She was dressed and out of the house in five minutes flat.
Patrick listened to what Kate had to say without interrupting her once.
‘He seems to think that I am bent. That I have been bent for you. Patrick, he threatened me without actually using the words.’
He nodded his understanding. He had done the same thing to people himself many times.
‘Leave it with me, Kate. I’ll get it sorted.’
‘What are you going to do then, threaten him back?’ Her voice was low, scared.
‘ ’Course not, you silly mare,’ he laughed. ‘I will simply let him know that you aren’t up for it and leave it at that, love. He’ll understand what I’m telling him.’
Kate looked into his tired blue eyes and felt a moment’s sorrow for adding to the burden she knew he was already carrying.
‘I am so sorry, Pat. I should never have told you, should I?’
‘Yes, you should. He’s a right saucy bastard as Willy has already pointed out today. I have to give him the hard word, Kate. Have to. If I don’t, that sod will walk right over me and mine. Now you sort out your own problems and let me sort out mine, eh?’
She tried to smile.
‘I spoke to that ponce Ratchette and all,’ he continued. ‘Told him what I think of him, and what he has to do now. There’s a bent Filth in the Home Office can sort this for you, darling, so stop worrying. But I think you should know that I’m going to retire after this lot and maybe you should too.’
‘Are you really going to give it all up?’
He could hear the incredulity in her voice.
‘I know I’ve said it before but I mean it this time, Kate. I ain’t got the heart for all this any more.’ He waved his arm at the room. ‘Look where I am, stuck in here, on the verge of getting me fucking collar felt and hiding behind a moody doctor. I’m worth much more than that, love.’
He was sweating and Kate knew he was tired and still not well enough even to get himself out of bed. She also knew that he might well think all this while he was down, but once he picked up he would be singing a different song.
Wisely, she kept her thoughts to herself.
‘I’d love to give up work now, Patrick. I realised today that there’s something wrong with this country and the people it classes as criminals. Robert Bateman will never get to trial. He’ll be judged as mentally unfit even though he’s playing games. Oh, I don’t dispute that he is mad, but it’s a calculated madness that he uses when it suits him. Yet it will also get him into a nice mental hospital with a softer regime and access to most things that people outside enjoy, from computers to takeaways. He is a senior social worker so he’ll know his rights. Yet here am I - I work my arse off and get suspended because I’m expected to sit and take the shit that people like Suzy dish out without a word of protest. She deliberately goaded me, Patrick, used the one thing she knew would make me lose my rag. And I fell for it. I destroyed my career and my credibility with one rash action.’
Her voice was so sad that Patrick, in his weakened state, felt an urge to cry with her.
‘We’ll sort it all out, Kate. Now stop worrying, for fuck’s sake,’ he said gruffly.
She could hear how exhausted he was. She kissed him gently on the lips and hugged his body to her own tightly.
‘I love you, Patrick Kelly.’
‘I love you too, girl, you know that. One thing that’s come out of all this, mate - at least we both know who we can trust, eh?’
‘Hurry up and get better, Patrick, please.’
‘I’m getting better by the day, love.’ He sounded much more confident than he felt. He needed to sort out the Russian then he could get back on his feet. He needed to make himself known once more as Patrick Kelly, hard man and serial rogue. He needed to make sure that he was back in the number one spot so he could breathe easy, finally stop this worrying.
But he didn’t tell Kate that. He knew she was worried enough as it was.
His sisters turned up then and Patrick was grateful to see them. He wasn’t sure he could keep himself together if he talked much longer to Kate. He had inadvertently put her in the shit and he had to get her out of it as soon as possible.
Boris Stravinski had taken the ultimate piss out of him now. He had encroached on Patrick’s woman. For that alone he was going to pay, and pay dearly.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Golding and Kate were sitting in a parked car in East London. It was after one in the morning and the streets were noisy, full of young people. The air smelled of onions, grease and exhaust fumes. Kate watched as a teenage girl was chased half-naked by three young men. Her screams were ear-splitting but not a single curtain twitched.
