The Ladykiller (58 page)

He stood up, putting the passport into his top pocket. Larry watched him leave the office and then walked to the window. From there he watched Tony cross the road and hail a black cab.

Larry was intrigued.

The details in the passport were of a George Markham, from Grantley in Essex. The man already had a one-year tourist passport, as well as a ten-year passport with eighteen months on it. Larry knew that something not quite kosher was going down, but he was stumped as to what it was.

Something rang a warning bell in his head but he could not put his finger on it.

He went back to his desk and slipped the thousand pounds from the envelope into his wallet. At least he had been paid promptly. Nowadays that was something in itself.

Tony Jones walked into Sexplosion and poured himself a large Scotch. He drank it down, the alcohol biting into his throat and stomach, burning his ulcer.

The enormity of what he knew about George Markham was weighing him down. He felt sick every time he thought about it.

All his life Tony had lived among villains, pimps and prostitutes. He had dealt with most of the so-called gang bosses in his time. In his business it was inevitable you would stumble across them at some time or another.

He had always prided himself on his ability to work side by side with the most violent men, keeping his business going and his head above water. He never made their Christmas card lists but they had afforded him a modicum of respect.

His shop was one of the oldest in the West End. His father had run it for years, before handing it over to his only son. Tony wanted to hand it over to his son one day. It was a lucrative business now that porn was more socially acceptable. He had dealt with prostitutes who would give Frank Bruno food for thought before fighting them and with pimps who would carve you up as soon as look at you. Yet none of these people had ever frightened him like George Markham, the little man with the funny smile.

He poured himself another stiff drink and Emmanuel waltzed into the back of the shop, his heavily mascaraed eyelids fluttering.

‘I need a bit of help out here, Tone, if you don’t mind. I’ve been run off my feet.’

Tony glared at the boy.

‘Emmanuel, piss off and don’t come in here again today unless we get busted by the Filth or Joan Collins comes in to buy a vibrator. All right?’

The boy pursed his cherry red lips and stormed out of the room. He could be so bitchy, could Tony Jones. He noticed a new customer in a neat brown suit and immediately cheered up. He liked the newies.

He smiled at the man. His nicest smile. He had all day. By the looks of it Tony was going to drink himself stupid. He’d been doing that a lot lately.

‘Can I help you?’

The man in the brown suit smiled sheepishly.

Emmanuel smiled back widely. He was worth a fifty at least.

George had watched his film and was now feeling relaxed and cheerful. He turned off the video and sat smiling to himself. No more Elaine. No more having to be polite.

His face darkened. No more alibi.

Then he brightened. His mind was working overtime. If he planned everything just right, he could get away with it all.

If he went away for a while and then came back he could say that Elaine had left him. If he went to Edith’s in Florida he could say it had happened out there. And now that he was redundant he could sell this house and be free. The more he thought, the more viable it all seemed.

He felt absolutely wonderful. He was so clever! He patted himself on the back. Cleverer than a bag of monkeys.

But what was he going to do with Elaine? He would have to hide her away somewhere. He thought of burying her in the garden but dismissed the idea immediately.

He would put her right under everyone’s nose, and still they wouldn’t find her. All he had to do was have a good old think . . .

The phone rang and he jumped in his seat. The harsh tones echoed around the silent house, upsetting George. He crept out into the hallway and picked up the offending instrument.

‘Hello, George. Margaret here. How’s Elaine?’

He felt his heart begin to race.

‘Oh, she’s fine, Margaret, feeling a bit better . . . I doubt she’ll be in this week though.’

‘Can I have a word?’

‘She’s sleeping at the moment. I’ll tell her you called though, Margaret, she’ll be sorry to have missed you.’

‘Okey doke then, I’ll ring her later in the week. ’Bye.’

George replaced the receiver.

The whole conversation had taken less than two minutes, but to him it had seemed like a fortnight.

He stormed out to the kitchen, his temper flaring. Elaine was still sprawled on the kitchen floor, her sightless eyes staring at the skirting board.

