by Martina Cole
That was something he could now accept and enjoy, even though he missed her with every fibre of his being. Mandy had been his world, and her death had proved to him that no one was immune to heartache. It didn’t matter how much money you had, or how much you were respected and revered. Shit could land on you from a great height at any time, especially when you least expected it. It had not been the first time life had seen fit to piss all over him, and he had a feeling it would not be the last. But he had found his Kate, and for that he would always be grateful.
Patrick could see himself in one of the photos, his arm around Kate, his smile genuine and his grief finally contained. She had made a home for them both, and he recognised he was a lucky man because of that. He knew he was looking a bit battered around the edges, his hair was greyer than he liked to believe, and his clothes were a bit too snug, but he also knew he was basically content, and that was because of Kate.
So many of his contemporaries were still out on the pull, having new families who were even younger than their grandchildren, but Patrick hadn’t felt that urge. He knew they were chasing something they would never regain, no matter how many young birds they fucked. Kids were everything, but they had to be produced by the right woman. They had to be there because they were wanted. Not to prove a point.
It was sad to see old men chasing the strange, something they only did to show they were still worth a pull, to prove to themselves they were still in the game. All they seemed to prove was that they were silly old fuckers who ended up with another load of kids they would be lucky to see grow to adulthood. He didn’t want any of that, he had been blessed with his daughter, and he would never, ever attempt to replace her. Mandy was gone, and he had accepted that fact, finally and irrevocably. It had been hard, but eventually it had also been a natural step. After all, he knew he couldn’t grieve for ever. Life, such as it was, went on.
Pat saw himself as finally settled, and though Kate could make him seriously consider bashing her brains in at times, he couldn’t ever harm her. Her brains were what kept them together. She was so bright, so fucking opinionated. She kept him on his toes, and that was more to him than all the little birds, and all the little babies, put together. He didn’t want a new family, he didn’t want to replace his girl. He wanted his Kate, even though she was still a straight-laced mare at times, and she was getting a bit long in the tooth. But that didn’t mean he didn’t want her, didn’t love her.
He respected her too much, and that was the mainstay of their relationship. They may never have found the time to actually tie the knot but Kate had been his lifesaver. Her opinion of him was all he really cared about if he was honest. Because he loved her, really cared for her. He still looked, and lately he had felt a great urge for the younger body, its fullness, softness, but it was not because he thought any less of Kate. It was because he was a man and he yearned sometimes for the feel of youth.
Patrick sometimes craved the faceless fuck, the use of a girl without the emotional ties. He had taken a flier now and again over the years, and it had made him feel young again. It made him feel virile, made him feel as if he still had it. That he still had the power to attract a good-looking girl. He had also admitted to himself that it was his money, his position in the world, that had been the real attraction. He knew this made him like the men he despised. But still he wanted the fuck, nothing more. He knew it was wrong, knew that he would be jeopardising all he had with Kate.
Not that it had stopped him from doing what he wanted, of course. He felt he needed it at times. He loved that he didn’t have to do anything, talk, cajole, or care about it. He was once more feeling the urge, and yet again he was justifying his reasons for doing what he wanted. He wasn’t proud of himself, but he wasn’t that bothered about it either.
He picked up the phone on its third ring. ‘Hello, Peter, long time no hear.’ He was genuinely pleased to hear from his old mate. And Peter Bates was an old mate and a longtime business partner. ‘What can I do you for?’ Patrick’s voice was loaded with friendliness, but as he listened to his friend talk his easy smile disappeared.
‘You are fucking joking? Tell me you are having a laugh, Pete.’
Peter’s voice sounded as gutted as he felt. ‘I wish I fucking was, Pat. It’s the truth and, as I have never been what might be termed a comedian, I resent you questioning my interpretation of the said events.’
Patrick sighed, and knowing that Peter Bates was renowned not just for his lack of humour, but also for his penchant for stating the obvious, he swallowed the retort that came immediately to his lips and instead said quietly, ‘Well, it’s your fucking problem, isn’t it? I didn’t know what you were doing behind my back, so you had better fucking sort it yourself. What the fuck do you expect me to do?’
Peter Bates was annoyed. Never one to hide his feelings, he got off the phone as soon as he could without causing offence and bellowed at his latest conquest, a twenty-five-year-old lap dancer who was not only younger than his daughter, but had also been her best friend. ‘Turn the fucking telly down! It’s like living in a fucking cinema! How many times do I have to repeat myself?’
Veronica Lamper looked at him with open disdain as she clicked off the TV. She was a lot of things, but she wasn’t a fool. He was weighing out big time, and because of that she was prepared to overlook a tantrum or two. It still annoyed her, especially as she knew she was a keeper. She could have anyone she wanted. But he was a stepping stone. She would produce a child, and he would be fucked for the rest of his days. The government would see to that, but she knew he would see her all right because he was decent enough in his own way. He was also loaded, he would have to be. If he wasn’t, she wouldn’t fucking be there in the first place.
‘All right, Pete, keep your hair on! What the fuck is wrong with you?’
