He had spent hours rubbing the chicken with garlic and salt. Letting it marinade so that it would be fragrant and crispy. He had enjoyed waiting for her to arrive. Her voice on the phone had been so beautiful, exactly as he’d remembered it.
When she had knocked, he had felt as if his heart would explode with happiness. After all those years she was back, she was once more with her beloved son.
But time had not been kind to her. A grossly overweight woman had emerged from the voluptuous figure he recalled. Puffing and wheezing her way into his home, she had criticised everything from his décor to his dress sense. It had been nightmarish. She had insisted on seeing her husband and finally he had taken her up to see his father.
Bethany had stood at the end of the bed and enjoyed seeing her husband’s disintegration. Robert had found her disgusting then, this travesty of the woman he had once adored. The woman he had recreated in the comfort and privacy of his own bedroom.
Her voice a cracked whine, she told him story after story about how life had done her down, how unhappy she had been, her pendulous breasts heaving, her breath stinking of cigarettes and brandy.
Then had come the bombshell.
She was short of funds, and this house was obviously worth a few quid. She pointed out that as she had never divorced his father she was still entitled to half, and she
wanted
it.
Needed
it.
In fact, according to her, she
deserved
it.
Robert had been terrified then, terrified of what she could do to him and his life. She wanted to move back home. In her twilight years she saw it as a refuge from the hell that her life had become.
All those years of adoring her from afar and now he had seen with his own eyes what his father had realised years before.
She was a whore, the worst sort, one who would drag her own child into her trade. Those innocent cuddles remembered from his childhood were not so innocent any more. The men who had given him sweets and caresses were finally seen by Robert for what they really were. In fact, it was as if a light had come on in his head and illuminated all the memories he had repressed.
This parody of motherhood was actually telling him how much she had loved and missed him. How she was looking forward to being with him again after they had put his father into a home.
It was an assault to his sensitive ears, listening to her grating voice, and to his nostrils, smelling her overripe body.
He had refused. Told her outright that none of her plans were remotely possible. He had tried to be reasonable but she had taken his acquiescence for granted. She was
telling
him, not asking. She was sitting in his pristine kitchen, a living reproach to motherhood, and telling her son what she had decided he was going to do.
He forced the picture from his mind.
He knew he had stabbed her then. Was aware of it on some level. Until today he had pushed it from his mind and replaced it with the better memories. The ones where she was still lovely and smelled of apples and loved him desperately. The ones he had embellished over the years to suit his moods and the games he played with himself.
It was why he liked the Reginas and the Kerrys and the other whores. When they had placed their red-stained mouths in his lap he had been close once more to his mother. The one he had created, not the one sitting in his home smelling of degradation and decay.
He finally opened his eyes and reluctantly said to Kate, ‘She’s in the garden, dear. There’s a few of them in there.’
Kate was nonplussed. ‘What do you mean, a few of them?’
Robert grinned then, smiling boyishly at her naivety. ‘A few bodies. You see, I have a habit of killing people who irritate me. Plus, I sometimes picked up young men in Soho and brought them home with me. Of course, I was always sorry afterwards. I should never have even contemplated it, they were all so
young
. But afterwards I couldn’t let them go, could I? I couldn’t let them tell anyone, and me a respected social worker.’
‘So what you’re saying is you killed an unknown number of people and buried them in your garden?’
He nodded now, eager to help. ‘Oh, yes! Lots.’ He clapped his hands together in glee. ‘Lots and lots. People who offend me do tend to end up dead.’
He was so pleased with himself. Thought he was doing them all a big favour by telling them things. Just like a child hoping to be rewarded for telling the truth.
Jenny heard Golding say, ‘Jesus Christ!’ under his breath.
‘There’s about fifteen people buried there. Women, men and the children. I was sorry about the kids - I was very bad that day, but I never could stand crying.’
