‘What do you mean, where’s Martin?’ Louise said irritably. ‘
You
picked him up! That’s why I’m so fucking livid. I walked all the way there with this lot—’
‘What are you talking about?’ Jackie interrupted her. ‘I never picked up anyone. I assumed Martin was with you. That’s what I pay you for, ain’t it? To look after me chavvies while I work.’
Louise paled. ‘Don’t fucking wind me up, Jack. I just been to the playschool and that old witch told me you took him from the playground.’
They looked at one another then, all animosity forgotten.
‘Tell me you picked him up, Jack. Don’t fuck about, this ain’t funny.’ There was a frantic note in Louise’s voice now. ‘You are such a wind-up, Jack.’
She was trying to smile and Jackie was staring at her sister in utter dismay.
‘Louise, mate, I ain’t been near the playschool.’
There was fear in her voice. The children picked up on it and started to whine. Louise pulled her sister over to a chair and sat her down.
‘I’ll phone the school, they must have made a mistake. Now calm down and I’ll sort this out, OK?’
Jackie felt her breath catching in her chest and knew she was near to panic. She had a pain in her stomach, a dull ache that was spreading all over her body. Something was dreadfully wrong, it was a mother’s instinct. She knew her boy was in trouble. It wasn’t a conscious thought, more a feeling that was growing stronger by the second. Martin was in danger somewhere and he wanted his mummy. She knew all this in a matter of seconds.
When Louise came off the phone she was quietly crying, big fat tears of anguish and terror.
‘She said you picked him up, Jack. We’d better get Old Bill, eh?’
Jackie started sobbing. The other children gathered round her, upset themselves now at this show of emotion from their mother and aunt.
‘You’ve read the papers lately, Lou. Someone’s took my boy, my little Martin.’ Jackie was hugging herself and rocking backwards and forwards. Her fear was tangible now, communicating itself to them all.
Louise phoned the police to a chorus of whimpering and tears from the younger children. She didn’t start weeping again until she had put the phone down.
Jonathon Marcus drove slowly. It was a fine day and he had made a good start. He whistled along to the radio, trying to sing when he actually knew the words.
Jonathon was in love. He had met a man at last! A macho man, one with a hairy chest, a deep laugh and thick dark permed hair. Even his name was perfect. He was another John. They were already being referred to as the two Johns!
Jonathon had only been seeing him for two weeks, but they had so much in common. They liked the same films, the same music - even the same food. It was as if he had waited all his life for this moment.
The day seemed brighter, the world seemed lighter, and he couldn’t stop smiling. He turned up the radio and listened to the sound of the Carpenters. He flashed another lorry and waved. If only the other drivers knew! But he managed to keep himself to himself even though he knew they referred to him as Queer John behind his back. He smiled again. They guessed, but no one had ever asked him outright what his sexual preferences were.
He was six three, well-muscled, and could have a row if he had to. He was twenty-seven years old and was what he liked to refer to as a New Gay man. He could take care of himself and people were wary of him. But he had proved himself to be a hard worker, a good bloke and a bit of a laugh. He had even recently been propositioned at work by another driver in the toilets at Granada Services, and that had cracked him right up. The man was OK and before John he might have been tempted. But not now.
He shook his head. He didn’t need encounters like that any more. He’d just had a wonderful few days. They had gone to a party on the Friday night, had had lunch together on Saturday, and then - this was what he couldn’t believe - they’d had lunch with John’s parents on the Sunday, where the two men’s sexuality was known, accepted and never referred to, just as if they were a regular couple!
That had never happened to him before. Ever.
He knew he should tell his family. His elder sister had already guessed but Elaine was good-hearted. She never said anything outright but let him know in her own way that it was OK by her. He knew she would love him whatever, but his mother and father . . . Now there was a different story.
