by Martina Cole
As he sipped his brandy and looked around him, he felt pride in what he had achieved. This was a nice club, it catered to nice people. The girls were a bit young, but that was par for the course these days. They were good looking, well presented, and up for a laugh. He saw the attraction for them; well-set-up men with money to spend and the time to spend it. After all, they were hardly doing the nine to five, were they?
Danny Foster was talking to a petite blonde with huge blue eyes and tits that were struggling to stay inside the tiny top she was wearing. Every time she laughed they were in danger of escaping once and for all. Pat smiled, he had always looked down his nose at the men who took advantage of the little birds, the young girls. Now though, he felt that he had been unfairly critical towards them. The girls were aware of what they were getting themselves into, and more than happy to get themselves into the situation in the first place. He spied a tall brunette with a slim frame and an expensive suit. She had a nice smile, and a very feminine way about her. He watched as she walked behind the bar and opened the tills, removed the notes with ease and placed them in a black suede money bag. He saw her observe what was going on around her while emptying the tills. She also made sure that the staff were aware that she was watching. He liked the way she was treated by everyone; they all seemed to defer to her, and when she called over a young barman and pointed to the empty glasses on the tables near him, Pat found himself looking around with her, and seeing the bar as she saw it. It was well run, he could see that. But it was also well cared for; the punters spent a lot of money, and she made sure they felt they were spending it in worthy surroundings. Pat knew the importance of making people feel they were being treated properly, it was what made a club or restaurant a success.
She saw him watching her and she smiled slightly, nodding her head in acknowledgement. She obviously knew who he was and he felt absurdly pleased. He smiled back, and winked mischievously. Her smile widened as she walked sedately from the bar towards the private doorway behind which were the offices.
Pat saw Danny raise his eyebrows at him in mock shock horror, and he heard himself laughing out loud. He was enjoying himself, really enjoying himself for the first time in what seemed years. Kate had made her bed, and she could lie in it on her Jack Jones. She had not allowed for him being fed up with always coming second best. And she had blanked him. Well, he was relatively young in comparison to some of the men here tonight, he was free, and he was single. He felt up for the chase once more, he wanted to feel desirable, feel young again. He needed to feel that his life was beginning, not coming nearer to its end. The woman made him want to throw caution to the wind. In short, he wanted to get laid, and that was exactly what he was determined to do.
Pat leaned towards Danny and said quietly, ‘Who is she?’
Danny grinned saucily before saying, ‘That, Patrick, is my sister. Eve.’
Book Two
For the wages of sin is death.
Romans, 6:23
Meine Ruh’ ist hin,
Mein Herz ist schwer.
My peace is gone,
My heart is heavy.
Goethe, 1749-1832
Faust
Chapter Six
‘Do you think we can assume this is all over, Kate?’
Kate shook her head. She hated it when she was asked questions no one could know the answer to. It was all speculation, no matter how they dressed it up.
‘I don’t think so. It’s been over a month and I hope to Christ that I’m wrong, but I think this is just breathing space for him. He’s waiting for it all to die down, waiting for the girls to feel safe again. Either that, or he’s been nicked for something else, been run over by a bus, he might even be on his holidays.’
As she spoke, Kate wondered at how quickly the deaths had left the news. There was hardly a mention of them now. It was as if the murders had been relegated alongside the credit crunch and the Eurovision Song Contest. She hated that they had nothing to go on. All their enquiries, all the door-to-doors, all their hard work had yielded them precisely nothing. It was as if the man responsible didn’t exist outside of the murders. He had left nothing tangible, had left nothing that could be used to identify him.
He had to have a knowledge of forensics, but that wasn’t unusual these days. Anyone who could read, use the internet, or afford a Sky package could learn about forensics in a few hours. Could be experts in a few days. From real-life dramas to handbooks on forensic science, it was all out there for anyone who wanted to know about it. It grieved her, she knew that any crime could be researched, looked into, and committed again, with all the flaws ironed out this time, and there was nothing she or anyone else could do about it. It was harder than ever to get a conviction because even juries expected the same kind of evidence they saw on their favourite television programmes.
It was all well and good seeing a profiler for the FBI solve a crime in under sixty minutes, or a forensics expert find a piece of glass that couldn’t be detected by the naked eye, and subsequently tie someone to a murder, again in under an hour. That was the magic of television and novels. They were not meant to be real, they were there for entertainment, no more. And that kind of entertainment was not something she enjoyed these days. Not that she enjoyed anything that much these days.
Patrick Kelly was in her every waking thought. She missed him, missed everything about her old life. She wondered at how she could have been so stupid as to walk away from him without even attempting to iron out their differences. In her anger, she had only seen that he had not told her about his involvement in the flats. She should have understood that he had his fingers in so many pies he would be hard-pushed to tell her about all of them. But it went deeper than that, and she knew it. They had been steadily coming to an impasse, and it had taken them both by surprise when the inevitable had happened.
