy’s diary would stay with her for a long time.

  She concentrated her thoughts on her son Peter and his wife Marlene. She was looking forward to seeing them. Seeing her other grandchildren for the first time. She took a deep drag on the cigarette and her thin body was racked by a fit of coughing. She’d have to knock these on the head, they’d be the end of her. She stabbed her cigarette out in the ashtray and heard the sound of Kate’s key in the lock. Leaping from the stool, she put the soda bread in the oven and rushed out into the hall.

  ‘Hello, me pets!’ She hugged them both in turn, her little dark eyes darting over her granddaughter with a critical glint in them.

  She looked all right, a bit thinner, but a few good meals would remedy that.

  ‘Hello, Gran.’ Lizzy was shy all of a sudden. ‘Is that an Irish stew I can smell?’

  ‘It is, one of the best I ever made. I’ve done mashed swede to go with it. Now come along in and I’ll get you both some.’

  Fifteen minutes later they were all around the little breakfast bar enjoying the food when someone knocked on the front door. Kate stood up, wiping her mouth with a paper napkin.

  ‘I’ll get it.’

  She went out to open the door. She could not help her face registering surprise when she saw who was there.

  ‘Caitlin?’

  He stood on the doorstep in his crumpled raincoat, a little smile on his face.

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you at home like this . . .’

  ‘Come in. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude but it gave me a shock, seeing you standing there.’ She took him through to the front room. ‘Is it something to do with the case?’ He could see the hopeful glimmer in her eyes and shook his head.

  He could see the two women in the kitchen and smiled at them.

  ‘Could I see you for a second alone, Kate?’

  Something in his voice alerted her and going to the connecting door she closed it, apologising to her mother and daughter as she did so.

  ‘What is it, Kenny?’

  She had a feeling like a cold hand grabbing her neck. Something was up here, she knew it.

  ‘It’s Dan. He went to see Flowers about you and Kelly.’

  Kate bit her lip. ‘I see.’

  ‘Well, Flowers wasn’t interested, you know. So Dan took it one step further, Kate. He took it to the CIB.’

  Kate felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach.

  ‘I thought you ought to know. I found out through an old friend of mine, so no one at the station except me and you know about it, OK? It’s not even definite that they’ll investigate it, but just in case I thought you had a right to know. That ex-husband of yours is an Asshole with a capital A
.’

  Kate nodded. She couldn’t have agreed more.

  Evelyn opened the door, her face troubled.

  ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘You must be Kate’s mother. I’m Kenneth Caitlin.’

  ‘A Kerry man by the sounds of it?’

  He smiled at her and the little exchange gave Kate time to get her head together.

  ‘Come through and have a drink, Kenny. This is my daughter Lizzy, and my mother’s already introduced herself.’

  ‘I’ll be away home, Kate, I can see you’re eating.’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing. Get that awful mac off and come and have a bit of stew, there’s plenty.’ Evelyn’s voice brooked no argument. She had been intrigued by Kate’s description of this man, and now she could judge for herself.

  Caitlin had smelt the delicious aroma of the stew as he had walked up the garden path, and seeing the three faces smiling at him he hesitated only a second longer. Then he took off the mac and placed it on the sofa.

  ‘If you twist my arm up me back, it does smell good!’

  Kate was glad he stayed because he took over the main thrust of the conversation and she could think.

  The Criminal Investigation Bureau.

  Bugger Danny Burrows!

  Patrick was sitting at the dining table just finishing his meal when Willy announced that he had a visitor. He wiped his mouth with an Irish linen napkin. When he heard the name of his visitor, his left eyebrow rose a fraction.

  ‘Show him in here.’ Willy nodded and left the room.

  Now what would Peter Sinclair want visiting his house?

  Sinclair walked into the room. He was small, wiry, and held out a perfectly manicured hand to Patrick. He stood up in greeting then offered Sinclair a seat, poured him a brandy and sat back in his own chair.

  ‘To what do I owe this honour?’

  ‘I had to come here, Patrick. It’s about the piece of skirt you’ve been running around with.’