by Martina Cole
George Markham was already gone from her mind.
Duane Portillo watched Linette walk from the hotel. He sat up in his seat and waited for George to emerge. But George did not come out.
George still lay on the floor of the motel room, still staring, vacant eyed, at the blue movie. The blood had long ceased pumping. The girl on the film seemed to be staring back at him, her face a mask of pretended pleasure.
But George couldn’t see her. It was a shame really. He would have loved it.
Edith was getting worried. They had got back from the airport and George was nowhere to be seen. Every time she heard a car she rushed to the window to see if it was him.
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, Edith, he’s a grown man,’ Joss told her. ‘He’s probably gone out for a beer and got talking to someone.’
She did not bother to answer. She tutted. Imagine thinking George would get talking to someone. Sometimes she didn’t think that Joss realised just what was going on around him. George talking to strangers indeed!
Natalie kissed them good night and went up to bed. Edith watched her walk up the stairs and felt the pride she always felt in her children.
She had done well for them. She had always looked after them and protected them.
The police answered the call at eleven thirty. The hotel manager had dragged his eyes away from the television set at eleven twenty to go and rout out room number 14. They had been in there for over five hours. He now had another couple who wanted the room. He asked them to wait and went up and knocked on the door.
It was deathly quiet.
He unlocked the room with his master key. He was not too shocked at what he found. He told the couple to come back another time, and hid George’s credit cards before he phoned the police.
Edith was informed at twelve ten precisely.
Duane Portillo watched the proceedings before he left the scene. He went straight to Shaun O’Grady with his story. Shaun scratched his head in bewilderment.
‘You mean the guy you was gonna kill has been killed! By a goddam whore, for Chrissakes!’
Duane nodded. He couldn’t quite believe it himself.
Shaun O’Grady saw the funny side.
‘Well, who the hell would credit that?’
Duane Portillo laughed too. It sure had been a weird day.
Kate was helping Lizzy sort out what clothes she was taking. Since she had been dropped from the Grantley Ripper case, she had tried to assume an air of nonchalance but it had gradually been slipping away from her.
‘Mum?’
‘What, love?’
Lizzy turned her mother to face her.
‘What’s wrong really? Have you had a tiff with Patrick?’ Kate felt an urge to cry and laugh at the same time. A tiff? Lizzy sat on her bed and looked at her mother.
‘Please tell me what’s wrong with you, Mum. I can’t stand seeing you so unhappy.’
Kate looked into the dark eyes so like her own and felt a rush of love for her daughter.
As she tried to speak her voice broke and Lizzy pulled her into her arms. Kate sobbed her heart out on her daughter’s shoulder.
Somewhere a little voice was saying that this was wrong. That it was she who should be comforting her daughter. But it felt so good to have someone to hold her, and kiss her hair, and tell her everything was going to be all right. Even though she knew in her heart that nothing would ever be all right again. That all she had wanted and held dear was destroyed. That she had been used by a man she loved so desperately that she would still have him now, if he came to her.
Lizzy stroked her mother’s hair and sighed gently. It felt good to be able to help her for once; to feel that she was in control of the situation. That her mother could let down her defences and admit that she was not Wonder Woman, that she had problems too.
It made her seem more human somehow.
Lizzy knew with the awareness of womankind that she could help her mother by holding her and loving her. For the first time ever, they were equals. They had healed a breach that spanned fifteen years. In spite of all her heartache, it felt good to Kate. It felt very good.
Later on, in her lounge with her mother and Lizzy, Kate heard the shock statement on News at Ten. She was drinking a bacardi and coke, having just got out of the bath. Lizzy had run it for her, filling it with the fragrance of lavender to make her feel calmer.
She had needed all her calm when Sandy Gall started speaking.
‘A British tourist was murdered today in Florida by a prostitute. George Markham was savagely slashed to death and his throat cut. From the reports we have had in so far, Mr Markham, who was fifty-one years old, had been wanted by the British police in connection with the murders of six women and a child. He is believed to have been the Grantley Rapist. The police here have confirmed that they wanted to interview him on his return from Florida.
‘In the Lebanon today . . .’
‘Jesus suffering Christ!’ Evelyn’s voice was shocked and low.
Kate stared at Sandy Gall’s face for a moment. Then, jumping from her seat, she went to the hall and phoned Caitlin’s home number. It was answered on the second ring.
‘I take it you’ve heard the news, Katie?’
‘It’s true then?’
‘Oh, it’s true all right. It seems he got his comeuppance. He was murdered by a known prostitute called Linette something or other. She told police that he attacked her and it was self-defence.’
Kate nodded into the phone, forgetting Caitlin couldn’t see her.
‘Are you still there, Kate?’
‘Yes. Oh, Kenny, I feel such a fool.’
