Faceless (40 page)

‘Your family didn’t want you because of Dad, did they? Because

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he was black. So what’s the difference really?’

Verbena was incensed at his defence of the woman she saw as her rival. A rival not only for her son’s affection but also for her husband’s.

‘How dare you say that to me of all people? Without me, boy, you would have been in a home all your life like that sister of yours. I was warned, all right. Blood will out, people said. But I didn’t listen, and my God, they were right. You’ve found your level with her, haven’t you! For all the fine education I provided for you, it seems you still want the gutter I dragged you out of.’

Jason was stunned at her words and the vituperative way she said them. Her eyes filled with tears as he stared at her in utter disbelief.

Verbena was sorry as soon as the words left her mouth. As she went to take the boy in her arms he pushed her forcibly away. Then, turning, he ran from the kitchen and up the stairs to his bedroom. Ossie was out in the kitchen in seconds.

‘What have you done now. Verbena?’

It was the accusation in his voice that was her undoing. She sat at the table, put her head on her arms and cried like a baby.

Tiffany was in Patrick’s flat and he was getting weirder by the second. She had only ever seen him like this twice before and each time it had been over the murder of a close friend. She now realised he had probably caused those murders. He was capable of anything.

As she watched him stalking round the room she felt the familiar fear encompass her body. She was sweating profusely, and her heart was hammering against her chest. He was talking constantly.

‘What is it with you fucking people? I give you everything you need and yet you still think you can mug me off. I spent poke on you and you will repay my investment or I will break your fucking neck.’

He stuck his face close to hers.

‘Are you fucking listening to me?’

He was screaming the words in her face.

She nodded, her face crumbling with terror. She was aware that he was dangerously close to the edge and that if she antagonised him now he would really harm her.

‘Look at the state of you! You fucking stink and you look what you are, lady, a fucking drughead. A slapper. An ugly whore. I am ashamed to admit I ever fucked you. You are a worthless piece of shit - what are you?’

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She couldn’t answer him, too scared to talk, knowing that the sound of her voice could be the trigger he needed.

‘I said, what the fuck are you?’

‘I am a worthless piece of shit. Pat.’

Her voice was low and trembling; she was having trouble talking properly. She knew that her fear pleased him and felt a great sense of

relief.

He dragged her off the sofa by her hair and into the bathroom. ‘You’d better be scrubbed in ten minutes. Tiff, because I have some work for you tonight, girl, and you’d better do it right or you’ll wish you’d never drawn a fucking breath and died in that cunt’s belly. I mean that, girl. Just give me an excuse to hurt you, Tiff, I dare you to just give me one excuse.’

She stood in the beautiful bathroom with its gold taps and its expensive died walls. It was over the top, pictures of nymphs and the Venus de Milo everywhere, and the glass ceiling made her feel she was being watched, which knowing Patrick Connor wasn’t too off the wall. As she already knew to her cost he was capable of anything.

He had left the door open and as she stripped off she was aware that he could come in at any moment. She piled her clothes on to the floor in a heap and, turning on the shower, stepped into the cubicle. The water was hot and even though she felt so bad inside, it felt good on her poor bruised body. She saw herself reflected in the mirror; she’d always been skinny but now she looked emaciated.

She knew that he had groomed her well and that she was trapped with him now. It had all gone too far. Whatever he told her to do, she would do. She had no other option. In a way, being back with him made her feel a weird sense of safety. At least it was over now. Kiss or kill, she had faced him so whatever was going to happen would happen. At least she wasn’t wondering if she would meet up with him any more.

She scrubbed herself. Turning to the door, she saw him watching her. He had a large crack pipe in his hand, and as she realised it was

for her she smiled.

She stumbled from the shower, soaking wet and still covered in soap, and took it from him gratefully. Sucking on the pipe as if her life depended on it, she enjoyed the rush when it came, the euphoric rush that made everything better and her life that much more bearable.

Patrick was like a different man now. He was holding her to him

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gently, caressing her naked back and talking normally.

‘Why do you wind me up. Tiff? You know what I’m like if I get annoyed, so why do you craze me up like you do?’

She was looking at him, trying desperately to focus on his eyes and also trying hard to make him like her again.

She was back in the cycle once more and he knew it.

As he looked at her he suppressed an urge to ram his fist into her face; she was battered enough as it was. He had a much more serious punishment in mind for her and that would help ease some of the pent-up anger inside him.

There was a hammering at the door of his flat then and it made him jump. People had to get past the doorman before they could reach his home. That was the whole idea of paying a fortune for this place. Access was difficult and it gave him the measure of protection he needed in his line of work. He had also given the doorman a hefty wedge to screen his visitors so that ponce was due a serious slap in the near future.

He walked quickly to the door and shouted, ‘Who is it?’

‘It’s the police. Open up, please, Air Connor.’

He glanced round the room and then pushed the crack pipe into the bin in the kitchen. He was panicking and Tiffany felt his nervousness. Then he shoved her back into the shower and she started washing her hair, as she knew he wanted her to.

Patrick needed her to keep out of the way of the police and she was going to do just that. She started to scrub herself once more. The crack had mellowed her out and she was once again only interested in the next high. A high she might get if she did exactly what Patrick wanted.

He opened the door wide and stared at the two men standing before him.

‘What the fuck do you want?’

The larger man, a DI called Smethurst, smiled lazily at him.

‘Calm down, Mr Connor. We only want to question you.’

The man had large teeth that were stunningly white and Patrick focused on these as he shouted, ‘You got a fucking warrant?’

He knew they didn’t or they would have shown it to him already and been in the apartment. Also there would have been a few more of them, and they would have expected him to put up some resistance.

The DI shook his head and Patrick started to shut the door in their faces.

