Hard Girls (15 page)

Kate sat back at the kitchen table and opened the files once again. ‘We’re missing something, we have to be. There’s nothing we can find that ties the girls together in any way, in fact, two were complete strangers to the others. We know that he good enoughc scrapyardy takes their phones with him, but from the phone logs we can get nothing except that he rings them all from differing locations, providing it’s him ringing, that is. Of course most of the girls take calls on pay as you go, and so do the men. Who can blame them? So we have nothing to learn from that. But I believe he is
choosing
these girls, they are not random. He makes sure he has enough time to do his business with them, he
has
to plan for that, he can’t take the chance of someone interru on the tables

Chapter Seven

‘Come on, Des, you know I can’t get involved in all that old fanny. I’m the number two. I can’t start criticising Patrick’s mates. What do you think I am? On a death wish?’

Danny was annoyed, he had no intention of pushing his nose in where it wasn’t wanted. He also had no interest in doing Desmond’s dirty work. He was a brief, dirty work was what he got paid for. He heard Desmond sigh heavily, and Danny knew he was trying to keep his temper in check. Desmond wasn’t used to people refusing him anything. He worked for the Faces, and that gave him his credibility.

‘I just want you to ask around, Danny, that’s all. I can’t, because it would look odd if I started asking questions, wouldn’t it? But listen to me and listen good, we need to get the SP
before
Patrick starts snooping for himself and, believe me, if he susses anything before us, and starts creating, the first thing he will want to know is why
you
didn’t notice anything peculiar. Why you weren’t watching his interests.’

Danny saw the logic of that. He also knew that Patrick only dealt with people he trusted, so how was he supposed to go and investigate people Patrick thought were beyond reproach?

‘But I don’t have anything to do with the girls as such, I just collect. How can we be sure there’s a scam going on?’

‘We can’t, but I don’t like the way the monies have dropped off. It isn’t because of the nutter. After all, the punters know it isn’t them so they aren’t that bothered. Bates keeps saying the business has dropped off lately, but I know for a fact that it hasn’t. Look at the website; we are getting more interest than ever. We’ve never had so many hits. How can we be losing out?’

‘OK, Des, I’ll look into it, but Peter won’t like it.’

Desmond laughed. ‘Well, you’d better make sure he doesn’t find out then.’

Desmond put the phone down and sat back in his very comfortable and expensive leather chair. He looked around his office; all art deco and leather furniture, it looked class, and it was class. Right from the antique law books to the stripped pine flooring. He was proud of this establishment, and he knew it was because of Pat Kelly and his cronies. He knew he was a very lucky man, he had a good life, and that life was dependent on people like Pat Kelly.

He prided himself that he could smell a dead rat before it was stinking, and all his instincts were telling him that something was not right. Now it was up to Danny, and he hoped against hope that the boy would use his loaf and not attract too much attention as he sniffed around.

Peter Bates was not a man to suffer insults lightly, and he would take any questioning of his integrity as a personal affront. He was, to all intents and purposes, one lairy fucker when the fancy took him, especially when he was in the wrong.

Eve was dressed to impress, and she knew exactly who she wanted to impress. As she applied her lipstick, she looked herself over with a critical eye. She knew she looked good. She made a point of looking good, it was part and parcel of her job. She had to be seen to be in control, and that meant looking in control.

It was strange really, she ran the club with a fist of iron, and she employed very young, very good-looking girls because they brought in the majority of the customers. She was also surrounded by very young, very good-looking girls because they were a large part of the clientele, they were out on the pull and looking for Mr Right or, in most cases, Mr Right Now. Even so, she knew a lot of the male customers gave her more than a second glance. Yet she was always suited and booted, as befitted the manageress of a busy nightclub. She didn’t show her body off, just a hint of cleavage, and the benefit of very high heels. It seemed to attract a better class of man, they liked the fact she wasn’t on permanent display.

Patrick Kelly was one of those men and she knew he was as aware of her as she was of him. Which was strange because she had never really been attracted to the type of men who frequented the club before. She saw herself as a bit too shrewd for that, saw herself as above that kind of male. In her thirties, she felt she was far too experienced for the kind of men she met during her work. Most of them were married, a lot of them were on their second or even third wife, or live-in mistress, depending. Most of them still had their eye on the main chance though. Privately, she thought of them as incorrigible. Still on the search for a bit of strange, for the latest conquest.

Eve only dated men who had proper jobs and proper lives. But she had to admit to herself that they had never kept her interest for long. Plus, they had been few and far between the last few years, she worked the wrong hours for any kind of proper social life. But that didn’t bother her too much. She liked her independence, and she liked her own company. She didn’t usually feel the need to be part of a couple - she liked the sexual freedom that her lifestyle afforded her. She had no illusions of marriage or babies, all she wanted was good sex, and a good time. Eve prided herself on not wanting a permanent relationship, especially not with a local villain who could, and would, move on to another pretty face sooner rather than later.

Now though, she found herself looking out for Patrick Kelly. She knew it was silly, it was like a schoolgirl crush, but she couldn’t help herself. He was old enough to be her father, but she didn’t care about that, there was something about his eyes, his demeanour, that made her want to be near him. Touch him. That her brother Danny worked for him didn’t help, she wasn’t sure he would be too pleased if he knew how she felt. He thought the world of Patrick, and he respected him, but she had a feeling he wouldn’t exactly be thrilled at the prospect of her lying down for him.

As she thought of having sex with Patrick Kelly she felt an excitement she had not felt for a long time. She thought about sex with Patrick a lot, and the more she thought about it, the more she wanted it to happen. He attracted her, and she knew she would not rest until she had him beside her in her bed.