Robert frowned, thinking about what he had said. ‘Yet
I
cry all the time, at sad films, things I read in the newspapers. Over things I’ve done, even.’ He shrugged. ‘They’ll put me away, won’t they?’
No one answered.
‘You see, I had to do those things because if I didn’t then someone else would have. It was like the kiddies, I knew I had to help them.’
He was in deadly earnest. ‘You do understand that, don’t you?’
His eyes were pleading with them to tell him he had done the right thing. He slumped down in his chair.
‘Could I have a cup of coffee now, please?’
Kate nodded and Golding got up to do it.
‘Is my father OK? Will someone take care of him for me?’
‘Of course they will. He is being cared for even as we speak.’
Robert nodded gratefully. ‘I wasn’t very kind to him, you know. And he wasn’t as black as he was painted. I realise that now.’
No one said anything. All were waiting for him to get it out of his system so they could put what he said in some sort of order. He gnawed on his thumbnail, his usual calm gone.
‘I had a feeling it would be you who sussed me out, Kate. It was your eyes . . . they saw straight through me from the first. So I looked you up on the computer. I read about Lizzy and her overdose. She was under us for a while after her suicide attempt. I knew then that you knew how I was feeling. That you understood disappointment. That you would fight for what you thought was right the same way that I did. You had had experience of a whore first-hand and would understand my feelings of anger and jealousy.’
He leaned on the table and said in a voice that was supposed to be conspiratorial but was in reality shockingly loud, ‘She slept around and had had an abortion. Did you know that, by any chance?’
Kate realised he was mocking her, and closed her eyes to hide the distress she knew was registering in them.
He shrugged disarmingly. ‘Sorry, have I let out a secret? My big mouth will be the death of me.’
He laughed aloud. ‘We have so much in common really but you won’t see that for many years, my love. Now, after the coffee, I’ll tell you what
really
happened to little Lesley Carmichael. I should know, my dear, I was there.’
He couldn’t control his mirth.
‘Get a warrant. I think you might just have found out all you need to know about Barker. Me and him go way back. But talk to Mavis. She’ll give you the real lowdown. Silly of me to mention Debbie, wasn’t it?’
‘How did you kill the children?’
He sobered up then, his whole body stiffening.
‘I sent them to sleep, my dear. Don’t you worry, they didn’t suffer at all.’ This was said self-righteously.
‘I would never intentionally hurt a child. Not when I am being me anyway. When I am their mother . . .’ He shrugged again. ‘Well, then I am allowed to do what I want. Do you understand what I am saying?’
He was cunning and clever, one step ahead of their thought-processes all the time.
‘I won’t even get to court, my dears. Won’t be fit to stand trial, which is a pity really.’ He wrinkled up his nose. ‘I’d have enjoyed the notoriety.’
He carefully tidied his hair.
‘Now I need a brief. After my coffee, I want to make a call. Is that OK with you?’ He smiled tauntingly. ‘Don’t forget to tell Barker I have the goss on him, will you?’
Kate looked into a madman’s eyes. Robert Bateman was so far over the edge he was never coming back. What frightened her more than anything was the fact that she had liked him. Had truly liked him. She wasn’t sure exactly what that said about her, but it worried her greatly.
Jenny and Kate drank coffee and smoked with him. They knew better than to try and force anything from him. Robert had the upper hand and he knew it.
He smiled when he was charged. Smiled all the time. But it didn’t always reach his eyes.
Patrick Kelly was awoken by the pressure of Kate’s lips on his. He opened his eyes and smiled. Slipping his arms around her, he pulled her on to the bed with him, both of them amazed at his strength.
As he kissed her and ran his hands over her body she relaxed against him. This was what she needed. Human contact. Love. Understanding. This was all that made life bearable.
Then, pulling away, she dragged herself from his embrace. ‘Suppose someone comes in?’
He grinned. ‘That’s why I went private, girl. Lock the fucking door and get in here now.’
She did as he asked her, and he was overjoyed, for he could see that she needed succour as much as, if not more than, he did.
