Faceless (50 page)

triggered the outburst.

The day was still vague and clouded in her memory. She

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remembered going to score early in the morning. It had been a

lovely morning, bright and sunny. She had been wired, out of it as

usual. Her nerves shot. She remembered sweating, the feeling of

nausea that assailed her as she poured milk over the kids’

cornflakes.

No matter how out of it she was, she had always made sure the

kids had the basics. At the time she had thought that made her a

good mother. Oh, if only she had known what trouble her lifestyle

was going to cause she would have changed it, she’d sworn that to

herself every day of her sentence. Not for her, but for her two

babies. That day she had finally scored and been happy again. Until

it wore off, which was when Bethany and Caroline had turned up,

telling her to come to Kensington with them to a squat that was

used by addicts and was always worth a visit for a good fix. They

were all going to Mayfair anyway, to work Shepherd’s Market, so it

was on their way.

The Market had always been a lucrative earner, and again they

could score easily there as well. A Rasta would come round every

hour with rubbers and heroin. The prostitute’s friend, they had

called him. He was a nice bloke in his own way, earning a living like

them. It was amazing where people saw business opportunities.

If only she could remember what had happened next. She

remembered getting drunk, remembered the smell of Thunderbird

wine and grass. Then arguing with her mother, she remembered

that as well. She had gone round there to try and borrow some

money off Marshall. It showed how wired she must have been to

have gone to her mother’s house. She never went round there

unless she had to. Unless she was desperate. It was not as if her

mother wanted to see her grandchildren, she hated them both.

Especially Jason, God love him. Because he was black, and because

his father was Patrick Connor.

Well, Marie finally agreed with her mother on something. Patrick

was all her mother had said he was, and more.

The killing itself was as usual a blank.

Tiffany had been really chatty that day and had made her mother

laugh. She remembered that clearly, could see her daughter in her

mind’s eye, in her little blue dress and her little white jellies, her

hair half brushed as usual and her face smeared with Smarties.

Tiffany had been such a nice little kid and she had never appreciated

that fact until it had been too late. After a year on remand,

clean and sober, she had said goodbye to them both. She still

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remembered the smell of Tiffany’s hair: Pears shampoo and bubble

gum. Remembered Jason being frightened of her, unable to place

who she was, and Tiffany’s little piping voice asking her when she

was coming to take her home.

That had been the hardest day of Marie’s life. She had looked at

her two kids and seen them as if for the first time. Tiffany had been

beautiful, all hair and eyes, her long blonde curls silky to the touch.

Jason had looked handsome, with a big red dummy sticking out of

his face. His eyes had burned into hers as he tried to place her. But

he had hugged her in the end because Tiffany had hugged her

tightly. She’d thought at the time that Tiff knew she would not see

her again for years. She had always been a shrewd kid. She had

needed to be. She’d had to grow up fast because Marie had been

such a useless mother.

If only she had known then what she knew now, how different it

would all have been. Yes, hindsight was a marvellous thing. But she

had been warned, over and over, and had ignored the advice she

had been given. Her life then had been lived purely for fun; one big

blurred adventure.

She felt tears start once more but swallowed them down. This

was no time for crying. There would be plenty of time to cry when

this was all over and she had to bury her girl, her child, who had

rejected her over Patrick Connor, the man who was to take her life.

Had already taken her life in many ways. The moment he had given

her crack he had in effect given her a death sentence.

Tiffany would have been too young and naive to understand that

if a man was willing to let others use you it meant he had nothing

but contempt for you as a person, a human being.

But he’d had Tiffany so she didn’t know what was right and what

was wrong. From what Carole Halter had said she had been a good

mother until he had decided to put her on the game. Decided to

use her. Marie knew better than anyone did how charming he could

be, and then how vicious he could become.

Carole had made her so angry with the stories she had told her.

Marie hoped she had finally learned her lesson once and for all. She

had left her with something to think about for a while.

She smiled at the memory.

She was sorting out every person who had hurt her daughter and

it felt good. She had felt so useless for so long, but now she was

finally doing something for her child. Even if it was too late.

If nothing else, it would make her feel better.

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She wanted the names of the men in the video, then to see them

with her own eyes. If they had children she would make sure they

got a copy. Let them see what their fathers were capable of.

Thinking of children reminded her of Anastasia. She was happy

enough in foster care, by all accounts. Liked the people. Probably

enjoyed the normality of her life for once. Regular feeding and

plenty of hugs worked wonders with little children, or big ones for

that matter. Big grown-up children like herself.

Marie wanted to hold her granddaughter, take her into her

arms and love her like her mother had tried to do. Wanted to

make amends for all the mistakes she had made with Tiffany and

Jason. And she would. Whatever happened she would let that

child know what a good person her mother had been underneath.

Marie ached to hold the child, her own flesh and blood, her only

link with her daughter now. She had promised Tiffany she would

look after her and hoped that would be possible. That she didn’t

get caught for what she was going to do to Patrick Connor. But

whatever the turn out, she had to take that man off the street

once and for all.

