The Ladykiller (60 page)

He polished through the house and hoovered thoroughly. He changed the sheets on his bed, and the counterpane, then made himself an omelette. He glanced at the clock. It was seven fifteen.

Washing up his plate, he left it to drain. He went into the lounge, closed the curtains and put on the lamp. He turned on the television and put on channel 3, then page 251 on the Ceefax. He studied the holidays first, imagining himself in Thailand with some little Thai woman. He had read somewhere that you could pick up a bar girl for about two dollars a night. One day he would treat himself to that. It was a pity Elaine hadn’t had a heart attack or something. He could have claimed the insurance money.

He flicked to the page of cheap flights. He saw what he wanted immediately: ORLANDO FLYDRIVE 21 NIGHTS 23 FEB.

Friday.

He would turn up at Edith’s house, telling her how Elaine had left him for another man. In her delight at seeing him so unexpectedly, she would soon forget why he was actually there. He would have to box clever this end though, with Elaine’s friends, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it. It’s a shame her parents were dead. He could have said she was staying with them.

He picked up the phone by his side and dialled the number on the screen. People were there to take your calls until nine thirty. Within five minutes he was booked on a flight, had paid with his credit card and arranged to pick up his tickets and visa at Gatwick Airport.

He replaced the receiver and sat back in the chair. Tomorrow night he had his leaving do. He would go to that. That left tomorrow and Thursday to sort out the final details. He sighed with contentment.

Busy, busy, that was him. For the first time in his life he was at the centre of things and he loved it. He was in total control.

George phoned work at ten on Wednesday morning. He asked politely for Mrs Denham and waited nervously until her voice crackled over the line.

‘Hello?’

‘Mrs Denham, it’s George Markham here.’

The line went quiet and he rushed on.

‘I want to apologise about the other day. I’m afraid it all came as rather a shock . . .’

His voice was as sweet as honey.

‘I understand. I think we had a communication breakdown somewhere.’ George could hear the smile in her voice. ‘If you would prefer not to come back to work, I can arrange it for you.’ Her voice was hesitant again now.

‘Is that really possible? Only my wife is dreadfully ill . . .’

‘Of course, I’ll arrange it immediately.’

George sensed that she was glad to be rid of him and his mouth set in a grim line.

‘About the money . . .’

‘Oh, that will be paid into your bank account in about three weeks’ time. That’s the earliest I can manage it, I’m afraid.’

‘That’s fine. Lovely. Thank you very much.’

‘You’re welcome. And good luck.’

‘Thank you, ’bye.’

Josephine Denham replaced the telephone and felt a moment of exquisite pleasure. What she was doing for George Markham was not strictly allowed, but to get rid of that man she would do anything. He gave her the creeps. She wanted him paid off and out as soon as possible.

Tony Jones was nervous. He had been in Grantley since ten thirty in the morning, acclimatising himself to the place. What a dump! In Tony’s estimation, the Smoke was the only place to be. All these green fields disturbed him. Full of cow shit more than likely.

He sat in the Wimpy Bar in the town centre and watched people coming and going for the blood testing. He licked his lips again, his hand going nervously to the passport in his jacket pocket. He had paid out a good slice of wedge for it, and had yet to recoup the money from George Markham. He felt an insane urge to walk into the police vehicle nearby and tell them he knew who the Grantley Ripper was. He knew it was the decent thing to do. But Tony Jones loved money more than anything.

He wanted the three thousand from George and then he would go and see Kelly and do some kind of deal. He knew Pat Kelly well enough to know that if he found out Tony had had the Ripper’s name and had not furnished him with it immediately, then Tony Jones was as good as dead. Besides, there was the money Kelly was offering . . .

He’d get this blood testing out of the way first, then he would approach Kelly.

It was lunchtime and Tony noticed that the line of men going in for blood testing was getting longer. In their lunch hour? Tony shook his head in wonder. If he was one of them he would use it as an excuse to skive off for an afternoon or morning.

People amazed him, they really did. They never had their eye on the main chance.

He ordered another coffee and watched. It was going to be a long day.