Golding sipped some coffee and swore under his breath.
‘She can’t be more than thirteen and look at her. All tits and legs and giving anything in trousers the come-on. I mean, what would you do with a daughter like that?’ His voice was disgusted. ‘What gets up my nose is that when the little mare goes missing or gets raped her parents will expect us lot to sort it all out. But look at
it
, ma’am. She’s an accident waiting to happen. Little slag!’
Kate didn’t answer. She knew what it was like to have a girl that age who carried on in exactly that way. She noticed how the other girls egged her on. She would give them something to talk about and would keep the reputation she was giving herself all her life. The worst of it all was, she was probably not as bad as the others. She just didn’t have the savvy to keep what she did to herself.
Her parents would think she was tucked up in bed at a friend’s house. She had thought the same thing enough times herself. The girl was probably as good a liar as Lizzy was. She had believed her daughter was at friends’ houses, or wherever Lizzy had said she was; she had had no reason to doubt her. It was what happened to parents. You
wanted
to believe your children so you did.
‘We’ll go in soon. I want to get him on the hop,’ she told Golding.
The young constable nodded. In the half-light he looked quite handsome and Kate wondered if he had a significant other. He wasn’t the type of person you could ask personal questions. Or maybe she felt like that because it had never occurred to her before that he might actually have a life outside his job.
‘Would you like children?’ she asked suddenly.
He glanced at her and laughed. ‘I already have two, ma’am. Three and one, boys. Pair of sods they are.’
He grinned and Kate felt ashamed that she didn’t know about them.
‘I didn’t even know you were married.’
He wiped his mouth and grinned. ‘I’m not married. I live with a bird.’
Kate didn’t answer.
‘I don’t know if I want to commit meself, see? She wants to get married, but I ain’t sure.’
Kate turned in her seat and said honestly, ‘You have two children with this
bird
, but you don’t want to commit yourself. Well, I’m sorry but it doesn’t get more committed than having children together, does it? I mean, financially she has you by the balls for the rest of your days.’
Golding thought about what she said and after a few beats he said quietly, ‘That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose.’
Kate opened the window to let in some cool air. ‘Take no notice of me, I’m not in the best of moods.’
‘Well, that’s understandable really, ma’am. But personally I think that the way they treated you is out of order. You brought in Bateman and you sussed out Harrington. The least they could have done is given you a break of some kind.’
Kate felt elated at his sheer loyalty. It was unexpected and all the more important because of that.
‘I think that Patrick Kelly is all right meself. I mean, he ain’t exactly illegal, is he? He is a businessman after all. At the end of the day, I know Filth who duck and dive. Look at Maretta over at Harcourt. He’s a thief, he buys off lags and he drinks with bank robbers. Thinks he’s the dog’s gonads. But I sussed him out years ago. According to him it’s ten grand now for a guaranteed five years for a biggie. He
brags
about his criminal connections. He thinks it makes him someone.’
‘Maybe it feels like that to him,’ Kate commented. ‘I see Patrick as a person. I try and forget about what he does. Christ knows, everyone takes great delight in reminding me!’
Golding laughed.
‘Ratchette is shitting himself,’ he told her. ‘I heard through the grapevine that he’s being investigated by CIB.’
Kate didn’t answer for a while. ‘I’ve been there myself,’ she said eventually. ‘I don’t envy him.’
Golding laughed again, this time louder.
‘The thing with him is, though - what bodies will he give up to protect his own arse?’
Kate took the warning on board and filed it away for future reference.
‘How come you hear so much and get so much information?’
‘Because, ma’am, like most Old Bill I am batting away from home. I’ve been seeing a little bird called Rochelle for about two years. She works in CIB now. Only a secretary but she can find out anything. She’s a computer whizz.’
‘Does your partner know about her?’
He shrugged and said nonchalantly, ‘What do you think? My Diane’s a good kid and a great mother, but we were never the love of a lifetime types. I think she guesses. That’s why we ended up with my second son. He wasn’t exactly planned.’
