When Willy had finished the club was deathly quiet. Even the music had stopped. The two sacked bouncers watched everything impassively. The girls were all white-faced and terrified.
Willy lowered the gun, nodded his head as if taking leave of a business acquaintance and walked out of the club in a nonchalant manner, the same way he had entered it.
Passing the stunned doorman, he smiled. ‘Nice night for it anyway,’ he said politely.
Then he disappeared into the darkness.
Ratchette arrived at Lucas’s flat at 3.45 a.m. What he saw astounded him, and made him more aware than ever that Kate Burrows was not only a good policewoman but also the sort not to take anything from anyone without coming back.
Half of him admired her for that, the other half hated her with a vengeance. He saw Golding’s smirk as they presented the evidence to him and he had to stand in the flat of a filthy paedophile and take it.
Kate picked up her bag. Nudging the grotesque man still lying bleeding on the floor with one well-shod foot, she said, ‘I will leave all this in your capable hands. And I’ll tell you now, I am not going to be the fall guy for you or anyone else. Do you understand what I’m saying? Because if push comes to shove, Mr Ratchette, I will open my mouth so loud the Home Secretary won’t need a phone call to inform him of what I’m saying, he’ll hear me all the way from here to Whitehall.’
‘You get yourself home, ma’am. I’ll finish up here,’ Golding offered.
She nodded her thanks, then added to Ratchette: ‘You’ll find films here that contain images of the children I was investigating, besides other children and young adults of whom I have no knowledge. Mr Browning has agreed to make a statement concerning allegations against Mr Kelly that I think you will find removes any suspicion you might have had about your Masonic friend and business partner.
‘In the light of that,’ she went on, ‘I expect to be back in my job on Monday morning as usual. I also expect to receive credit for all the work I have done in bringing these paedophiles to court, and also for bringing in Robert Bateman who I think can safely be classed as a serial killer. I also insist on being the one to arrest and formally charge Suzy Harrington.’
She breathed out a long sigh. ‘Now I will go home and get some rest. I trust you will sort out this little mess with the minimum of publicity and the maximum of respect, sir.’
As Kate marched out of the flat and down the stairs, her eyes were burning with rage and fatigue. Her whole body was rebelling against all the shocks it had received over the last few weeks.
In short, Kate was terminally exhausted.
As she went over to Golding’s car which she was going to borrow, she saw Benny Boarder out of the corner of her eye. He was leaning against a BMW, smiling.
‘Am I glad to see you!’ Kate told him.
He grinned. ‘Oh yeah? Same here. Get in. I just spoke to Patrick. I need to take you to the hospital.’
She got into the car, not even asking him what he was doing so close to her. At this moment nothing could faze her and there’d be plenty of time for questions in the days and weeks ahead. For now all she wanted was to put her arms around Patrick Kelly and find peace at last.
Maureen knew that something wasn’t quite right with Willy. He had come in earlier in the evening, changed his clothes and then gone straight out again. He had not offered her any explanation and she had not asked for one. She knew how to play the game, but she would bet her last ten quid that skulduggery was afoot. All she hoped was that he didn’t get his collar felt and that she didn’t have to look forward to years of visiting him in prison.
Though she would, if that was the upshot.
When he came home he made a call on his mobile, out of earshot, and then placed a small folder in her lap. Duane had gone to bed and they were alone.
‘What’s this then?’ Maureen’s voice was shaking.
‘Look inside and decide which one you like the most and I’ll buy it for you. It’s a cash buy, and no matter what happens, darlin’, it will be yours, OK?’
She opened the plain buff folder. Inside were estate agents’ details for large detached houses in the Manor Park area. Her eyes misted with tears. She looked at him in wonderment.
‘Is this a joke?’
He shook his head. ‘Look, Maureen, I had to do a last bit of work tonight and it might come on top. If it does I’m looking at a serious lump, but I had no choice. Either way, you’ll own this house outright, whether I am there or not, OK? If I get a touch, we can get married, and hopefully live there happily ever after.’