George had bathed and felt rosy and pink. That’s what his mother used to say. Rosy and pink after a nice hot bath. He dressed himself in a pair of pyjamas that had seen better days, and putting on his slippers set about getting the ladder so he could go once more up into the loft.

Elaine was still hanging there and George smiled at her. Poor thing! She must be frozen. Then, going to the corner of the loft, he rubbed his hands together and stood staring at the water tank.

Elaine’s final resting place.

The houses in George’s street had been built before the war and still boasted the old sixty-gallon water tanks. Most of the houses in the road had been modernised, but George and Elaine had never really bothered with theirs. The water tanks were so big, they’d been put in before the roof of the house went on. Consequently, when people modernised, they had to leave the old galvanised water tank in the loft, as there was no way to remove it. In George and Elaine’s case, it still provided the water for the toilet and bath, and they had a small floor-mounted boiler in their kitchen to run the central heating. George lifted the lid off the tank and stared down into the water. A dead mouse floated on top. He picked it up by its tail and threw it into the corner, shuddering.

The tank was four feet by three feet and about three feet deep. George felt a moment of panic. Suppose she wouldn’t fit?

Putting the hatch back, so he could move about more freely, George turned on the lights and began the job of getting Elaine’s body down from the block and tackle. She dropped with a loud thud on to the dusty floor and he began the difficult task of dragging her to the tank.

The loft had been boarded out and around the sides were boxes of old photographs and clothes, old curtains, even an iron bedstead, unscrewed and leaning gently against the roof joists.

George dragged her body, his pyjamas already sweat-stained and covered in dust, over to the tank. Then, with a mighty heave, he pulled her up off the floor and pushed her head first inside. The water immediately overflowed from the tank and George cursed. The icy cold shock took his breath away. He lifted Elaine’s legs and tried to push her into the tank. He tried to bend her in two but her fat belly would not allow this and still the water was spilling out everywhere. His slippers were soaked as were his pyjamas. The water was funnelling into the black sacks and making it even more difficult for him to grasp hold of her.

In the end, in sheer temper, he dragged her out of the tank and dumped her unceremoniously on to the soaked floor. His heart was crashing in his chest and he put his hand on it, feeling the thudding sensation of life with satisfaction.

Then he heard a low gurgling sound and his heart stopped dead. He flicked his head towards Elaine’s body. Her face was on the floor, the skin squeezed up into grey wrinkles, and water was running out of the side of her mouth. All the gasses inside her and the trapped air were dislodged with the intake of water and she actually sounded as if she was groaning.

George felt a moment’s sick apprehension before it dawned on him what was happening.

He prodded her with his slippered foot and she groaned again, accompanied this time by a loud breaking of wind.

He grinned, all the fear leaving him.

He had thought she was still alive!

He knew she would kill him for leaving her trussed up like a chicken overnight.

He began to laugh, a high cackling sound bordering on hysteria. She made the watery gurgle again and he had to sit on the edge of the water tank, tears streaming down his face. Oh, he hadn’t had so much fun in ages.

He wiped his eyes with his hands and laughed himself hoarse. Then, finally, he calmed.

It was a quick change. From roaring good humour his face closed up and a cold calculating look appeared.

He knew what he had done wrong. He hadn’t drained the water.

Picking up the ballcock in the water tank, he tied it with a piece of string so it was against the side of the tank. Then he opened the loft hatch and went down to the bathroom, opening the taps in the sink and bath. He did the same in the kitchen. He put the kettle on and had a coffee. His wet pyjamas were making him feel cold now and he slipped his overcoat over them to keep warm.

He drank hot coffee gratefully and then went back to work. The tank was empty now. He dragged Elaine up the side and pushed her into it head first. Then he went around the other side and, dragging her under her oxters, sat her upright in it, forcing her legs inside. Then he pushed her head down between her knees and shoved with all his might. She stayed as she was.

In the process of dragging her inside, the ballcock was dislodged from where he had tied it on the joist and he placed it now at the small of Elaine’s back. It was far enough away from the water line there.

