The Ladykiller (49 page)

‘I’m sorry, Mr Kelly, but it’s what happened. It’s turned her head like. She’ll come round. We’re potless, see. I ain’t worked for four years. And now we ain’t got Gilly’s money coming in.’

Kelly nodded. ‘I’ll see that you get the money, Mr Enderby.’

‘I think it would be best in notes like, we ain’t got a bank account.’ His voice trailed off and Patrick nodded again. He went down the stairs and got into his car. Out of the two of them he preferred the girl’s mother. At least her grief was genuine. Gillian Enderby’s father was capitalising on his daughter’s death, which hardly seemed to bother him.

But it bothered Patrick Kelly.

It bothered him a lot.

Kate had arrived at the church early and sat alone at the back, enjoying the quietness and solitude. As a Roman Catholic, Mandy Kelly’s body had been left in church overnight ready for the Requiem Mass in the morning. Her Aunt Grace was delegated to sit with the body while the soul departed for heaven. This was an old Irish tradition that was still kept alive by every new generation.

Kate knelt down and prayed for the first time in years. She had forgotten the feeling of peace and contentment an empty church could bring. She prayed for the soul of Mandy Kelly and all the murdered women and girls.

The funeral was at nine thirty, but the church had begun to fill up before nine. Kate watched from the back as various criminals and businessmen turned up. She was not too surprised when Chief Constable Frederick Flowers arrived with his wife. Or when the local MP and his wife also showed up. She did admit to a slight feeling of surprise when she noticed two prominent heads of the Serious Crime Squad. Both shook Patrick’s hand and one of the men, known in the force as Mad Bill McCormack because of his unorthodox methods of obtaining arrests with a pickaxe handle, actually hugged him close. To Kate it was a real education and her naivety troubled her. She was a good detective, she knew her job, but this closeness between the criminal world and the police had never before been so blatantly thrust on her. Oh, she knew that it went on, but it seemed that the days when villains and police met only under cover of darkness were over. Now they met socially.

She pushed the thoughts from her mind. It was the funeral of Patrick’s only child and she should be pleased for him that so many people had turned out to pay their respects. It helped some people when their departed were shown to be popular and cared for.

She watched Patrick scanning the church and finally his eyes found hers. She smiled at him briefly. His face immediately relaxed and for those few seconds she felt once more the pull he had on her.

After the Mass, as the mourners left the church and the body was taken to the grave, Patrick fell into step beside her. He held on to her arm lightly but firmly as if frightened she was going to run away. Kate glanced at him and saw the tears on his long dark lashes. She realised that he needed her, and more to the point, she needed him. She accompanied him to the graveside. As the priest began the final blessings she felt his grief as if it was a physical thing. His shoulders heaved and instinctively she grasped his hand tightly and he held on to her, pulling her to him. She knew that it was taking all his willpower not to break down there and then, in front of everybody. He was finally burying his beloved child and the full realisation of all that had happened had only just hit him.

Mandy was not coming home.

Not now, not ever.

Kate saw that she was buried beside her mother. Poor Patrick. His whole life was now buried in two small plots of land.

Kate saw Patrick’s sister watching her and dropped her gaze. Finally it was all over and people began to make their way back to their cars. Patrick stood at the graveside, oblivious of the offers of condolence. Kate stayed beside him and noticed Kevin Cosgrove standing apart from all the others. He waited until the grave was quiet and walked to it. On Mandy’s coffin, now lying in the ground, waiting to be covered, he threw a single white rose. Then he walked away.

‘Come on, Patrick, you’d best get yourself back home now.’ She pulled him gently away.

‘I can’t go back to that house, Kate. I can’t talk to all those people.’

‘You must. Come on, I’ll drive back with you. You have to face people. It’s just the shock of what’s happened hitting you.’

Patrick’s sister Grace walked with them. She was about fifty, Kate judged, and looked well on it considering she had been up all night. Her hair was perfect as were her make-up and clothes. She was as fair as Patrick was dark.

‘Come on, Pat. Let’s get this over with. I don’t believe we’ve met, dear. I’m Grace . . . Grace Kelly. I know what you’re going to say but I’m used to it by now.

