The Ladykiller (35 page)

Ratchette and Kate faced one another. He had offered her coffee and now the two of them sat sipping it.

‘Are you sure everything’s OK, Kate? If you need compassionate leave . . .’

She shook her head. ‘No, I don’t. Lizzy is being very well looked after and I shall be back at work tomorrow.’

‘Well,’ Ratchette drew the word out between his teeth, ‘this is a very stressful case, Kate. As I’m sure you’re aware, we need people on it who will give it one hundred percent . . .’

As she opened her mouth to speak there was a knock on the door.

‘Come in.’

Caitlin bowled into the office.

‘Hello there, Katie! How’s your poor daughter?’ He beamed at them. ‘I’m glad that I caught you. When are you back? Because I’ve been keeping a record of everything that’s been happening for you, you know, so you won’t have missed anything.’

‘I’ll be back tomorrow.’

‘That’s grand, just grand. I hope everything works out with the girl.’

‘Did you want anything, Kenny?’ Ratchette’s voice was loud.

Caitlin poked himself in the chest. ‘Who me? Not at all. I just heard that Katie here was in so I came to see when she’d be back on duty, that’s all. See you tomorrow then.’

He smiled at her and gave her a little wink. Then, as he was walking out the door, he slapped his forehead hard and turned back to face them. ‘Have you finished here, Kate?’

She looked at Ratchette who nodded his head.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then come with me and pick up the latest reports. Very interesting they are as well.’

She put down her coffee cup and, nodding at Ratchette, followed Caitlin from the office. Once outside he linked arms with her and took her to the little pub that the station staff used. It was called the Swan and was always busy. He bought two large whiskies and, sitting Kate in the corner, drank to her daughter’s health.

‘Thanks, Kenny.’

He waved his hand at her. ‘Sure I know what you’re going through. I remember when one of my girls had an abortion, I was like a maniac for days after. You need your work at the moment to keep you sane and normal!’

‘I thought you were Catholic?’

‘Oh, I am, we all are, but you see she was only fourteen at the time. It was terrible, absolutely terrible. Now how’s the child really?’

Kate found herself opening up to him. She told him everything.

‘Them drugs is the scourge of parents. But just keep a good eye on her and keep her out of draughts. A blanket for disease, draughts are.’

Kate smiled to herself. He meant well.

‘What’s been happening with the case then?’

‘Sweet FA to be honest, Kate. I gave Ratchette a load of old fanny just now. Hopefully, something will break soon. We’re still following up on all the nonces and suspected nonces but it’s a piss in the ocean, there’s so many of them.’

‘Thanks a lot, Kenny, for standing by me like that.’

Caitlin laughed. ‘Where else am I going to get such a good-looking DI? Normally I get a big sweaty drunkard who smells like a year-old jockstrap. Anyway, one of me is enough on any case!’

Kate grinned. You found friends and allies in the most unlikely places.

‘What about Louise Butler?’

‘Nothing. We’re treating it as a murder obviously, but if her body doesn’t turn up soon . . .’ He left the sentence unfinished.

Kate stood up. ‘Same again?’

‘That’s what I like about this women’s lib, it’s cheaper to take a lady out these days!’

Kate went up to the bar. She glanced at the large clock on the wall. It was six thirty. She’d have a half of lager and make her way home. She was seeing Patrick at eight, and wanted to ring round and see if she could find Dan first. She had a few words to say to him which he wasn’t going to like.

She was quite looking forward to it.

Chapter Sixteen

George stood in his bedroom, perplexed. His face settled into a deep frown. He knew, in fact he was absolutely sure, that his tiepin had been in the top drawer of the dressing table. Now it was nowhere to be seen. He lifted the drawer out and placed it on the bed. He began to rummage through it again.

Nothing.

He bit his cheek in consternation. There was only one place it could be. He had searched his bedroom thoroughly so he must have lost it on New Year’s Eve. He began to sweat. When Elaine had left that night he had dressed quickly. He could not remember whether he had put a tie on at all, but the logical side of him said that he must have. He put the drawer back and absentmindedly tidied it.