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‘Not so fast, Patrick, we’re here to give you some news. Did you know Maxie died today? We wondered if you’d seen him at all. We’re trying to put together his last movements.’

The younger policeman grinned.

‘We understood you might be able to help us.’

Patrick snorted.

‘Well, you understood fucking wrong then, didn’t you? And another thing - how did you get up here without me getting a buzz or a call from the doorman, eh? You pulled a flanker and now they think I’m a dodgy bastard. Well, my brief will have something to say about that, mate. I think you’re racially harassing me, you cunts. I been with me bird all day, shagging the arse off her in my bed.’

He shouted over his shoulder, ‘Oi, get out here.’

Tiffany had a towel round her head and another wrapped around her body. She walked out into the hallway.

‘All right, seen enough, have you? Now fuck off.’

The DI was annoyed.

‘You don’t seem too bothered about Maxie.’

Patrick shook his head slowly.

‘Oh, I am bothered, mate. But I am also bothered about the fact you come to my door without warning, making a cunt of me in the place I live, and have the nerve to question my whereabouts on the day my best mate died as if I had something to do with it.’

He shook his head again and turned to Tiffany.

‘If that ain’t fucking racial harassment, I don’t know what is.’

She walked back into the lounge. She didn’t want them to see her too closely because she was so bruised and marked.

Patrick’s handsome face was twisted with rage. He was so angry that he could feel himself losing control once more.

The DI sensed this and decided to antagonise him.

‘Would you please come to the station? Of your own volition, of course. We would appreciate a statement as to your whereabouts since last night.’

He slid one shiny shoe into the doorway. The two policemen watched as Patrick Connor battled with himself.

‘You winding me up? You dare to fucking wind me up?’

He was shouting again though trying his hardest to keep a lid on his emotions. He had had a lot of cocaine and was getting paranoid. He knew he had to get them away from here before he went to his bedroom and came back to them armed with his newly bought machete.

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He was capable of murder and he knew it. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt like it and he knew it wouldn’t be the last.

‘Get your foot out me door or I’ll use reasonable force to remove

it for you.’

The DI was nervous and it showed. He was a big man; he had a tickle now and again, took a few quid to turn a blind eye, but Connor was a lunatic and needed putting away. It was imperative he was put away. Also, he was being paid a good wedge by another dealer to take Connor out of the ball game. And he would. It was getting personal now.

After a few seconds Smethurst removed his foot and Patrick shut the door in his face. He watched through the spy hole until they got into the lift, then he breathed easily once more.

They had come to his door, they had actually come to his home! He was on the big list now and knew he had to watch his back. But if he went down he would take a good few with him, police as well as civilians.

He went back to the lounge and saw Tiffany looking at him still wrapped in the towel. He had forgotten she was even there. He stared at her long and hard but she knew he couldn’t see her. He was planning something and she knew that whoever was on the receiving end of his anger would regret it dearly.

He poured himself a large Chivas Regal and drank it down in one gulp. Then he dialled a number on his phone and shouted into the receiver, ‘Paul? The filth just came to my home, motherfucker. My home!’

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Chapter Twenty

Marie was sitting alone in the lounge. She knew something had happened between the other three but she wasn’t sure what. She could take a good guess, though. Jason had just run upstairs and Ossie had followed him.

She glanced round the room. It was beautiful, decorated in creams and beiges. It must take a lot of upkeep. She had had no real possessions for so long that the thought of trying to make a home seemed alien to her. But then, she had not made a very good job of it when she had last had the opportunity. She thought of all the home classes she had attended in prison and smiled wryly.

‘Your home is where you relax. Where you spend most of your leisure time.’ She could still hear the lecturer’s voice as she’d said it. Marie had nearly answered: ‘And there is nothing like a wrap of the big H to relax you in your home, ma’am. That is why most of us are here.’ But she hadn’t.

That poor woman couldn’t even imagine the so-called homes of the people she was preaching to. She had always seemed highly nervous of her class of degenerates. Now Marie was feeling that same nervousness herself.

She was more nervous than she had been on her arrival. She had known instinctively that Verbena was going to be a problem, just had not expected it to manifest itself so soon. In fact, she wondered if she should get a taxi or something and leave. Let them all talk about what was happening. It was obvious Verbena had a problem with her and Marie could understand that. She didn’t want to take the boy from her, couldn’t do that even if she wanted to. He had a lot of his life invested in the couple who had adopted him. She couldn’t expect him to want her over all this - the lovely home and the holidays and the good education.

She only wished Verbena had given her the time to thank her properly for all she had done for Jason. And Marie was grateful. She

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past ner race and body she knew that they could get on with one another. Marie was capable of getting on with anyone. Her years inside had made sure of that.

Verbena walked into the room and the atmosphere was instantly charged. Marie stared at her for long moments. Verbena was a heavy woman, well-rounded. Her eyes were spectacular; their greeny-blue colour made them seem almost catlike. She obviously loved her son and husband, the only thing that differentiated her from Marie’s mother. Louise had the same problem with wanting to own people, but unlike Verbena had had no time for her husband at all. This woman had the same air of simmering animosity; it came off her in invisible waves. Warning people to back off, leave her boys alone and if possible sever any contact with them.

Marie was heart sorry for the woman but she wanted her son in her life and she would have him. No matter what this woman thought.

‘I hope you’re happy.’

The words, were spoken in a low voice, almost a whisper, and Marie knew that Verbena had thrown down the first gauntlet.

‘Not at all. Why would I be?’

Verbena snorted in a most unladylike way.

‘Oh, I don’t know. You come waltzing into my home and try and inveigle yourself into my family. I never wanted you here and neither did my son. In fact, when the social worker asked about him seeing you, I told them he had said no. But it still happened, didn’t it? My husband saw to that. You want the boy back and now you’re determined to take him for me.’