The Ladykiller (68 page)

George listened enraptured. Oh, why hadn’t he come here before?

The journey from Orlando Airport to Lindo’s took only ten minutes and he and the other passengers were soon standing on a large lot, with their cases at their feet, waiting for their designated cars. George gave his papers to a tall slim black man and gasped with surprise when he returned driving a Chevrolet Caprice. In America this was a small compact car; to George it was on a par with a Porsche or a Ferrari.

The black man in his Lindo’s overalls showed him how to open the boot, or trunk as he called it, how to put the car on automatic cruising, how the lights worked and where the fuel tank was.

George listened raptly, smiling incessantly. The man stowed his case in the trunk and shook his head at George’s obvious pleasure.

He thanked the man and promptly opened the door and sat in the passenger seat.

The black man grinned at him.

‘Y’all better git used to drivin’ on the left, boy. Lessen’ you end up havin’ an accident.’

George got out of the car sheepishly and walked around to the driver’s side. He slipped a crisp five-dollar bill into the man’s hand.

George was elated. He had his car hire agreement tucked away safely in his pocket, he had a map of Orlando from the car hire company and a wad of dollars in his pocket. He felt like a millionaire.

He studied the map to find Edith’s address. It was on Apopka Vineland Road, Windermere, Orange County.

It was only a few miles from where he was!

He relaxed and started the car. As he drove carefully away, the little girl from the plane waved to him from her mother’s Dodge. George gave her a little wave back. She had won three pounds fifty off him eventually.

He pulled out on to Sandlake Road and started the journey to his sister’s, full of excitement.

The sights and sounds around him astounded his eyes and ears. Big billboards proclaimed the delights of ‘Wet’n’Wild’, ‘Disney World’, ‘Universal Studios’ and ‘Gatorland’, which he already knew about.

George drank it all in.

He drove past large shopping malls that put English shopping centres to shame. He saw tanned, healthy-looking people, milling around car parks, either getting in or out of cars. Someone on the plane had said that no one walked anywhere out here and George now understood why.

It was much too big.

He turned on his radio and caught the lunchtime news. He shook his head in wonder.

It was five o’clock in England now. The wonder of the aeroplane! In eight and a half hours he had travelled thousands of miles to another time zone.

He pulled into a large car park and studied his map. He was nearly there. Unlike in England, American roads had large signs going across them with the place names written in black lettering. It was almost impossible to get lost. No straining the eyes to find the road sign as you passed the corner of the road here. Oh, no. The name of the road was emblazoned across it!

He had only two more sets of traffic lights to go and then he was there.

He drove out of the car park and resumed his journey. Americans seeing the ‘Dollar’ sign on the car made allowances for him and waved good naturedly.

George beamed back at them, full of camaraderie. He liked Americans.

He drove into Apopka Vineland Road. It was clearly residential, but not what he’d imagined. The houses were large and beautiful. Edith lived at number 22620. George could not imagine a house number so big. He drove along the quiet road slowly, taking in his surroundings.

Edith and Joss must have done very well indeed to be able to afford to live here. He thought of Joseph’s large house back in England. It looked like a shack compared to the properties here. The numbers were in the 22600s now and George felt excitement pound within him.

Then he saw it.

He stopped the car and stared at Edith’s house. It was large, like all the others, and set well back from the road. It had a long, sweeping drive that led up to a whitewood house that positively sprawled. It had to be at least eighty feet across. It had a deep cherry red roof from the centre of which rose a turret with windows round it, like an observatory. The windows all over the house had cherry red shutters and the double front door was cherry red as well. The gardens alongside the drive sloped down to the road and were a riot of shrubs and trees. George could see a lemon tree with a white seat beneath it. The lawns were cut to perfection and he could hear the faint sounds of the sprinklers as they watered the ground.

He wished his mother was sitting in the back, so she could see how well Edith had done for herself. But only for a second. If his mother had been here, the day would have been ruined.

She ruined everything.

He would send her a photograph of the house, though, to annoy her. He drove cautiously up the drive to the front door and stopped the car.

