Broken (35 page)

‘All right, mate, I’m on me way. Stop worrying, for fuck’s sake. It’s sorted.’ The voice was all wrong. Everything about him was all wrong. Eve realised he didn’t recognise her from Patrick’s room, and for the first time in years didn’t curse the anonymity she seemed to have taken on with old age. Hurrying back to the ward she went up to the main desk where a lovely young woman was sitting going through the files.

‘Are you a doctor?’

The girl nodded. She was a student but didn’t like to admit that unless she had to.

‘Can you come and look at my son-in-law, please? He’s desperately ill and I think someone has put the wrong bag on his drip.’

Even as Eve spoke she knew it sounded lame, but the fear in her voice communicated itself.

The student followed her down to Patrick’s room. She checked the drip and then read his notes. Then she looked at Eve and walked quickly from the room.

Two minutes later there were three nurses and a registrar standing round the bed and pandemonium broke out.

Eve went out to the phone booth outside the ward and phoned Kate. She was sweating with fear, and relief. Then she saw Grace marching towards her and sighed. This was all they needed now with everything else that was going on.

Willy lay on the Z-bed half asleep. He was tired and disorientated from lack of rest and worry. They wouldn’t tell him about Patrick, or about anything else for that matter. They just asked him over and over about Girlie Girls and what Patrick had done with their money.

It was getting physical now. They were continually torturing him in small ways. The cigarette burns on his arms and thighs were sore, but nothing Willy couldn’t handle. He knew the next stage would be around his eyes and though he didn’t relish the idea, he would have to swallow it. There wasn’t anything else he could do.

Getting up carefully, he tried to count again but it was getting more and more difficult to concentrate. From feeding him and being polite they had turned to this. It was no more than he had expected, but he was getting older, and it was harder to take.

He decided that if he got out of this alive he was going to retire. Leave all this to the younger chaps. He’d had quite enough.

As the door opened Willy braced himself. He had only one thought in his head as they walked towards him with vodka for his burns - it made them smart like fuck - a large pack of Marlboro Lights and this time a small blow torch, the kind chefs used on cooking programmes to caramelise things.

Willy closed his eyes in distress and told himself: here we go again!

 

Kate was on her way to the hospital when she was waylaid by Leila. As she unlocked her car, she saw the pathologist running daintily across the car park towards her.

‘What is it, Leila? I must rush.’ Her voice was sharp and this was not lost on her friend.

‘Everything OK?’

Kate shook her head. ‘I haven’t time to explain, so can you be quick? I’ll talk to you later.’

‘Well, I think I’ve finally got the name of the boy on the dump.’ She saw Kate’s interest and went on: ‘A woman, or girl actually, was found dead in Hartle, the next village along. She’d been dead a while. I think it’s her son. She’d obviously dumped him then overdosed on heroin. I’m matching the DNA, but I’m pretty sure it will be him. It seems a smell was coming from her flat and eventually someone got the police. She had died leaning against a radiator, so every time the heating came on she burned that bit more. Maggot-ridden and stinking . . . what a way to go. She was twenty-three. Tragic, but at least we can rule him out now. It looks like she dumped him in a bin van then topped herself.’

Kate was nonplussed. ‘So another young mum just decided to kill her kid out of the blue? This is getting weirder by the bloody day.’

Leila shrugged her slim shoulders. ‘Sign of the times, perhaps? I don’t know. At least we know who he is. He can be buried now. If we ever find the rest of him, that is.’

‘Did she have any family, the girl?’

Leila nodded. ‘Oh yeah, the youngest of six. Seems they gave her a wide berth.’

‘Which means the child was abandoned, too, I take it. Poor little sod.’

Leila looked into Kate’s eyes and said gently, ‘At least we can close this one.’

As she opened the car door Kate had a thought. ‘Was this girl under Social Services, by any chance?’

‘I assume so,’ Leila said. ‘As a registered addict, she must have been. Why?’

‘Do me a favour and see if you can locate a picture of the child from somewhere - see if there’s a file on him.’

‘OK. I have to have a photo anyway. The police in Hartle are trying to locate one now. Are you thinking what I’m thinking then?’

Kate didn’t answer, just waved and got into her car. Leila watched as she drove away at speed and wondered what was going to be the upshot of these cases. Perhaps the boy on the dump had been used in paedophile photographs as well. It seemed that was the direction Kate’s mind was going on this and Leila wouldn’t be surprised to find it was true. She wouldn’t be surprised by anything any more. Like Jenny said, an addict would sell anything, literally
anything
, for heroin. Their own flesh and blood included.

Depressed now, she walked slowly back inside the concrete building. Why the hell did they have these kids if they didn’t really want them?

It was something many people wondered on a daily basis.

 

Patrick had been given a large dose of morphine in the drip bag, enough to kill him, but thanks to Eve it had been removed before there was time for it to do any permanent damage.

Kate looked down at him, thinking how vulnerable he was, and how much he would hate to be like this. It was as well he didn’t know.

She stifled a yawn with her hand. She was tired, so tired. Taking his hand, she stroked it gently, feeling the familiar sensation of the fine hairs on the back of it and almost weeping.

A shadow passed over the bed and she looked round to see a strange little woman staring down at Patrick.

‘Can I help you?’

The woman smiled. ‘I’m Maya, an old friend of Pat’s. You must be Kate?’

She nodded and held out her hand. The little woman took it and her grip was surprisingly firm.

‘How is he?’

‘Not too good. But he’ll get over it, I’m sure of that.’

The other woman heard the longing in Kate’s voice and patted her arm reassuringly. ‘He’s hard inside. Always has been harder than anyone realised. Not that he hasn’t good heart, he has that too. He’ll get over this if it’s humanly possible.’

