The Ladykiller (46 page)

Elaine and George had finished their tea and were sitting in the lounge watching
Thames News
. Since George’s announcement about his redundancy, they had been living under an amicable truce. The murder of Leonora Davidson was the talk of Grantley, and Elaine was well aware that it had happened on a night when George was out walking. A hundred times a day she told herself that it was coincidence, that on the nights of the other murders he had been indoors with her - except for New Year and she was confident that he had been too ill to leave his bed then.

When the newsreader mentioned the Grantley Ripper Elaine’s ears pricked up. The screen went to an outside broadcast. Grantley Police Station was in the background as a young girl came on the screen. Elaine was watching George’s reaction as the girl spoke.

‘The Grantley Ripper case. It has been announced today that the police are going to take blood and saliva samples from all males in the area in the fourteen to sixty-five age group. This means that just over five thousand men and boys will be tested.

‘Wide-scale testing has been done only once before in 1983 at Enderby in Leicestershire, after two rapes and murders. The police hope that testing will eliminate as many people as possible in the hunt for the Grantley Ripper. Mobile units will be going around factories and offices, school and unemployment offices. Any man who refuses the test will be under suspicion. We shall be updating you on what happens during the course of the investigation.’

Elaine looked again at George.

‘I think it’s a good thing, don’t you, George?’

‘You’re absolutely right, my dear. Best thing that could happen if you ask me.’

For the life of him he was not sure how he managed to sound so normal. He was sweating.

‘I mean, George, whoever this man is, he’s a maniac, a sick maniac, and should be caught and locked away as soon as possible. Hanging’s too good for him. I reckon he should be tortured like he tortured those women.’

George nodded absentmindedly. His mind was racing. What was he going to do? He could not take the test. They’d be coming to his place of work. He would be forced to take it with his colleagues.

‘Would you like me to make you a cuppa, George? I’m having one.’

‘Yes, dear. That would be lovely.’

Elaine walked to the kitchen. Well, he seemed OK. It was her as usual. She was always down on George but couldn’t seem to help it. He affected her like that.

Anyway, she reasoned, if he had had anything to worry about he would have shown it by now. George was like an open book to her. When she’d poured out the tea George walked into the kitchen and picked up his cup.

‘I’m going down to the shed, dear, I want to sort out the bulbs for the spring planting. I won’t be long.’

‘All right then. Shall I call you when
EastEnders
comes on?’

‘No. I won’t bother tonight, I’ve too much to do.’

He walked from the kitchen and Elaine went into the lounge feeling a bit happier. If he was worried about anything he wouldn’t be doing something so mundane as sorting out the spring bulbs.

George locked himself into his shed and put on the light. He placed a piece of material over the window and then put on the small Calor gas heater. The shed was soon warm and cosy. He sipped his tea, sitting on the old chair, and thought deeply about his predicament. He could see no way out. Finally he got up and moved the gardening catalogues from the desk, pulling out his books reverently. He finished his tea and settled himself into the chair with them on his lap.

He began idly to flick through them but tonight he felt nothing. Not even the semi-erection he usually got just from the act of having them near him. He looked through the pile and then picked out one of his favourites. He looked at the girl’s face and tried to empty his mind of everything. Closing his eyes he pictured himself straddling her, his penis forcing its way into her mouth against her will. His breathing became heavier and he opened the flies of his trousers, pulling on his penis to try and force some life into it.

It was beginning to stir. Slowly he began to pull the foreskin back and forth, enjoying the sensation it created. Now he was pushing it into the girl’s vagina, squeezing on her naked breasts, and she was begging him to stop. Pleading with him. He rubbed at himself, faster and harder, the sensations taking away all the worry and uncertainty. He was building up to an orgasm when Elaine began banging on the shed door.

‘George . . . George! There’s a phone call for you. Some bloke called Tony Jones.’

