The Runaway (13 page)

‘I know whores who’d kill for their kids, but not you,’ he hissed. ‘You’re the scum of the fucking earth. They’ll eat her alive in the poke and you know it. She’s not fourteen. Too young to be charged with the murder itself, but old enough to be shut away for fucking years, in and out of lock-ups. Is that what you want for your child? Detained at Her Majesty’s Pleasure? Locked up and forgotten about? Because that is what will happen to her. She’ll be at the mercy of everyone and anyone. Ron won’t be in it. I know about these things, Madge. She won’t get an easy ride. You will. In nick you’ll be a murderess which guarantees you kudos, don’t it. You’re over the hill and on your way out. You’ll be free in five to seven. Why are you making this so difficult for everyone, yourself included? Because if I want you away, Madge, away you’ll go, girl.’

She shook her head once more. ‘I’m sorry, I just can’t do it.’

Gates closed his eyes and tried to control his temper. ‘Think on what I said and make the right decision.’

As he walked from the room he lit another cigarette and inhaled deeply. The night was wearing on and his temper was wearing thin.

Opening the spyhole on Cathy’s cell, he looked at her, huddled in a blanket, and wondered why the hell he cared what happened to her.

 

‘There’s an Irishman to see you, Mr Gates - Docherty, the big mouth from the docks. Says he’s here for the girl’s sake.’

Gates nodded and said, ‘Send him in, and bring in a couple of teas. Not that stewed shit, either.’

The PC grinned. No one above his own rank cared for Gates, but the officers below him liked and respected him in their own way.

He had a natural sense of fair play that appealed to them, plus an uncanny knack of remembering their details: wives’ names, mothers’ illnesses, children’s ailments and achievements were always remarked on. As everyone knew, Richard Gates made a point of knowing everything about everyone. It was this fact above all that frightened his superiors, and frequently gave him the upper hand in his dealings with them.

Gates finished writing his report as the door opened and Eamonn Docherty walked into the office accompanied by the PC carrying two mugs of tea.

The two men stared at each other warily. Eventually, smiling slightly, Gates sipped his tea and said: ‘It’s been a long time, you Irish ponce. How are you?’

Eamonn Senior laughed then, a hollow laugh that sounded forced even to his own ears. ‘I’m all right with me little wife. And yourself?’

Gates shrugged, an elaborate movement that accentuated the size of him. ‘All right.’ His low voice was no longer menacing but fairly friendly.

Eamonn sipped his own tea and waited for the bigger man to talk. It was unusual for him to be smaller than another man, and this gave him an unaccustomed feeling of inadequacy. Gates played on this by taking his time lighting a cigarette.

‘You’ve heard then?’

Eamonn nodded. ‘Mrs Sullivan sent round one of her lads - she’s a neighbour, like. Knew them for years. How’s the girl taking it? She loves Madge in her own way, you know. As bad as Madge can be, the child was a priority for her most of the time. I love the little pickaheen meself. I’ll take her home with me and the wife can go and fuck herself. Cathy’s like me own.’

Gates chewed on his lip before saying, ‘Well, your own boy was nearly up on a murder charge a while ago, wasn’t he?’

Eamonn frowned, wishing he had not drunk so much earlier in the night. He tried to understand the reasoning behind the man’s words. As his face took on an expression of disbelief, Gates tapped the desk.

‘Penny dropped, has it? Madge is letting the kid take the blame.’

‘You’re joking?’

‘I wish I was. In fact, there’s no doubt the girl did do it. Helping the mother, from what I can gather. You know Madge, you lived with her long enough. She’s a whore through and through. She’s quite happy to let the girl take the heat and to walk away from it herself. I’ve put the fuck on her, told her I’ll get her anyway, and she still won’t budge. So what can I use against her?’

Eamonn began to roll himself a cigarette, making the process long and laborious to give himself time to think. As he licked the paper, he said: ‘Will all this be secret like, between us?’

‘Of course. What do you think I’m going to do - take out an ad in the fucking local paper?’

Eamonn listened to the man with a heavy heart. Gates was renowned in the criminal fraternity, not as a bent copper but as one with a sense of fair play and a penchant for being swayed by a logical argument. That he had his seniors in his great big hands went without saying; Eamonn only hoped he could get the girl out of trouble. The thought of her, frightened and alone in a prison cell, made him feel physically sick.

