The Ladykiller (42 page)

‘I’m quite willing to identify the body formally, missis. Her ex-husband’s in Canada or some such place.’

‘Thank you. We’ll let you know if that will be necessary.’

Kate took her leave and drove off to the hospital for the post mortem.

When she got there she first went in to see Dorothy Smith. She had been given an injection of Diazepam to calm her down. When Kate sat beside her she saw that the woman had a glazed look in her eyes. She smiled and Dorothy tried to focus.

‘Hello, I’m Detective Inspector Burrows. I’d like to ask you a few questions if you feel up to it?’

Dorothy nodded her head.

‘Are you sure you’re OK? I can come back later.’

‘No. No, I’ll answer you. I’ll have to eventually. It may as well be now while it’s all still fresh in my mind.’

‘Did Leonora ever mention any men friends at all? Not just boyfriends, I mean friends in general. Maybe a man at work who was taking undue interest in her?’

Dorothy shook her head.

‘Never. She didn’t like men much, you see. She kept herself to herself, she was that kind of woman. I’ve known her for over fifteen years and if she had a man friend I’d know about it. We told each other everything.’ The woman’s eyes spilled over with tears.

‘She was good, was Leonora, she was kind and considerate. Why would anyone want to do that to her? Why?’

Kate was powerless to answer. Instead she placed her hand on the older woman’s and squeezed it gently, letting her cry.

When she quietened, Kate spoke again. ‘What about Fred Borrings?’

Dorothy pulled her hand from Kate’s grasp.

‘He used to look out for her, that was all. I think he would have liked to have been more than friends with her, you know, but Leonora . . .’ Her voice chocked again. ‘She didn’t want anything like that. Her husband used to knock her around and she swore she’d never ever get involved again.’

Kate stared at the woman without seeing her.

Then how the hell did the man get inside her house? Maybe he was dressed as a workman, that was an old trick. Knock on a door and say you were from the gas or the electricity board and people automatically gave you entry to their homes. But surely someone would have noticed? She would have to wait and see what was said by the people interviewed. Once all the statements were collated they would have some idea to work from.

Someone must have seen something, however small. Those flats were a hive of activity. From glue sniffers to heroin addicts, that’s where they congregated. Even their statements, however vague, could spark off a train of inquiry.

As the post mortem began Kate and Caitlin both had the same thought: once more the man had come and gone without being seen.

For the first time in years Kate crossed her fingers. She had a feeling that she’d need all the luck she could get.

Patrick heard about Leonora Davidson from his friend the Chief Constable. He was promised all the information they had about it within twenty-four hours. He was sitting in his drawing room contemplating the new event. However much he liked Kate - and he did like her, he liked her a lot - she was getting nowhere. Neither were the men he had employed, he had to admit. He closed his eyes and rubbed them hard.

If only he had something to go on. One little clue was all he needed. He knew that Kate was doing everything she could but this man was taking the piss now. He was sitting somewhere, laughing up his sleeve at them all, and Patrick Kelly was not a man who could stomach that. Every time he thought about it, it brought on a red hot rage.

He had picked out a white coffin for his daughter, with a deep red satin interior. The coffin was lead lined, airless and insect proof. The thought of his lovely child under the ground in the cold and the damp, with centipedes and other lifeforms crawling all over her face, in her mouth and through her long blond hair, made him feel sick. But the man who had put her there . . . now he was a different kettle of fish altogether. Patrick Kelly would see to it that he rotted away, that he died as horrifically as he had killed.

Kelly rubbed his eyes again. The strain was beginning to tell now. He knew he was dangerously close to exploding point. He glanced at the photograph of Mandy on the mantelpiece. It had been taken a few weeks before her death at the birthday party of one of her friends. The girl had had it enlarged and framed and sent it to him, a kindly act that had brought tears to his eyes. Whoever had taken the picture had caught Mandy with her head back, her eyes half closed, her teeth looking like perfect pearls as she laughed. It was one of those lucky photographs that occasionally get taken with a cheap snapper camera, and he loved it.

Willy tapped on the door softly before entering the room.

‘It’s Kevin Cosgrove, Pat, he wants to see you.’ The big man’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Want me to smack him one and send him on his way?’ Willy’s voice was hopeful.

