The Ladykiller (54 page)

By the tone of the question, George knew it had not occurred to her before and he grinned again.

‘I thought I might arrange a little surprise for your homecoming.’

Elaine sat up in astonishment, causing the water to overflow on to the carpet.

‘What kind of surprise?’ Her voice was suspicious.

‘Now if I told you that it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?’

‘Oh, George! Tell me!’

He laughed good-naturedly.

‘No! Wait and see. I think you deserve a surprise, Elaine. A nice surprise.’

She felt a lump in her throat. Why was George being so good to her all of a sudden?

He stood up.

‘Get yourself washed and I’ll put the towel on the radiator for you so it will be nice and warm when you get out. Shall I make you a drink? Brandy and coke? I made some ice yesterday. Get you in the mood for your night out with the girls.’

Elaine stared at him.

George raised his eyebrows. ‘Brandy and coke, OK?’

Elaine nodded and watched him practically skip out of the bathroom.

She picked up the soap and began to wash herself all over. She stood up and soaped between her legs. Her mind went to Hector then. If only she was married to Hector. If only she had never stood by George.

She smiled to herself ruefully. If regrets were pennies she would be a millionairess by now.

Down in the kitchen, George was taking the ice cubes from their tray. He poured a generous measure of brandy into a tall tumbler and listened to the satisfying crackle as the ice cubes met the alcohol. Then he added a small dash of coke. He didn’t want Elaine’s amour to be disappointed, did he? Give her a few drinks and she’d be well away. George wondered idly who he could be.

He could follow her. He dismissed the idea, he wasn’t really that interested. Whoever the man was, he got Elaine out of the house and that meant George could carry on his own business at his leisure. The thought of having something over Elaine appealed to him, but he might need her one day. Anyway, she deserved to enjoy herself. After all, he had his fun. Who was he to spoil things for her? And if it got serious and she left him, then he would help her pack her bag and kiss her goodbye.

He picked up the drinks and took them up to the bedroom. Elaine was drying herself when he came in. He gave her hers and raised his glass.

‘Cheers. I thought I’d join you myself.’

‘Cheers.’ Elaine took a sip of her drink then grimaced and placed it on the dressing table. She pulled the towel around her tighter and tucked it in over her breasts.

‘Did I tell you what happened today, George?’ She sat on the stool by the dressing table.

‘No.’ He settled himself on the edge of the bed.

‘Well, one of the fellows who deals with the deliveries went and took that test in the precinct . . .’

George’s eyes gleamed. He was just going on to autopilot when her words penetrated his brain.

‘Really! How thrilling! What happened?’

‘Well, it seems it’s a bit more complicated than people thought.’

‘In what way?’ He could feel a slight trembling in his hands and sipped his drink again. He almost loved her again. You could always depend on Elaine to find out what was going on.

‘Well, they wanted to know his mother’s full name, the address where he lived and phone number, plus his place of work and the phone number of that. The names of his children, then his post code! Oh, it was terrible, he said. He was so nervous he nearly forgot his mother’s maiden name!’ She picked up her drink and took a swig. It wasn’t often she had George’s undivided attention and she was quite enjoying regaling him with the story.

George, on the other hand, was fretting. She wasn’t telling him quickly enough and knowing Elaine, she would draw out the story for maximum effect. He gritted his teeth and smiled at her.

‘Is that all? I would have thought it would have been a bit more than that.’

‘Oh, it was. They took his fingerprints and asked him if he had been questioned by them regarding the murders. They asked to see his passport but he only had his driving licence, and then they wanted to know what kind of car he drove and what was the registration? Then after all that he finally had the blood test. He said the woman who took the blood was really rough and his arm was swollen where the needle went in.’

Elaine chattered on but she’d lost George now. He was quietly processing exactly what she had said and trying to turn it to his own advantage. He stood up abruptly.

‘I’d better let you get on, dear, you’re off out soon and if you don’t get a move on, you’ll be late.’

