Broken (57 page)

Boris sipped his coffee, which was black and strong. He savoured it with his eyes closed and his mouth pursed. But he was picturing Kate Burrows beneath him, imagining himself making love to her.

He had a feeling that it would be a very rewarding experience.

 

Maya stood by the hospital bed and laughed.

‘Only you could get shot and end up looking better than ever!’

Patrick knew she was lying but he was pleased. It was after all meant kindly.

‘Sit down, girl. Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea, a drink?’

She shook her head. ‘I’m fine.’

‘I wanted to see you about my getting shot but I expect you guessed that already, eh?’

She nodded. ‘I know it was the Russians.’

Patrick was amazed by her acumen. Maya sussed everything, but then that was what had kept her on top for so many years.

‘Clever girl.’

‘Not clever, love. Nosy. It was the word on the street.’ She shrugged. ‘I didn’t have to ask around much to find out. You’ve trodden on a few toes. Or shall I rephrase that? You were set up to look like you’d trodden on a few toes. I tried to warn you, remember? Look to your workforce, I said.’ Her guttural accent was thicker as it always was when she was excited.

‘You knew Micky was ducking and diving then?’

She nodded. ‘I couldn’t get involved, Pat. I have dealings with young Boris myself.’

He nodded. He had guessed as much.

‘I am going to take him out of the game,’ he said slowly.

Maya thought about this for a while before she nodded. ‘Good. Can I be of any help?’

‘You certainly can. I need to know a few places he visits regularly. To find out his movements. Can you do it?’

‘Of course. Leave it with me. I’ll have all you need in a few days.’

‘OK. Now, how are you, me old china?’

They chatted happily about nothing very much. When Patrick’s sisters turned up Maya made a move. As she walked slowly from the room he was reminded once more that they were all getting older and remembered his promise to himself that after this was resolved he was going to retire.

He was definitely too old for all this ducking and diving. It didn’t excite him any more. Nothing did these days. Except his Kate.

 

Film crews and journalists packed the pavement outside Robert Bateman’s home. Kate pushed through and refused to comment, but she had brushed her hair and repaired her make-up in the car. It always paid to look your best on TV.

In the back garden it was pandemonium. Two officers were still digging carefully, placing the dirt on to trays ready to be sifted. It was a long hard job and Kate wanted it over as soon as possible. She sat on a folding chair and was given the lowdown on what they had found already.

‘We have a new body, ma’am,’ a young officer told her. ‘You are never going to believe this! We believe it to be DI Barker, of Soho Vice Squad.’

Kate looked almost comically surprised. The PC took her to a body bag and unzipped it.

It was Barker.

‘See, ma’am? He’s still got his ID in his pocket.’

‘How did he die, do we know yet?’

‘Looks like he was stabbed. Leila will tell you more after she’s looked at him. There’s bodies everywhere. Bateman just dumped them in on top of each other and replanted. The road is so deserted these days he had no real neighbours overlooking him. He could basically do what he wanted.’

‘Have you found the children?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Right.’ She went into the house. The place was being torn apart systematically.

‘Anything here?’ she asked in the lounge.

WPC Joanna Hart nodded, her face grim. ‘Look at these, ma’am.’

They were videos.

‘The children are all on them. Christ knows where he got them from.’ Her voice was disgusted. ‘We have something else interesting on this first one.’

Kate looked at her askance. ‘What’s that then?’ she asked, almost dreading the answer.

‘We have Suzy Harrington showing the kids what she wants them to do. We’ve got her, ma’am. Bang to fucking rights.’

Kate closed her eyes in ecstasy. At last she had her! Now that Baker was off the scene she had been free to go after her, but with evidence as well it was all a foregone conclusion.

‘Give that to me and I’ll take it back to the station with me. I want it viewed and a warrant sworn as fast as I can get one.’

Kate could not hide her elation. Suzy had obviously been the brains behind the operation. Now they could find out who was bankrolling her, and more importantly, who was distributing the stuff.

