The Ladykiller (55 page)

He took another long drink of his spritzer.

‘It has nothing to do with you any more, Dan. My life’s my own. I’m working on a big case . . .’

‘Nothing to do with me? When my child is being neglected!’

Kate grabbed his hand and pushed it back on to the table with such force the glass he was holding spilt its contents over the red sweater.

‘You listen to me, Danny Burrows. I put up with more than enough crap from you over the years, but this time, boy, it’s over. It stops. If I lose my job, who’s going to pay my mortgage? Not you, that’s for certain. You couldn’t pay your own way in a million years. That’s why you fuck the Antheas of this world. You’re a ponce, Dan, and I will not stand back and let you make a mockery of my life like you have of your own. I’m warning you . . .’

Kate was getting annoyed. She had known this was useless and now wondered why she had even tried to get him to see her side of it; he was incapable of real feeling. Intelligent feeling.

‘You’re warning me? That’s a turn up for the book. You should be down on your bended knees, girl, because at this moment in time, I -’ he poked himself in the chest - ‘can make or break you, Kate Burrows. Your career is in the palm of my hand.’

He held his hand in front of her face and clenched it into a fist.

Kate saw how much he was enjoying himself, and was saddened. Once, a long time ago, this man had been the most important thing in her life. She had slept with him, cooked for him and had his child; he had walked out on her and she had held a torch for him for so long. Now, she was seeing him as her mother had seen him and she felt that her life had been wasted because she would not let go of her futile dreams for too long.

She stood and picked up her cigarettes and bag.

‘Where do you thing you’re going?’

‘This is getting us nowhere. You make all these accusations about me yet you can prove nothing. You know something, Dan? You bore me. You bore the arse off of me. I only wish I’d realised it ten years ago.’

She walked from the pub and Dan followed her. Outside in the gravel car park he caught up with her and, grabbing her arm, swung her round to face him. He slapped her. Not hard, but a stinging slap.

It was then he saw Willy and Patrick.

Kate saw his face change in the gloomy light of the car park and turned to see Patrick running across the gravel towards them.

‘You fucking bitch, you set me up!’

As Dan turned to make his way to his car, Willy caught up with him and Kate watched as Dan was dragged towards Patrick’s BMW. A young couple pulled into the car park and got out of their car. They were watching Dan and Willy, a shocked look on their faces. Kate went to them and got out her ID. ‘Grantley police, we’re apprehending a known drug dealer. Did you happen to see anyone on the road as you drove here?’

Both shook their heads, not wanting to get involved. Patrick walked sedately to the BMW with Kate, taking her arm and nodding at the couple. Willy had already forced Dan inside. Kate felt as if she was caught up in a nightmare. She went to the car and got in the front, Patrick got in the back with Dan, Willy wheelspun out of the car park and on to the Grantley Road. Kate twisted in her seat and looked at Dan. He was terrified.

Willy slowed the car and Patrick lit a cigarette. He passed it to Kate in the front seat and then lit one for himself. He puffed on it until the end glowed bright red.

Kate watched him and he winked at her.

Then he grabbed Dan’s hair and held the cigarette a fraction of an inch away from his eyeball.

‘I could blind you, Danny boy, I could blind you without even thinking about it.’ Kate went to say something and Willy put his hand on her leg to warn her to keep silent.

Patrick carried on talking in his sing-song voice and Kate watched, fascinated now, as Danny sat stock still. Not moving a muscle.

‘You see, you’ve annoyed me, and when I get annoyed I do terrible things. I could even cripple someone if they annoyed me enough. And you have annoyed me, Danny boy, believe me.’

‘Wh-Wh-What do you want?’ Dan’s voice was high as a schoolgirl’s.

‘I think you know what I want, I think you know what your wife wants. And I think you know we’re going to get it. Because if needs be, I will hunt this country high and low for you, Danny, and I’ll get you in the end. Like AIDS I am. You won’t even know I’m there for years, but when I do show up the consequences will be devastating. Do you get my drift?’

Dan swallowed loudly. Kate heard it above the low drone of the car engine.

