The Ladykiller (40 page)

As he left the room, Kate could not help but notice the slump to his shoulders and felt a rush of love for him. She sat back in the settee and sighed. She wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing. But she knew that she liked the feeling.

George was watching Elaine. Since the night of the tiepin and his euphoric relief at finding it, the marks on his wife’s neck had been bothering him. He watched her shove a Ryvita with a scraping of low fat cheese on it into her mouth. She was definitely a lot thinner and, he admitted to himself grudgingly, getting quite attractive for her age. She had toned down her eye make-up, and had taken to putting kohl pencil on the inside of her bottom lashes. This small act had opened up her eyes and given them a mysterious look. He gritted his teeth.

They were all the same, women. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Elaine, that slob Elaine, was having an affair. Was lifting her skirts in the back of someone’s car and sitting on someone’s erect . . .

‘George! Are you all right?’ Elaine’s voice was sharp.

The picture in George’s mind evaporated and he dragged himself back to reality.

‘Of course I am, dear.’ His voice was his usual mild and humble one.

‘Well, stop staring at me, it gives me the creeps.’

George stood up from his seat and felt dizzy as a picture rose into his mind once more. This time, he was standing over Elaine with his Swiss army knife raised above his head . . .

‘I think I’ll go for a walk, dear, I don’t feel very well. I need to clear my head.’

‘But
Taggart
’s on in a minute.’

Taggart
was George’s favourite programme. But tonight he had to get out of his house and away from Elaine before he exploded.

‘I won’t be long, dear. Tape it for me.’

Elaine turned her gaze back to the television. George knew that within seconds he would be forgotten. She would be thinking of her fancy man. He hurried from the room, grabbing his hat and coat, and left the house. As he walked down the road he pulled his gloves from his pocket and put them on. He felt a rage inside him. A blinding rage. How dare she? He didn’t want her, he had not wanted her for years, but she was still his wife. His
wife
. He had married her and given her his name. He had raised her from the gutter to be his wife. But, like them all, she was a conniving cunt.

He saw Elaine again in his mind, taking off her clothes as she had been the night he had seen the marks on her neck. He saw her then in the back of a car, with a faceless man touching all her secret places. And Elaine liked it! She liked it, the slut!

George was walking faster and faster, his shoes clattering on the pavement. Elaine was like his mother. Oh, they pretended to be good women, but deep down they were whores. Like Eve, they betrayed you. You gave them your all and they took it. They took it and they smiled and they simpered - and all the time they were laughing at you. Laughing their fat ugly heads off.

George’s breathing was laboured.

He stopped and looked around him. He was outside the block of council flats where he’d been mugged. He crossed the road and strode purposefully up the incline and under his tree. He watched the second floor, cursing Elaine because in his haste to get away from her he had forgotten his opera glasses.

Leonora Davidson was watching
Taggart
, unaware that not twenty yards away the Grantley Ripper was watching her bedroom window. She snuggled into her chair, a mug of coffee on a small table beside her and her cigarettes on the arm of her chair. She was content.

George watched the window for ten minutes. Nothing. He glanced at his watch. It was ten to ten.

He began to walk towards the block, his eyes scanning the street and the windows of the flats for movement.

Leonora heard a knock at her front door and tutted. ‘Taggart’ was just about to unmask the killer. She got up from her chair and went out into her tiny hall.

‘Who is it?’ Her voice was loud and impatient.

‘Is that Mrs Davidson?’

Leonora frowned. She didn’t know the voice.

‘Who wants to know?’

‘I’m the man who got mugged, you came out to help me.’ George’s voice was quiet and meek.

Leonora’s eyebrows went up.

‘Oh, yes, I remember.’

She opened the front door, pulling back two large bolts and taking off the chain before opening it.

George stood there smiling.

‘I’m sorry to come so late but I work rather unsocial hours, you see. I just wanted to thank you properly for all your help that night. I really don’t know what I would have done without you.’

Upstairs, he heard a door opening and began to panic.

