The Ladykiller (38 page)

‘I felt terrible later. Just terrible to wish on her and hers what we were going through. I mean, you can see for yourself how Mick is. He lives on tranquillisers. How could you wish that on somebody? It’s wicked.

‘But deep down inside I wish it had been anyone but my child. The older children are back at school but very withdrawn, and this little mite here - she doesn’t know if she’s coming or going. Keeps wanting to know when her mammy will be coming home. Maybe once she’s buried we’ll all come to terms with it a bit more. Say goodbye like. You know?’

Kate nodded, unable to swallow the large lump in the back of her throat. She took a gulp of coffee to try and right herself.

‘Well, if you get in touch with the undertakers, they can collect Geraldine’s remains.’

‘Remains.’ Kathleen smiled. ‘My Gerry’s gone, love, all that remains is memories. Memories and children. I used to look forward to being a granny. You know the jokes about having the children when you want, but being able to give them back? Now I have them all the time and I don’t really think I’m up to it. But these things are sent to try us or so they say. Would you like another coffee?’

‘No thank you. I have to be on my way.’

‘Have you any idea who it was who did it? I mean, my Gerry was the first of three, and people seem to think he’s going to strike again. Do you think you’ll catch him?’

‘We’ll catch him, I can promise you that.’

Kate’s voice was hard and strong and Kathleen Peterson believed her.

Sophie scrambled off her granny’s lap. Going to the back door she urinated on the mat, her thumb still tucked firmly in her mouth. Kate saw Kathleen’s eyes roll up in dismay.

‘Now, Sophie, you know that’s naughty.’ She looked at Kate. ‘This is the latest thing with her. It’s funny though, she’s as dry as a bone at night. Come on, madam, let’s get those wet knickers and socks off you. Though if you keep this up I’ll make you wear them all day, see how you like that.’

As Kathleen went to the child, Kate stood up. ‘I really must go now, Mrs Peterson. I hope everything works out all right.’

‘So do I, love. So do I.’

‘I’ll see myself out. Goodbye.’

‘’Bye, lass, and thanks for coming to tell us. It’s a load off of me mind.’

Kate left the kitchen and walked through the lounge. Mick O’Leary was still watching the flickering screen. He did not even know that Kate was there.

She left feeling worse than she had before.

Patrick Kelly was in the West End. He owned massage parlours the length and breadth of London and surrounding areas. Today he was in Soho, supposedly checking the books, but in effect just showing his face. It paid in this business always to be on top of everything. If the girls ever thought they could tuck you up, they would.

While he sat in the makeshift office his mind was on his daughter. The account books lay open in front of him so that if anyone came in, it looked official.

He was startled by a knock on the office door. It was opened almost immediately by a tall thin woman who strode purposefully into the room.

‘All right, Pat? Everything shipshape and Bristol fashion?’

Kelly nodded. Juliette Kingsley had worked for him for years and like all his top girls - that is, the women who ran the parlours - she was a trusted friend.

‘I want to ask you a favour, Pat, if you don’t mind?’ She sat in a chair opposite the desk and, leaning over, took a cigarette from the box on the desk.

‘What is it, Ju? Trouble?’

‘Sort of. Nothing to do with this place. Remember my youngest son, Owen?’

Patrick scanned his mind and came up with a picture of a tall, blond-haired, good-looking boy. Not unlike his mother.

‘Yeah. What about him?’

Juliette ran her hands through her short blond hair and Patrick was surprised to see that she was agitated.

‘You know Jimmy McDougall, the pimp?’

He nodded, frowning now.

‘What about him?’

‘He’s got my boy up the ’Dilly. I can’t find him, Pat, and I’m worried out of me bleeding mind. He’s only twelve, as big as he is. Well, I heard a whisper on the street that McDougall had him. I know I ain’t exactly lived the life of a virgin, I don’t deny it, but all my kids have done well, you know that. My eldest girl is a secretary, my eldest boy is at university, my Owen was doing well at school.

‘He’s my baby, Pat, my little surprise I call him. I mean, I was nearly forty-one when I had him. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep with worry at what he’s getting into . . .’

Patrick looked at her. She looked terrible - Juliette never had looked that good. But she’d been one of the best Toms in the business in her day. Bought and paid for her own house and kept her husband in the life of Riley until the ponce drank himself to death. Patrick liked her, respected her.

‘I want you to have a word with McDougall for me. I know it’s a cheek . . .’

He felt a rage inside him and was glad to have somewhere to channel the hatred that was slowly building up in him day by day. McDougall was a scumbag in his opinion. Anyone who lived off the earnings of young boys was a scumbag. Homosexuals bothered Kelly not one iota as long as they were consenting adults. It was the men who slept with children that disgusted him, whether they were young boys or young girls. There was a fortune to be made from youth. Extreme youth. But Kelly would have none of it.

‘Don’t you worry, Ju. Owen will be home within twenty-four hours. Now go and get yourself a stiff drink and let me deal with it.’

Juliette’s hard face relaxed. ‘Thanks, Pat. If you only knew what I’ve been going through.’

‘I have a pretty good idea, you know, Juliette.’

‘Of course. I’m sorry, Pat. What with Owen and everything . . .’

‘You leave it with me, girl, and just bide your time. How long has he been gone?’

‘Nearly a fortnight. I’ve told the school that he’s been ill with flu. I didn’t know what else to say.’

‘How did he get involved with McDougall in the first place?’

‘Well, from what I can gather, a friend of his from school went on the trot about a year ago. Poor little sod had a terrible time of it at home. Didn’t get on with the mum’s boyfriend. You get the picture, I’m sure. Anyway, he rang my Owen up and told him what a great life he was having and Owen went to see him and I ain’t seen hide nor hair of him since.’