He felt the icy hand of fear on the back of his neck. He pulled his hands from his trousers as quickly as he could. The small space was hot and cloying from the Calor gas heater and he felt a moment’s sickness as he realised what Elaine was saying.

‘Are you listening to me, George?’

‘I’m just coming, dear. I think I dozed off in the chair, looking at the gardening catalogues.’

Outside in the cold and dark Elaine rolled her eyes. ‘Well, hurry up, it must be costing this bloke a fortune.’

George stood up and threw the magazines into the desk. It wasn’t until he was halfway up the path that he remembered that his trousers were undone. He hurriedly zipped them up and pulled his jumper down over them. Tony Jones. What the hell did he want now? He walked through the kitchen and went to the phone in the hall.

‘Hello?’

‘Georgie? It’s me, Tony Jones.’

‘What do you want?’ His voice was hard.

‘Calm down, I told your wife I was a friend of yours. You have got friends, I take it?’

‘What do you want, Tony?’

‘I’ve got some new films in, Georgie, and I think you’ll like them.’

‘I’m a bit strapped for money at the moment.’

‘Well, pop in and see me and I’ll do you a deal. You’re a good customer, Georgie, and I’d hate to lose you.’ Tony’s voice was friendly now.

‘I’ll try and get in over the weekend.’

‘You wanna see these films, mate, they’re hot. The birds in them! Tits like you’ve never seen before . . .’

George was already picturing it in his mind and Tony knew this. He knew exactly how to sell his merchandise.

‘One bird’s built like a fucking Amazon and she’s loving it, Georgie. For all her shouts and protests. You can see her coming as you watch.’

George was feeling hot now. He wanted the films. He wanted them now.

‘I’ll be in tomorrow night after work, OK?’

‘You know it makes sense.’

The line went dead. George replaced the receiver.

‘Bring me in the paper, George.’ Elaine’s voice was at full throttle and he winced inwardly. He picked up the paper from the telephone table and took it into the lounge.

‘Here you are, love.’

‘Who was that then?’

‘Oh, a friend from work about my leaving do.’

‘Leaving do? For you?’ Elaine’s voice was incredulous.

‘Yes, Elaine. For me.’

George was annoyed now. What with everything that was happening, the last thing he needed was one of Elaine’s little innuendos. Do her good to let her think he had friends. Might shut her up now and again.

‘I know you find it hard to believe that people might like me, but they do!’

She was annoyed at his attitude. ‘I’m sorry, George, but after fifteen years I’d have thought you might have mentioned these friends now and again.’

‘When have you ever wanted to know, Elaine? Answer me that if you can. Just when have you ever wanted to know?’

With that he went back down to his shed. He was aware that he had dropped his guard with Elaine and was glad. Give her something to think about for a change. She took him for granted, always had. He locked himself into the shed and put the Calor gas fire on again.

Fifteen minutes later he was once more locked into his fantasy world.

George sat at his desk. He wished he had not bothered to come to work. The only topic of conversation was the blood testing. Peter Renshaw was making one of his lightning appearances. George wished it was time for one of his sales visits to Yorkshire, or better still Scotland. Peter’s insistence on being his friend unnerved him. But hadn’t he told Elaine last night that he had friends? George pondered this for a while. He watched Renshaw monopolising the conversation, his eyes scanning the small crowd around him as if he was trying to catch them out not listening to him.

George wondered if in fact he had any friends. It was the first time in years such a thought had occurred to him. As a child he had not had many, but that was his mother’s fault. She had not encouraged her children to bring friends home. George unconsciously pursed his lips. He could never remember bringing anyone home. He could not remember one true friend. He began to feel sorry for himself. No friends. Fifty-one years old and no friends. No real friends. Even Elaine had friends. Big, fat, brash till girls who dressed like tarts and spent their life in bingo halls like mutton dressed as lamb. His mother had been right about Elaine. She’d said he would rue the day he married her, and he did. But Elaine had been so sweet once. Long ago. She was the only girl who had ever shown a spark of interest in him and he had been grateful. He grimaced. Grateful to her?