‘Oh, Willy. What did I do to deserve you?’ She was nearly in tears and her face, already puffy, was in danger of further damage from violent crying.
He put one meaty arm around her shoulders. ‘I am the lucky one, girl. I know that better than anyone. You’re me bird, ain’t you? I have to take good care of you, mate.’
‘I don’t need houses, Willy, you know that.’
He nodded gently. ‘Yes, I know that. But I want you to have it. I want me, you and Duane to have a proper life. In a nice area with nice things.’
Maureen stared down at the pictures of the beautiful properties and then looked around her own council flat.
‘There is only one stipulation.’
She looked into his eyes. ‘What’s that?’
‘No disrespect, love, but you’ll have to let me sort out the decorating. I can’t live with pink like this for the rest of me natural.’
She smiled through her tears. ‘You can do what you like, Willy Gabney, you know that. I am just glad to be a part of it all.’
He pulled her into his arms. She was all right, was his Maureen. He felt he was a very lucky man. A man who had finally found out what life was all about.
He only hoped it wasn’t too late to enjoy it.
Detective Inspector Martin Haskiss looked at the carnage in the club and sighed heavily.
‘Any idea who these two were?’
No one seemed to know. A search of the remains gave up no identification whatsoever.
Pascal had already cleaned them of everything, from mobile phones to wallets. He knew the score and was glad that Willy Gabney had sorted it all out. He had also cleared the club of most of the witnesses, only leaving the people he thought were intelligent enough to give believable statements. The men who had been visiting the place were too stoned or pissed to know what had gone down and the dancers had all had it away on their toes.
All in all, not a bad night’s work.
He took the wallets and phones directly to a contact and booked himself on an early-morning flight to Ibiza. A couple of weeks of sun and the opportunity to look over a club he had a share in there was suddenly too good a chance to resist. The offices had been cleaned of anything pertaining to Patrick Kelly and all seemed above board and legal. Let the Filth wonder what they liked, Patrick was banged up in hospital and was never in the place anyway, according to witnesses.
Pascal spoke to Patrick briefly on a clean mobile, registered to a woman who worked in the law courts, then settled himself down for a few hours’ kip before his flight. He was humming as he left his house for the airport.
Evelyn heard the news about the club as she made herself a cup of tea. She was scandalised, as were most of the population. Public shootings always caused a stir, but in Soho at least they were well away from the more law-abiding section of the population. The fact that this had occurred in a lap-dancing club only confirmed that. But still it was a scandal.
Evelyn, however, knew that this club was owned in part by Patrick Kelly, so she kept an open mind. Time had taught her to do that much.
She put a drop of her Holy Water in her morning tea as she still felt a bit shaken up from the previous few weeks’ exertions. She was looking forward to seeing Patrick and Kate, who had not come home again.
As she looked round the little kitchen Evelyn smiled. And if that eejit of a daughter of hers tried any more of her hysterics about living at Pat’s, Evelyn was going to put her in her place as soon as possible.
Please or offend, she was determined to get everything back to normal as soon as possible. Patrick Kelly was going to need looking after - and wasn’t she just the one to do it? She was determined to get her family back on track, in every way. Jesus Himself knew she was even willing to put up with that Grace, if and when she had to. So if she could make a sacrifice, she was bloody well sure the rest of them could.
Kate awoke to find herself wrapped in a pair of strong arms that felt suspiciously like Patrick’s. She looked contentedly at his sleeping face. He looked older, he looked ill, but he was still a good-looking man.
She felt the overstarched sheets clinging to her body, hospital sheets. The door handle was being rattled and she realised that was what had woken her up.
She started to giggle. She couldn’t believe she was lying in a hospital bed after a night of rather energetic sex. Patrick seemed not to have been affected in that department at all, though she had a feeling that it was the reason he was looking so pale and tired this morning.