Kelly shook his head. ‘No. Show him in.’

He felt the tightening inside his chest again. He wondered lately if he was getting some kind of heart trouble, but had dismissed the thought.

Kevin walked into the room. Even Kelly was shocked at the sight of him. He had lost weight and his usual pristine appearance was gone. His hair was unkempt and he needed a shave.

‘Christ Almighty, you look like a paraffin lamp.’ Kevin stood uneasily in the doorway, his face white with fear. ‘I came about Mandy’s funeral, sir.’

Patrick knew that it had taken the boy a lot of courage to come to his house and in spite of himself was impressed. He knew men who were harder than granite who would not have had the front to walk into his home after what he had done to Cosgrove.

‘What about her funeral?’ His voice was soft.

Kevin looked around the room, fixing his eyes on a Japanese vase before answering.

‘Well, I wanna go. Please.’

The last word was quiet and drawn out. A plea in itself.

He stared at the boy, battling it out in his mind.

‘You can go, boy, but keep away from me and mine. I mean it, Kevin, I’ll always blame you for what happened to her. Always. If you hadn’t’ve left her there alone . . .’ Patrick’s voice trailed off, he could feel the tightening around his heart again. ‘Go on, piss off. Before I lose me rag again. And remember what I said, Kevin. Keep well away from me, son. I don’t know what I’d be capable of if I saw too much of you while I was burying her.’

Kevin hung his head and turning on his heel walked from the room, closing the door behind him. Patrick stared at the door for a long time. Finally, Willy came into the room with a pot of coffee. Placing the tray on the small Edwardian table by the sofa he poured out two cups, one for Kelly and one for himself. He laced them both liberally with brandy. Kelly watched the big man’s clumsy attempt at being a butler and felt amused.

‘I thought you could do with a bit of a natter, Pat. I don’t think it’s good to be on your own all the time. You need a bit of company now and then. Cheers.’ He held up his coffee cup and sipped at it, burning his mouth.

‘Bloody hell, is that Mrs Manners trying to weld my lips together or what?’

Patrick laughed loudly.

Willy was a tonic sometimes without even realising it.

‘Have you heard any more, Pat?’

All the formality was gone now and the serious business of the day was about to begin. Kelly had an understanding with Willy. He allowed the man a free rein when it was necessary. They went back a long way.

‘No. Nothing really. I’ll have all the gen on the new murder by tomorrow.’

‘That little ponce had some front, didn’t he? Coming round here like that. I was going to give him a right-hander just for his sauce.’

Patrick waved his hand.

‘Forget him. He’ll get his comeuppance one day. If God don’t see to it, then I will.’

‘I’ve been thinking, Pat . . .’

Kelly closed his eyes. That was a turn up for the book, Willy thinking.

‘You know that Old Bill bird you’ve been knocking . . . I mean, going out with?’

Kelly nodded, on the defensive now. ‘What about her?’ He wasn’t in the mood for a lecture from Mr Charisma today.

‘Well, I heard you two nattering one day. She was saying about how they took blood samples or something for DPP or something?’

‘DNA. It’s DNA. DPP means Director of Public Prosecutions. Anyway, what about it?’

Willy’s round face looked puzzled. ‘Then what’s DNA mean?’

Patrick was getting agitated. ‘How the fucking hell do I know? I’m not a scientist, am I?’

‘All right, all right, Pat, keep your hair on.’

‘Well, what are you trying to say?’

‘She was saying that they could do that here, but it would cost too much money.’

‘Do what?’

‘To take the bloody blood tests. Stone me, Pat, don’t you listen to nothing people say?’

Looking at Willy’s open face it dawned on Kelly that for once he had a good idea.

Kate had told him, one night while they were having dinner, that DNA was a genetic fingerprint. Everyone knew that much from the papers. Until now he had not really understood the full meaning of what she’d been saying.

‘Do me a favour, will you? Get on to the Chief Constable and tell him I want facts on all the cases ever solved by DNA. Remember that now - DNA not DPP. We’ll be here all day otherwise with files of every poor bastard the Old Bill’s ever fitted up.’

‘I’ll do it now, Pat.’ Willy stood up and went to the door.