‘Are you OK, Kate?’
She looked around her, saw the canteen with its dull grey walls and its metal chairs. She saw the newspapers scattered across the tables and the scratched floor tiles that she had been looking at for over twenty years. This place had been her refuge once; after her divorce from Dan, she had been wary of ever letting herself get close to anyone again. Her job had become her life, and she had thrown herself into a career in which she had become one of the leading figures of her profession. Once that had been enough for her, once that had made her feel as if she had really done something with her life. So why did it mean nothing to her now? Why was her involvement in this latest case making her feel as if she was in over her head, making her feel that she was somehow lacking?
Her confidence was at an all-time low. She was back where she started and, for the first time ever, her job just wasn’t enough. She had given her life over to something that was without meaning to the majority of the populace. She had happily lived her life for what she saw as for the good, she had spent serious amounts of time chasing the bad guys and catching the good majority of them. So why did it seem pointless, why did it all feel so futile to her? She had finally come to realise that her hard work, when it came down to it, was worth nothing. She had put herself out, put herself on the line, had spent the best part of her life doing what she thought was right, and for what? She had caught two prolific murderers, and she was proud of that. But it had come at a cost, it always did for women. The young ones down the nick knew her by reputation and that she was only on board now because of her past victories. Kate understood that her creds were all she had left. And her creds were not enough to give the rest of her life meaning; she felt so alone, so very lonely. She wanted to find this murderer, wanted to see him pay for the young lives he had destroyed. But she also knew she needed something for herself as well. Before it was too late.
Geraldine O’Mahoney was new to the life, and she was more aware of that than anyone. At twenty-nine she was a bit old for a beginner, and she knew it. But her husband had gone on the trot with a young girl called Regina, who had once been the babysitter, and it had thrown h
er, had made her realise that life as she knew it was over. She had relied on him for everything, had not thought that would ever change. But she had been wrong, and how wrong.
He had walked away from his family without even a whisper. He’d gone from their lives like a ghost, not a word, not a hint, nothing. He had not even attempted to see her all right money-wise, and he had made it clear that he did not want to see his girls. They missed him, they still cried for him on occasion. He had always told them they were his life, had always made a big fuss of them. Then, suddenly, he had gone. Just left them all, and they were still reeling from it. She had waited patiently for him to return until her mother informed her of his new baby girl and his marriage to Regina, and she finally accepted that she was well and truly alone. Regina would go through the same thing one day, when the flush of youth left her, and the daily grind became too much for him. When the lure of another young girl possessed him.
Geraldine had been introduced to the life by her friend Alana; she had needed to pay the bills. Gas, electric, food, clothes and, on top of all that, she was trying to redecorate. Add to that the girls’ dancing lessons and private tuition, and she was finding it hard. But she was determined to make a home for the girls and for herself and make sure they wanted for nothing. She saw this job as her only way to do this.
So as Geraldine opened the front door of her friend’s house, she tried to calm the erratic beating of her heart. It was always the same, she felt overwhelmed by what she was expected to do, but at the same time she needed the money she earned.
‘Hi, it’s only me.’
Alana usually called out a response. But today the whole place was quiet.
Too quiet.
She made herself a coffee and leaned against the kitchen cabinets as she sipped it. It was too quiet, it felt wrong. She could smell bleach, it was overpowering.
‘Are you in, Alana?’
Geraldine then knew there was something amiss, there was always noise of some description. Music playing, or the muffled sound of a blue film. Sometimes she even heard the strangled cries of the actual punter as he heaved away for his money’s worth. Today though, there was nothing, and she was getting more and more nervous by the second. It was too bloody quiet, it felt wrong and smelled wrong.
She walked quietly to the bedroom door and tapping on it gently, she called out, ‘Are you in there, Alana? It’s me, Geraldine.’
There was nothing, not a sound, no movement, nothing. Opening the door a fraction, Geraldine peered inside and what she saw made her blood run cold. Closing the door, she walked back to the small kitchen and, after throwing up her recent meal into the kitchen sink, she wiped her sweating face with a dish towel. Then, almost as an afterthought, she went to the front door and locked it.
After she had called the police and an ambulance, she sat by the front door and hugged her knees to her chest until they arrived. Once they were inside, she allowed her feelings to get the better of her. Geraldine was still crying hysterically when the nice doctor gave her an injection that brought on perfect oblivion. She had never thought she would see anything so terrible, so heartbreaking in her lifetime. She knew that what she had glimpsed for those few seconds would stay with her for the rest of her life. She also realised that this new job of hers was well and truly over. She had thought she could cope, but she was wrong. Very wrong.
Patrick was nervous, and that was something he had not felt in years. Nothing had happened between Eve and him yet. But he was sure it would. And soon. Danny was her brother and as Patrick waited for him to arrive, he wondered at what he would make of the situation. As he heard his car pull up in the drive, Patrick walked through the entrance hall to the front door and opened it before Danny had even parked up. As Danny walked towards him, Patrick searched his face, but he was smiling as always.