‘Well, stop worrying. If he’s with McDougall he’ll be home, quick smart.’

Juliette stood up and left the room.

Patrick picked up the phone and dialled. He was looking forward to sorting out McDougall.

Tony Jones was chatting with Emmanuel at Sexplosion when Patrick Kelly and three large men walked into the shop.

‘All right, Jonesy?’ Kelly’s voice was not friendly and Tony was aware of it.

‘Hello, Mr Kelly, how can I help you?’

‘I want to know where I can find Jimmy McDougall. Now. This second.’

Tony Jones was squirming in his shoes. Jimmy McDougall was not a man to fall out with, but then again neither was Patrick Kelly. Of the two he decided he was more frightened of Kelly. He looked at Emmanuel.

‘What are you staring at, you great big fairy? Get out the back and sort the videos or something. And keep your big trap shut about what you’ve heard here tonight.’

Emmanuel did not need to be told twice. He literally ran from the shop.

‘What day is it today? Tuesday . . . He’ll be at his safe house by King’s Cross Station. I’ll write down the address.’

He went to the counter and hurriedly wrote a few lines on a piece of paper. Kelly took it from him and glanced at it.

‘Do you know something, Jonesy? I used to like you once but now I find you disgust me. Flogging all this crap is one thing, but to be an active participant in this kind of filth . . .’ Kelly waved the paper at him and shrugged. Then, spitting on the shop floor, he turned and left, his men following.

Jones breathed a deep sigh of relief. It crossed his mind to phone McDougall and warn him, but after weighing up the pros and cons of such an act in his mind, he decided against it. McDougall could do with being knocked down a few pegs and Patrick Kelly was just the man to do it.

Owen was sitting on a large settee watching a video. The glamour of his new life had already worn off. There was nothing to do but watch videos, drink alcohol and smoke cigarettes, and the novelty of all that was long gone. Plus the big man, Jimmy, who had been so friendly at first, had twice come into his room and made him do things. Things that made him feel sick. That was when he realised he was a virtual prisoner.

Last night he had been taken out to King’s Cross Station. There, his friend Joseph had walked up to completely strange men and asked them if they wanted ‘the business’. All the time this had been going on, Jimmy had stood with Owen, holding him tightly by the arm. He had never been so frightened in his life. Joseph was doing what was called ‘clowning’. Picking up a punter and offering him a ‘chicken’. Chicken was the term for the younger boys. If they were under the age of ten then they were termed ‘spring chickens’ and were worth a fortune.

Jimmy was a bit concerned about Owen’s height at first, but one feel of his face, so smooth and silky, was proof to any discerning punter that he was indeed a chicken. As luck would have it, Owen had been violently sick and Jimmy had taken him home and given him a good hiding for being so stupid. In Owen’s mind this was preferable to doing with one of those men what Jimmy had made him do. Now, with a black eye and bruised body, he was safe for a while. It hadn’t taken him long to suss that much out.

Sylvester Stallone was stitching himself up on screen and with the resilience of a child Owen watched avidly.
First Blood
was his favourite video and Sylvester Stallone his favourite actor. He didn’t like the other videos that Jimmy liked to watch. Joseph was in some of them. Joseph and Jimmy and other boys. Some of them were really young. Like the little boy Jimmy kept in the bedroom whom no one was allowed to see. He cried all the time so they had to turn the television up loud to drown him out. Then every so often Jimmy would bring back a man who would go in there with him and then the crying would be terrible for days after.

Owen had glimpsed him only once. He was about five years old, half caste with enormous brown eyes. But he had seen him in the videos that Jimmy watched. Joseph said that when they made the videos Jimmy gave them whisky and pills and it made them all laugh. But Owen didn’t think he would laugh. He just wanted his mum. His mum and his old bedroom. He had only come up here for a couple of days. Now it was two weeks and he was scared. He was sick of pizza and Kentucky Fried Chicken. He was sick of it all. Especially Joseph and Jimmy.

‘You’re not watching that crap again, are you?’ Jimmy’s loud voice brought Owen out of his reverie.

Jimmy walked over. His cumbersome body rippled with fat. He had on nothing but a pair of grubby underpants. Owen instinctively pulled the flimsy pyjama jacket he was wearing tightly around his body. He was not allowed to wear his own clothes.

Jimmy sat heavily on the broken-down settee. He patted the cushion beside him.

‘Come and sit beside me, let me look at that eye. You shouldn’t have annoyed me, you know, Owen. I don’t like hurting my boys. I just want to look after them, that’s all.’ McDougall’s voice had the sing-song quality that Owen was beginning to loathe, along with everything else about the man. He was aware that Jimmy was trying to talk him into doing what he wanted.

‘Come on, Owen, you know it makes sense. Think of all the money you’d have if you just played along with me ... I give Joseph ten pounds a day to spend on what he likes. And how many twelve year olds do you know on money like that, eh? Answer me that then. Over seventy quid a week I give him sometimes. And all me other boys. I’ve got loads of boys you know . . . all ages and sizes.’ Jimmy’s voice had taken on a threatening inflection. It was a veiled threat but not wasted on Owen all the same.

‘Some of my bigger boys are very nasty, you know, Owen, and if they thought that someone, especially someone young and green, was taking the piss they would be very annoyed. ’Cos they love me, you see.’

Owen was half relieved and half scared when a discreet tap came on the front door. Happy because it took Jimmy away from him, and scared in case it was some of the bigger boys that he’d just been talking about. Jimmy leapt off the sofa and pulled on a reasonably clean pair of trousers from the floor. Then, smoothing his hair with his hands, he went to the front door.