There was only one thing for it: he would have to go back and see if it was on the body. Thank God he had had the sense to bury this one! The devil looked after his own - another of his mother’s sayings that proved once more to George that she was always right.

He looked at his watch. It was six fifty-five. Elaine was off out with the girls tonight, he would go as soon as she left. He straightened the bedcover so it was nice and smooth, he hated untidiness of any kind, and walked from the bedroom. On the landing he could hear Elaine, in the bath, singing ‘I Could Have Danced All Night’. He grimaced. Elaine’s singing was like everything else about her: terrible. As he walked down the stairs she reached a high-pitched crescendo and George felt his shoulders disappearing into the back of his neck. Elaine’s voice grated on him.

She grated on him.

At eight forty-five, George was standing over the makeshift grave of Louise Butler. He had brought his large torch with him. Setting it on the ground, he began to disinter the girl. George was puffing and panting, his gardening gloves making the removal of the stones difficult. He had not realised he had buried her so deeply. He squatted for a second to get his breath.

That’s when he noticed the smell. An awful smell of rotting meat. George heaved, his face in the torchlight looking green-tinged and old. Standing up, he took his handkerchief from his pocket and tied it across his nose and mouth. Steeling himself, he began once more to pull at the stones and dirt.

He felt something soft and sighed with satisfaction. At last!

He felt along the small stones and, locating a hand, pulled it from the debris. Then he began to clear away the dirt from around the body, flicking it from the girl’s face fastidiously. Leaning out of the hole, he grabbed at the torch and shone it down on the corpse.

George tutted.

After eight days of death, Louise was bloated. Her semi-naked body was twisted grotesquely in the earth. Her lovely hair was caked with dirt and the eyes that were staring at George were a milky white. Her mouth was open in a perfect O, and George cleaned the dirt out of it with his gloved finger, like a midwife with a newborn baby. He searched through the dirt as he poked it from her mouth, rubbing it between finger and thumb.

No tiepin.

He began to unearth the rest of Louise Butler, searching her meticulously, the horror gone now as self-preservation took precedence over everything. He searched everywhere, even between her legs and buttocks. Her skin was spongy and when he tried to turn the body over, it came away in his hands, ragged pieces of skin sticking to his gardening gloves.

George tutted again. This time in temper. The bloody little slut! She could get him in trouble!

He looked at his watch. It was nine thirty-seven. He had been searching for over an hour. He had been through the dirt and all over the bitch’s body and the tiepin was nowhere to be seen!

Standing up, he began to brush himself down. The damp weather had made the dirt sticky and George was aware that he would have to leave soon, to be clean and ready for Elaine coming in.

Then, his temper getting the better of him, he began to kick at Louise, enjoying the feel of the soft flesh beneath his boots. He kicked at her until he was tired. His eyes were hurting and he closed them for a few seconds. When he opened them he sighed loudly.

Louise Butler’s face was a pulp.

George took off his gloves and pushed them into the pocket of his coat. He bent down and, feeling a delicious tenderness take the place of his temper, arranged the remains of her hair lovingly around her face, brushing away a centipede that was trying to get back inside the warmth of her ear cavity.

Satisfied she looked all right, George picked up his torch and made his way back to his car. He had parked it about a quarter of a mile away and walked to it, dirty and bedraggled and in a daze.

Where the hell was that tiepin?

Louise Butler was fully exposed to view. Her rifled body looked milky in the moonlight.

Elaine sat in the restaurant with Hector Henderson. She smiled at him happily. Hector smiled back, displaying his erratic teeth. Elaine didn’t care if they clicked now and again when he spoke, or the fact he had to hold his hand over his mouth while he pushed them back into position with his tongue. As far as Elaine was concerned, the big, fat, jolly man opposite was her own personal Rudolph Valentino.

‘I hope everything’s all right for you, Elaine?’

‘Oh, it is, Hector, it’s lovely.’

He beamed at her. His heavy face was glistening with a fine film of perspiration as he leant forward awkwardly in his chair and poured her another glass of Chianti.