Finally George picked up the lid and popped it on the tank. He was happy again.

He tidied up the loft as best he could and then dropped himself down on to the landing. He had better get himself cleaned up. He was going out tonight.

He put the water back on and ran himself another bath. George’s mind was on the night ahead.

Elaine was forgotten now as the water tank began to fill slowly, very slowly, because the ballcock was trapped in the small of her back.

Tony Jones sat in the small Portacabin, nervously practising the answers to the questions he knew they would ask.

He was so nervous that when they asked him his name he nearly said ‘Tony Jones’. Now they were calling for George Markham and he was sitting there wondering why no one answered. He stood up uncertainly.

‘Sorry, I was miles away.’ He smiled at the two men.

‘This way, sir.’

He followed them into the tiny office next door and sat down.

‘My name’s Doctor Halliday and I will be taking your blood. Would you mind removing your jacket, please?’

Tony smiled widely.

She wasn’t a bad-looking sort. Bit on the thin side, but then, educated women always were. Or so he’d found, anyway.

He removed his jacket and rolled up the sleeve of his shirt, sorry now that he had not put on a cleaner one. He was conscious of the smell of stale sweat under his arms. He saw the doctor wrinkle her nose and felt himself blush. The older of the two policemen smiled at him and sat carelessly on the desk. Tony guessed he was enjoying his discomfort and frowned.

Bloody Filth, they were all the same. He concentrated on the job in hand.

‘Right, Mr Markham, where do you work?’

Tony took a deep breath and grimaced as the needle was plunged into his vein.

‘I work at Kortone Separates.’

‘Address?’

‘Units 16 to 38, Grantley Industrial Estate.’

‘Phone number?’

‘04022 795670.’

Tony felt the doctor swab his arm and apply a small round plaster. He began to roll down his sleeve, glad to be putting his jacket on again. The other policeman came into the room. He smiled at the doctor, nodded at Tony and spoke to his colleague.

‘He’s the last one, we can shut up shop now.’

‘Thank Christ. You going down the pub?’

‘Yeah. Shall I get you a pint in?’

‘All right, see you in about ten minutes.’

Tony was amazed as how easy it was.

The other man left and the policeman turned to Tony again. ‘Got any identification please, sir?’

He produced the passport from his pocket and the man glanced at it then took the passport number down.

‘Would you sign this, sir, and then you can go.’

Tony signed the declaration and was outside the Portakabin within thirty seconds.

He couldn’t believe it! No wonder they couldn’t catch the Grantley Ripper. After what he had just witnessed, he would he amazed if they could catch the bus!

Shaking his head, he made his way to his car. He was meeting George at eight thirty. He looked at his watch. It was just after seven. Give him time to get a few drinks down him. He needed them.

George was ready. He checked himself over once more in the mirror and smiled.

Not bad. Not bad at all. He smoothed his scanty hair down with the palms of his hands and grinned. He was in the mood for an outing now. He was going on his holidays the day after tomorrow and the thought cheered him. Elaine was gone from his thoughts.

He imagined Edith’s face when he knocked on her door. He felt a little jiggle of excitement inside his chest. It was going to be a wonderful holiday.

He locked the house up carefully before leaving and drove out to the Lion Rampant. He arrived there just after seven thirty and walked into the deserted bar. Tony Jones was sitting tucked away in the corner. George walked to him and sat down opposite.

‘You’re early.’

‘So I am. Would you like another drink?’ Tony nodded, nonplussed at the gaiety in George’s voice.

‘I’ll have a large Scotch.’

George went up to the bar and got the drinks. When they were settled he smiled at Tony.

‘Got the passport?’

‘You got the money?’ Tony’s voice was hard and George pursed his lips.

‘It’s in the car.’

‘Well, go and get it then.’

‘Don’t be silly, the barman’s watching us like a hawk. People remember things, you know. He’ll remember seeing us exchanging envelopes. No, we do the business outside.’

Tony screwed up his eyes and sipped his drink. It made sense.

‘All right. I took the test. I tell you now it was difficult. They asked me lots of awkward questions . . .’