Then pandemonium broke out.

Two large Dobermans appeared around the side of the house as if by magic. George saw two sets of teeth coming towards him and immediately set about closing the electric windows, the dogs’ ferocious barking sending chills of fear through him.

Then he heard a female voice. ‘Dante . . . Inferno . . . Here, boys.’ The two dogs immediately stopped in their tracks and ran towards the sound, their small stumpy tails like lather brushes wagging as they made their way to the woman standing by the side of the house. It was Edith.

A changed Edith.

She was wearing a white dress with a thick black belt around her waist and black high-heeled shoes. She was slim and curvaceous. George was amazed. Edith had never had breasts. She looked better now than she had twenty years ago. He watched her put up her hand to shield her eyes as she tried to see who was in the car.

He opened the door and stepped out.

The bigger of the two dogs made as if to run at him and Edith called it back.

‘Hello, Edith. Long time no see.’

He watched happily as her eyes opened wide and her mouth curved into a grin.

‘George?’ Her voice was husky with emotion.

He nodded and then she was running towards him and into his arms, the dogs following, sensing that he was a friend.

‘Oh, George . . . George! It’s so good to see you. Why didn’t you ring me and let me know you were coming? Where’s Elaine? How’s everything back home?’

The words were tumbling out, tripping over each other as Edith led him into her house. Her heart was bursting with happiness. She had experienced so much with George, he was her closest relative. Her childhood confidant. The only part of life in England that she regretted leaving. Now he was here with her, her happiness knew no bounds.

George held her arm tightly as they walked into the beautiful house, a lump of emotion in his throat.

There was nothing like family.

Patrick and Willy were driving back to Grantley.

‘I’m telling you, Pat, she was nuttier than a squirrel’s posing pouch. And that bloke Joseph weren’t much better.’

Patrick nodded absently. It had been a waste of time. They had known nothing.

But the man had to be somewhere. If he used his credit card then Patrick would be on to him. Oh, he knew all the faces that could help him. He wasn’t a repoman for nothing. He could find just about anyone, given time.

But time was something he didn’t have.

If Kate found out who the Ripper was, then the police would be looking for Markham as well. He could still get to him in prison, but it wouldn’t have the personal touch. And Pat wanted to do this job himself.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Patrick answered the telephone. A female voice came down the line.

‘Mr Kelly?’

He yawned. ‘Speaking.’

‘I’m Louella Parker from Colmby Credit. I have some information regarding a Mr George Markham.’

Patrick felt a surge of excitement.

‘Go on.’

‘Subject to the usual terms, of course.’ The woman’s voice was crisp. ‘I do rather put myself out for these things.’

‘All right, all right, don’t make a meal of it. If you tell me what I want to know you’ll get the dosh.’

The woman cleared her throat delicately and he was glad for a moment that she was on the other end of a phone line, otherwise he would have grabbed her throat and shaken the information out of her.

‘George Markham booked a flight to Orlando by credit card on the twentieth of this month. He was due to leave on the twenty-third. The company he travelled with was Tropical Tours.’

Patrick was stunned.

The dirty bastard had outwitted him!

‘Mr Kelly, are you still there?’

‘What? Oh, yeah. Sorry.’

‘I trust that’s what you wanted to know?’

‘Oh . . . yes. Yes. You’ll get the money, Miss Parker, in the usual way.’

While the woman thanked him, he put the phone down gently and stared out of the library window.

He’d gone to the States?

Patrick began looking through the phone book for the number of Tropical Tours. Once he had established the flight number and whether or not George Markham had been aboard, he would plan his next move.

Frederick Flowers scanned the sea of faces in front of him. He always felt nervous when addressing the press. You never quite knew what you would be asked.

‘Is this the work of the Grantley Ripper?’ The scruffy, bearded man stared into Flowers’s face.

‘I really cannot divulge that sort of information, as well you know. At the moment we are liaising with the Kent Constabulary to ascertain whether it is the same person.’

‘Why is Detective Inspector Kate Burrows here, then? Do you think that a female officer might handle the case differently? Better?’