As the door handle was abandoned she relaxed back against him, wondering what the day was going to bring. She just hoped they could all get back to normal. It occurred to her that since knowing Patrick she had hit the heights of happiness and the lowest pits of depression. But she wouldn’t have her life any other way, not really.
Patrick had explained that Boris had died in his club. He did not mention Willy Gabney’s involvement and Kate had not asked any questions.
She had learned so much since she had known him and the main thing was not to judge a person unless you had the full facts. She had also learned that the criminal world and her own world were not that far apart. It was one of the first things she had been taught by Patrick. Now, though, she wanted those worlds separated.
Patrick had been a fool to keep his finger in so many pies, but even he admitted he too had learned a valuable lesson: when living with a policewoman, expect to get a capture.
Now he stirred beside her and opened his eyes. ‘You look good enough to eat, girl.’
But as much as he meant what he said, she knew it wasn’t going to happen. He was wiped out, he was ill and he was hers. She squeezed him to her tightly.
‘There’s plenty of time for all that, Patrick Kelly, when you’re back on your feet.’
He closed his eyes and yawned. ‘I was hoping you’d say that, Kate. You took advantage of a very sick man last night.’
They laughed together.
‘Dream on, Kelly.’
He relaxed back against the pillows. ‘The sooner we get home and back in our own bed the better, eh, girl?’
His voice sounded strained. He was much weaker than he tried to make out. She understood that; it was part and parcel of being him, of being Patrick Kelly. He had to be the eternal hard man. He could never be seen to be ill, worried or in any danger whatsoever.
Normally it drove her to distraction. At this moment in time it made her love him more than ever.
‘What do you think will happen now, Pat?’ Her voice was serious.
‘I think that if Ratchette has half a brain, and I’ll credit him with that at least, we should be high and dry by lunchtime.’
She knew it was taking a lot for him to sound so confident. He gripped her hand tightly.
‘Whatever happens, my love, I will make sure you are well out of it all, OK?’
She kissed him gently on his brow but she didn’t answer him. She didn’t know what to say.
It was 2.30 in the afternoon and Suzy Harrington had just showered and changed. Her cases were packed and in the hallway and she was sitting on her bed counting out piles of money.
She made sure her jewellery box was empty for the tenth time and sipped at her coffee. She was waiting for a cab to pick her up and take her to London. A while back, she had bought herself a little pied à terre in Barnes in case of emergencies. No one knew she owned it - it was her hideaway. For the umpteenth time she looked in her bag and checked that both her false passports were inside. She was definitely taking no chances. She looked around the small flat one last time to make sure that she had not forgotten anything.
When the phone rang, she let the machine pick up any message. She was going to disappear off the face of the earth then start up again at some point in the future.
There was a knock at the door and she answered it quickly. It was the cab driver. She gave him the cases and, picking up her handbag, she locked the flat up carefully. She wanted to put a few miles between her and this place as quickly as possible so she could feel like she had walked away from everything.
Robert Bateman and Harry Barker had made her life difficult for a while and she knew that she was still a prime suspect. But knowing all she did about the police, she didn’t really believe they were going to come after her for a conviction. They wouldn’t dare.
She was far too protected. Had been far too clever. In fact, she was so sure of herself that she was ready to use the same contacts at the Home Office that she had already used.
Walking carefully down the stairs because of her impossibly high heels she made her way out to the white Ford Granada that was to take her away from this dump once and for all. The cab driver was smiling at her and she got into the car gracefully, her flirtatious side to the fore today. After all, the driver was very good-looking.
They drove away and she looked back at the flat, feeling nothing except relief and a twinge of regret at leaving her good furniture. She wondered if she would ever be in a position to come back and get it.
Essex Radio was on and they were playing Michael Bolton. His haunting voice was lifting the air around her. She had always liked him. As he sang a song about losing his love and finding her again, Suzy realised that the cab was going in the wrong direction.