The Ladykiller (33 page)

‘Mum, this is a friend of mine, Patrick Kelly. He brought me home from the hospital.’

Evelyn inclined her head. She noted the breadth of his shoulders, the long legs and dark good looks, and decided Kate had better taste than she’d given her credit for. Then the name registered. It was the man they had been talking about at Christmas dinner. Evelyn pushed the thoughts from her mind. With a name like Kelly, he must have some Irish in him so he couldn’t be all bad.

‘How do you do?’

Patrick smiled at her, and she found herself smiling back.

‘The child?’ She stared into her daughter’s drawn face.

‘She’s fine, Mum, or at least as fine as she could be in the circumstances. The cuts weren’t deep enough to really harm her. I found her just in time. She’s to see a psychiatrist in the morning.’

Patrick sat on a chair by the fire and Kate turned to him. ‘Can I get you a drink? I’ve got some Scotch somewhere. ’ She went to the drinks cabinet and opened the door. She poured out three large whiskies.

When everyone had their drink Kate sat beside her mother. Patrick looked at them. They were like two peas in a pod, both with the same high cheekbones and widow’s peak. Both had a slightly Roman nose. Individually, all their features were beautiful, but altogether they just missed being wholly lovely. Instead they had what was termed attractive faces. Women who looked better as they got older. Kate certainly looked all right to him.

Evelyn broke the silence.

‘So she’s to see a head man, is she? Well, I think it’s for the best, Kate. There’s something drastically wrong with the child.’

She nodded, her eyes on the floor. Patrick’s heart went out to her.

‘You’re the man who lost your daughter, aren’t you?’ Evelyn asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Tragic to lose a child like that.’

He looked into the old woman’s face, saw the sympathy there and the understanding.

‘My son went to Australia, you know. I’ve not seen him for twenty years. It’s like he died. I hear from him regularly but it’s not the same as holding them to you. Watching them grow and turn into whatever they become. He’s a big grown man now and all I have are photographs to chart his years. It’s not like seeing for yourself.’

Her little speech touched Patrick to the core. He felt the empathy between them. Knew that she had warmed to him, that she wanted to ease his grief, and for a dangerous few seconds he thought he would cry. He swallowed the lump that had come to his throat and downed his whisky.

‘Are you family Irish, Mr Kelly?’ Evelyn had to keep talking, had to stop thinking about Lizzy.

‘Yes, My father was a Dublin man and my mother was from Cork. I was born in Glasnevin. I came over here when I was two.’

‘Jesus save us, I know Glasnevin well! Is your mother still alive?’

Patrick shook his head. ‘No, I’m afraid not. She was a wonderful woman.’

‘I bet you have some great memories of her?’

He smiled again.

‘Yes, I do.’

He saw his mother in his mind’s eye, her arms red to the elbows from doing other people’s washing and ironing, her knees permanently swollen from scrubbing floors. But he also saw the tiny smile she had, that serene look when she came home from six o’clock Mass every morning. Her pressing a shilling in his hand every birthday, no matter how hard up they were. Oranges at Christmas and a small toy. Oh, he had fond memories all right.

Kate watched her mother and Patrick as if in a trance. She could see that if the circumstances of their meeting had been happier they would have had a good drink of her mother’s secret stash of Bushmill’s and reminisced all night. She was glad Patrick was here. He was like a big dependable rock, taking both their troubled minds off Lizzy. But her daughter had to be helped and that was what scared Kate.

Getting up she went to the cabinet to replenish their glasses and found that the Bell’s bottle was nearly empty. Seeing this Evelyn got up from her seat and said, ‘I’ll go and get me Bushmill’s.’

She went from the room and Patrick smiled at Kate. ‘Try and relax. Lizzy’s in the best place for her at the moment. Tomorrow’s time enough to worry.’

‘I feel so bloody useless. How could all that have gone on under my nose?’

Patrick grasped her hand and pulled her to him.

She stared into his eyes.

‘Look, Kate, you’re not the only person this has happened to. Every parent says this at some time. I remember when I found out Mandy was sleeping with that geek Kevin, I felt like throttling the pair of them. But it’s something that’s happened and you can’t make it unhappen. No matter how much you might want to. I told you, build some bridges now. Let some good come out of this.’

Oh, he sounded so right, but deep inside Kate she felt she had failed Lizzy somehow.

