The Confessions of Paul Davis.

Through the small square window, Paul Davis saw daylight creep into the room. He figured it was around five thirty. He didn’t have a watch and there wasn’t a clock anywhere in sight. He shut his eyes and remembered. Remembered his first one.

12^th May 1972.

In the alleyway behind Freeman Hardy Willis, the old shoe shop. He had no idea who the man was. Didn’t matter. He just wanted to experience the sensation. And when he did, wow, it felt good. That feeling of ultimate power. He was taking something that can only be given once. He savoured every second. Watched as the man fell, saw the look of fear and disbelief in his eyes. His life slipping away. Then gone. Once he’d seen that, he was hooked. It was an addiction.

He did four more within twelve months. He grinned. It was all a bit amateurish back then. Thank god Police forensics were crap forty years ago.

All the victims were chosen at random. That’s why the Police had no idea who he was. They were looking for a pattern to the killings, some kind of common denominator. But there wasn’t any. He just killed people because he liked doing it. Only one rule. They all had to be men and over eighteen. He used a knife, a claw hammer, a brick, shovel, in fact anything that was close at hand. He always had the upper hand on his victims. They just weren’t expecting to be hit over the head and then battered to death.

But in 1974 it all changed. That’s when he met Sean.

Sean, or Irish Sean as he was commonly known in North London, was the nephew of a fearsome businessman called George Kelly. Sean’s father Thomas was George’s brother. The family had close connections to the IRA. George raised money for them in the UK, then sent it back home for “the cause”.

Kelly was a big name in East London. George owned a number of businesses, from Skip Hire and Demolition to Waste Disposal and Transport.

He and Sean became best mates. They went everywhere together. But he never told him of his addiction. That was his secret, not to be shared with anyone. Not yet.

The Kelly family were celebrating a christening and Sean asked him to come along and have a few beers. That’s when he overheard the conversation that would change his life forever.

George Kelly was with his brother Thomas and four other men. They were talking about a contract with Hackney council.

“We’ll be in the running for the waste contract but we’ll probably come second again to that cunt Matthews. We always do. He’s got two of the top johnnies at the council in his pocket.”

“Can’t we have a word with him?”

“Tried it. He don’t scare easily, besides, he’s got his own little firm.”

“How much it worth?”

“Over a mill. Maybe a mill and a half.”

“Fuck me that’s serious money.”

He smiled as he thought back to that time. He was so brash back then. So full of confidence. He remembered speaking up.

“So why don’t you just get rid of Matthews?”

George Kelly looked over.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Sean jumped out of his seat.

“It’s okay Uncle. This is Paul Davis; he’s a mate of mine.”

“He’s not fucking okay; he’s earwigging and shooting his mouth off.”

He took no notice of George Kelly and carried on talking.

“I’m just saying, if Matthews is your problem why don’t you just get rid of him? Then the contract is all yours. Makes perfect sense to me.”

As much as George Kelly wanted to punch this little upstart in the face, he liked his spirit.

“Okay sonny boy, how would we do that then?”

“I’ll do it. You just say yes and I’ll make sure he’s gone in a couple of days.”

“Gone where?”

He put his hands together as though praying.

“To a much better and peaceful place.”

George started laughing.

“I like you kid. You’ve got some bollocks on you.”

Then he stopped laughing and his face changed.

“Now fuck off and let the grown- ups talk.”

Sean dragged him away before his Uncle George lost his temper.

“You’ll get yourself cut if you carry on like that, moron!”

They finished their beers then went on to a club. But all he could think about was Mister Matthews.

Sure enough, two days later, Matthews was the victim of a vicious assault just round the corner from the council offices. The Police concluded that it was a mugging that had gone wrong. Matthews had a liking for expensive watches and it was thought that his four thousand pound gold Rolex was the reason for the extreme beating which had left him dead in an alleyway.

The next day he met up with Sean.

“Uncle George wants to see you.”

“Thought he might.”

The pair of them jumped in a cab and arrived at the Kelly offices at midday. They were shown through into a large oak lined room. George Kelly was sitting at his desk; behind him was his brother Thomas and two other men. Sean stayed by the door and pushed Paul forward. Kelly stood up.

“Right, Paul loud mouth Davis, I’m going to ask you a question and I want a straight answer. Don’t fuck with me sonny or I’ll cut you up into little pieces. Understand?”

“Okay.”

“Did you have anything to do with the demise of a certain Mister Matthews from Hackney Council?”

He said nothing, walked forward, put his hand in his trouser pocket and pulled out a gold Rolex watch. He placed it on the table in front of George. Then took two steps back.

As much as George Kelly tried to stop himself, he couldn’t. He started to laugh. So did the men behind him.

“You are one strange cunt boy. I think I can use someone like you. I think you can be very useful to me. As of today you work for me. Welcome aboard.”

George stuck out his hand.  He grabbed it and shook it vigorously. That’s when all the fun began.