He was coming in tonight to look over the books, something they both knew was a sham, a pointless exercise, an excuse, as it was a job3"> 
 
 

ftmargin-top: 0.5em; b d normally split between three different parties. The tax man, the accountant, and the managers. Still, she knew it was make or break time, and she was ready for whatever might come her way. She wanted to smell him, feel him, fuck him. He interested her in more ways than one. He made her think about something other than work. He made her think about herself, about how she felt sexually. He reminded Eve that she was still alive and it had been a long time since she had felt like that.

Her hair looked good, her make-up was perfect, and she had worn her sexiest underwear, just in case. She had been plucked, waxed and moisturised within an inch of her life, and it felt good to be a part of the world again. Even for just a short while. It had given her the rare urge to be part of a couple, even though experience had taught her that it wouldn’t last, it never did. But she always enjoyed the chase.

She went back into her office and poured herself a neat vodka on the rocks because she needed Dutch courage. She threw it back in one swift movement then, stretching like a cat, she waited for Patrick Kelly to arrive.

Kate was walking quickly, the cold was settling around her, and she could see her own breath. It was damp and raining again, the start of the real cold weather. She walked the streets looking at the houses near the scene of Alana’s murder, trying to work out if any of them had vantage points from where the occupants could have seen someone arriving, either from their windows, doors, drives, or even the pavement.

Kate still couldn’t believe that no one had seen anything, she knew from experience that often people saw something important, but at the time it looked innocent, uninteresting. She also knew that people didn’t really take any notice of their surroundings any more. Years ago, people looked out for their neighbours, they noticed a strange car or a noise late at night. Not any more. People ignored things now, they didn’t want to get involved. They were frightened of come-backs, retribution. So Kate walked the streets to try and find some kind of common denominator, something that could help her make her case. She found herself doing this a lot, and each time she didn’t see anything that could be of any help, yet she still did it, still tried to understand the logic of the crimes. There was a logic somewhere, she just had to find it. So she watched, she saw the girls arrive, and she saw the men arrive. And she waited to see if anything untoward might occur. The men were always furtive, but not unduly worried. She guessed from the websites that many were from out of the area, and she understood the sense of that. She also knew that some of the men were locals, others were willing to travel long distances for their entertainment. It was soul-destroying in some ways, these were men whose wives and daughters would never even suspect that they were capable of such blatant skulduggery. She knew that sex caused people to do things, reckless things, that they often found left them surrounded by guilt and shame. She also knew that these same people would nevertheless repeat those acts time and time again. It was the fact they were doing something so heinous that got them going in the first place. But for all that, the majority were harmless, they were looking for a quick buzz, a sexual high they felt they couldn’t ask for and, in most cases, wouldn’t want from their wives or long-term partners. It was sad really, that in this day and age men could find anything they wanted at the click of a button, things that were once only available to them in their fantasies.

So, she would walk the streets or sit in her car and observe, hoping deep inside that the man she wanted would turn up. But instead, she saw them co sooner rather than laterN: thin solid; padding:10px; } .yme and go without incident. She was always surprised at first by how low-key things were. How nondescript the flats were, perfect for that secret liaison. She could almost understand why the men seemed to feel relatively relaxed going there. It was like they were visiting a friend, the flats were in nice buildings, but not too nice, the streets were quiet and the neighbours were all workers. Most of them were out during the day, and too tired at night to be watching what was going on around them.

But for all that, it didn’t change the fact that one of these girls was eventually going to entertain the wrong person. Kate desperately wanted to prevent that from happening, but she knew she couldn’t, there were too many girls and too many punters out there. It would be impossible to police the whole area.

She started to walk back to her car and as she felt the rain on her face, and the cold seeping into her bones, she saw Patrick’s car coming towards her. It threw her, it was the first time she had encountered him in weeks. She stepped into the shadow of a garden and waited till he had passed her by, she didn’t want him to notice her.

As he drove past the streetlight she caught a glimpse of him. He looked good, but then he always did. He was wearing his heavy overcoat, and she knew that meant he was going out somewhere nice for the evening. She knew him so well. But where was he going? And, more importantly, why wasn’t she going with him? Why had this happened to them? She opened her car and sat behind the steering wheel. She was suddenly freezing, and she sat for long moments, wondering how her life had come to this.

Patrick was nervous, he felt like a schoolboy on his first big date. He was suited and booted, but then he had always been a man who liked to dress well. He believed that a man was judged on how well turned out he was. But as he stood in the bar he felt overdone, the younger men around him were dressed casually, all open-necked shirts, collar-length hair and Italian loafers.

He saw Danny arrive and cursed him under his breath. It was his sister he was hoping to see tonight, not him. He felt almost ashamed about his feelings for her. As if he was doing something wrong, something out of order. But he knew that was stupid, he was in a world where men of his age sought youth, where younger women were part and parcel of their credo. Look at me, I can still get it up. Look at me, she could be me daughter, but she ain’t. It was like an unspoken rule among them all: I can still pull the birds.

Kate had been different, she had been someone to respect, someone he had felt was on a par with him. Now though, he felt she was no more than a fucking albatross that had been hanging round his neck for far too long. She had voided him in a moment, so she could get fucked. He had a life to live, and he was determined to live it with or without her.

Danny waved at him happily, and he nodded an acknowledgement. Then Peter Bates came over to him and said loudly, ‘Here, Patrick, have you heard about Kevin Daly? His wife died this morning. Only thirty-nine, she had food poisoning of all things. Three kids under ten, what the fuck is all that about?’

Patrick was shocked. Kevin was a good bloke and his wife had been a nice girl. Quiet and well dressed, she had sat out a hefty prison sentence for Daly, had waited patiently for him to come home.

‘That’s terrible, how is he?’