Broken (26 page)

He heard the words but was unsure whether to believe them. ‘It would take more than you to waste Pat Kelly,’ he said in a weak voice.

The unseen man laughed. ‘Don’t you want to know where this leaves you?’

‘Not really. By the way, mate, thanks for the drink. I needed one.’

Sergei shook his head in amazement. He had seen some hard men in his time but Willy Gabney was as tough as old boots and the other man was impressed by his resilience.

‘I shot him myself,’ he boasted. ‘Today, in his car. I watched as the bullets hit him and he bled away his life’s blood.’

If Sergei was determined to get a reaction, he was disappointed.

‘I don’t believe you, son. Pat Kelly will take you and break you. For your sake I hope he is dead, mate. If he ain’t, you’d better fucking run.’

Even in his obvious distress the man was still as hard as nails. The Russian walked from the cellar. Looking at the two men waiting outside the door he said in awed tones, ‘Still he is fighting with his words.’

The younger men were as impressed as he was.

‘I heard him talking to himself earlier. He was muttering on about Millwall or somewhere. And he was counting all night, one to a thousand, over and over again fast.’

They were all quiet for a moment, admiring Willy in their own way.

‘Are we to kill him?’

The older man shook his head. ‘We may need him yet. He knows much and we may need that knowledge. Feed him soon. Get him washed and then we will decide. Once he realises that his boss has gone he will see the sense in helping us at last.’

‘Maybe not, though. Such loyalty is hard to buy. It is given through respect.’

They all admired William Gabney, yet any of them would have killed him at one word from their own boss. William Gabney’s kind of respect for authority they understood. They shared it themselves.

They gave him food and a bottle of whisky. Somehow they knew that vodka would not be appreciated.

Virtue knows to a farthing what it has lost by not having been vice.

- Horace Walpole,
Fourth Earl of Orford, 1717-97
The Extraordinary Mr Wilkes
, 1794

I was so young, I loved him so, I had
No mother, God forgot me, and I fell.

- Robert Browning, 1812-89
A Blot in the ’Scutcheon
, 1843

Patrick’s sisters arrived at St George’s Hospital in Ilford together and slipped past the waiting press photographers easily. Grace, with her blonde hair and heavily made-up eyes, looked much younger than she was. Violet, on the other hand, looked older than her age. Unlike Grace, who had a face and skin made for foundation, Vi always looked like a garishly painted old woman when she wore make-up.

Neither of them spoke as they went up to the ICU together. A young Asian doctor with tired eyes smiled uneasily when he greeted them.

‘How is he?’

‘Very bad. I am afraid he is on a life-support machine.’

‘Will he make it?’

The doctor shrugged. ‘We really don’t hold out too much hope. But he is strong, and he is obviously a fighter . . .’ His voice trailed off.

Violet watched as Patrick’s chest rose and fell every four seconds as the ventilator did its work. The noise was intimidating, the banks of machines scaring both the sisters. Seeing their Patrick, always so strong and full of life, reduced to this was shocking to them.

‘Jesus Christ, Grace. What more can happen to the poor sod? Renée, Mandy, and now this. I told him not two days ago he was getting too old for all this. He looked rough, Gracie, really rough. He’s going greyer by the day, and falling out with Kate ain’t helped. But who can blame her? This is the last thing she needs with her job and that, ain’t it?’

Grace took her brother’s hand gently. ‘Oh, well, God forbid he should interrupt her bloody work, Vi.’

Her voice was sarcastic and Violet bit her lip. Grace had always been a force to be reckoned with in their family. Both Violet and Patrick and automatically given way to her because she was so aggressive. But this was one time Violet was not going to let her call the shots. Pat loved Kate and she was good for him, whatever bloody Gracie thought. And Pat had come to Violet when he was down because he knew she would stand by him and not give him grief of the earhole.

‘I mean, Kate’s a funny fucker,’ Grace went on. ‘I know she looks down her nose at me and mine. Oh, she’s never said anything, but I know . . .’