Flowers made a conscious effort not to screw up his eyes in annoyance.

‘Detective Inspector Burrows is a very capable police woman, she is respected by her colleagues and myself. Her sex has nothing to do with it.’

The female reporter pressed on, undeterred. ‘Nevertheless, it is unusual for a female DI to be on a case of this size.’

‘My dear girl, I assume you are writing with a feminist slant? Well, can I go on record as saying that we are here to trap a cold-blooded callous murderer, not to discuss sexual politics.’ He turned from the woman and looked around. ‘Who’s next?’

The reporters laughed.

‘Have you any idea at all who the man is? Any leads?’ a booming voice called from the back.

‘Was the child molested at all?’ called another.

Kate followed Caitlin out of the building and to their car. Caitlin lit one of his cigars.

‘It’s funny you know, Kate, but why would the man come here?’

‘I thought that, Kenny. I wondered if maybe he was visiting over this way. Could he work here maybe? Has he family in the area? The murders in Grantley were obviously done by someone who knows the neighbourhood. Maybe he lives here now but was brought up in Grantley? Why kill the child so brutally?’

Caitlin shook his head.

‘The blood testing is backlogged, did you hear?’

Kate nodded. ‘I heard. We need more manpower on it.’ ‘It’s the results that are taking all the time. Still, we’ll keep at it. Time’s the one thing we haven’t got, but it’s also all we’ve got, if you get my meaning.’

Kate smiled wanly.

‘I keep thinking of that child. How can we not have anything to go on? Jesus Christ!’

‘Look, girl, Peter Sutcliffe took years to find. Then there was Dennis Nilsen. He was even cooking the poor fuckers’ heads and no one would have found him if he hadn’t blocked up his drains with human flesh. Murderers like this only get caught quickly in books and on TV. Real life is a different thing altogether. This man is probably discussing the murders with his family, friends, workmates, acting like he’s as shocked as them. But underneath it all he’s laughing at them and us. Oh, yes, especially us. He’ll read the papers and grin all over his face.

‘But you mark my words, he’ll do something wrong and when he does make a mistake, we’ll be waiting for him. And do you know the first thing I’m going to do?’

‘What?’

Caitlin leaned towards her and grinned.

‘I’m going to smack him once for every corpse that I’ve seen with his handiwork on it and twice as hard and as long for the child. It’s what will keep me going.’

Kate turned from him. Before she could answer the reporters began filtering out of police headquarters and she started the car. The last thing she wanted was to get caught by them.

Caitlin’s words troubled her though. More than she cared to admit. She was aware that any suspect they had now could be in great danger. James Redcar had put a different light on this inquiry altogether. Everyone knew that even criminals had their own code of conduct when it came to a child murderer. As soon as the Grantley Ripper was identified, there’d be more than just the police out to get him. She just hoped they could get to him first.

As she drove back towards the Dartford Tunnel she saw a plane taking off from Gatwick and sighed.

How she wished she was on it.

Patrick went back through Elaine’s address book and grinned. Willy grinned back.

‘He’s gone to his sister’s. Well, we can soon put a stop to his gallop. Get me Shaun O’Grady on the blower, I’ve just had a great idea.’

While Willy dialled, Patrick poured out a fresh cup of coffee. He had the man now. He was convinced of it.

He thought fleetingly of Kate. If she ever found out what he was going to do, she would never forgive him.

His mouth hardened. This had nothing to do with Kate, this was family business.

He sipped the hot coffee and lit a cigarette. Willy handed the phone to him.

‘Shaun? It’s me, Patrick, how are you?’

Shaun O’Grady sat in his luxurious home in Miami and whooped with delight.

‘Hiya, Pat. How’s tricks?’

‘I’ve got some trouble, Shaun, family trouble.’

Shaun O’Grady pushed the woman beside him away. He pulled himself up to a sitting position and gestured to her to light him a cigarette.

‘What kind of family trouble?’

‘It’s Mandy. My Mandy. She’s dead.’

‘Dead?’ O’Grady’s gravelly voice was disbelieving.