‘Yes.’

‘So you’re going to be a good boy and tell the CIB that you gave them a load of old cod’s, ain’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Right. Willy, stop the car and let the man out.’

Patrick took the cigarette away from Danny’s face and flicked the ash on the floor.

Willy stopped the car. Leaning over Dan, Patrick opened the door and pushed him out violently on to the road. He shut the door as they pulled away, leaving Dan lying in the road, so frightened he thought he was going to wet himself. He saw his overcoat being thrown out of the window and felt the sting of tears.

Kate had sat there and let it happen. He couldn’t believe it.

But one thing was certain: he was going to do what Kelly said. As he had always admitted to himself, he was not the hero kind.

Kate stared out of the car, not sure if what she had witnessed had really happened.

‘All right, Kate?’ Patrick’s voice was low.

She nodded.

He sighed. It was a shame they had had to do it in front of her.

‘Look at it this way, Kate, if I hadn’t’ve frightened him - and that’s all I did, frighten him - you could kiss your job goodbye. He asked for that, girl. He damn’ well asked for it.’

‘Could you take me back to my car, please?’

‘Turn the car round, Willy, Kate wants to get home.’

Patrick had a feeling of utter futility. He had been trying to help her, but maybe he had gone too far. Sometimes he forgot that she was from a different world. This night would make or break them, he knew that, but either way she still had her job and that, he knew, meant a lot to her. He had given her that much at least.

Kate was still shaking when she got home. She went upstairs and locked herself in the bathroom, running herself a hot bath. She stepped into it and lay there, trying to work out her troubled thoughts.

Tonight she had seen another side to Patrick Kelly. It had not endeared him to her. She was finally seeing exactly what she was taking on, and it was frightening.

But for all that, in a funny kind of way, she had enjoyed seeing Dan get his comeuppance. All those years of being hurt by him, of knowing that he had used her. Seeing the contempt he had for her tonight had hurt her more than she had thought possible. He had enjoyed having something over her. She had not enjoyed what Patrick had done to him, but she had enjoyed seeing Dan’s fear, seeing him grovel like that.

It was these feelings that frightened her more than anything.

George had had an accident. He had dropped his hot chocolate all over the living-room carpet and had spent the best part of an hour cleaning it. He had gone to the shed and got the Bex Bissel, starting to clean the carpet. Then the patch where the stain had been looked cleaner than the rest and he had ended up cleaning the whole carpet. Now, three hours later, he was finally finished and he was wondering if he still had time to watch his film when he heard the low throb of a taxi. He looked through the curtains as Elaine paid the man clumsily. She was as drunk as a lord.

The bloody bitch!

He watched her lurch from the taxi, clutching her bag, and trying to walk up the cement pathway to the front door. He could hear her fumbling for her keys and trying to place them in the lock. Everything seemed magnified a thousand times. The front door banged open and he heard her heavy footfalls approaching the lounge. He sat on an armchair waiting for her to come into the room, but she passed by it and made her way into the kitchen.

He heard the click of the fluorescent lights and her heels clattering on the linoleum, then he grimaced as he heard her retch into the spotlessly clean sink.

He stood up slowly and followed her. Standing in the doorway, he watched her back and shoulders heaving as she brought up port and brandy into the white sink.

He walked to her.

He saw the deep red stains in the sink like clotted blood and turned on the cold tap. He watched mesmerised as the stain became a light pink before swirling around and down the plug into the sewer.

Picking up a tea towel, he soaked it in cold water and placed it on Elaine’s forehead. Then, holding the back of her neck tightly as she tried to push him away, he brought the sopping wet cloth down over her nose and mouth and pushed with all his might.

Elaine breathed in and felt the tiny droplets of water enter her nasal canal and burn as she breathed them inside. She tried to move her head and felt the vice-like grip of George’s hand on the back of her neck.

She began to struggle as she realised through her drink-fuddled brain just what was going on.

George held the tea towel over her face, enjoying her panic, enjoying the pain and terror he was creating. This would teach her.