Maya sat down heavily on a plastic chair, her short legs barely reaching the floor.

‘I remember him when he was an up and coming villain.’ She grinned. ‘He was a nice kid. I’ve known his family for years. Where is Grace, by the way? I expected to see her here standing guard over him.’

‘To be honest, if I’m here she goes off and only comes back when I’m gone.’

‘No change there then?’ Maya chuckled. ‘Renée, his wife, used to love winding her up. She was never jealous of Grace and her possessiveness over Patrick. But then, I think she guessed.’

Kate looked at her with interest. ‘Guessed what?’

Maya looked at the man lying so still in the bed as she spoke.

‘That Grace was his mother, of course. She was fifteen when he was born and so like most families did in those days, Patrick’s grandmother took him on.’

Kate was staring at her in complete and utter disbelief. ‘Is this just gossip?’

‘Could be, but a lot of people believe it,’ Maya told her. ‘I heard it many years ago after his mother died. He was devastated. Adored her. But that was when I was first told she wasn’t in fact his mother, but his grandmother. I never asked him - well, you don’t, do you? I don’t know if he ever knew or guessed, but she was a girl, old Grace. So was Violet. Both of them on the bash down at the docks. Haven’t you ever wondered about the age difference between him and his sisters?’

Kate didn’t answer. If what the other woman said was true, and Pat
had
known, then he’d kept it from her. This knowledge cut her to the quick. And all the time at the back of her mind a small voice was asking her what else Patrick had decided she wasn’t fit to know.

Just then Benjamin Boarder walked in with another large black man.

‘All right, Maya? Long time no see.’ He looked at Kate. ‘This is Everton and he is going to look out for Patrick for a while, OK?’

Maya frowned. ‘He needs a minder then? What’s he been up to?’

Benjamin grinned easily. ‘You are bad-minded, Maya. This is what we’d do for anyone like Pat, love. Everton’s a gofer really for whoever else is here. Tea, coffee, a sandwich. No big deal. It’s just a friendly gesture.’

Maya smiled, but she wasn’t convinced. She looked down at Patrick again, her mouth a grim line. Her guttural voice was sad as she said, ‘Poor Patrick, he would hate to be like this. Any strong person would.’

Benjamin steered Kate over to the door.

‘I was shitting it, Kate. I heard they were trying to arrange police protection for him, and that’s the last thing he needs. Make sure the idea is dropped and soon, OK? Patrick needs to be looked after by people who know the score and ain’t in the pay of anyone we don’t know.’

She nodded. ‘I’ll talk to Ratchette. But I’m warning you, Ben, this is getting harder and harder by the day for me. Why doesn’t that Russian bastard show his hand?’

He hugged her to him. ‘I know, mate, but at least we have a common goal - Patrick’s best interests.’

He stared down at her white strained face. ‘I have had the house in Rettenden watched. Not a soul has turned up there. Not a thing has happened. They are clever, very clever.’

They were quiet for a moment then Benjamin said, ‘You need a long sleep and a good meal.’

She smiled sadly and said in a low voice full of emotion, ‘I need a lot of things I can’t have, love. Patrick Kelly being one of them.’

‘It will all work out, Kate, I promise.’

He tried to sound more convinced than he felt. He liked this woman a lot. She had balls. Old Bill or no Old Bill Kate Burrows was all right. He wouldn’t mind her batting on his team if he was in the shit, he knew that much.

Not forgetting that there was a chance that she might be able to do him a favour in the future.

A man had to look at all the angles.

Especially in his line of business.

 

Colin looked out of the window of the Portakabin and saw a large white van pull up outside the yard. The dogs automatically ran to the gate barking and he admired them from his vantage point. They were magnificent animals. They scared people and they were noisy, everything a good guard dog should be. They were trained to attack, but only on command. He knew the folly of not training a dog well, something stupid people only found out at their own cost.

Most dogs will turn on an owner, acknowledged fact. Shepherds were notorious for it. But he knew that if you loved a dog, and never, ever abused it, you had a friend for life. Colin loved his animals and he never abused them. Consequently they adored him and afforded him a lucrative living.

Most big faces took dogs from him after he had trained them. They knew they were getting the best, better than any MoD-trained animal and that was a fact. His dogs were trained with simple phrases and kindness. They would die for him or their new owners.

Any scrapyards that had dodgy dealings got their dogs from him. Colin was the acknowledged genius of dogs, an accolade he treasured even though it made for some poxy jokes when he was out with his bird Rosalie.

When he saw three men get out of the white van, he admired the way the dogs’ hackles rose in warning. His eyes widened as he saw the men had shotguns, pump-action shotguns, and as they started to shoot at the dogs he rushed from the Portakabin without a thought for himself. By now the gates were hanging off their hinges and his precious dogs were all on the ground, dead or dying.

‘You bastards!’ Colin’s voice was thick with tears and snot. He was stunned by the carnage around him, too heartbroken to be afraid.

The noise of the gunshots had been deafening. Now all he could hear was the buzz of traffic from the A13. He saw a woman pull a pushchair up the kerb and deliberately not look in his direction. She hurried away as fast as she could, clearly not wanting to attract any attention to herself.

Then he saw the men going into the Portakabin. Just ignoring him.

Running to his car, Colin opened the boot. Inside there was an AK assault rifle he was looking after for a friend. He got it as far as his shoulder before he was lifted off the ground by a single shotgun blast and thrown on to the chain-link fencing, his stomach flying through the air before him. He landed heavily, hanging by his jumper, and twitched a few times before death finally overtook him.

The whole scene looked like an abattoir.