She trailed her nails down his torso, staring at him as if she had never seen him before, and suddenly he was frightened. He knew he looked different. Knew that in the harsh light of the hospital room he looked grey and ill.
He looked at her breasts above him as she leaned across to turn off the overhead light. In the half-light from the open bathroom door they gazed into each other’s eyes.
‘I love you, Kate.’
She smiled then. ‘I love you too. Are you sure you’re up to this?’
He pulled the blanket down and said hoarsely, ‘Well, I’m obviously up for something, girl. See for yourself!’
She laughed huskily. This was what she had missed so much. She lowered herself on to him gently, concerned about his wounds, worried that she would hurt him. He thrust up his hips and dragged her on to him at the same time. The feeling was at once painful and exciting.
She lowered her face to his to kiss him deeply and felt him begin to shudder beneath her. She rode him harder, catching up with her own orgasm just after he had come.
Afterwards they lay together, their bodies sweaty and limbs entwined, and after everything that had happened in the last few weeks, Kate Burrows finally felt at peace.
Patrick sighed happily. ‘Fuck me, Kate!’
She looked into his eyes. ‘I thought I just did?’
He started to laugh and she laughed with him. They were roaring as if it was the funniest thing they had ever heard.
‘Marry me?’
He wasn’t sure he had heard her correctly. ‘You what?’ he asked.
She sat up, disengaged herself from him and gently caressed his body.
‘You heard me, Patrick Kelly. Marry me.’
‘Are you sure about this?’
She nodded.
Then the nurse started rattling at the door and they began to laugh again. They had needed to relieve the pressure of being apart and managed it triumphantly. It was what had always made them work, had been the thing that had kept them going for so long, and now they both knew without a shadow of a doubt that no one else would ever give them the peace they brought one another so easily.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
‘You’ve done well, Kate.’
Ratchette’s whole body seemed to be smiling. He was over the moon to have the case settled.
‘And how is Patrick?’
She felt an urge to tell him where to get off once and for all. Instead she forced a smile.
‘He is on the mend,’ she said politely. ‘What was the news you had for me?’
Ratchette was feeling pleased that she had not forced any real conversation about Kelly.
‘It’s about Barker. It seems he’s gone missing.’
Tell her something she didn’t know.
‘Do you think someone might have tipped him the wink about what was going down here?’ she asked.
Her superior shook his head. ‘He’s been missing for a week. But because of his working habits no one realised until now.’ He handed her a slip of paper. ‘Here are two addresses - of his wife and his ex-wife. You can talk to them.’
‘Thank you, sir. Oh, and Patrick wants to know when you are going in to see him. He says he needs to talk to you about Smallbridge Holdings.’
She saw his face go pale.
‘I didn’t realise you were a director in the business. It almost makes us related.’ Christ, how she enjoyed watching him squirm. It was worth every second spent in his company just to witness it.
Pocketing the paper, she left the room.
Five minutes later she was on her way to Robert’s house. They had found the first bodies a few hours ago.
Things were finally coming together.
Boris looked at Kate’s photograph in the daily papers and despite himself he was impressed. She was obviously a good policewoman but he still thought she was bent.
Bent for Kelly.
Which meant she could be bent for him.
The more he thought about it, the more it appealed to him. He liked the look of her. She was what he thought of as wholesome. Sexy in a muted womanly way, but wholesome also fitted the bill.
He decided he wanted to meet her and put his proposition personally. She wouldn’t refuse, he would make sure of that.
Sergei watched his benefactor and mentor perusing the newspapers, looking for more pictures of the dark woman, Patrick Kelly’s woman, and wondered if he was going to try and use her. It certainly made sense. She was being fêted by everyone at the moment. She had closed a case that had shocked the country - had shocked the world, in fact.
Kate Burrows was now famous and her private life would come under scrutiny soon. Unless Kelly made sure it did not.