Evelyn bustled back into the room with her Irish whiskey. ‘I call this my Holy Water, it’s as good as a tonic. My cousin from Coleraine sends it to me, may God bless her and keep her. It’s the mountain water that gives it the taste. You know her name’s actually Katie Daly. It’s true.’

Patrick laughed.

‘Katie Daly’ had been one of his mother’s favourite songs. It was about a girl who made poteen, an illegal Irish whiskey, and the troops who came to arrest her.

Evelyn poured everyone out a generous measure. Kate sipped the liquid and felt the burn as it hit her throat. ‘Tomorrow, when she sees the head man, I’ll go with you, Kate, and we’ll try and sort this business out. We’ll make it all right, you’ll see.’

‘But to cut her wrists like that, Mum. She was more worried about you reading the diary than anything else.’

‘And so she should have been, the ungrateful little villain!’

Patrick sipped his drink. This was getting personal.

‘I think I better go soon, I know you have a lot to talk about.’

Kate nodded. The driver was sitting outside waiting and suddenly she remembered him.

‘Oh, your poor Willy must be freezing!’

‘I beg your pardon, Kate Burrows?’

Despite herself she laughed at her mother’s scandalised face.

‘That’s his driver, Mum. Willy’s his name. He’s waiting outside for Patrick.’

‘Oh I see. Well, bring him in. We don’t stand on ceremony in this house.’

Patrick drank up quickly. Somehow he didn’t think Kate’s mother was quite ready for Willy yet.

‘No, I’ve intruded long enough. I just wanted to make sure that Kate got home OK.’ He stood up and the two women stood with him. He shook Evelyn’s hand. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs . . .’

‘O’Dowd. Evelyn O’Dowd.’

He smiled at her again. ‘Mrs O’Dowd, I hope we meet again, in more pleasant circumstances.’

‘So do I, son.’

Kate went out to the hall with him and Patrick kissed her gently. ‘You stop worrying now, Kate, and if you need anything, anything at all, you just ring me. OK?’

Kate nodded, too full of unshed tears to answer.

She watched him walk down the path and get into his Rolls-Royce. When the car was out of sight she shut the door and went back into the warmth of the lounge.

‘Well, you’re a dark horse and no mistake.’

‘Oh, Mum, he’s just a friend.’

Kate sat down and picked up her drink again.

‘Just a friend is he? Well, if you want my advice, I’d say make him more than a friend, if you get my meaning. Men like that don’t grow on trees.’

‘He owns massage parlours, Mum.’

Evelyn O’Dowd had her own set of principles, which she changed and updated depending on the situation.

‘Well, we can’t all be policemen can we? He’s a good kind man by the looks of him. You take my advice and grab him quick, then you can show him what he’s doing wrong.’

Kate sipped her drink.

‘If the Chief Constable knew that I was seeing Patrick, all hell would break loose.’

Kate didn’t know that the Chief Constable knew all about her and Kelly. Patrick Kelly and Frederick Flowers went back a long way. They were much closer than anyone knew - except the two of them, and they certainly wouldn’t be telling anyone.

Evelyn bridled in her chair.

‘Well, in that case you just refer him to me, young lady. What you do when you’re out of that station is none of his business.’

If Kate hadn’t had so much on her mind she would have laughed at her mother’s scandalised voice.

‘It’s not like that, Mum, and you know it. Patrick’s a nice man, you’re right there, but he is also just on the verge of being a criminal.’

‘I’m on the verge of being one meself, child, if I had the name of that person who gave Lizzy the drugs I’d scalp the face off them.’

Both women were silent.

‘Listen to me, Katie. If you like this man, and you’re happy seeing him, then you do what you want. No matter what your Chief Constable or Dan, or me or Lizzy or even King Street Charlie feels. You only live once. Live your life how you want. Before you know it you’ll be old. Old as me. And when you get to my age you get a different perspective on life. Suddenly, every day seems just that little bit shorter. You feel the ache coming in your bones. You know that the best, most fruitful part of your life is over. I read once that when people get old and go senile, they go back to a time in their life when they were useful. To when they had young children, and a husband coming home from work. Meals to prepare. Maybe a little job as well. I could understand them wanting to escape back to a time when they were “needed”. Maybe because my days of being needed are nearly over.’