Violet grasped her sister’s hand in hers. ‘He loves the bones of you, Gracie, always did. But he had to have a life of his own as well. Kate was good for him, whatever you thought.’

Grace glanced around the room and sniffed. ‘Well, where is she then? Miss high and fucking mighty . . .’

Vi left it. She knew how upset her sister was. She also knew she was dealing with a jealous woman. Kate had come in and usurped Grace’s influential position in Pat’s life and she wasn’t going to forgive that one lightly. After Renée, he had relied on Grace and she had enjoyed that very much. Too much, in fact. But Violet couldn’t say that because anything that could be construed as criticism caused all sorts of rows.

Grace was hard work, always had been.

Violet looked down at Patrick and felt frightened inside at the whiteness of his face. He looked like a waxwork, as if all his vibrant personality had drained away. He had taken a bullet to his neck and one to his buttock, something she knew would annoy the life out of him if he ever woke up.

The consultant had said on the phone that he was very poorly, whatever that was supposed to mean, and that the next twenty-four hours would be crucial. Patrick had severe trauma to the brain, apparently. Violet believed that doctors had enough on their plate without constant questioning from relatives. As long as they got her brother better she didn’t care what they did to him. But looking at his beloved face, she didn’t hold out much hope of that. He looked dead already.

‘Shall I get a priest, Grace?’

Her sister turned on her like a lunatic. ‘That’s right, Vi, put the fucking mockers on him!’

Violet sighed heavily and sat down by the bed in silence, the only thing she could do that wouldn’t make Grace even worse than she already was. It was like being a kid again and frankly, Violet was getting the pox of it. Always taking a back seat to her elder sister, always having to listen to her and what she thought everyone should do. When in reality Grace was useless at things like this, too emotional and too lairy by half.

Violet wondered sourly how long it would be before she got funny with the nurses, doctors, and anyone else who trespassed on her own private little world. In a funny way Violet envied Patrick. At least he didn’t have to put up with Grace and her constant carping.

‘I’m going to make a phone call, Violet. You stay here and try and collar a cuppa from one of these little girls parading round, disguised as nurses,’ Grace said loudly, trying to catch a Staff Nurse’s eye.

Violet closed her own in distress. Her sister was starting sooner rather than later.

 

Jenny looked into Kerry Alston’s eyes and repeated her question, this time with added emphasis. The girl looked terrible, her fat face grey and dirty-looking. And Jenny could actually smell her. It was a sour stench of sweat and cigarette smoke, mingled with an acrid vinegary scent. In the heat of the interview room it was overpowering and Jenny knew that the young WPC sitting in on the interview was also affected.

‘I really want an answer, Kerry, and I’m going to get one if it takes all day.’ Her voice told the prisoner that she was running out of patience and the girl grinned, showing yellowing teeth.

‘I’m impressed, but I can’t answer that question. I don’t know where my dad is and I don’t know where Jeremy Blankley is either. Sorry.’ The last word was said in a sing-song tone and Jenny stifled the urge to slap her hard for it.

‘You really are a piece of work, do you know that? Do you realise how long you’re looking at in prison? Well, do you?’

She was gratified to see a spark of fear in Kerry’s eyes and carried on in the same low voice. ‘And you won’t do normal time, love, you’ll be a beast. Now in a male prison that’s bad enough. But in a female prison with women who are separated from their kids, kids they love like
normal
people, you will be in a very precarious position. Scalding water is the usual one, right in your face on the landing. They keep the boilers there, see, for night and morning drinks. You’ll have to watch your back all the time. You see, you’re not half as clever as you think, are you? In fact, if you’re silly enough to refuse a deal, you’ll be put away till you’re an old woman. And you may think you’re hard, Kerry, but you have to see some of the women in prison first - then talk to me about hard cases. Drunks, druggies, lunatics and murderers will all see themselves as far above you in the prison food chain. Have you thought about any of this? I mean, have you worked out how you’ll survive?’

Kerry didn’t answer her. Just stared at her with those washed-out eyes that had a feral light shining at the back of them. She looked mental, and she was going to act mental. But Jenny was determined that this one was not getting away with an insanity plea. Jenny would get fifty shrinks to declare her sane if that’s what it took to get her to do real time.