‘Come on, Pat, the sooner we get this lot back, the sooner we can get shot of them. Old Auntie Ethel’s pissed as a newt and if we’re not careful she’ll be taking bets on how many cartwheels it would take to go round the church.’

Kate saw Patrick relax. Grace Kelly was obviously a woman you listened to and nothing else. She kept up a running commentary all the way to the car.

‘Look, Pat, I’ll let you go with your sister. I must get back to work,’ Kate said.

‘I thought you were going to come to my house with me?’

‘I was, but now that you have your sister, I really feel I must get back to work.’

‘Will I see you tonight, Kate?’ His voice was so lonely and wretched she could not have refused him even if she had wanted to.

‘Yes, you’ll see me tonight. You come to my house, Patrick.’

She had a feeling he was better off away from home for a few hours at least.

George walked into Sexplosion on the evening of Mandy’s funeral. He was unaware of it, with more important things on his mind such as how he was going to get out of the blood testing. He had had the germ of an idea earlier in the day and now was about to sound out Tony Jones who was an integral part of it.

Tony smiled at him and took him through to the back room. George waited until the video was on before he spoke.

‘Does this girl die?’

‘Yeah. But they still do the business.’ Tony’s voice sounded bored.

‘I should imagine that films like this are illegal? I mean, can’t you get into trouble for stocking them?’

Tony Jones was alert now.

‘You can get in trouble for buying them and all, mate.’ His voice was annoyed.

George smiled.

‘I appreciate that, Tony, it was just a query, that’s all. Nothing to get worked up about.’

‘Look, do you want the film or not?’ George could hear the aggression in the man’s voice and knew that he was scared. He patted himself on the back.

‘Any chance of a drink, Tony? I have a proposition to put to you . . .’

‘What kind of proposition?’

‘A very lucrative one.’

Tony Jones licked his lips and stared hard at George for a few seconds.

‘What do you want? Beer or a short?’

George grinned. ‘I think a short is in order tonight, Tony.’

He waited until they were both sitting down, sipping their drinks, before he spoke.

‘I need someone to help me with something delicate. Someone who is completely trustworthy and in need of some money.’

‘What for?’ Tony Jones was intrigued.

‘I need someone to take a blood test for me. They would have to pretend to be me, in fact.’

George saw Tony Jones’s face drop. His mind was in a flutter. Blood test . . . blood test, where had he heard that? In the papers. He had read about it in the papers. George Markham came from Grantley in Essex! George Markham was the Grantley Ripper! George Markham had a half a million pound price on his head . . .

‘Fucking hell!’

George felt a prickle of fear.

‘You’re the bastard Ripper, ain’t you?’

George stared at the man and his fishy grey lifeless eyes sent a chill through Tony Jones. For the first time he was scared. He had let go his ace in his shock.

‘What do you want from me?’ His voice was quieter now. More controlled.

‘I am willing to pay a substantial amount of money for someone to take the blood test for me. If I was caught, you see, I would have to tell the police about my accomplice in all this.’

‘Accomplice? What accomplice?’ Tony’s voice was puzzled.

‘Why, you, of course.’ George smiled again. ‘If you hadn’t introduced me to snuff movies, I would never have dreamt of murdering anybody.’

Tony’s face blanched.

‘That was nothing to do with me! I sell movies to loads of people and they don’t go out murdering.’ His voice was defensive. He had visions of Patrick Kelly hearing that the films that had triggered his daughter’s murder had come from him. He’d had one run in with him already. He was hoping to use this knowledge to get back into his good books! Kelly would have his throat cut as soon as look at him else.

‘How do you know that, Tony? How do you know that the men who buy your films aren’t affected by them in the same way that I am? Death excites me, it excites a lot of people, that’s why there’s a demand for your films. I remember you saying they sold like hot cakes.’

He saw Tony’s jaw tighten and played his trump card. ‘I have left a diary of every time I visited your shop and what I bought here. I made it sound as if you were in on the whole thing. If you don’t help me, Tony, and I get caught . . .’ George left the sentence unfinished.