‘That was your friend Margaret. Checking up on you as usual. Are you listening to me?’

George knelt down and pulled her head up by her flame-coloured hair. He looked ferociously into her face.

‘You’re nothing but trouble, Elaine. That’s all you’ve ever been.’

Then, as if the reality of events suddenly hit him, he cradled her head in his arms and began to cry.

Evelyn heard the door knocker and went out to the hall to answer it. She could hear loud music coming from Lizzy’s room and smiled to herself as she wiped her hands on her apron. The child was like a young girl should be now, and that thought cheered her.

She opened the front door. Patrick Kelly was standing there.

‘Oh, hello. Kate isn’t here, but come away in anyhow. I was just going to have a coffee.’

He walked into the hall, hearing the loud music coming down the stairs. Evelyn laughed.

‘That’s Lizzy. You’re forgiven for thinking she might be a bit deaf!’

They went through to the kitchen and Patrick undid his coat and sat at the breakfast bar.

‘I’m just making a nice lamb casserole for dinner.’

‘It smells delicious.’

She poured out two coffees.

‘I like to cook. It relaxes me.’

He took the coffee from her and sipped it.

Sitting opposite him, Evelyn lit herself a cigarette and blew out the smoke loudly.

‘So what can I do for you, or is this a social call?’

Patrick smiled slightly. She was a game old bird.

‘It’s a bit of both actually. It’s about your trip to Australia.’

‘What about it?’

‘Well, the truth is, I don’t think that Kate can really afford it, can she?’

Evelyn took another drag on her cigarette. She knew that Kate couldn’t afford it really, that she was trying to get a bank loan to pay for it. But she had told Lizzy she was going and there was no way that she would let her down, even if it meant selling the car and every bit of jewellery she possessed.

Patrick could gauge what Evelyn was thinking. He sighed. Taking an envelope from his pocket he placed it on the table.

‘What’s this?’

‘That, Mrs O’Dowd, is two first-class tickets to Sydney, with a four-day stop over in Singapore. It’s a long old flight to Oz, you know, and you’ll be glad of the break, believe me. I want you to take these tickets and tell Kate that you had some money left over from . . . well, whatever you like. Let her think you paid for them.’

Evelyn fingered the thick brown envelope and looked into Patrick’s eyes.

‘Something’s happened between the two of you, hasn’t it?’

He nodded. It was pointless lying. He told her about Dan. Evelyn did not bat an eyelid all the time he spoke.

‘That would go against the grain with Kate. It goes against the grain with me to be honest. But I’m a bit more of a realist than my daughter. I know that desperate times mean desperate measures. I’ll give you a bit of advice where Kate is concerned, shall I? Always remember that her job is the most important thing in her life. She fought hard to get to where she is and I think that the fact she allowed herself to get involved with you, knowing your reputation, speaks volumes. She’s had only one man in her life, Danny Burrows. Now she has you. Or maybe I should say had you? I don’t know. Only Kate knows that.

‘If you care about my daughter, and I think you do, then you should remember these facts. They’ll stand you in good stead for the future. Kate’s as honest as the day is long.’

Patrick at least had the grace to look away from her, and Evelyn admired him for that. She knew that he loved her daughter, could hear it in the way he spoke her name, see it in the way that he tried in his own way to make things right for her. Like the tickets to Australia. An expensive way to make amends, but Evelyn knew that was what he was trying to do. She opened the envelope.

The tickets were for 4 March 1990, from Heathrow. She looked at him and frowned.

He held out his hand and took the envelope from her. He placed it back in his pocket.

‘I never said I wasn’t going to accept them, did I?’

Her voice was softer now. She held out her hand and he gave her back the envelope. He left a few minutes later, lighter of heart.

Evelyn let him out and as she closed the door looked up the stairs. The thump-thump of Lizzy’s music was still audible.

It was just as well the child had no idea he’d been here. Kate was astute enough to put two and two together. Evelyn only hoped she would believe her story about insurance money left over from her father’s death.

