Faceless (54 page)

she? She was off the rails and didn’t care about any of it.

Only she did. Deep inside she cared but she was too far gone to

admit it to herself, let alone anyone else. So the cycle had started all

over again until finally she had gone too far. She had killed two

young women whom she had liked and had thought she cared

about.

For all these years she had told herself that it was out of character

for her to do something like that, when in fact it wasn’t. Tonight

had proved to her that she was more than capable of harming

someone even stone cold sober.

She didn’t feel that she had done a good thing; now in fact she

knew she had done a bad thing. Even worse than the first two

murders because at least then she’d had the excuse of drugs.

But tonight would never leave her and she knew it. She would

remember everything in vivid detail all her days. She didn’t feel she

had righted any wrongs. If anything she felt that all she had done

was come down to Patrick Connor’s level.

She should have let the police take care of him. Why had she been

so adamant that she wanted to do it herself?

But she knew why: because she couldn’t be sure they would

have put him away. He was slippery, always had been, and she

knew better than anyone that you could buy justice in this country.

She had spoken to enough people while in prison who had done

just that.

But it still didn’t justify what she had done. She didn’t feel that

she had avenged Tiffany, she felt that she had used her daughter’s

death as an excuse to do something she had wanted to do for years.

And she had wanted to. Patrick should have been locked up, not

her. He had made her into the person she had become. He had fed

her heroin until she would do anything for it, even kill by the looks

of it.

She closed her eyes as she saw him again, covered in blood and

trying to crawl away from her. If only he hadn’t laughed at her …

it was his laughing that had sent her over the edge. Because when

she had confronted him she wasn’t sure she had the nerve to kill

him.

She wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand and

waited for the police to come and take her away once more. Her lips

moved in a silent prayer, but it wasn’t to God she was praying but

to her dead daughter. She was apologising for what she had done

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and for the fact that now she had fulfilled her task she had in effect

lost her son and granddaughter as well.

Every time she closed her eyes she saw Patrick laughing at her

again, with that arrogant way he had, and the anger boiled up inside

all over again.

Her mother had been right all along.

She really was bad. Inside and out, she was bad.

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Chapter Twenty-Six

Alan watched the sun come up from the Portakabin window. He

had not slept all night, was far too wired. Sleep could not have

claimed him even if he had taken fifty downers. He had drunk a litre

of Scotch and that had not made any difference. He wasn’t even

drunk.

Today was the day he had longed for and dreaded in equal

measure. But whatever else it brought, it was the end of it all and

for that he would be forever thankful.

He sipped at his coffee and savoured the last of the Scotch. He still

needed something to take the sting out of the morning. He glanced

at his Rolex and sighed. He had another hour before it all went off.

His mind wandered to Marie and her predicament. He hoped she

would still be a friend after this was all over. But he doubted it. He

doubted it very much. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a man

with a gun and felt fear once more. Mikey would be mad at him for

this double-cross, but what choice did he really have? He had to get

out of this mess and he was going to get out of it with the least

trouble to himself. That was what he had decided and that was what

he was going to do.

His kids needed him and he needed them. Wanted to be around

for them, not banged up. When this was all over he was going

straight. He was never going to do one thing wrong again in his

life, it had brought him nothing but trouble. He was also going to

give up on the horses and the dogs. It was his gambling debts, plus

the extravagant lifestyle of his ex-wife, that had brought him to this

impasse in the first place.

He had been lonely when Beverley had gone. He would not

admit that to anyone else, but he had been so desperately lonely.

Missed his girls in the morning jumping all over him. Missed the

smell of tea and toast and the girlish banter of his daughters as they

got ready for school. Even missed his ex-wife’s inane chatter,

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though at the time he could have murdered her, especially when he

had one of his marathon hangovers. She had always known when

he had been at it with another woman and her eyes would betray

her hurt. Why had he done it? What had been so wrong with his

life really?

They’d had the big house, the nice cars, and his and hers Rolexes.

All the things that people like them aspired to. Yet it was then that

the rot set in.

With money in your pocket other women were willing to climb

into your lap without a second’s thought. A nice meal, a few quid,

and Bob was your proverbial uncle. You had some sort getting her

tits out without an argument about the kids or wanting to know

who you were with or what you were doing. It was mindless sex,

something that was no longer possible at home once you had a

houseful of children.

But the closeness was not there, the lying together afterwards and

talking about mutual acquaintances or family. That was gone, to be

replaced by chatter about fuck all because you didn’t actually have

anything in common. Not really. It was just a bartering system. The

girl had to have a reasonable boatrace and big tits, and you had to

have the means to give them a night out up West and cab fare

home.

What was it his old dad used to say? Fair exchange is no robbery.

That was it, but Alan never got a fair exchange. Most of the women

he wouldn’t want to see in daylight, and he certainly wouldn’t want

to be seen with them unless he was drunk, drugged or both.

He had seen one girl three times. She had seemed OK at the

time, nice little bird with a baby. She had been a laugh, a crack.

Nothing serious until she had turned up on his doorstep one

morning and caused the Third World War and now here he was, a

grown man, pretending he liked his divorced status and hated his

ex-wife. A man who was lusting after a convicted killer and just

about to tuck up one of the most dangerous villains in the South

East, who was incidentally also lusting after the same convicted

killer. Except he was trumping her and by the look on her face she

was enjoying it immensely.

