The Ladykiller (72 page)

‘Are you sure it was a Rolls Royce?’

‘’Course I’m sure. I just said so, didn’t I?’ His strident voice was beginning to get on the PCs’ nerves.

‘You want to get a plumber in, boys, that overflow’s going to do some damage, I tell you. Well, I’m off home. I only live next door if you need me.’

He left the house, shaking his head sadly. He had expected detectives at least.

PC Dendy radioed the break-in to the information room. The duty officer sent a constable to Lowprice to speak to Mrs Markham and was told she had been off sick for a week. The constable had then gone to Kortone Separates and been told Mr Markham had recently retired.

Puzzled, he radioed both messages in, and the desk sergeant, being a suspicious man, had a talk with plain clothes. There was more going on here than met the eye. Rolls Royces turning up in the middle of the night? Holes cut in windows and the video still in the front room? Neither occupant of the house to be found? One sick and one retired? It didn’t add up.

Caitlin was told about the mysterious case in his coffee break and would have laughed if it hadn’t been for one thing: the Rolls Royce. A deep red Rolls Royce, Kelly’s car.

He got the address from the desk sergeant and drove around to Bychester Road himself. The PCs were surprised to see him.

‘Has anyone been back yet?’

‘No, sir. It doesn’t look as if anything’s been taken.’

‘I want you to search this place thoroughly. The house and the shed and the garage. Thoroughly, mind.’

‘What are we looking for, sir?’

Caitlin smiled. ‘That’s just it, lads. I don’t really know.’

He was outside in his car smoking one of his cigars when a PC came outside and tapped on the window.

‘I think you’d better have a look at this, sir, I don’t know if it means anything.’

Caitlin followed him through the house and up the garden to the shed. There were all George’s magazines and scrapbooks.

Caitlin nodded to himself. His hunch has been right. There was only one thing wrong: it seemed Patrick Kelly had found the Grantley Ripper first.

He went out to his car and radioed in.

Kate was there within ten minutes with her squad. They began systematically to tear the house apart. No one was really sure what they were looking for until DS Willis and DS Spencer went up into the loft.

‘Cor! What’s that bloody awful smell?’

Spencer turned on the light as he spoke and Willis pulled the lid off the water tank.

Spencer watched as he staggered backwards, his hands over his mouth, until he dropped out of sight through the loft entrance.

The other detective sergeant went to the tank and put his handkerchief over his nose.

Elaine was lying on her side, her head at an impossible angle. Her eyes were milky white and bulbous. Her waterlogged skin was purple-grey and swollen.

He fainted just as Kate and Caitlin climbed into the loft. Kate called through the hatch: ‘Someone get up here and remove Spencer, please, and call the pathologist.’

Kate and Caitlin took one glance at Elaine and then looked at each other. This was the Grantley Ripper’s home all right, complete with dead wife.

The only question was, where was George Markham?

In Caitlin’s mind there was another question. Where the hell was Kelly?

He made a mental note to have the Rolls Royce part omitted from the next-door neighbour’s statement. Until he knew more, anyway.

He stared at Kate, a look of sadness on his face. She instinctively put her hand on his arm, assuming that he was sad for the poor woman in front of them.

It never occurred to her that the sympathy could have been for her.

The mood in the incident room was one of pure elation.

They had the Grantley Ripper.

Kate allowed Caitlin to give her a glass of whisky. Everyone was patting themselves on the back, laughing and joking.

She picked up her phone as it rang. It was Frederick Flowers, and Kate held her arms up for hush as she put the phone on to the intercom.

‘Well done, one and all. I knew you’d catch him. I’m releasing the news to the press in a couple of hours. You can all be very proud of yourselves.’

As he rang off, an almighty cheer erupted from everyone. Caitlin kissed Kate on the cheek and she hugged him. It was over. All they had to do was find him, and now they had his name, that was a formality.

Then Amanda Dawkins tapped Kate on the shoulder. The girl’s serious expression made her frown.

‘What’s up?’

‘I think you’d better put a stop to the party, ma’am. George Markham was blood tested. It was a negative.’

‘What!’

Kate’s shout cut through the noise around her and gradually it died down. She took the piece of paper from Amanda and read the results wearily.

George Markham had tested negatively.

