Follow the Leader (27 page)

Suzi Porter. The killer gained entry to her house without force – did he know her? Or did he, like Sam had suggested, push his way in somehow – a foot in the door. And if so, how did he keep Suzi quiet long enough to attack her? There was no blood found in the hallway, and only a few drops in the living room; most of it had been in the kitchen around the area of the chair. Had he talked his way in because of the school connection? Or had she never known much about it?

Frank Dwyer. Again, someone had got into his house without force. His sister seemed to think that Frank attacking one boy meant that he could have done it to more boys. Charlie Lewis had helped corroborate this with his story of events. Dwyer was also linked via emails and indecent images to Malcolm Foster. And the whole business with the pizza was weird. No one in the pizza places recalled seeing Frank Dwyer collecting it. Most of the places run by Potteries Pizza didn’t take many online orders, and tracking their phone records had so far been inconclusive. CCTV images were few and far between, none showing Frank. None showed Danny Peterson either.

Malcolm Foster. The only one in their long line of victims who wasn’t stabbed. Why? Their killer had obviously made the connection between him and Dwyer, and Foster had abused his own son when he was a child. Had their killer been abused as a young boy too?

Nathan Whittaker. Allie couldn’t think of him without conjuring up the image of his wife, sitting at his hospital bedside with their daughter curled up on her chest. So tiny, so vulnerable – it was great that her father had survived. He was more stable now, and awake longer too. Sam had been sent to question him, but he hadn’t recalled anything significant about the night. They’d need to question him again soon.

Getting to Malcolm’s attack had left them with the letters spelling out EVEN, something to fool them, keep their man from being caught. But now with the other two plastic letters, G and E, it had to be the word
revenge
, even though they had every letter but R. So what was he trying to get revenge for? Also, the attack on Nathan – had he been left for dead or attacked that way so that he could live?

And Joe Tranter – he knew Mickey and Nathan, so what did that mean? He had also gone to Reginald High School, had been married to another of the victims, not to mention the indirect connection to Terry Ryder and Ryan Johnson, who was known to be associated with Ryder. Allie couldn’t help feeling guilty that she had snapped at Joe earlier that day, but, hell, she was only human.

His girlfriend, although not squeaky clean enough for Allie’s liking, had been ruled out as his killer. After being questioned, Rhian had given them a description similar to the one Mia
Whittaker
had offered up – a lean, white male. This was the first time anyone had come so close to him. Rhian thought he’d been dressed in running gear. Was this why they couldn’t find any cars in the vicinity of the murders? Allie made a mental note to get Sam to go back over the CCTV footage, widening the area to see if he came up anywhere as a casual runner.

Trying not to wake Mark as she fidgeted, she turned to lie on her back. Yawning now, she went over the attack on Chloe Winters. Despite having it fast-tracked, they were still waiting for the DNA report to see if there was a match on the database. But every time another magnetic letter was added to the puzzle, that investigation was being pushed back. They’d managed to get camera stills at the time of the attack but there had been no sign of him afterwards, only Chloe staggering back the way she had come. Did he know Central Forest Park well or had he cased it to figure out the best possible vantage point from which he could sneak away unseen? And why had he handwritten the letters Y and N instead of using plastic letters?

Everything added up to callous, calculating and very devious. It was as if he wanted to inflict as much pain on his victims as they had on him, but for what reasons? Had she been right when, after talking to Perry, they had come to the conclusion that it could be something to do with bullying? But then, that would mean only victims connected to the school, surely?

Slowly, she turned over onto her side, closing her eyes again, hoping somehow sleep would come. But the whiteboard kept
coming
into her vision, the plastic letters moving around in front of he
r eyes.

She stared into the darkened room – what was the killer doing now, what he was planning next? They had everyone they could spare working on this case. What were they missing?

Finally, she sat up and pulled back the duvet. The clock by her side illuminated the time: five fourteen a.m. Tiptoeing out of the room, she closed the door quietly behind her and went into the bathroom. She might as well put her active mind to work. She could get to the station for six.