She looked around her and felt a moment’s satisfaction at a job well done. Patrick was on the mend and life was getting easier all the time. She finally felt that there was a light at the end of a very long and very dark tunnel.

 

Boris walked out of the club. Willy, sitting in a coffee shop opposite, had a prime view. As he sipped at his coffee, he saw a young man simpering at him and he scowled in return. One of his most frightening scowls. He had already ordered his drink and taken a good seat before he’d realised that this place was full of gay men.

Willy sat back in his chair and took the registration of Boris’s car. There was an outside chance it would be registered to an address, though he had a feeling it would be linked to a business.

Sergei was scanning the street and it made Willy nervous. He lifted his copy of the
Sun
and pretended to study the tits on page three. The young man smiled again and Willy toyed with the idea of giving him a well-earned slap. Reading his mind, the other man dropped his eyes and carried on drinking his iced tea. It was a shame; he liked the older, ugly ones. They were always so grateful.

When the BMW pulled away Willy got up, threw a fiver on the counter and walked over to the club. Inside he saw Pascal, and the two men grinned at each other.

‘He’s gone to his drum in Paddington. More hag there, Willy, by all accounts.’

Willy shook his head. ‘Women on the slide always cause trouble. It’s why they end up on the game. Out for attention, most of them. Out for fucking hag.’

Pascal agreed, then offered: ‘Want a beer?’

Willy nodded and followed him to the bar area. In the harsh light of day the place looked seedy, and carried a strong stench of old beer and cigarettes.

‘Fucking dump this is.’

Willy had never liked the clubs even as a young man. The sight of degradation always pissed him off. Knowing that, as ugly as he was, he could still pull there had always depressed him whereas other men loved every second of it.

Willy was glad he had his Maureen these days. She was a touch, a diamond, he might even marry it if she was good. She had all the attributes he wanted. She was a good cook, she was a laugh, and she liked a bit of the old rumpypumpy. He was fond of her son as well, which had been a surprise. Duane reminded him of himself when he was younger. A tearaway looking for the right angle. The life of most young boys on a council estate.

Willy was going to buy a house when all this was over. A nice drum for the three of them, in a better area. But he was going to get professional decorators in. As much as he loved his Maureen, he wouldn’t let her loose in B&Qs without a bodyguard.

He would take the boy under his wing, too. Duane had the size for a bit of protection or maybe even collecting a few debts.

‘So, he still thinks Patrick is going to roll over and leave him the club then?’ Willy said aloud.

Pascal nodded. ‘He is priceless, Willy. Has so much fucking front. Waltzes in here like the big I fucking Am, takes the money without a by your leave. He’s a Russian cunt and I am looking forward to seeing him get his comeuppance, I can tell you.’

He lowered his voice as if there were onlookers.

‘You know Patrick is still paying all the bills?’ Pascal shook his head at the effrontery of it. ‘Straight up. The bills are still going out on Patrick Kelly’s standing order. I mean, please, is that the ultimate piss-take or what? He comes in, takes Pat’s living, half kills his best mate, sets him up - and still he’s nicking what amounts to pennies and halfpennies from him. I tell you, Willy, that ponce needs a serious sorting out.’

He sighed. ‘I mean, where the fuck does it leave me, eh? I can’t do nothing and he knows it. I’m strictly numbers and accounts, me. Never was the heroic type as you know. But even I have felt the urge to administer a few fucking slaps, I can tell you.’

Willy nodded. ‘Relax, for fuck’s sakes, Pascal. It will all be sorted in a few days.’

‘That Maya was here again last night. All fucking sweetness and light. They have a scam going or I am the fucking Duke of Edinburgh. She takes an envelope every three days so it’s a touch of some sort. But then, she deals with the European birds and all. You want to see some of them he brought in here to lap dance. Fucking G-ropes they should have been wearing, let alone strings. Looked like fucking Russian shot putters. Right hefty birds. Needless to say they were not the most popular dancers we’ve ever had. One of them offered a blow job in full view of the punters. We don’t need that, whatever protection Boris thinks he might have. He’s asking a lot about Kate Burrows as well these days. I think he has ideas in that direction. It don’t take a fucking Einstein to suss out what he wants her for, does it? Old Bill and well-connected. ’

Pascal laughed. ‘If he knew what a slag I am where he’s concerned he’d kill me. But Patrick is an old mate and I can’t put meself first on this. Whatever happens I have to see Boris out the fucking door. This is personal now, as you know.’