She heard the smile in his voice as he answered. ‘I told you not to jump in at the deep end, but you wouldn’t listen, would you?’
‘No.’
‘Look, Katie, have another few days off. I’ll speak to Flowers for you. You’re a good policewoman and I know he doesn’t want to lose you. Now this Ripper thing is over, I think we can all relax.’
Kate said goodbye and hung up.
She felt such a blasted fool. She had accused Patrick Kelly of trying to murder the man. She had gone to his house and shouted her mouth off. She could hear everything she’d said and her face burned with humiliation.
He must feel disgusted with her. And who in their right mind could blame him?
She put her head against the coolness of the wall and sighed. Everything had gone wrong and it had been her fault. She was suspended from work, but more importantly to her she had botched up the only chance of real happiness she’d had.
As Patrick would say, she was a 24-carat fool.
Her mind was filled with thoughts of the nights she had spent with him. The excitement. The closeness. The shared love.
He had told her he loved her, and how had she repaid him?
Patrick took the call at seven fifteen.
Willy watched him exclaim: ‘You’re joking!’
O’Grady’s voice crackled over the line.
‘No, Pat, it was a classic, I tell you. I waited until I could get the full facts before phoning you. The man picked up a prostitute on the Orange Blossom Trail. That’s Florida’s answer to Soho, you know. Well, it seems things got a bit out of hand and he attacked her. That’s always a whore’s defence, of course: The man attacked me, so I pulled a knife, a gun, whatever.
‘By all accounts she said she never reported it to the police because she knew that they wouldn’t believe her. When it came on CNN today that the man was wanted in England as a serial killer, this place went wild. The woman’s a frigging national heroine, for Chrissakes.’
‘Jesus, I can’t believe what you’re telling me. Markham murdered my daughter. I would have followed him to the ends of the earth. But to have that happen to him . . . I mean, it’s just unbelievable.’
O’Grady’s voice was quiet.
‘Believe it, buddy. He’s dead. Now you just go on living your life. I’ll see that the money’s returned to you tomorrow. I’ve got
to give my guy something though. He still trailed him, you know.’
‘Anything you say, Shaun.’
Kelly replaced the receiver and stared at it for a few seconds as if not sure he had really had the call.
He stared at Willy. ‘You’re not going to believe this.’
‘Try me.’
Edith looked down at George’s body and felt the sting of tears.
‘Is this your brother, ma’am?’ The policeman’s voice was low and reassuring.
She nodded.
She looked at the man as he gestured to the mortuary assistant to cover George’s face again. Suddenly she felt very old and frightened.
‘Ma’am, I have some more distressing news for you.’
‘What? What could be worse than this?’
‘We have been notified by the British police that your brother had murdered seven people, including his own wife and a young child. It seems the British cops were waiting for him to return to Britain to arrest him.’
Edith realised she had known this inside all along. She still read the English papers, knew all about this Grantley Ripper. Deep down in her heart she had known it was her brother. She looked into the policeman’s sympathetic face.
‘Joss, please take me home.’
He pulled himself wearily from his seat and took his wife’s arm. In their car Edith spoke.
‘I know what George did was wrong and I’ll regret his coming here for the rest of my life. But, Joss, only I know why he was like he was. And knowing what I know, all I can do is pity him.’
Her husband said nothing.
If the whore who had done it would come forward, Joss would shake her by the hand.
Joseph Markham and his wife watched the news in stunned silence. Both looked over to Nancy and saw that her face was grey and drawn.
Lily was the first of the three to come to herself. ‘How will we ever live this down?’ she shrieked. ‘Your brother, the Grantley Ripper!’
‘Oh, be quiet, Lily. George was always a stupid fool. All my children were useless,’ snapped Nancy. ‘Look at him.’ She flicked her head at Joseph. ‘He sits there like a big lummock. His brother is a murdering rapist and he just sits there. At least George had some life in him.’
‘We’ll have to sell the house, I can’t live here now. The neighbours will be laughing up their sleeves. Every time we leave the house people will be pointing at us, talking about us.’
‘I knew there was something wrong with George, I told the policeman that the other day. My sons are spineless nobodies. All my children are. Not one of them inherited a thing from me. They’re all like their father. He was just the same.’
Joseph Markham listened to his wife’s high-pitched voice and his mother’s deep-throated tirade and finally, after thirty years, he spoke up.
‘SHUT UP, THE PAIR OF YOU!’
Nancy and Lily both stared at him in shock.
‘You,’ he pointed to his mother, ‘are going in to that home, first thing in the morning. I can’t wait another week to get shot of you.’
She opened her mouth to speak and Joseph raised his hand menacingly.
‘I told you to shut up, woman.’
His wife’s mouth dropped open.