It was now Friday morning, twelve days after the first body of the six had been found. If the killer was spelling the word
revenge
, it stood to reason that some sort of clue to the letter R would be there – to give them a chance to win or lose. Because the one thing she couldn’t get off her mind was that their killer was clearly playing a game.

So what were they missing?

Chapter Thirty-Two

Sam had arrived at her desk minutes before Allie, so after catching up with what had come in overnight, as well as continuing with the work that the press conference had brought in, Allie also tasked Sam with going through CCTV again, this time looking for runners nearby. Perry arrived shortly before seven.

‘Hey,’ he said, flopping into his chair, covering a yawn as he switched on his computer.

‘Hey yourself,’ said Allie. ‘What time did you get off last night?’

‘Not long after you, but I couldn’t sleep. What’s new?’

‘There’s been a call from Potteries Pizza. The manager says one of the delivery drivers from the Hope Street branch recalls something now. The pizza that was shoved into Frank Dwyer’s face wasn’t collected. It was a delivered order. He recalls dropping it off, said a guy came to the door. You’re never going to believe where it was. Number 4, Smallwood Avenue. Joe Tranter and Rhian
Jamieson’s
address.’

Perry frowned. ‘But surely that could mean Joe Tranter killed Frank?’

‘Doesn’t make sense to me either. After this morning’s briefing, I’m going across to Hope Street, see if I can fathom out the
mix-up
. The manager lives over the shop. Also, Nathan Whittaker has remembered something. Nick wants him questioned, so can you go to the hospital to speak to him?’

‘Sure thing.’

‘Sam,’ Allie added, ‘can you check to see if anything has come up on Car Wash City lately? See if you can find anything out from there about Joe Tranter. And Ryan Johnson.’

‘Ryan Johnson? As in one of the Johnson brothers?’

‘The very one. He was with Joe Tranter when I questioned him about Rhian yesterday.’

‘It will be my pleasure.’ Sam’s face lit up. ‘Nothing I like better than having a mess around Ryder’s gaffs.’

At quarter past nine, Allie parked up in Ranger Street. She had just spoken to the manager of Potteries Pizza and, although he’d been friendly, what he’d told her hadn’t been any help at all, so she’d decided to go and see the driver herself. It was only a
minute’s
drive from Hope Street to the address she’d been given. Once there, she updated Perry and Sam with her findings via text message and got out of the car.

With terraced housing on either side of a narrow road, Ranger Street wasn’t a place that she had frequented much since she’d been promoted to detective sergeant, but she knew its type of residents from her earlier days. There were always lots of incidents that uniform were called out to, but nothing major as yet, although the underlying current always made her sense it could happen at any time.

At the far end, she could see a playground, vandalised and mainly unused, so a handy place for the down-and-out alcoholics who congregated there, no matter how many times they were moved on. To her right, a woman sat on a doorstep, the door to her house open wide. Despite the icy cold temperature, she was dressed in black leggings and a dirty white, long-sleeved T-shirt. She eyed Allie suspiciously, unfolding her arms only to take drags of her cigarette.

Allie knocked on the door of number twenty-seven.

‘Mr Thomas?’ She flashed her warrant card at the man who answered. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Shenton.’

‘Yes, my boss has just called me. Sorry, I wasn’t working last night.’ He opened the door wide. ‘Do come in.’

Allie stepped into a long hallway and was ushered into the living room, two front rooms knocked into one large one. A quick glance and she would have been no detective if she couldn’t tell that he was a single man. One leather armchair, which he sat down in immediately, and a large flat-screen TV with a games console that looked as if it were permanently attached, dominated one side of the room. At the back of the room, the main area had been made out into a gym: a treadmill, an exercise bike, various weights in front of a mostly mirrored wall.

Allie flipped open her notepad. ‘Your manager says you’ve remembered something about delivering a pizza on the night that Frank Dwyer was murdered. Can you tell me what you recall, please?’