They had been celebrating too soon.

She passed the paper to Caitlin, who stared at it for a long time.

‘Shit . . .’ The word was drawn out from between his lips.

‘I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it.’ Kate’s voice was low. She clenched her fist. ‘I thought we had him there!’

The policemen and women began to whisper amongst themselves as the news penetrated them. The atmosphere in the room went flat in a matter of seconds.

Kate took a swig of her Scotch, she needed it now. ‘So if he’s not the Grantley Ripper, he’s murdered his wife and gone on the trot. It’s a different case entirely?’

‘That’s about the strength of it, yeah.’ Caitlin’s voice was low. ‘Those videos and books, though. Jasus, I would have laid money on him being our man.’

Then another thought occurred to him.

Patrick Kelly also thought he was the man.

Kate watched him as he rushed from the room. If she had not been so disturbed by the news of George’s negative test, she might have wondered what was wrong with him.

She was more annoyed that he had left it to her to break the news to Flowers.

How could they have assumed so much before confirming it? She finished the scotch in one gulp and picked up the phone. She did not relish this job one bit.

Patrick Kelly had spoken to Caitlin and assured him that he knew nothing about a George Markham. The next-door neighbour was probably half asleep and had made a mistake. He listened to Caitlin tell him about the negative blood test and made the appropriate noises of dismay at their mistake. Then he put the phone down and smiled to himself. George Markham’s little plan had paid off.

He knew, and Tony Jones knew, that George’s blood test would have been positive. Now Tony Jones was in hospital and George Markham was about to meet his maker. All in all this hadn’t been a bad day.

Kate arrived at his house by cab two hours later.

‘Hello, Patrick. I’ve had a terrible day. Pay the silly cabman before I arrest him!’

‘Are you drunk?’ Kelly’s voice was shocked.

‘A bit. And if I have my way, I’ll be drunker.’

He took her arm and helped her across the hall and up the stairs.

‘Where are we going?’ Her voice had taken on an aggressive tone.

‘I’m going to put you in the shower, my girl. Now get up them stairs.’

Willy walked out into the hall and Kelly snapped at him, ‘She’s pissed. Pay the cab, then get her some coffee.’

Willy nodded and watched Patrick half carry and half drag a drunken Kate up the stairs.

In the bedroom, he let her flop on to the bed and began to pull her clothes off. She was compliant now. The aggression had turned to a weary resignation.

‘We thought we had him, Pat, but we didn’t. We didn’t . . . All we had was another murderer. He’d murdered his wife . . .’

‘All right, all right, calm down.’

He hoisted her naked off the bed and walked her into the en-suite bathroom. Turning on the cold tap, he held her under the shower. The freezing water made her gasp for breath and she tried to leap out of the shower tray. Patrick held her in there with difficulty, the white silk shirt he was wearing getting soaked.

‘Let the water run over you, Kate, it’ll make you feel better.’

‘You bloody bastard! Let me out of this shower now! It’s fr-fr-freezing.’

Kelly watched the goose bumps appearing all over her skin as if by magic and stifled a grin. Her nipples were enormous!

He was still holding her under the flowing water when, about five minutes later, he heard Willy bring the coffee into the bedroom. Turning off the shower, Patrick wrapped her in a large bath towel.

‘Come on then, into the bedroom.’

‘Flowers told me off good and proper today. Not Kenneth Caitlin, though. Oh, no. Only me.’

He poured out a strong coffee, but when he took it over to the bed she was already asleep.

Her long hair was plastered across her body. Droplets of water made her skin look pearly. The bath towel barely covered her. Never had she looked so vulnerable or so desirable. For a fleeting second, looking down at her, he was sorry for what he had done. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that George Markham was her man. But he could never tell her.

There was something he could do, though, and that was put Frederick Flowers in his place. The thought consoled him for a while.

Kate finally opened her eyes three hours later. She looked around her, trying to get her bearings. Then she saw Patrick.

‘Hello, love, feeling better?’

She pulled herself up on the bed.

‘I feel rough actually.’

‘I’ll ring down for some fresh coffee.’

While he called the kitchen Kate pulled the damp towel around her more tightly, catching sight of herself in the mirror opposite the bed. She frowned. She looked terrible. Patrick sat beside her on the bed.