His father thought that gays should see a doctor and get cured. He thought they were diseased. As for his mother! Jesus, whatever her husband thought, then so did she. If she asked Jonathon once more when he was going to find a nice girl he would scream. He had found his life-mate, he was sure of it. And after meeting John’s family and experiencing their easy acceptance he had realised just what a lie he was living every day and how difficult that lie was becoming.
Only this morning his mother was going on about Lorraine Felton and how she was always after him. Even if he was straight he wouldn’t give her a second glance. She was a big fat cow with a mouth like nobody’s business! Talking through her nose and describing everything as ‘phenomenal’ in that Essex bloody twang.
Still, he knew his mother meant well.
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. He usually liked the journey to Cologne. Christ knows he had driven it enough times. He was dropping off for UPS and picking up sausages as usual. A nice easy run. Boat from Folkestone, over to Calais, on to Cologne and home again. Only now he was coming home to John!
Approaching the dock road, he slowed the lorry right down. It was heavy and he knew that the slope on the approach could really give you hassle if you were going too fast. Jonathon grinned at the thought of flying into the sea. Especially in his new Wranglers!
He turned the radio down and opened the window, loving the salty smell of the air. He was glad now that he had the curtain-sider; it was better than the container lorries in this weather. But sometimes the material caught the wind and that caused a few problems in itself.
When Jonathon saw another driver with a young man in his cab, he shook his head knowingly. It was a shirt-lifter’s paradise at the docks these days. And this bloke was married, he knew. He glanced again at the boy, and sighed in exasperation. Rough trade, all right. He’d had his share of them over the years. Vicious little buggers some of them.
Now he had his John he didn’t need anything like that any more. At least, he bloody hoped not anyway.
He yawned, rubbing his eyes. He was tired, it had been an early start. But he would be in Cologne in under seven hours if the roads were OK. And if he loaded his return on time he would be at home and in bed with his new man by nine tomorrow night.
He started to crawl towards the ferry terminal, all the time on the look-out for people he knew. He wondered what unauthorised loads were on some of the lorries around him. He had been offered money recently to bring back hardcore porn but had refused. The money wasn’t that good and the risk wasn’t worth the hag. Though he knew a few drivers who had done it and not had a tug or even a search.
A bloke he had worked with for years, a grandfather of three, had been caught bringing in drugs. He was now doing a twelve-stretch which no amount of money could compensate for as far as Jonathon was concerned.
As he made sure his passport and papers were to hand he had no idea that he was carrying extra cargo himself: little Martin Palmer was asleep, worn out from exhaustion, hunger and thirst, on a pile of pallets in the back of the lorry.
Cologne airport was still a long drive away and, turning the radio back up, Jonathon sang along to Spandau Ballet’s ‘True’. His most favourite song of all time.
Martin curled up with his thumb in his mouth, his eyes red from crying and his body aching from the cold and the hardness of his makeshift bed. The wind caught the tarpaulin on the side of the lorry and the noise woke him up. He lay in the dark weeping softly.
Chapter Ten
Kate was worried. Another child gone, another mother in pieces and another phone call from Patrick Kelly, this time telling her that he would have all her belongings returned to her house as soon as possible. They were all neatly packed and ready to be delivered at her convenience.
Pushing her own problems from her mind, she looked at Jackie Palmer. She was an attractive girl with her brown eyes and blond-streaked hair. At the moment, those brown orbs were red from crying. She was shaking as she lit yet another cigarette from the butt of the previous one. Unlike the others, this girl had a viable alibi which she was not frightened to give. She had been working at the Black Rose sauna and massage parlour and she could prove it. Once the other girls there realised what had happened they had rallied round and offered whatever help they could. In fact, Kate was impressed with the way they had all tried their damnedest to give as much information as possible.
They were a good crowd and obviously felt a close affinity with their colleague. As she listened to Jackie’s sister explaining what had happened Kate was convinced that Louise was telling the truth. She wondered if this time someone else had taken the boy, because both women had alibis that were watertight.