‘All I’ll say without putting anyone else’s face in the frame is: remind Madge of how she worked with SusanPawhile back. That should terrify her enough to make her do anything.’

Gates raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Susan P? She’s a bit out of Madge’s league. Now what could Susan want from her, eh? I’ll have to dig into this meself, I think - find out what I’ve been missing.’

Eamonn closed his eyes and sighed heavily. ‘Believe me when I say you don’t want to dig too deep into it. I don’t know the score, but from what I’ve guessed, there’s some heavy people involved.’

‘Curiouser and curiouser, as the cat said.’ Gates’s voice was low and menacing once more.

‘Well, curiosity killed the fecking cat, Gates, remember that.’

He grinned, showing white teeth. ‘I’ll remember, don’t you worry. Now, Mr Docherty, finish your tea and start at the beginning. I need to know everything. And I think you’re just the man to tell me.’

‘Before I say anything - if Madge won’t budge, I’ll take the can for the child. Say I came in and saw him there, some such shite. Either way, I’ll get her out of here.’

Richard Gates stared at the man before him with steely blue eyes then shook his head in reluctant admiration. ‘You’ve just gone right up in my estimation, Docherty. I’d have thought you’d have fucked off out of it and kept as far away from old Madge as possible.’

‘I would if it was just her. I lived off her for years, everyone knows that, and yet I cared for her too in a strange way. She can be a laugh, old Madge. Still, I wouldn’t put me head in a noose for her. But Cathy, she’s different. I wouldn’t want to see her young life ruined. She’s had it hard enough, yet the little mare’s a fighter all right.’

Eamonn smiled as he said it, and Gates answered it with a smile of his own.

‘We’ll sort something out between us, I’m sure.’

Eamonn relit his roll-up and enquired, ‘Why are you doing this? What’s in it for you?’

Gates shrugged. ‘That’s the funny thing - there is no angle. I just feel sorry for the kid, I suppose. She’s too young and vulnerable to be thrown on the scrap heap, and that’s exactly what’ll happen to her if we don’t step in, believe me. Now, are you going to tell me what the story is?’

Eamonn shook his head slowly. ‘I don’t want to get involved unless I have to. Press Madge, she’ll open her big trap, I can guarantee it.’

‘I’ll go one better than that,’ Gates said. ‘I’ll ask young Susan P. We go back a long way - we’re old friends.’

Eamonn wasn’t surprised. Gates was a policeman with a difference: he actually liked most of the criminals he dealt with, though you had to be practically psychic to realise that. There were exceptions.

A story had gone the rounds for years, concerning Gates and a suspected rapist. The man had supposedly fallen down a flight of stairs, and subsequently died in hospital.

Such stories enhanced his reputation, both in the service and outside it. Judges were wary of him yet they respected him because, love him or loathe him, Gates had never tried to frame an innocent man. All his collars were real, even if the charges were sometimes fabricated. If he couldn’t hang them for a sheep, Gates would hang them for a lamb. He always got them in the end.

‘Cathy seems like a nice kid,’ he said now.

Eamonn Senior nodded vigorously. ‘She’s a diamond, as you cockneys say. Bright, intelligent, too fecking good for Madge, although the girl would walk over red-hot coals for her, Mr Gates, and that’s a fact.’

‘Yeah, I can see that, and I intend to do right by her. Let’s face it,’ he paused to light himself a cigarette, ‘someone has to. Let’s just say it’s something to do to make a boring night a bit more interesting.’

Both of them knew he was lying but neither man mentioned the fact.

 

Susan P was watching her best girl at work. The whirring of the small camera was audible in the room, and as the Right Honourable Dennis Crumb, Labour MP and pillar of the Welsh mining community, began to perform oral sex on the supine young lady before him, Susan P actually began to laugh out loud.

‘Go on, girl, give him the works.’

The two-way mirror was Susan’s main entertainment. Watching people having paid sex interested her. She liked to see the different ways men thought they turned women on, and the different ways the girls reacted to the situation.