‘The house is being sold, Lily, and you will get half the money. I am buying myself a flat and neither of you two will have the address. I’ve spent all my life listening; first to you, Mother, then to Lily, and finally to the blasted pair of you. I must be the only man in Christendom nagged in stereo.
‘Well, the buck stops here. George murdered all those people, including Elaine, and neither of you two even care. You’re worried about the neighbours. Fuck the neighbours! I couldn’t care less about them. My brother is dead, six women and a child have been murdered by him. So why don’t you two just shut your bloody stupid mouths up and think about other people for once?’
He began to walk from the room.
‘Where are you going?’ Lily’s voice was frightened.
‘Where the hell do you think? I’m going to phone poor Edith. She must be in a terrible state. Then I’m going to get my coat and go to a hotel. I’ll be back tomorrow to arrange for her to be put away - as far away as possible, I might add - and to sort this lot.’ He gestured around him with his hands.
Ten minutes later, they heard his car splutter to life and drive away.
‘This is all your fault!’ Lily turned on her mother-in-law.
‘Why don’t you piss off?’ Nancy’s voice was bored-sounding.
Lily pursed her lips. There had been too much swearing tonight for her liking. Just as she and Joseph were getting on a good footing, this had to happen!
As he drove along Joseph tried to piece together the night’s events in his mind.
George had finally gone over the top. Why hadn’t anyone noticed? He had been left too much to his own devices, Joseph supposed. They rarely visited except for Christmas. He was George’s elder brother and should have looked out for him more.
Well, his mother had gone too far this time. He must have been mad to put up with her all these years. His threat to Lily was shallow, he wouldn’t leave her, but he had a sneaky feeling that letting her think he would might augur better for their future.
Edith was in a terrible state, she was barely coherent. And deep down inside Edith knew, as he did, that it was their mother’s fault. He remembered shamefully how they had held George down while he was a child. How she had gradually strangled every natural instinct in them.
Joseph pulled the car over and sat for a few minutes. His hands were shaking on the steering wheel.
Into his mind came a picture of George when he was a small boy, in his National Health glasses and long grey socks. They had been playing hide and seek while their mother was out working and George was laughing his head off. Real, robust, childish laughter. Joseph remembered it clearly because it had happened so rarely.
The Markowitz children had had nothing to laugh about most of the time.
Joseph wept.
He wept for the George he had known. The little boy he should have protected more. The little boy who used to cry every night, who was frightened of his mother and yet loved her so much. No matter what she did to him.
Patrick Kelly slept heavily that night, a long blissful sleep, the first since his daughter had been murdered.
His last thought as he drifted off was of Kate. He wished she was beside him, but after what she had said, he knew the gulf between them was too wide.
Kate Burrows was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Tomorrow he would get out his little black book. Go back to the women who understood him. Who wanted nothing more from him than a good time.
He didn’t need Kate Burrows. She was a forty-year-old woman while he could have any gorgeous girl he wanted. And have them he would. He would become a playboy again.
He smiled to himself at the thought. That would please Willy. He had always enjoyed observing his boss’s affairs.
Kate Burrows could get stuffed.
Happy he had sorted his life out, Patrick slept.
Kate lay awake, her mind in a turmoil, her body aching to be touched. To be comforted by Patrick Kelly’s lovemaking.
Chapter Thirty-Two
4 March 1990
Kate was in the airport lounge watching Lizzy and her mother checking in for their flight. She stood by as their baggage was tagged and taken from them. A feeling of desolation assailed her. She would be alone for six weeks.
All she had was her work, and she was not happy with that, she admitted to herself. She wished she was getting on the plane with them. That she was going somewhere where she could forget the last few months.
Lizzy and Evelyn approached her. Kate watched the tall slim girl, who caught more than a few male eyes, and the stooped little woman beside her.
When had her mother developed a stoop? When had she become old?
She walked with them towards passport control, chatting about nothing. She was dreading saying goo
dbye, but knew that they had to go. Her mother would see her other child and the grandchildren whom she had only seen in photos and spoken to rarely, when funds allowed. She still had all their letters and had chronicled their ages from lovingly preserved school photos.
Dear Grandma . . . Now she would see them for herself. Kate was glad for her really. It was only selfishness that wanted her to stay at home.
They were at passport control now. Kate pulled her mother into her arms and kissed her hard.
‘Have a good time, Mum. Look after my baby for me.’
Evelyn looked into Kate’s face and said seriously, ‘Haven’t I always? You look after yourself.’
Lizzy was crying and Kate smiled at her, a single tear escaping from the corner of her own eye.
‘Goodbye, baby.’
Lizzy threw herself into her mother’s arms and hugged her.
‘Oh, Mum, I wish you were coming with us. Will you be all right on your own?’
Kate kissed her again.
‘You just go and have a good time. Enjoy it. Before you know it, you’ll be back home.’