Now he could have any woman he wanted. He
did
have any woman he wanted. He let his mind stray to Leonora Davidson. He didn’t feel any regret. She was alone, no husband or children to worry about her. Just a lonely woman. He had done her a favour really. Lately he hadn’t liked thinking about Geraldine O’Leary. Her children had been in the local paper. Beautiful children, like their mother. Elaine said they had taken her husband away to a mental hospital. That he had had a nervous breakdown. He pushed the thought from his mind. He had more pressing things to think about.

‘I say, Georgie . . . I’m talking to you!’ Peter Renshaw’s loud voice echoed across the room. George looked at him. ‘Sorted out your leaving do, old matey. Friday week at the Fox Revived. We’ll all meet there straight from work. I’ve got a surprise for you, old chap. A bl-oody big surprise.’

George smiled at him.

Josephine Denham walked into the office. As usual she looked immaculate. She was wearing large grey-framed glasses that gave her a look of intelligence and sophistication, and was carrying a sheaf of papers.

‘Can I have your attention, please?’

Everyone stared at her.

‘The mobile blood unit will be here on Thursday the twenty-second of this month. The office staff will be the first for testing then the factory and warehouse staff. If we do it on a rota basis it won’t affect production too much. I’ve been talking to the police this morning and they say that they’ll be giving out questionnaires nearer the time. Anyone who is not at work that day must account for their whereabouts to me personally. I will then pass on the message to the police. If anyone is against the taking of the test please feel free to come and see me, though personally I can’t see why anyone would object.’

Her eyes scanned the small sea of faces and it was evident that anyone who refused would be immediately judged guilty, by her at least. When no one answered she turned on her heel and walked from the room, her footsteps ringing on the tiled floor as she walked away.

‘I’d go and see her, but it wouldn’t be to tell her about the blood testing, eh, chaps? I’d give her a portion of the pork sword anytime!’

The men laughed, even George, though his mind was whirling.

What the hell was he going to do?

He looked at his watch. It was eleven thirty. He got up from his seat and began to put on his jacket.

‘Where you off to, George?’ This from Carstairs, a man whom George had worked with for fifteen years and barely knew.

‘I’m going down the pub for some lunch actually.’

‘But it’s only eleven thirty!’

George never left until twelve on the dot. ‘I can tell the time, you know.’ With that he walked from the office.

‘Well I never!’ Carstairs looked at the others.

Peter Renshaw picked up his sheepskin, slipped it on and followed George out of the office. He caught up with him in the Fox Revived.

George had walked into the warmth of the pub. He knew that Peter was behind him and tried to ignore him, hoping against hope that he would take the hint and leave him alone. But not Peter Renshaw. As George ordered his drink, Peter pushed in beside him and ordered his own, paying for the two. George sighed. Picking up his glass he took it to a small window table and sat down. Renshaw followed him.

‘I say, Georgie, you all right?’

He sipped his half of bitter and nodded. Renshaw, he decided, was like a virus. You just had to put up with it until it decided to go.

‘Look, George, I know that this redundancy has hit you hard, but in reality it’s the best thing that could have happened to you. I mean, fifteen years’ loyal service. You’re looking at a good twenty-five thousand, aren’t you?’

George’s eyes widened. ‘That much?’

‘Yes, I was talking to Jones. He says that as it’s not a voluntary redundancy, you’ll all get a golden handshake. Like they did with the dockers and the car workers. They’ll be paying you off, Georgie boy.’

‘Twenty-five thousand pounds?’

Peter smiled now. ‘That’s a lot of dosh, Georgie. I reckon you should get the next round in!’

He smiled. This time it was his secret smile. He was feeling a bit better now. He had four more weeks at work. Then he could go where he wanted. Until then he had to avoid the blood testing.

But how?