It always amazed her the way most men were so bloody amateurish. They really believed a woman they had never met, had bought and paid for, and who had nothing even remotely in common with them, actually enjoyed the clandestine sex they offered. Did they honestly believe that twiddling a girl’s nipples as if they were tuning in the radio and performing oral sex like a wet-brushed Hoover guaranteed the recipient of their attentions even a modicum of enjoyment? She watched Naomi squirming and moaning. That girl sure could act! Just then the whore looked straight into her madam’s eyes and winked heavily. Then she began the moaning and groaning once more, this time louder and more staged. The Right Honourable sucked harder, no end pleased with himself. Susan P grinned. He had probably been getting a similar performance for years from his wife.

She heard the door open but carried on observing the scene before her avidly. A few minutes elapsed while she watched the man bring himself to orgasm all over the girl’s breasts before turning off the mirror light and saying: ‘Richard Gates, you always turn up at the most interesting moment in my little films.’

She turned to him then, opening her arms in welcome as she walked up to him and hugged him to her as close as his belly would allow.

‘Not an ounce of fat. Just scar tissue, as usual.’

Gates grinned. ‘And it’s all yours, any time you want it.’

Susan pushed her chestnut hair from her eyes and said, ‘Thanks for the offer but I prefer being in the audience.’ Then with a whisky poured for each of them and cigarettes lit they settled on the small sofa in her office and Susan said expansively: ‘So, what do you want?’

Richard studied her for a moment. Her eyes were a deep sea green and her bone structure was perfect. Tall and slim, she was the mother of two grown children, though no one would believe that. She lived on coffee, cocaine and cigarettes, had a wonderful dress sense and an even more wonderful sense of humour. Her eyes were deep-set and gave the impression of a privately sensual nature; her movements were neat and contained, with an animal grace.

She had never slept with a man for money or prestige, she just had the knack of finding women who would do this, and do it well. She was the most successful madam in London, and looked after her girls with a protective zeal that guaranteed them not only respect, but a safe passage into their thirties - something few other whores could take for granted.

‘I want some help, Sue, and I think you’re the only person who can give it to me.’

‘Why is it that the nicer you are, Richard, the less I trust you?’

‘That’s because you know me so well, and when I want something important I’m nicer than usual.’

‘You’re a lot of things, Richard, and I’ve heard you called a lot of things too - but nice isn’t one of them.’ He feigned distress and they both laughed.

‘Oh my God!’ Susan P stood up and switched on the mirrored light once more. ‘Look at this prat! Honestly, men are children really. Spoilt, babyish and utterly stupid. Present company excepted, of course.’

‘Of course. Well, I wouldn’t vote for the fucker meself, but the housewives like him, I’m told.’

The Right Honourable was now regaling a bored Naomi with tales of his sexual prowess and she was listening with every appearance of rapt interest.

‘The girl’s good. What’s her name?’

Susan P grinned, showing expensive white teeth. ‘You wouldn’t get within smelling distance. Her old man’s doing an eighteen. Loves him to death, bless her little cotton socks. Won’t shackle an Old Bill for love nor money, dear. Even turned down a Chief Constable at a Masonic do.’

Gates shook his head in mock despair. ‘I wanted to fuck it, not marry it.’

Susan grinned again.

‘No chance of doing either, I’m afraid. She just won’t swallow it, if you’ll excuse the pun?’

Gates laughed with her. Then: ‘Turn the light off, Susan. Hairy arses never did much for me, I’m afraid. Now, down to business. I want to nail Madge Connor and I heard through the grapevine you can give me the necessary info to do just that.’

Susan P’s expression changed noticeably and her eyelids dropped, giving her a sleepy expression. ‘I don’t grass, Gates, you should know that better than anyone.’ Her voice was cold now, clipped and hard.

He finished his Scotch. ‘You will when I tell you the reason. Her daughter stabbed a punter to death last night, and Madge is willing to let her carry the can. I don’t want that to happen. The girl’s only a kid, and what she’s done is bad enough without her having to take the consequences. I need a handle on Madge to ensure she takes the appropriate steps and saves the girl’s skin. Anything you tell me will not be used in any other way, I give you my word on that.’

‘Why the interest in this kid? So what if she did it? Why should I give a flying fuck?’