The child had been taken at 10.15 a.m. Jackie had just left the massage parlour then. It was on the CCTV camera kept hidden so as not to scare customers. The girls there were more than aware of the dangers of the job they did and as the Black Rose was run by an ex-prostitute she made sure they were all kept as safe as possible. Kate brought her attention back to Jackie.
‘I admit I am still under a supervision order, but that is only because I found it hard to cope at times. I have never neglected the kids in any way. I took a few drugs, had what were termed unsuitable friends, but my kids are my life. I flog me arse for them and I ain’t ashamed of that fact.’ Her pupils were dilated from the Valium given to her by the duty doctor.
Kate watched Jenny weighing up the girl once more and knew that she was feeling the same as herself. This was either a really good actress or she was telling the truth, though they could not discount the possibility she had asked someone else to pick the child up from the playground. She herself had rarely if ever picked him up there, apparently. The woman in charge was waiting to be interviewed and was going to get it in the neck.
She should have made sure of the identity of the person picking up the child, even if they looked like a parent. In fact, she should have had the woman sign the child out as she was taking him early. It showed a lack of care that in the current climate was frightening.
People handed their most precious possessions over to strangers and assumed they would take care of them. They would give more thought to their cars or their pets!
Boris looked at the pictures of Kate in the newspaper and wondered that a woman who was so obviously straight could have a relationship with a man like Patrick Kelly. He looked out of the window of his flat in Soho. A girl was being dragged along the road by a man. He watched the little drama with amused interest. She didn’t look trade so he assumed it was some kind of lovers’ spat.
The girl wrenched herself free from the man’s grip and kicked him hard in the groin. Boris winced and grinned as the man dropped to his knees. Now the girl was all concern, helping him up. Trying to make amends.
He shook his head pityingly. The man should have swung back his hand and beaten the girl until she was begging for mercy. That was all women understood. He knew that because he was a man who had experience of every type of woman, and basically they were all the same. They needed control. Respected it. Appreciated it even. It was part of their make-up. Women talked about being equal but that was as far as it went: talking about it. Inside, all women knew that man was the real aggressor. They wanted him to open the door for them, take care of them and protect them.
Whoever heard of a woman protecting herself? Even the girl in the street only kicked the man because he allowed her to.
The door opened and Sergei brought in his coffee and brandy. It was a daily ritual Boris enjoyed, the quick rush of strong coffee and alcohol. As Sergei placed the tray on an antique table, Boris seated himself on the leather sofa.
‘How is Mr Gabney bearing up?’
Sergei shrugged, his heavily muscled shoulders straining against the thick material of his jacket.
‘He is still fighting us. A worthy opponent in many respects.’
Boris nodded almost imperceptibly. ‘I think the time has come to take Mr Kelly out of the ball game. Put one of the younger men on finding him. We will soon track him down - no one can hide for ever.’
Sergei nodded respectfully and as usual waited until his boss had sipped his coffee and indicated everything was fine before he walked from the room.
Jenny and Kate were eating a hurried lunch. The canteen was packed and the noise level high. Kate’s head was splitting and the constant roar of voices, laughter, crashing cutlery and cigarette smoke were all taking their toll.
Jenny was sympathetic and concerned. Kate had confided in her about the current state of her personal life. She’d listened attentively and then made a request.
‘Listen, Kate, can I ask you a favour?’
‘Of course.’
‘I know this is a bit of a cheek, but I really hate the hotel I’m staying in, and I believe you have a spare room available . . .’
She didn’t finish. Kate gave her a tired smile.
‘I’d love you to stay with me, Jenny. But I warn you, it’s not Buck House.’
Jenny laughed loudly and all eyes turned towards their table.
‘Look at them, Kate, all staring at the big lesbo! I frighten men. They think I want to be like them.’ She flapped her hand. ‘Fuck that for a game of soldiers! I have enough trouble being a woman, love.’ She looked Kate in the eye. ‘You don’t mind about me, do you?’