‘I’m sorry about that Markham bloke.’

‘Oh, don’t remind me about it, please.’

He kissed her bare shoulder.

‘If only we’d checked the blood tests before we put the finger on him, Pat. I feel such a bloody fool, but I would have sworn on a stack of bibles he was our man. The snuff movies, the books. It all fitted in. He’d even been in prison for attempted rape and battery. We found that out too late as well.’

‘Well, he murdered his wife.’

Kate cut him off. ‘But did he? For all we know someone else murdered her and Markham, dumping his body elsewhere. Until we find him or his body we don’t know anything.’

Willy knocked on the door and brought in the coffee. ‘Phone call from the States, Pat.’

He leapt off the bed and out of the room. ‘Shall I pour, ma’am?’

‘Yes please, Willy. I don’t feel very steady at the moment.’

‘I paid your cab for you. You was very drunk, you know.’

‘I know.’

She took the cup from him.

‘You look like you’ve been done and left!’

Kate couldn’t help smiling. ‘I feel like it, Willy.’

He pointed a short fat finger at her. ‘Then let that be a lesson to you. Never have liked to see a woman in drink, it’s horrible.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind in future.’

Willy left the room and Kate sipped at her coffee. God knows how the others must be feeling, they had been even drunker than her. Once the initial shock had worn off they had all started in on some serious drinking. The last she remembered was Caitlin slipping off his chair. One and all they’d been blotto.

But, by Christ, why not? After the news they’d had, they damned well needed something.

She closed her eyes as frustration assailed her again. All day the picture of James Redcar’s tiny body had haunted her.

Patrick came back into the room, sat down beside her and slipped the towel from her breasts, caressing them.

‘I think me and you could do with cheering up a bit. I know a little game you might like to play. Take your mind off your troubles for a bit.’

‘What’s that?’

‘It’s called lorries and garages. I don’t know if you’ve ever played it before?’

Kate looked at him with one eyebrow raised.

‘I can’t say I have, no.’

‘Well, do you see this?’ He put her hand on his erect member. ‘This is my lorry, right. And I have to find somewhere to park it. Get my drift?’

Kate roared with laughter.

‘Oh, Patrick, I need you tonight. I need you so much.’

He looked down into her brown eyes. The lashes were glistening with tears and he felt an overwhelming sadness. Kate was hurting, and he could stop the hurt with a few words. The solving of this case was everything to her, and he could tell her everything she wanted to know.

Instead he began to kiss her, losing himself in her sweet-smelling body as he felt her respond to him. Felt her tongue slip between his lips. Her nails travel down his back and under his body to cup his testicles.

Then she was shuddering beneath him. He watched her face as she thrust her hips into him and he loved her then. Loved her to death.

Soon it would be all over, and Kate would never be any the wiser.

At least, that was his prayer.

Amanda Dawkins had stayed relatively sober. She sat on in the incident room collating everything she had about George Markham. She stared at the picture of him from his file. He had attacked a young girl on a train eighteen years earlier. It had been a vicious assault, and he had been sent to Broadmoor. He had been in and out in three years. His wife had given birth to a stillborn son, and that had helped with his release.

Amanda shook her head as she read his statement: ‘The girl was asking for it, she was smiling at me. Egging me on.’

How many times did a policeman hear that?

She looked at his picture again. At the nondescript man staring out at her. He had lifeless grey eyes and a weak, almost non-existent chin. He did not look like a sexual pervert at all. He looked like someone’s uncle.

She poured another Scotch into the paper cup by her side. They’d really thought they had him.

Her eyes travelled to the pictures on the wall. Cynthia Redcar and her young son were now added to them. The picture of the little boy’s battered face seemed to be imprinted on her mind. Who the hell could hurt a child like that?

She dragged her eyes back to the file in front of her. There had been ructions earlier over this. Caitlin and Kate had wanted to know why George Markham had not been brought to their attention. Amanda had been sorry for Willis then. He had knocked over a whole stack of files and got them all mixed up together. He had then shoved them into a filing cabinet and promptly forgotten them. It was only when they had tapped into the central computer that they had found out they had already been sent a copy of Markham’s file, along with many others. Caitlin’s swearing could be heard all over the building.