‘May I come inside for a moment? I won’t keep you long, I promise.’ He could hear footsteps on the landing above. Whoever it was would see him. They would see his face and know he had been here.

Leonora stepped back and George walked into her hall, pushing the door shut behind him. He smiled at her. His little smile that just showed his teeth. He had observed her for weeks and knew that there was no man in the house. She always went to bed alone.

Leonora smiled back. Now she knew who he was, she was happier. You couldn’t be too careful when you lived alone. ‘Will you come through to the lounge? I was just having a coffee, would you like one?’ Her open face was like balm to George.

‘If it’s no trouble . . . I don’t want to put you out.’

He followed her into her lounge.

‘Sit down and I’ll get you your coffee. Do you take milk and sugar?’

George nodded. ‘Oh, you’re watching
Taggart
, I love that programme myself. My wife’s taping it for me.’

‘Well, sit down, Mr . . .’

‘Markham. George Markham.’

‘Well, sit down, Mr Markham, I won’t be a second.’

George sat down on the sofa, an old PVC affair that had obviously seen better days. He noticed that the room was clean and tidy if very old fashioned. It needed decorating. He undid his coat. He gazed at the television screen smiling to himself. Leonora came back with the coffee and gave it to him.

‘So how are you now? I tell you, Mr Markham, this place is getting worse. The youngsters seem to be taking over. I don’t leave the house now of a night, unless I have to. What with the muggers and the Grantley Ripper, a woman isn’t safe any more.’

George sipped his coffee.

‘You’re absolutely right. I tell my wife that she has to be very careful. Very careful indeed.’ His face clouded.

Leonora lit herself a cigarette.

‘Did you go to the police station? Did they find out who did it?’

‘Oh, no. It’s a waste of time, the police can’t catch anyone these days. Or so it seems anyway.’

Leonora nodded, not sure what to say.

‘Are you divorced?’

‘Yes. Ten years now.’ She smiled sadly.

George watched her drink her coffee. Her hair was mousy brown and her eyes a watery blue. Around her mouth she had deep grooves. Not an attractive woman, he thought. His eyes dropped to her breasts. George liked her breasts. He had seen them many times.

He put his coffee on the table.

‘May I use your toilet, please?’

‘Of course. It’s the second door on the right, in the hall. You have to pull the chain hard or it won’t flush.’

He stood up.

‘Thank you.’

He walked out to the hall and went into the kitchen. Opening the drawers slowly and quietly, he found her knives and taking out a large breadknife, he slipped it into the belt of his trousers, covering it with his coat. He walked back into the lounge.

He smiled at the woman.

She smiled back.

Then he walked towards her slowly. He started to talk.

‘This ornament, may I ask you where you got it?’ He picked up a large vase, about sixteen inches high, made from cut glass. It was on the mantelpiece, over the gas fire. He turned back to Leonora with it in his hands.

‘Oh, that was my mother’s.’ She leant forward in her chair that was pulled up near the fire, her hands outstretched as if to take the vase from him. As she opened her mouth to speak again, her face froze.

George lifted the vase above his head and the action pulled his coat open. Leonora saw the breadknife in his belt and the heavy vase descending towards her at the same time. She felt the scream rise in her throat, but George was too quick.

He brought the vase down with all his might on to her forehead. He was amazed that the force of the blow did not break the vase. It had not even broken the skin on her forehead, though a lump the size of an egg was slowly appearing.

She was out cold.

George sat on the sofa and watched her for a few minutes. She lay sprawled across the chair. The skirt and jumper she was wearing were both bunched up and looked uncomfortable.

George got up from his seat and placed the vase back where he had found it, arranging it precisely. Then he tidied Leonora up, pulling her skirt and jumper down so she looked more natural. Then, taking the breadknife from the belt of his trousers, he placed it by her chair. He took off his overcoat and folded it up neatly on the settee.

Satisfied with his work, he once more retrieved his knife and began the process of cutting her jumper from the neck to the navel. As usual, he laid it open tidily and began on her bra.