In her struggle Elaine knocked the mug rack by the sink flying on to the floor. The smashing mugs bounced and shattered, making a tremendous noise as the flying shards reached every corner of the kitchen.

George pushed her head down and under the rushing cold tap. The freezing water took the little breath she had left away. With one final surge of strength Elaine tried to bring her head up and felt the deadening pain as she came into contact with the stainless steel tap.

George heard the dull clang, and watched as red blood rapidly began to stain her orange hair. He felt her body relax as she lost consciousness, and held her for a few seconds. Then he slowly lowered her on to the floor, letting the tea towel drop from his hand into the sink.

Elaine lay on the floor amid the broken mugs. Her carefully applied make-up was streaked across her face. Mascara had come away from her lashes in lumps and now peppered the skin around her nose and cheeks. The deep red blood was running from the wound on her head and on to the pristine tiles into little red rivers that broke up and formed tiny map-like inlets.

George stared at her. Her orange hair was in wild disarray and her dress was soaked through. Her eyelids were flickering and when they opened he could see that she was unaware of what exactly had happened.

She closed her eyes again and groaned loudly. It was the groan that triggered him into action.

Going behind her, he lifted her bodily by linking his arms under her arms and across her enormous breasts, and dragged her through the chaos of broken mugs through to the lounge where he laid her on the carpet. Dragging one of the lace chair protectors off, he folded it up and placed it under her head to protect the carpet from the blood.

Then, rushing out to the kitchen, he got the first-aid box from under the sink and tenderly dressed the cut. He was gratified to see it was only a flesh wound; the blood made it look more serious than it was.

He worked quietly and quickly. When he had finished, he placed a cushion under her head and slipped off her sopping dress. Then he covered her with a blanket, warm from the airing cupboard. Satisfied that he had done all he could, he went and started on the kitchen.

Sweeping up the broken mugs, the broom spread bloody water around the kitchen like an abstract painting. The different shades mesmerised George as he worked. When he finally washed the floor clean he was sorry to see it go: he liked the patterns it made and the colours it created and the smell of it - the richly scented smell of fresh blood.

He went back in to Elaine and held her pudgy hand. He had nearly blown it, he knew that. If he’d killed Elaine, that would have been the end of him. She groaned again and opened her eyes. She had been unconscious for over an hour.

‘Wha-What happened, George?’ Her voice was still groggy with drink.

He smiled at her gently.

‘I think you had too much to drink, my dear. You had an accident.’

Elaine stared at him with her compelling green eyes for a few seconds and George went cold. It was as if the whole night’s events were written in them for all to see. Then she closed them tightly.

If she remembered what had taken place she didn’t say so. George was even more worried. Supposing she did? What then?

‘Shall I make you a nice hot drink?’

Elaine nodded painfully, her hand going up to her bandaged head.

He got up from the floor and went to the kitchen, his eyes boring into every corner to make sure he had picked up every bit of evidence.

While he was gone, Elaine lay passively on the floor. Then, unannounced, a fat tear pushed its way from underneath her eyelid.

George had tried to kill her. She remembered it all. He must know about Hector.

When he came back with the steaming tea, she was crying loudly, her ample shoulders heaving once more.

Putting the tea on the table, he pulled her into his arms.

She knew.

‘I’m sorry, Elaine, I am so very sorry for what I did. I thought you had a boyfriend or something. I realise that’s ridiculous. Forgive me for a moment of madness and jealousy.’

Elaine sniffed loudly, gratified in a way that George could be jealous, but not at all sure she liked the ‘ridiculous’ bit.

He did not know for certain about Hector yet he had physically attacked her. He had hurt her.

She would have to be very careful in the future.

George watched her face and knew everything she was thinking. It was like watching a television screen. Thank God he hadn’t killed her. For the Grantley Ripper to be caught like that!

But one thing he was sure of: he would have to play this one very carefully. Elaine was not going to forget this in a hurry.

She felt the change in George and shuddered. He was like before. When they had had the trouble. Only this time it was all her fault.

She closed her eyes. Poor George.