But he didn’t answer her, instead he stormed from the room and, shaking her head in annoyance, Veronica put the telly back on. She loved Deal or No Deal, and she settled back down to watch it in relative peace and quiet. Peter was one lairy ponce, and he was also old enough to be her father, but when the fancy took him, he was generous to a fault. It was much easier to overlook his shortcomings and concentrate on his good points.
He was caked up with money and that was enough for her. After all, she was hardly there because of his sparkling personality. He was a lousy shag and all; he was well past his prime and he was a bit too quick off the mark. But he was part of her game plan. A girl had to look out for herself and she was determined to do just that.
She settled back to watch her programme, she liked Noel Edmonds, he looked quite kind and he had all his own hair which as far as she concerned was a definite bonus. He was also possessed of a nice voice, she could listen to him for hours.
As she heard Peter slam the fridge door ranting and raving, she decided to get herself out of it. She had done her stint, and she felt she had earned herself a pension. It was time for the baby to be conceived. Her bonus, her wage packet.
The front door slammed and as Peter left the premises she felt herself relax. It was a hard old graft, but she knew how to play the game.
Terri Garston was sick, physically sick. She had never encountered anything remotely like this in her life. A tall girl, she had always been expected to look after herself, but she was really chicken-hearted. She cried at Disney films, and was still convinced that some day her prince would come. Though how she was supposed to meet him while on the bash, she wasn’t sure. She was a nice girl who had fallen into her job like she had fallen into everything in her life, accidentally.
Danielle Crosby had introduced her to the life and Terri had been pleasantly surprised by how easily she had adapted to it. Lazy by nature, she had relished the short working hours and the large sums of money. It was a very seductive lifestyle and, as she embraced it wholeheartedly, she soon found herself with a large clientele along with an even larger cocaine habit.
She had not, however, expected to find her friend as dead a
s a doornail, and her employer doing his crust about it. Anyone would think she had murdered Danielle the way Peter Bates was carrying on.
‘Will you clear the flat of any drugs that might be hanging round, please? Then you have to phone the Filth, so get your arse in gear. The last thing you want is to be done for possession. And if they ask, you know nothing about her or any of the customers, right?’
Terri nodded, but she was frightened now. Peter was clearing the flat of everything that could incriminate him or the girls and, as he searched, he made a conscious effort not to look at the dead girl on the floor. He knew he was probably removing evidence, but that was hard fucking luck, he had no intention of getting a tug for anybody, let alone a fucking brass.
They were a breed apart as far as he was concerned. He might have a struggle with a bird now and again, but he prided himself on never getting involved with the staff and, even though he knew he should feel responsible for the girl’s demise, he wasn’t going to let it intrude on his daily life. He just provided them with a roof under which to conduct their business, took his earn, and didn’t think about them at all. He was annoyed that Patrick had blanked him. He might be a sleeping partner, but he wasn’t in a fucking coma. Peter was grieved at Pat’s reaction, that he wasn’t going to help out. But he still didn’t feel it was anything to do with him. She was dead, but it wasn’t his fault. She knew the score, knew the pitfalls. At the end of the day, if he hadn’t given her a base to work from, then someone else would have. And until now, it had guaranteed all the girls a level of security they would never have had on the street.
And after all, she was the one that had chosen to be a brass, he hadn’t forced her, he had just provided her with the opportunity to spread her charms. Like all his girls, she had come to him, and he had provided her with a nice flat to work out of. He saw himself as quite a generous employer, as someone who helped his girls out.
He had been doing this for years without any kind of aggravation. Now he had a dead one, a very dead one, and he was not fucking impressed about it either.
He had nothing on his conscience, as he would tell himself over and over again. But the sight of her lying there dead, mutilated and naked would stay with him until the day he died. She had been done over good and proper; whoever had done it had really gone to town. Satisfied he had obliterated any kind of evidence that could incriminate him, he left hurriedly. She had been a nice girl and all, and the shame was overwhelming him even as he determined to save his own arse.
Terri was left alone, waiting nervously for the police, the horror of her situation finally taking hold. Seeing her friend’s body, the blood everywhere, and the look of sheer terror on her face, it finally sank in that someone had actually murdered her. Someone had deliberately taken her young life.
Terri suddenly realised that it could quite easily have been her lying there. The men they dealt with all came through the adverts in the local paper, and at the end of the day, it wasn’t as if they had ever known anything important about their clients. The men who frequented their establishment lied about their real names, as they themselves did. They had sex with them, were intimate with them, and yet she and Danni knew literally nothing about them. Some of them arranged their dates by text. Until now, the danger had never crossed her mind.
It was over five hours since she had found the body of her friend, and it didn’t occur to her that for the police to find the culprit she should have been telling them the truth. Instead, she was still practising her story as they knocked on the front door.
‘Are you all right, Pat? You’re awfully quiet tonight.’
Patrick shrugged. ‘Just tired, Kate, that’s all.’ He was watching her as she cooked for them both. She was a good cook, and he enjoyed her food. But tonight he was seeing her as if for the first time. She was still a looker as far as he was concerned, she was the only woman who had ever managed to keep his interest. She had aged, of course, but he never really noticed it, she was still his Kate. Now though, as she chopped vegetables and sautéed the veal, he marvelled at how much he loved her. The fear of losing her had made him aware of just how much he cared about her. He was still trying to get his head round Peter Bates’s phone call. Still trying to work out what had happened.