Maisie knew the names of judges and other people she said could

help them. She had even given Marie a mobile, the first phone she

had ever owned. If Patrick turned up there Maisie was going to ring

her. She wanted what Pat had and, as far as Marie was concerned,

was welcome to it. All she wanted was to know he was dead and

buried then she could relax. Could breathe easier. Could try and get

on with her life - what was left of it anyway. She knew she would

never know another happy day. All that was gone from her with

Tiffany’s death.

Marie trained her eyes on the gym and watched the world go by.

She was on a mission now and would not rest until it was over.

She was looking forward to seeing Patrick’s face when she

confronted him. He had always been wary of her because she was so

strong. Unlike most women she knew how to fight. She had always

been able to fight and had given him a few right handers over the

years.

Now he was going to find out exactly what she was capable of.

Years ago he used to brag to her about how the element of surprise

was always a good frightener. Hit people when they least expected

it, that had been his motto. Well, she’d see how he got on when

suddenly confronted by her and her wrath.

Unlike everyone else he dealt with, this was personal, this was

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payback, and this was going to be vicious. Marie wanted him to see

her face before she struck. Wanted him to know exactly who was

taking him out.

Patrick had left the gym by the back door, and as he roared off in

his BMW congratulated himself on his cleverness. He had taken out

Malcolm Derby, wiped away Leroy and Maxie. Now the whole of

the smoke was his for the taking. He wasn’t even worried about Old

Bill because he had enough well-connected people on his payroll to

feel that he was untouchable.

He turned up the CD player. It was Sade, and he remembered

how much Tiffany had liked her songs. Well, perhaps they would

play them for her at her funeral. He laughed to himself at the

thought.

He remembered his daughter fleetingly then pushed her from his

mind. He had a meet later in the evening and now he was going to

dinner at his sister’s. He had to talk her round and get her to do

him a favour. Busby would do anything for him, he knew. She had

always done whatever he asked of her.

He was unaware of the car following him because he was so

wrapped up in himself and what he was going to do. He made plans

as he drove and sang along to his music like a man without a care in

the world.

As he passed the Beehive on his way to his sister’s he saw three

young girls sitting at the bus stop. He watched as they surveyed him

hungrily. The clothes, the car and his blue eyes always made sure he

attracted attention. He smiled at them. If he had the time he would

stop and chat. Pretend he was lost and ask them for directions, all

the time sussing them out. Seeing if any of them were live ones,

ready to go out into the big bad world. It was amazing really.

People told their, kids to keep away from bad men, not the smiling

one with the big bag of sweets and some nice puffin his prestigious

car. Well, he was still a bad man in every sense of the word, the

baddest man who’d ever walked the streets of London.

One of the girls was mixed race, about thirteen years old and

already well-developed. Judging by her clothes, a small tight top

and leggings, she was rapidly discovering the power of her body.

She was just up Patrick’s street. A bit of flattery and she would be

his for the taking. He filed her away for future reference. He was

always around and about, he would see her again, he would make

sure of that.

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As he pulled up at his sister’s he was in a good mood, buzzing

with it in fact. In the car he spooned some coke up his nose and

snorted it in noisily. He needed a lift. He had had a long night and

a long day.

Busy, busy, busy, that was him.

As he locked his car he was grinning and propping himself for

what he would say to his sister. She was another silly bitch with her

African awareness and her ethnic clothes. But she was cool, she

adored him. And why wouldn’t she? Every woman he met loved

Patrick Connor. He checked himself over in his wing mirror. As far

as he was concerned, he was fucking gorgeous.

Marie arrived at Verbena and Ossie’s at just after nine-thirty. She

knew that Pat had left the gym unseen by her and also knew that

she could wait for him. She had all the time in the world. She wasn’t

expecting a warm welcome here but she was past caring.

She’d felt an urge to see her son and didn’t care what trouble it

caused. Verbena’s feelings were not high on her list of priorities at

the moment. She was a woman who needed to get out into the

world and find out what real problems were.

Ossie answered the door. His handsome face seemed pleased to

see her, but he had the hangdog look of a man who knew he was in

for trouble. Verbena was not going to be over the moon at Marie’s

visit, especially as it was unannounced. But the boy needed to see

his real mother, whether she liked it or not.

Ossie welcomed Marie with a smile and a hug. She felt the

strength of him as he put his arms around her and longed to bury

her face in his shoulder, just for the comfort it would bring.

She knew that part of her was only here to delay what she was

going to do. She was shocked inside that she was now contemplating

murder in such a calculated way. All the years she had served

Her Majesty, she had told herself over and over that violence solved

nothing, it was a mug’s game, and she had been determined to be a

better person. Now that was all turned upside down because she

had to take revenge on Patrick Connor. But first she would see her

son.

She walked into the beautiful home where he had been brought

up and relaxed. She would see her boy, her child. He would stop

the ache in her breast, stop the madness in her blood.

Jason ran to her and hugged her tightly.

Marie put her arms around him and felt at peace with herself for

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the first time since her daughter had died. As she pushed her face

into his springy hair she was reminded of him as a baby. All her

memories of her children were like that. She had missed out on so

much of their lives.

Even their first steps were a blur to her. She still beat herself up

over her neglect of the two most important people in her life, but

they had not been important to her then, not really. Heroin had

been her passion, her love. It was a destructive love. To want