Elaine glanced at the clock by the bed and gave a little squeal, causing George to close his eyes. Acting like a teenager did not sit well on Elaine, but she couldn’t see that herself. Jumping up, she rushed to the wardrobe and took down a bright blue dress that was hanging on the outside. So busy was she taking off the plastic film, she did not even notice George slip from the room.

Twenty-five minutes later, when she’d left, George went down to his shed and brought out all his clippings. He had a whole scrapbook now and lovingly read every word, over and over again. In one local paper was a picture of Kate Burrows, the Detective Inspector who was working on his case. Beside her was her Chief Inspector, a Kenneth Caitlin. He studied the blurred black and white photos and grinned.

They couldn’t catch a cold, George thought.

He smiled at the witticism and went back to the pictures of his victims. As always when he saw Geraldine O’Leary, he felt a twinge of sadness. Her poor children, to have a mother like that! He sipped the last of his brandy and shook his head. They really were much better off without her.

Later, after he had read his fill, he put on a nice video and, pouring himself another brandy, settled down to watch it. For the time being at least he was happy to be just an onlooker while others perpetrated the deeds on screen. But he knew that before long the urge would come over him, and he would have to go out once more.

The girl on the screen had become Leonora Davidson and the most violent of the men himself . . .

George felt the stirrings of excitement.

Once Tony had taken his test for him he would be as safe as houses. In his mind, he toyed with the notion of getting rid of Tony Jones permanently and decided not to make a decision just yet. He would see how it went.

But if he tried to blackmail him? Threatened to tell the police? George smiled grimly this time. He would cross that bridge when he came to it. At the moment he needed Jones, and until that need had been answered he had to keep on good terms.

Tony Jones was worried. Very worried. The more he saw on the news and in the papers about the blood testing, the more convinced he was that he would be caught out.

If he was caught and they put him on remand, Patrick Kelly would make sure he was dead within twenty-four hours. If he refused to help and George was caught, he would spill the beans and Tony would still be at the mercy of Patrick Kelly.

The news that Pat Kelly had sold off his massage parlours had rolled through London like a tidal wave. It was being said on the street that his daughter’s death had made him chary of owning anything to do with sex. But at the same time, he had apparently begun to expand on his repo businesses.

Kelly was one of the hardest repomen in the country. It was rumoured he had even repossessed a jumbo jet for a British aircraft manufacturer who were owed hundreds of thousands of pounds by an African airline. Had repossessed it on the runway with all the passengers on board. Kelly had a reputation all right. He also knew all the right people, including the bird who was working on the murder inquiry. Barrow or whatever her name was. It was the talk of the town.

He looked out of the door of his shop again. George Markham was supposed to have been there an hour before. It was just after nine and he had closed the shop especially. Now there were men hanging around waiting for the doors to reopen and that bloody Markham was nowhere to be seen.

He had given Emmanuel the night off, with pay. He did not want anyone seeing or hearing his meet with Georgie. He was losing money hand over fist. It was Saturday night and all the nonces were out in force. Spending their cash on books, films and so-called marital aids. Tony Jones glanced at his watch again. It was nearly nine fifteen. Perhaps he wasn’t coming? Had changed his mind? He felt relieved as he thought that.

A man banged on the window of the door and he went to it, staring through the reinforced metal glass. It was not George but a man called Merve the Perve. He was well known in Soho and a good spender. Tony shook his head and pointed to the handwritten sign: Closed from 8 to 10.

The old man gave him a two-fingered sign and Tony gritted his teeth. There went a good fifty quids’ worth of business. He watched Merve walk away and sighed.

Then he saw George and quickly unbolted the door and let him in. The shop was in semi-darkness as they made their way silently to the back. George sat down without being invited, which was not lost on Tony Jones. The quiet meek little man was slowly metamorphosing into a dangerous individual. He was even scaring Tony.

‘I have a list here of the questions being asked and the answers you will give. I understand they want a passport if possible, something with a picture on.’

He passed the paper to Tony.

The man glanced at it. George’s neat handwriting filled both sides of the paper.

‘I can get a passport, but it will cost you. I’ll need a photo of you as well, and your own passport number.’