She went into the kitchen and put the envelope into her apron pocket. It gave her a warm feeling knowing that it was there. She would see her other grandchildren and it would be thanks to Patrick Kelly.

No matter what anyone thought, she liked him. He was a product of the world they lived in and his lifestyle gave her not a smidgen of bad conscience.

As for what he had done to Dan . . . she shrugged. He’d been asking for that for years.

Her only regret was she hadn’t been there to see it for herself.

Chapter Twenty-Four

George looked at the clock. It was five thirty-five and still dark. He rubbed at his eyes. They felt gritty and he could smell a funny smell on his hands. He leant out of bed and turned on the small bedside lamp. As the glaring brightness penetrated his eyes he grimaced.

His hands had rust-coloured stains on them. He held them up in front of him as if he had never seen them before and sat up in bed. He was fully dressed. He frowned.

Pulling back the covers, he slipped out of the sheets and stood uncertainly on the carpet.

His mouth felt dry and fluffy and he swallowed with difficulty. What he needed was a cup of coffee. He made his way downstairs humming to himself. He walked into the kitchen and turned on the fluorescent light. It flickered into life, illuminating Elaine’s body. Ignoring her, he walked to the sink and filled the kettle. Stepping over her silent form, he made himself a strong, sweet coffee and took it to the kitchen table. Then he went into the lounge and brought back his Christmas cigars. He lit one and puffed on it for a few seconds to get it fully alight.

He sighed with happiness. Coffee and cigars. Cigars and coffee.

He grinned to himself. He was totally free now.

Finally he looked at Elaine.

Today she was going to disappear forever. He knew what he had to do. But first he needed a shower.

George had had his shower and was now in the process of putting Elaine into two large black bags. He covered her head and shoulders first. Her sightless eyes were getting on his nerves. Her head had stuck to the floor in a pool of blood that had congealed to a reddish-brown. It still had long strands of ginger-orange hair stuck in it. He would have to scrape it off the tiles. He finally had the bag over her head and tied it around her neck with string. Then he looked at her lower body. He had turned her over to make it easier for him and now her legs were wide open. He imagined her without her tracksuit bottoms and smiled to himself, feeling the familiar excitement. The blood everywhere was making him feel aroused.

He liked blood. He liked the sticky feel of it, like crimson semen. He pulled off her trainers and tracksuit bottoms, staring at her milky white legs as if fascinated. She had on a pair of white panties and her thick red pubic hair poked out of the sides with a jauntiness that pleased George immensely. Like this, Elaine was his perfect woman. Faceless, undemanding and completely available.

He poked a finger into her crotch, feeling the softness there. He ran his finger inside the silky material of her panties and round her pubic hair.

He licked his lips, feeling the sweat that was now beading them. He hooked his fingers into her panties and pulled them down her legs slowly, gently, revealing her most intimate parts.

He unzipped his trousers, locked in the almost sublime feelings of his fantasy world. He began to knead her thighs, feeling the cold strength of them. He tried to part her legs further to remove her panties, but they wouldn’t budge! He pulled at them harder, trying to force them open.

George had not allowed for rigor mortis.

His breathing was laboured now, from his exertions and from his fantasies.

He frowned.

Elaine had always been the same: difficult. Even in death, she was still inaccessible.

He wiped a clammy hand over his face. Suddenly, the chaos around him registered. He had better get cleaned up. He had plenty of time for fun.

Real fun, with better women than Elaine.

He began to bundle her into the other black bag, his movements more urgent now. Finally he sat back on his heels and stared at his handiwork. Elaine was trussed up like a chicken.

Standing up, he zipped his trousers back up, carefully tucking in his shirt first. He would have a nice cup of tea, then he would start the second phase of his operation.

Kelly was waiting outside the pub where Kate and Caitlin had gone for lunch. As she saw his black BMW she felt a lurch in her breast. Caitlin grinned at her and said: ‘I think you’ve got company, Kate. I’ll see you later.’

He waltzed into the pub and left her standing alone on the pavement. She could see Patrick’s face through the windscreen and against her better judgement walked over to the car and got inside.