Kate didn’t answer, just felt desperately sorry for a woman she didn’t know, trying to hang on to a man she would never own. She knew the feeling. Golding was Dan all over again except he had the work ethic.
‘Don’t hurt Diane if you can help it.’
‘She hurts herself. She knows me and she knows what I’m like. She also knows I will never change. Like tonight, I
really
am working - albeit not for your actual police, of course. This is a favour, because I think you were badly treated and I am loyal in that respect at least. Loyal not faithful - there’s a difference. But I bullshit her I’m doing overnight surveillance and she can’t know if I’m telling her the truth or not, can she? I don’t hurt her intentionally.’
Kate couldn’t find an answer to such honesty. And he
was
loyal, he had proved as much to her.
‘Jenny left the case today,’ he went on. ‘Did you know?’
She shook her head.
‘Off to another place, another case. She couldn’t get out of Grantley quick enough. Mud sticks is her attitude. And, let’s face it, with her sexual preferences she knows she can’t be embroiled in any shit whatsoever.’
‘She was only covering her own arse.’ But even as Kate spoke she was still hurt by her so-called friend’s actions. Jenny hadn’t even bothered to phone or leave a note for Kate or Evelyn. Nothing.
They were quiet for a while watching the young kids bait one another.
‘What’s the time?’
Golding squinted to look at his watch in the half-light. ‘Just on two.’
‘Let’s go and see what we can find out.’
Lucas was in a bad mood. The young girl with him was getting on his nerves. Her name was Janine and she was fifteen years old. She had worked for him for the last eighteen months but it had taken its toll on her though she wasn’t as yet aware of that. She talked and he looked her over. She was quite tall and big-boned. Her skin had the greyish pallor associated with being up all night and sleeping all day. She also had the usual bruises and scratches that seemed endemic to prostitutes.
He knew she was doing it in cars; there was a certain type of injury, small, not painful but highly visible, that came from working the motor trade. Bruised shins from getting in and out of different vehicles, and around the neck from being squeezed up against men in the close confines of car seats. He recognised these things and wondered how the girls didn’t realise it for themselves.
Janine also had the bitten nails and rough hands of the streetwalker. Basically he wanted shot. Once they looked sixteen or over he had no time for them; the big money was gone and he only kept on the girls he felt were easy to control. Others he sold on to a network of pimps he had around London and the South East. Very occasionally a Northern girl would be placed nearer home if she requested it, but only when her big earning days were over.
Janine loved being a prostitute. Brought up on a diet of soap operas and trash TV, she thought it was glamorous. Thought that sleeping with men for money gave her an edge over the law-abiding population. She wasn’t alone; many young girls thought this. In fact, as Suzy pointed out, if they hadn’t been paid whores they’d have stayed as the class bike, shagging friends’ boyfriends and neighbours’ husbands after babysitting. They were a type, and they were the ones who made the real money.
Now Janine was sitting here, boring the arse off him and trying to convince him she was still able to kick it in the little-girl stakes.
No way.
‘Janine, listen to me. You look awful.’
Lucas was wheezing and coughing, bringing up phlegm and spitting it into a soiled handkerchief. His enormous bulk quivered with each hawk of his throat.
‘Jesus, Lucas, you are gross!’
Her voice did not endear her to him further and nor did the words she used. His fat hand shot out and slapped her round the face. It was a noisy slap and Janine sat back in her chair, more amazed than hurt.
‘You fat bastard, I don’t have to take that no more.’
But her voice was lower; she was scared. And she had every reason to be scared, she knew that. Lucas could make you disappear if he wanted to and she always kept that fact in the forefront of her mind.
Her voice a whine now, she said petulantly, ‘I just want to carry on as I have been . . .’
She stressed the last word and it made him shudder. She had the whore’s whine off pat and that told him all he needed to know.
‘You are out, OK? Now I know you’re on the prowl because I can tell. You were warned about the street and yet you went on it. Suppose you were picked up, put in a children’s home, locked away? What would you do then? Because it can happen, you know, and I wouldn’t help you. You’re a liability, just too bloody obvious. Look at your dress, your voice.’