Kate smiled at him, her eyes taking in everything around her. She saw more in a quick glance than most people did in a lifetime. She was one of the only women he had ever met who was happy to be quiet. He loved that she didn’t feel the urge to fill up every silence with inane prattle. Pat opened a bottle of red wine and poured them both a glass. As Kate sipped hers, she winked at him mischievously and he felt the tug of her once more. He knew that she accepted him for what he was, as he had accepted her for what she was. Chalk and cheese, really; she was straighter than a weightlifter’s grandmother and he was as bent as the proverbial corkscrew. Yet somehow it worked for them.
As they ate their evening meal, Patrick marvelled at how well they got along together. Even after all these years, she still had the knack of keeping him interested in her. Not that he hadn’t been drawn to the occasional bit of strange but, as his old mum used to say, what you don’t know can’t hurt you. And so far, she had been proved right. His earlier thoughts of going on the hunt were at once obsolete. He had to keep Kate close now, couldn’t give her any reason to doubt him. He was terrified that she would suss him out.
Old Peter Bates’s call had rattled him and, though he hadn’t known the full story, he’d only owned the property, he knew it was only a matter of time before Kate demanded that he explain himself. Be sure your sins will find you out. Well, his would anyway. But he couldn’t tell her, he didn’t know how to. She would find out soon enough. She was a shrewdie. Pat felt as if he had the Sword of Damocles hanging over his head. Once again, he knew something that she didn’t, only this time, he feared that when she realised that, it would take more than a bunch of flowers to calm her down; in actual fact, the deeds to a diamond mine would be disregarded. She would be what was commonly known as pissed off, and that was putting it nicely.
Annie Carr was shocked by what she saw in front of her. That the girl had been murdered was evident, but it was the fact that she had clearly been brutally raped beforehand that was the real shocker. She had literally been ripped to pieces inside and the remains of what looked like a chair leg had been discovered by the girl’s body. Whoever he was, he had acted with a tremendous rage. The poor girl must have died in agony.
The flat was nice, Annie had noticed that as soon as she entered it, all white walls and leather sofas. It was obviously a Tom’s workplace, but that was neither here nor there at the moment. That just meant they would have to cast their net wider, after all Toms were called Toms because they slept with every Tom, Dick and Harry. Annie hoped they had some forensics to fall back on. What really pissed her off was that the girl was so young. She had died a horrific death, all for the lure of a few quid. It was such a pointless way to die, such an abrupt end for a young woman who should have had her whole life ahead of her. Annie hated that she had to tell someone that their child had been so violently slaughtered.
She could see that the girl had been tortured, she had burns all over her and what smelled like caustic soda had been poured down her throat, so this wasn’t a random killing, a sexual deal that had gone wrong. This was a deliberate act of violence against a young woman who, it seemed, had not put up any kind of fight whatsoever. That in itself was a mystery, there were no signs of a struggle; her nails were still perfectly manicured, a deep-red, they didn’t have a chip or a mark of any kind. Her face was contorted in agony, but that could have been the caustic soda, she had to have felt that coming, but there were no signs of her having been tied up. So the burns had to have been inflicted when she was unconscious, no one could have endured that much pain without fighting against it. She had them on her breasts, her genitals and her buttocks. And then her murderer had left her with her legs wide open, and with the object they had used to rape her by her s
ide.
It was all wrong, none of it made any sense. Annie felt the jingle of alarm bells in her head. This was not the usual. In fact, it was so staged it seemed almost as if the person responsible wanted whoever found Danielle to be shocked over and over again. Shocked first by the dead body, then by the burning of the throat, the burns to the breasts and genitalia and finally the cuts that were deep and gaping. There was blood everywhere. She had been left to bleed out all over the floor. The sheer amount of blood told Annie she must have been alive when she had been cut. She had pumped out her life’s blood as she died in agony.
Annie knelt by the body once more and looked at the cuts closely. They were deep, they were open. She was stunned by the sheer brutality of the crime, someone had enjoyed themselves, had really put a lot of effort into this poor girl’s death. The person responsible had known he would not be interrupted. Annie knew in her heart that this was not going to be a one-off, wasn’t a random killing. This was planned and precise and, whoever he was, he was going to do this again. It was a textbook murder, in many respects.
Annie knew that she was out of her depth because this was the first time she had ever been confronted by something so heinous. She hoped it would be the last.
Annie stood up. ‘Look, Terri, you being on the game is of no interest to us, we just want to know who killed Danielle, and we can only find that out if you tell us how you worked together. I swear I have no interest in your working life, I just want to find out who killed Danielle. So please will you stop pretending the pair of you lived the high life in a really posh block of flats, yet apparently neither of you have any kind of legal employment? Let’s cut the crap and get to the fucking real-life bit, eh? Only I am getting the arse now, I’ve had enough of your bullshit.’