‘I’ve a good mind to fucking kill you!’

‘Oh, now don’t be silly. If I died, all my personal effects would be seen, not only by my wife but by the police as well, I should think. And neither of us want that, do we now?’

Tony Jones saw his half a million pounds disappearing before his eyes. He watched George drink his whisky, taking little sips and then fastidiously wiping his mouth on his handkerchief, and a tiny spark of an idea entered his head. He was going to play George Markham back at his own game.

‘How much can you pay?’

George grinned. This was more like it.

‘One thousand pounds.’

Tony shook his head dismissively. ‘Not enough. Two grand at least for criminal deception.’

‘Criminal deception?’

‘That means parading as someone else. Which is what I would be doing for you.’

‘You’ll do it yourself?’

‘Of course. We’re of an age. I’d need to know some personal things . . . the Old Bill are wily old fuckers when the fancy takes them. You find out what happens at the blood testing and let me know. I’ll work it from there. I’ve not got a criminal record, believe it or not. Never even had a parking ticket. I’ll be George Markham for two grand.’

George held out his hand but was not surprised when Tony did not shake it.

‘Done.’

Tony stared at the man in front of him and thought, You will be.

George arrived home a little after eight. Elaine was sitting on the settee and called out to him as he came in the front door.

‘I was getting worried about you, George.’

He took off his coat and placed it and the video he had bought in the hall cupboard. He went in to Elaine.

‘Sorry I’m late, dear, we had a lot to do. I finish up in a few weeks and I have to pass over all the information to the man taking over my accounts.’

Elaine nodded.

‘Come out to the kitchen, I kept your dinner warm.’

George sat at the table and as usual let Elaine chatter to him. He had noticed over the years that her chattering was a defence against the quietness that she hated. She kept up a constant stream of talk, seemingly unaware that George was not really listening.

Tonight he couldn’t have listened even if he’d wanted to. He had more pressing things on his mind.

Caitlin was explaining the exact nature of the blood testing to the team in the incident room. Everyone was listening avidly as he spoke. Most were aware of the existence of genetic fingerprinting, anyone who read the papers was, but the actual task they had ahead of them was not really clear. Caitlin was hoping to enlighten them.

‘The man we are looking for is blood type O, which is about fifty per cent of the population. Now this has been broken down again. Seventy-five per cent of the population is Rhesus B positive. The other twenty-five per cent being Rhesus D Negative. Well, I am pleased to say that the man we are looking for is Rhesus D. That means that we can eliminate the O group males of the Rhesus B positive blood group, thereby cutting down on the amount of men and man hours.

‘At the actual blood testing, we shall be asking men for their mother’s maiden name, their wife’s and children’s names, where they work, etcetera. We shall also take fingerprints and obviously they will sign the document saying they agreed to the blood testing and were put under no duress to take it. That should shut up the civil liberty eejits!’

People in the room began to titter. It was a bone of contention with everyone that the only lead they could follow was being criticised so much. On the one hand the public wanted the man caught and on the other they were making it as hard as possible to do it.

Caitlin lit a cigar. Clearing his throat noisily, he began to speak again.

‘Now, you will all be given a set of instructions detailing exactly what you ask, where you are going, etcetera. You will be allocated men to help with any back-up inquiries and we want these carried out in as low key a way as possible. It seems that quite a few known sex offenders have been beaten up since this spate of murders and while I myself have no time for the perverts, they are not under suspicion so are entitled to our protection. Any inquiries we make must be polite and courteous. We are sitting on a potential bomb here and I don’t want anyone . . .’ he glanced at Spencer briefly ‘especially you, buggering it up.

‘Now then, most of you are thinking that the man responsible would have to be mad to agree to take the test. I think that too. But the police psychologist thinks that his ego would make him take it. That he gets his jollies as much from fooling us as from the actual attacks.’ He stopped speaking and watched the sea of faces, letting all he said sink in. ‘So if you get a particularly suspect individual I would like you to notify me. There’s more than a few braggarts in this station alone.’ He glanced once more at Spencer. ‘So you know the type I’m looking for.’