‘I brought a yearly one I had done this morning, just in case.’

He took it from his inside pocket and gave it to Tony.

‘How much more will this cost?’

‘Say three grand for the lot.’

‘All right, the money will be paid afterwards. When I’m sure it’s all OK. Don’t get it into your head to try anything. It’s a funny thing, you know. Once you’ve killed you lose your fear of it. Killing is easy. It’s become a kind of hobby for me now.’

George watched Tony for a while until his words had sunk in then said, ‘I want you to take the test on Monday the nineteenth at about six o’clock in the evening. They are coming to my place of work at nine o’clock on Thursday the twenty-second. I want my piece of paper ready for them then, to say that I had it done before. I will meet you on the Duggan Road, just outside Grantley itself, in a pub called the Lion Rampant at eight thirty, I will bring half the money with me then.’

‘Why on Monday at six o’clock?’

‘Because that is when the police are winding up to leave the unit. If you get there for about half past five you should get in at about sixish. Being one of the last of the day I think they’ll just want to get you in and out as quickly as possible. Also, if you have a passport you’re home and dry. It’s the ones without a positive ID who are being given a hard time.’

Tony Jones nodded.

‘All right. But I can’t get there on Monday. I’ll need a few days to get the passport sorted out.’

George was annoyed.

‘Well, when can you meet me then?’

‘Wednesday. On Wednesday. We’ll stick to the same plan of where to meet and that, but I need time to get this thing sorted. It’s Wednesday or not at all.’

‘All right, but just make sure you get it sorted by then.’

George stood up. ‘When you’ve memorised the answers, get rid of the paper.’

He walked out of the tiny room without a by your leave and Tony Jones stared at the paper until he heard the shop door close. Pushing it into his pocket, he left the room and switched on the lights to reopen for business. As he worked, one thought kept recurring.

It was of the day that Tippy had walked in battered and cut. He should have realised then that the bloke was two sandwiches short of a picnic. If he could rattle an old Tom like Tippy he was capable of anything.

How the hell had he got into all this?

George drove through London and out to Essex. He was listening to a talk show on Radio Essex as he hit the Dartford Tunnel. It was about the Grantley Ripper.

Women were phoning up, saying he should be castrated when he was caught, given a lethal injection, locked away in Rampton or Broadmoor.

George was enjoying listening to the silly suggestions. They would never catch him.

Kate had rung Patrick and told him about the meet with Dan at the Bull. She sat just inside the doorway, watching the people come and go, a feeling of dread on her. She had told Patrick that she would see Dan first, try and appeal to him. If that didn’t work she would leave the pub and give Patrick a sign. He would be waiting with Willy, then he could have a word with Dan. One of his special words.

Kate hoped it would not come to that.

Dan came into the pub at ten past eight. He was wearing black trousers and a deep red sweater. He had taken his overcoat off as he walked in, and had it draped casually over his arm. Kate noticed more than one woman give him a second glance. Her big manly husband.

She felt like saying out loud, ‘You couldn’t afford him, girls. He wouldn’t soil his hands on women from a backwater pub.’

It annoyed her that he could still make her feel inadequate.

He went to the bar without acknowledging her and came back with a spritzer for himself and a vodka and tonic for her.

‘Hello, Kate.’ He sat beside her, his voice smug. He knew just how much he had over her.

Kate nodded to him. ‘Dan.’

She watched his mouth on the rim of the glass. Once he had been everything to her. Now she was amazed to find that she felt nothing, not even contempt for him.

‘Why did you do it, Dan?’

He thought for a while, searching her face for some kind of indication of what she was actually thinking.

‘Because, Kate,’ he pointed a finger at her, ‘you pushed me too far this time.’

‘
I
pushed
you
too far?’ Her voice was incredulous.

He nodded, warming to his theme.

‘That’s right. I came to you for solace, if you like. I’ve always taken you for a good woman, but what do I find? I find the mother of my child with a bloody villain! My God, Kate, I just couldn’t believe it. You had the gall to pass me over for a thug.’