‘I admire you, Kerry, I really do. In your position I’d be shitting hot bricks and throwing them out the window. But there, you know best.’

She lit herself a cigarette and then said nonchalantly, ‘Now then, this sexual assault when you were at school with Jackie Palmer. Could you enlighten me on that?’

Jenny was pleased to see Kerry’s face tighten with shock. She mentally chalked one up to herself.

‘That was never pursued, even you must know that.’

‘Oh, I know that. I want to know
why
it was never pursued. Is it because your father and her father were buddies? I mean, you were very close to your father, I understand. Your mother explained to my colleague just how close you were - still are, in fact.’

Kerry didn’t answer her.

‘What’s the matter, cat got your tongue? I thought you were good with your mouth.’

Kerry licked her lips suggestively, a lascivious look that turned Jenny’s stomach. ‘I could show you a thing or two, lady. I’ve got a feeling you would like it as well. All girls together, eh?’ She sat back pleased at the knowledge she had made her antagonist really angry.

‘Have you anything to say, Kerry?’

She shook her head slowly, a deliberate action of nonchalance. ‘As I said, no one pursued those charges, so they are not relevant.’

‘Just because no one pressed charges doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, Kerry. Her father was Old Bill, I understand. Did you ever have any dealings with him, in private like? I understand he knew your father very well.’

Kerry shrugged, her fat shoulders tense with fury, and Jenny realised just how strong this girl was.

‘Why don’t you fuck off?’ she snarled. ‘I know me rights. I ain’t even got me brief here. You’re fishing and I ain’t got to answer fuck all unless it is relevant to the investigation.’

Jenny widened her eyes as if she was explaining something very simple to a small child.

‘But it is relevant because Jackie Palmer is under investigation for the same reason as you. I thought you’d have known that by now? And it’s true that you have been linked before, haven’t you? I mean, when you sexually assaulted another girl at school. Do you see where I’m coming from now, dear?’

Kerry’s arm was drawn back ready to strike when the WPC launched herself on top of her. It took the two of them to get the prisoner on the floor with her arms behind her back and the cuffs in place. All three of them were sweating from their exertions by the end of the scuffle.

‘You lesbian ponce!’

Jenny grinned down at the heavy-set girl on the floor and said maddeningly, ‘Ooh, temper, temper!’

 

Evelyn and Kate made their way up to intensive care, too nervous to speak. Evelyn could see the lines of worry etched on her daughter’s face and felt a rush of maternal concern. The feeling never left a mother even when her child was fully grown. In her black trouser suit and red silk shirt, Kate looked slim and almost girlish from behind. Only the weary stoop of her shoulders gave the game away.

Her daughter was devastated and Eve knew it. She didn’t care what they had argued about or how vitriolic it had been, those two had been closer than any other couple she had ever known. They adored one another even while they’d fought and argued about things that for most people would never even be an issue.

As they walked towards the nursing station Eve saw Patrick’s sister Grace approaching them.

‘What do you want?’ Grace spoke in clipped tones.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Kate’s voice was incredulous.

‘You heard me, darlin’. What do
you
want?’ Grace’s usually cultivated accent had slipped into East End patois with her anger.

‘How dare you . . .’

Grace held one immaculately manicured finger in Kate’s face, her own a mask of anger and despair as she spat out, ‘I dare? I dare when you look down that long fucking beak of yours at me and mine. You left him when he was at rock bottom, so piss off out of it now. Plain enough for you? Or would you like me to punch it right through to your brain? You ain’t welcome here, lady.’

Kate looked at Grace, at her sleek dyed hair and over made-up face, and realised she was enjoying this. Enjoying every second of it. She had always known Grace had a jealous streak but to give way to it now, when her brother was lying in a coma, seemed extraordinary. Grace was still standing there like a jailer, daring Kate with her body language to try and pass. She could see Violet’s frightened face as she observed it all from beside Pat’s bed.