‘And, Willy.’ The man turned around. ‘Thanks a lot. You’ve been a great help, I appreciate it.’

Willy grinned.

‘DNA . . . DNA . . .’ He was still saying it as he walked out of the door, as if terrified he would forget it.

Patrick picked up his coffee and sipped it, savouring the bite from the brandy.

Maybe he could get Kate’s wish granted.

Maybe then they could all get somewhere.

Caitlin and Kate had the majority of the collated statements in front of them and both were feeling down. Not even a sniff of anything out of the ordinary.

The post mortem had revealed that although Leonora Davidson had been strangled by her attacker, the cause of death was most likely ‘Vagal Inhibition’. In other words she had literally died of fright.

‘Well, another murder and we have nothing to go on. Bloody hell, someone must have seen something. It stands to reason.’

Caitlin nodded.

‘There are clues here, it’s just sorting out what could be viable. People see things and don’t take in what they’re seeing.’ He poked the papers in front of him. ‘One of these must have seen the man only they don’t realise it yet. Either he’s local and so they’re used to seeing him, or he was walking nearby and they just passed him on the street. He
has
been seen, only he hasn’t been tied in with it all yet. I think he’s stopped using his car. So either he cabs it wherever he goes or it’s all within walking distance.’

‘He could have caught a bus.’

‘There you are then, so he
has
been seen by people. If we could trace just one person who saw someone different on their bus coming home from work, whatever, we’d be in business.’

‘Well, Spencer has been in touch with all the minicab firms and he’s checking out all the people who got cabs between nine and twelve on the night of Leonora’s murder. So far he’s come up against malice, upset, aggravation - and nothing else.

‘The murders are causing strife now. One murder is exciting, two is exciting, four means we aren’t doing our job and every person interviewed now thinks their face is in the frame.’

‘Sure they’re all fecking eejits. Listen, I’ll get Willis to go and see the bus drivers. You know, one of them might have seen something, or more precisely someone.’

Kate nodded.

‘“Vagal Inhibition”, I’d never heard of that before. It sounds terrible.’

‘It make me sick to me stomach even to think about it. Get yourself off, Katie. I’ll stay on for a while here. You get some sleep.’

She got up, smoothing down her skirt.

‘You’ve got good legs, you know, Kate.’ Before she could retort he spoke again. ‘How’s the girl?’

‘Lizzy? She’s fine. I’m going to see her actually.’

‘Well, she’ll soon be back on her feet, God willing. Would you get me the files under W please, before you go?’

Kate went to the filing cabinet and opened the drawer. In the back was a bottle of Teacher’s. She pulled it out and took it to Caitlin who picked it up.

‘This country’s a terrible place, you know. An Irishman drinking Scotch whisky.’ He shook his head. ‘Please God I’ll find a shop that sells Bushmill’s one day.’

‘You sound like my mother.’

‘Ah, sure she’s a very astute woman!’

Kate picked up her bag and jacket. ‘See you in the morning, Kenneth.’

‘Kenny.’

Smiling, she made her way through the room, deliberately averting her eyes from the victims’ photographs on the wall. She stopped at Amanda Dawkins’ desk.

‘Anything?’

Amanda shook her head. ‘Nothing.’

Kate sighed. ‘See you tomorrow.’

‘ ’Night.’

She drove to Warley Hospital. It was early evening and the traffic had just eased up so she had a straight drive. In twenty minutes she was there. As she stepped from the car and looked at the big old building she felt a lump in her throat. But Patrick was right when he said at least Lizzy was alive and kicking. If Kate had had to identify her as Ronald Butler had had to identify his daughter, she did not know what she would have to do.

With the latest murder the pressure was really on. This man had to be caught, and fast. Extremely fast. It was said that unless a murderer was apprehended within three days, the likelihood of finding the person was minimal. Which was true, but this man committed murder after murder. He had tried it, liked it, and by all the signs was now unable to stop himself.

She walked along the corridor towards Lizzy’s ward. She could hear Simply Red singing ‘If You Don’t Know Me By Now’ and she smiled slightly. At least this was not the usual hospital environment. Here Lizzy could listen to music, wear her own clothes and there were trained staff to talk to her, listen to her problems.