Leonora’s arms were hanging over the sides of the chair and her head was lying on her shoulder, slightly bent. By the time George began to hack at her skirt, she had begun to stir. He tutted and, walking out to the hall, picked up a tartan scarf from the coat rack. Going back to Leonora he pulled her head forward roughly by the hair, causing her to groan. He placed the scarf around her neck and pushed her head back.

Then he began his task. Crossing the scarf over her naked breasts, he picked up each end, wrapping the woolly material around his hands to get a good grip. He began to pull his arms outwards. He watched the tartan material stretch and stretch until eventually it cut into her neck.

George was whistling a little tune through his front teeth. All the tension was gone now. He felt himself relax.

George was back on top.

Chapter Eighteen

Elaine heard George’s key in the door and glanced at the clock. It was twenty past twelve. She listened to him humming as he took off his coat and hung it up. Her nerves were jangling and she swallowed deeply as he walked into the lounge. His face was animated. The dead grey eyes seemed to be twinkling as he looked at her.

‘Hello, dear, can I make you a drink? I’m having one, I’m parched.’

‘Where have you been, George?’ Elaine’s voice was flat.

She could sense George’s surprise even though his face was calm.

‘Why, I’ve been out walking, dear, where on earth would I go?’

‘So you’ve been walking for over three hours, have you?’

Elaine could feel his confusion. She realised that he was unaware how long he had been out of the house.

‘I . . . I was just walking, that’s all. I often walk, you know that.’

Elaine still sat staring at him, her eyes hard and steely. She ran her tongue over her lips before she spoke. George’s eyes were glued to her, watching every nuance.

‘In all the years we’ve been married, George Markham, I can count on one hand the times you went out walking alone. Now all of a sudden you’re never in the house. I want to know where you go. And I’m warning you, George, you lie to me and there will be murder done in this house tonight.’

He stared at her for a few seconds and then he felt it: the high-pitched giggle that came from his stomach and gradually worked its way up to his throat. He tried valiantly to calm himself, swallowing heavily, but to no avail.

He burst into nervous, high-pitched laughter. Like a child who laughs out of sheer terror when being told off by his teacher. In his mind was one word: murder.

He had already committed one murder tonight. Elaine would murder the murderer. Every time he thought of it it sent him into gales of hysterical laughter. Where had the time gone? Where the hell had the time gone?

‘George?’ Elaine was standing now. His laughter was frightening her. ‘For Christ’s sake, George, calm down.’

He had dropped on to his knees, his hand holding his stomach. Tears were rolling down his face.

He was heaving with mirth. A strange sinister mirth. Elaine stood and watched him until he was quiet.

When George was finally capable of movement, he pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose vigorously before he pulled himself on to the nearest chair. The laughter was all gone now, only fear of discovery remained. His knife-sharp brain was ticking away as he watched his wife. Did Elaine guess?

‘There’s something not right, George, I know it. All this walking, being gone for hours - is not like you. I have to drag you from the house normally even to go shopping.’ She sat down heavily in the other chair.

‘I want to know exactly what’s going on.’ Her voice brooked no argument, but deep inside she did not want to know. She did not want to believe what the rational part of her was dreading.

George sat quietly, twisting the handkerchief between his fingers. He needed something that would throw Elaine off the scent completely. Then it jumped into his mind and he grabbed at it like a drowning man a straw. He looked at her, gathering every ounce of sorrowfulness he could muster into his lacklustre grey eyes.

‘I have a terrible problem, Elaine. I’ve been going out of my mind with worry about how to tell you. Something dreadful has happened.’

She felt her throat go dry. Please God in heaven, don’t let George tell me . . . I don’t want to know. I just don’t want to know.

‘I’ve been made redundant, Elaine.’

He watched her eyes screw up into tiny slits. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I’ve . . . I’ve been made redundant. They told me a while ago. There’s five of us going in all. Streamlining, they call it. I just couldn’t tell you, dear. I felt as if I had failed you again. I’ve been walking the streets in a daze. I’d look at you, my love, watching television, and I just couldn’t tell you.’

Elaine was stunned.