Willy’s hand went unconsciously to his thighs, which were still healing and were very painful. A reminder every time he woke up of exactly what the Russian was capable of doing.

‘You can’t steal a man’s livelihood and expect his mates to sit back and let it happen. If Boris thinks that then he’s a bigger twat than I first thought.’

Willy nodded his agreement.

‘What has Maya got going with him then?’

‘She was supplying the drugs for Micky, so I assume she’s doing the same for them. That was why she wanted the coon out of the way. She had Leroy wasted, I know that for a fact because it was Harry Price and Dicky Campbell who took him out. They reckon his place in Docklands was the dog’s knob. Right upmarket. Poor little fucker, I never minded Leroy, he was a grafter if nothing else.’

They were quiet, reflecting on the murder, when Pascal said quietly, ‘Patrick is sorting all this, ain’t he?’

Willy nodded. ‘Don’t worry, mate. He’ll see you all right. Any addresses hanging around?’

Pascal grinned. ‘I thought you might ask that.’ He took out a cheap notebook and passed it to Willy. ‘That’s all I have. But there’s a few addresses there. A few numbers too that I took from the phone bill. Might come in handy.’

Willy was pleased. He had always known that Pascal was trustworthy.

‘Well done, mate. Right - I better get going before someone comes in and sees us having a mothers’ meeting.’

‘No worries. All the CCTVs are off, I made sure of that. We’re as safe as houses. Plus Boris assumes I’m too scared to do anything. He thinks he’s invincible though I reckon his number two wouldn’t mind a look in now and again. That Sergei is the loose link in his chain and he can’t or won’t see it. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? I accept the Eastern Europeans are a force to be reckoned with but they have to understand that we won’t sit back and watch like they’re used to in their own fucking countries. I mean, we may be villains but we’re British villains. It has to count for something don’t it?’

‘Too right, mate. Be seeing you.’

Willy left the club patting the small tape recorder in his pocket. He wanted Patrick to get that lot first hand. They had a lot to think about.

 

Evelyn replaced the phone and sighed. As she looked around the small hallway she saw the scuffed paintwork and the well-worn carpet. Patrick wanted her to pack all their stuff and move them back to his house and she was tempted, very tempted to do it. But she knew that Kate had to make the decision for herself.

Evelyn knew that Patrick was a rogue. She never used the word ‘villain’ when thinking of him. To her mind that was not the right epithet for him though she knew it was used by many others. She saw him more as a likeable rogue. After all, as he had always pointed out, his businesses were
legal
. They might not be what she would call respectable but they
were
legal.

She felt an urge to pack up and go back to the sheer luxury of his home, with or without her daughter. She was honest enough to admit that her suite of rooms at his house were calling her. She had everything there, from Sky TV to a small well-stocked mini-bar. It was like staying in a high-class hotel.

But more than that, she had seen her daughter content there at last. After years of scrimping and saving and working her arse off, she’d been relaxed and happy, cared for by a real man for once in her life.

Evelyn laughed to herself.

Kate would go through the roof if she ever said that to her. Feminism was all well and good for those who could
afford
it, but most women with a herd of kids and a meagre wage-packet needed a man, and so for them feminism wasn’t always an option. Kate had never understood that. She was a grafter all right, but at times Evelyn wondered what her daughter would have done if she, Evelyn, had not moved in and taken over the house and Lizzy. Career women with families only functioned when someone else assumed their parental responsibilities. Without her mother’s help Kate would have ended up in a right old state.

In fairness, her daughter had paid for the house and done her best. She had carved out a career for herself. But it had taken herself, Evelyn, to make that possible. Now she wondered what she should do. Kate would be spitting feathers if she just upped and packed, so she would have to be diplomatic about it all.