Alan Jarvis had certainly come up in the world, no doubt about

that. All he needed now was to fall out with fucking Saddam

Hussein and he could get to keep the fucking match ball. He

glanced at his watch again. The minutes were ticking by so slowly

he feared he might have a heart attack with the strain.

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The phone rang and he grabbed it with a mixture of relief and

trepidation.

‘Hello? Is that you, Alan?’

It was an Irishman called Tommy the Pig, on account of the fact

he was a pig farmer in Devon. It was a few seconds before Alan

placed him because he was so nervous.

‘All right. Tommy. What can I do you for?’

He was trying to act as normal as possible.

‘I have some scrap coming in the end of next month. From

Yugoslavia. A good few quid for the man who can get rid of it.’

‘How much?’

‘A lot, Alan. It’s tanks.’

He rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

‘No, thanks. Tommy. I am out of that business from today.’

He replaced the receiver gently and felt an urge to cry. How had

all this happened to him? Where was that young man who’d been

going to set the world on fire?

You got the life you deserved. How many times had his father

said that to him? And why had the old fucker always been right?

He drank the last of his coffee and continued his vigil at the

window. His life was going to change drastically after today. He

only hoped it was all worth it. He saw that the men outside were

getting impatient and hoped it all went off without too much

hassle.

But the way things were going for him lately, that was too much

to hope for.

The knock she had been expecting finally came on Marie’s bedroom

door at six o’clock in the morning. She was ready for it; she was up,

dressed and ready to go. Taking a deep breath, she opened the

door.

‘Phone for you, Marie.’

She stared at Amanda for long seconds before forcing a smile.

‘Who is it?’

Amanda smiled, her eyes still full of sleep.

‘Some woman. She didn’t give her name.’

Marie didn’t answer her, just walked down to the hallway and

picked up the communal phone.

It was Maisie.

‘How are you, Marie?’

‘OK.’ She was so aware of Amanda hovering in the background

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her words sounded stilted and false even to herself.

‘Has this line got a hook on it?’

‘I don’t know.’

Amanda was miming drinking a cup of tea and Marie was

nodding now furiously, indicating that she was dying for one.

‘Well, I’m ringing about last night. You know, when we went to

the Bluehouse Club together? You had a disagreement with Candice,

the little black girl from behind the bar? Well, her sister is here and

said to tell you Candice was sorry, she was out of order. Are you OK

about that? Only Lizzy Waite who owns the club was upset about it.

The last thing she needs is the bar staff giving the customers grief,

ain’t it?’

Marie nodded, forgetting that Maisie couldn’t see her. But she

was so nervous she would be hard pushed to write her own name.

‘OK, Marie?’ Maisie’s voice was more insistent now.

‘Yeah, thanks. Tell her to forget about it and lay off the vodka.’

Maisie laughed, as she knew she was required to if there was a

hook on the phone.

‘Did you charge the mobile like I showed you?’

‘Yes, ‘course I did.’

‘Good. Well, turn the bloody thing back on! I’ll ring you later

then. ‘Bye.’

The phone went dead and Marie had to hold on to the grubby

wall to keep herself upright. Amanda called her into the rec room

for her tea and she walked as normally as she could get to it. But it

felt like she was walking underwater. The lying and scheming had

already started, but how could she hope to get away with what she

had done?

And, more to the point, why was Maisie doing this for her?

She sipped the tea gratefully, its hot sweetness reviving her

flagging spirits. An old con she was once locked up with used to do

the tea round for the other prisoners. She had been a gofer, which

in prison terms meant ‘go for this’ or ‘go for that’, but she had

loved it. Said it gave her something to do with her days. ‘The cup

that cheers’ she had called it. She had died in her cell one night and

the whole prison seemed to go into mourning for a nice old lady

who had once made a terrible mistake. Was that how people would

think of Marie one day?

‘She sounded OK.’

Marie smiled. She wasn’t going to tell Amanda anything. She

was a lovely woman but she was also part of the prison service,

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even if she didn’t see herself in quite that light. At the moment she

was the enemy.

Marie was amazed at how quickly her prison ways had come back

to her. A natural distrust of anyone was a must in that environment,

especially anyone in the pay of the Home Office. She sighed

inwardly. She wasn’t sure she could live like that again for years on

end. At least before she’d had the knowledge that whatever she had

done it was while under the influence of drugs, so even though that

didn’t make it right, at least it wasn’t premeditated. Now it was a

different kettle of fish altogether. Though thanks to Maisie she had

an alibi at least.

So she was going to try and walk away from this; she had made

that decision, or she wouldn’t be thinking like she was. She wondered

how the alibi had been concocted and whether the women

referred to would be willing to commit perjury when the time came.

Because that time would come, she was sure of it. Once Patrick’s

body was found the police would come knocking on her door.

As Amanda chattered on Marie was still contemplating her own

predicament, and wondering if it all came on top how she would

cope with life inside once more. As a three-times killer she could

not expect to get out for a very long time. And rightly so.

As her mind raced from one thought to the next Amanda stared

at her curiously. There was something going on here, she knew that

much. All her years in this place had given her a shit detector and it

was working overtime at the moment. She hoped there wasn’t