‘Bloody hell, Pat, you’re a bit lively today.’
Danny followed Pat through to the office, and as they settled into their usual routine, which consisted of a large brandy and a few minutes of small talk, Danny said sadly, ‘Have you heard, Pat? Another girl’s been found.’
Patrick was in the process of pouring the drinks, and the news threw him. He had not heard anything. ‘One of our flats again?’
‘Nah, nothing to do with us. I wondered if you might have heard anything from Kate?’
Patrick shrugged and handed Danny his drink.
‘I haven’t spoken to her for weeks, and she’s got no reason to keep me in the loop.’
Danny watched Pat closely. He was still a handsome fucker, even Danny could see that much. He might be getting on now, but he still had the dark Irish patrician look that women seemed to go for. He still had that air of menace, that extra something that made him seem invincible. And a cool and calm exterior that belied the real man inside. Patrick Kelly was still a big player in their world, and he played the game close to his chest. It was what had kept him out of nick for so long and kept him in the forefront of everyone’s minds.
‘Do you think it’s someone who works for us, Pat? Someone in the know about the girls?’
Patrick had wondered the same thing himself. Though the girls worked out of different places, for different people, they all worked to pretty much the same routines. Whoever this was, they knew the life well, and they knew how to get themselves inside the flats without alarming the Toms. Most of these girls could smell trouble at fifty paces. It was how they survived. So whoever this was, he knew how to allay their fears, knew how to respond to them without arousing suspicion.
Patrick shook his head in denial. ‘I know where you’re coming from, but I can’t believe it’s anyone in the game. It doesn’t make sense, does it? Why would they shit on their own doorstep for a start? They would cast their net wider, away from anything that could be traced back to them.’
Danny Boy saw the logic of that but he was still unconvinced. ‘But if it’s a nutter, and this has to be a nutter, don’t it? I mean, we ain’t talking a fucking hundred per cent with it, are we? So this nutter might not have the nous to take it outside of his world.’
Patrick laughed. ‘I lived with Kate a long time and she will tell you that whoever this is, he’s a crafty fucker, and he probably makes Stephen Hawking look like a fucking dimlo. Not that anyone around him will suss that, of course. He will be a mild-mannered and quiet bloke, the last person anyone would think capable of such crimes.’
Danny grinned. ‘Fuck me, Pat, you sound like Gil Grissom.’
They both laughed. Then Patrick said seriously, ‘I had a daughter murdered, remember, and, believe me, Danny, the bloke who did that was a seriously sad fuck. George Markham. I see his face every night before I go to sleep, and every morning when I wake up. He was shrewd, he was clever, and he enjoyed every last second of his little hobby. My Mandy was young, beautiful, and all I had or cared about in the world. Whoever this bloke is, he has been working up to this for a long time, and he is madder than the maddest person who was ever mad, but he ain’t fucking stupid. It seems that he ain’t put a foot wrong yet, and that tells me he is taking all this very seriously.’
Danny didn’t know what to say. It was the first time Patrick had ever talked about Mandy’s murder, and he could see that it was still raw even after all these years. But then, how did you get over something like that?
‘You’re right, Pat. I think that’s where we all go wrong; we assume because they’re mad, they must stand out somehow. We expect them to look what they are, a bloody nut-bag. When, in reality, it’s their normality that shields them from us.’
‘Well, whoever this is, he’s clever enough to make sure no one suspects him, and that alone speaks volumes. I know from Kate that people usually come out of the woodwork at times like this, accusing neighbours, friends, even family. But that doesn’t seem to have happened this time.’
Danny knew Pat was speaking sense. ‘Have you spoken to Kate at all, Pat?’
‘Nope. And to be honest, Danny, I don’t want to. She made it quit
e clear how she felt, and I respect that. Now, let’s get down to business, shall we?’
Danny knew when to leave well alone, so he deftly changed the subject. Patrick was miles away though, talking about Mandy always did that to him. It made him remember things that were best left forgotten.
‘Look, Geraldine. We can see that you are overwhelmed with what’s happened, but we really need to ask you a few questions, love.’
Geraldine was terrified, and Kate watched as Annie tried to keep her temper in check. She had to learn that wanting to know wasn’t enough, you had to find things out gradually when these kinds of situations arose. Kate knew that Geraldine needed gentle prompting, she needed to feel she was not to blame in any way.
‘Do you have any idea who her last punter was?’
Geraldine shook her head in denial. Kate knew the symptoms well, she was still in shock. She was also frightened in case whoever was responsible knew her, knew who she was. That they would come after her.
‘If you do know who he was, if he was a regular, or someone you’d seen before, you can rest assured that we will not ask you to stand up in a court of law and accuse him. All we want is a name or a description. That’s it.’
Geraldine looked away from them and stared out of the hospital window. Her nerves were shot and her body rigid with fear.