Kate slipped off her chair and knelt in front of her mother.

‘I’ll always need you, Mam.’ At the word mam, Evelyn pulled her daughter into her arms, memories flooding back to her. Kate and her brother had both called her mam as children.

‘Well, Kate, I’ll be here for you for as long as you want me. The same for Lizzy, God love her. I could cheerfully cut the legs from her, but I’ll always love her. Mary Ann that she is.’

Doctor Plumfield surveyed Kate and Evelyn as they sat in front of him. Kate had asked for another day of leave to try and get her family affairs sorted out. It had been granted grudgingly and she knew she was on thin ice as far as her superiors were concerned. Sympathetic they may be, but at the end of the day she was a DI and should put her work first. Particularly a murder investigation.

Lizzy’s attempted suicide had been whispered around the station by now, she was sure.

Plumfield was young, and Kate thought he looked more like a social worker than a psychiatrist. He wore a pair of faded blue jeans and a rugby shirt. His hair was thinning on top but he had a small ponytail at the back. His fingers were tobacco-stained as he fiddled with a biro.

He sat back in his chair and sighed. Kate felt like a little girl who has been caught cheating in her exams.

‘Your daughter, Mrs Burrows, is a very confused and unhappy girl.’

She listened attentively, all the while thinking, Tell me something I don’t know.

Plumfield continued talking in a nasal voice and she decided that he must be a demon to live with. He did not address people as equals but spoke down to them.

‘Lizzy has manifested signs of severe depression, and I feel that her drug taking and other behavioural patterns need close attention. To a child, Mrs Burrows, a slap is as good as a cuddle. After all, they are both forms of attention.’

‘So you think that Lizzy needs more attention?’

Plumfield held up his hand. ‘I am still talking, Mrs Burrows.’

Kate rolled her eyes to the ceiling. This man just could not be real!

‘I can see you are used to being in charge.’ He pointed a finger at her. ‘You are not at the station now.’

He smiled to take the edge off his words and suddenly it hit Kate: he was a Bill hater. Kate had come across them all her working life, from the solicitors who tried to get off known offenders to the social workers who stood up in courts of law and gave character references for people who should have been locked up once and for all.

He was going to lay all the blame at her door.

Kate bit her lip and let the man speak.

‘Your daughter -’ this was said like an accusation - ‘has agreed to go into a psychiatric hospital for a while, where we can assess her properly. She will travel there later this afternoon from here. She’ll be in Warley Hospital.’

Evelyn watched his loose-lipped face and felt her mettle rise. ‘Excuse me, Doctor Plumtree . . .’

‘It’s Plumfield.’

‘Doctor Plumfield then. I think you’ve got an awful cheek! This is my granddaughter that you’re talking about. Now I don’t like your attitude, young man. Just tell us when she’s going, what’s going to happen to her, and how long we can expect her to be there.’

Doctor Plumfield shook his head as if he was dealing with two recalcitrant children. Kate put her hand on her mother’s arm.

‘Your daughter will be there as long as it takes to help her, Mrs Burrows. She is rebelling against something. What, we’re not sure of yet.’ He looked at Kate as he said this and the message was quite clear to her. ‘This destructive behaviour needs to be looked at. If you wish to see her you may do so, but I must stress that you should try not to upset her in any way.’

Kate stood up.

‘Thank you very much, Doctor Plumfield. Before we go - will you be treating her at Warley?’

‘No, I won’t.’

Kate smiled then.

‘Well, at least we have that to be thankful for. Come on, Mum, let’s go and see Lizzy.’

They left Doctor Plumfield sitting shaking his head. As they walked through the hospital to Lizzy’s ward, Evelyn kept up a stream of abuse.

‘The cheek of that one! To try and insinuate that we had done something wrong. I’d have liked to have cut the face off of him with a few choice words. And what’s Lizzy been saying to him, I’d like to know?’

As always when she was very angry, Evelyn’s voice was a thick Irish brogue.

Kate let it all go in one ear and out the other.

They finally arrived at Lizzy’s ward. She was sitting up in bed listening to the radio on the headphones. Her face was washed and her hair brushed. In the hospital gown she seemed very young. She looked at her mother and grandmother and smiled tremulously. Pulling the headphones from her ears she put out her arms, and Kate hugged her.