‘I’ll be drunk!’ Elaine’s voice was girlish and in the subdued lighting she looked much younger than usual. She caught a glimpse of herself in the large mirror on the opposite wall and was pleased with herself. Her diet had taken off quite a few unwanted curves. She actually looked quite well. Not exactly thin, she was big-boned and knew it, but at least she didn’t look so chunky.

Sitting in this restaurant, with Hector telling her all she wanted to hear, she felt quite light-hearted and gay. They had been to this restaurant twice before. It was through the Dartford tunnel and so was officially in Kent. They came here because there was no likelihood of seeing anyone that they knew. Now it had become their restaurant. Elaine loved Italian food and had practically starved herself for three days in order to enjoy a small helping of lasagne.

Hector watched Elaine tuck into her dinner. He liked a woman with an appetite. He approved of her size and shape, liked big women - he was a big man - and tonight he was going to get inside Elaine’s tights if it was the last thing he did. He felt a stirring of excitement at the thought of it. Her breasts, he could see, were absolutely enormous. Being a regular subscriber to
Bra Busters
, he was automatically excited by this. He closed his eyes and savoured the picture of them loosed from their confines and lying in his open palms . . .

‘Would you like a dessert, Elaine?’

She grinned girlishly again. ‘I shouldn’t really. My weight . . .’

Hector put up his hand to quieten her. ‘You have the voluptuous figure of maturity, and that’s just how I like my women.’

Elaine felt like swooning across the table. She wasn’t too sure about the maturity bit, but the rest was like music to her ears. Hector took her hands in his and kissed each palm in turn.

‘If only you were truly mine. But you belong to another man and I can but worship from afar instead of drinking from the fountainhead.’

Elaine listened to him with fascination.

A waiter nearby bit his lip to stop a laugh escaping. Elaine had no inkling of that though. Hector brought back the old longings she had repressed for so long. He made her feel feminine and desirable. He gave her the romance that she craved so desperately. He was, in short, her knight in shining armour.

It was then she decided to sleep with him. He could drink her fountain dry if he liked.

Kate was sitting, listening to some music, which was turned on low so as not to disturb her mother who had retired to bed at nine, an hour earlier. She was listening to Billy Paul singing ‘Me and Mrs Jones’, relaxing to the music and trying to think rationally about Lizzy. She had showered earlier and now sat in an old cotton dressing gown, her hair spread across her shoulders to dry naturally, her face wiped clean of make-up, shining with Ponds cold cream in the firelight. As the record ended she shifted position slightly on the settee and tucked her feet up underneath her. She needed this quiet time, without even her mother with her. She felt at times that she did not have enough time alone, except in bed. As Sad Cafe began to sing ‘Every Day Hurts’, she heard a knock on her front door. She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was past ten. Who could be knocking at this time? Dragging herself from her seat she went out to the hall. Through the glass of the front door she saw the unmistakable figure of Dan.

That was all she needed.

Squaring her shoulders, she opened the door. He pushed past her, his face set in a deep frown, and walked into the living room.

‘Why don’t you just come on in, Dan?’ She kept her voice low. She didn’t want her mother down here.

She went into the lounge where he was pouring himself a brandy. This lent her anger an added edge. Who the hell did he think he was? He charged in here without a by your leave and acted like it was his house or something.

He faced her and took a deep drink of the brandy, then pointed his finger at her menacingly. She watched it stabbing the air as he spoke, adding emphasis to his words.

‘What’s this I hear that you’re seeing a bloody wide boy? Our daughter’s in hospital - a hospital for the sick in the head, I might add - and you’re running round with Grantley’s answer to the bloody Godfather!’

Kate suppressed a smile. So that was what really rankled. He knew she was seeing someone. I don’t want you, but I’m damned if anyone else will have you.

‘I’ll thank you to keep your voice down, if you don’t mind. My mother is in bed. As for my private life, that’s why it’s called a private life - it’s sod all to do with you who I see, when I see them or what I do with them. Now finish your drink and go. I’ve had a very trying day and it’s not getting any better.’

‘I’m not going anywhere until I get to the bottom of this!’

Kate was exasperated. ‘The bottom of what, for goodness sake? I’m a big girl now, Dan. What I do is no business of yours.’

‘It is when it affects my daughter.’