‘Can I get you a chair to sit on?’

‘I’m fine.’ She shook her head. ‘I won’t keep you that long.’

‘Okay.’ He looked up at her. ‘It was about midnight. I had a call to visit number four, Smallwood Avenue, with two pizzas –
pepperoni
and a ham and mushroom. Oh, and a bottle of Coke too. Mustn’t forget that, now.’

‘So you had two pizza boxes?’

‘Yes, and a bottle of Coke.’

Allie made a note to check the rubbish bins at Smallwood Avenue for the packaging. It was possible that they might not have been emptied that week yet.

‘Go on,’ she urged.

‘As I was walking up the drive, a man came out to me. He gave me some money and I left.’

‘Can you describe him for me?’

‘Tall, dark hair, early forties at a guess.’

Allie wrote it down. ‘How long have you worked for Potteries Pizza?’

‘Two years, give or take a few days. Got made redundant from the city council – had a job for life in the benefits section but it turned out to be a big fat lie. I got hardly any severance pay so I work as a driver – I wanted to see a-pizza the action.’ He laughed at his own joke.

Allie didn’t.

‘I have a work diary in the kitchen. I write down everywhere I go.’ He stood up. ‘Mileage claim, you see, as I’m self-employed. I’ll get it for you – won’t be a moment.’

He moved forward but instead of going through the door into the kitchen, he closed it and turned back to the living room, giving Allie a clear view of the wall that had been hidden behind it. The hair on the back of her neck began to prickle, not just because as an officer she needed to have a clear escape route, but because now, in full view, she could see a map of Stoke-on-Trent. Several circles had been drawn on it in thick black marker pen.

Allie didn’t need to count them because she knew how many there would be.

Letters of the alphabet that she had become familiar with over the past few days were written inside each circle.

All except for one.

Perry was pleased to see Nathan Whittaker sitting up in his hospital bed when he went into the ward. His wife was with him too. They exchanged smiles and a few pleasantries before he drew up a chair and took out his notebook.

‘Congratulations on the birth of your daughter, by the way,’ said Perry.

‘Thanks!’ Nathan grinned. ‘You got any?’

‘Not yet. One on the way, though.’ He grinned too.

‘Will you look at the pair of you,’ laughed Mia. ‘It’s us women that do all the hard work! Congratulations, by the way. When is it due?’

‘End of August. It’s early days. I’m not supposed to say anything yet but I can’t help it.’

‘Good luck with it.’ Nathan looked at him then. ‘This attack was personal. I’m sure I know him.’

Perry’s stomach flipped over. ‘Do you know his name?’

‘I can’t remember. I’ve been trying to think of it for the past hour.’

Mia took hold of the hand Nathan was clenching into a fist and banging on the bed. ‘It will come to you,’ she soothed.

‘Tell me how you think you know him,’ said Perry. ‘What was it about him that you remembered? His mannerisms, his look? Do you think you’ve seen him recently?’

‘I might have seen him at work. That’s the problem with my job. I work on a sales counter. I see loads of blokes every day.’

‘So he could look familiar because he visits the shop. Do you think you might have recognised him more if he was a
regular
?’

‘Possibly.’

‘So, let’s say that he isn’t a regular. Where else would you know him from? We’ve been questioning people from our year at school after asking them to come forward. Can you think of anyone we all knew?’ Perry probed further. ‘Maybe that would be why the face was vaguely familiar?’

‘You know I spent half my time there outside the headmaster’s office. I was always clowning around, always up to no good.’ He stopped. ‘I told Mia that I knew all of those people who die
d.’ He lo
oked at Perry. ‘Fuck, was he out to kill me too?’ His hea
d cam
e off the pillow and then he collapsed back with a groan.

‘You mustn’t move too much,’ Mia told him.

Perry waited a moment while she helped Nathan to get comfortable again.

‘Did he say anything to you?’ he continued, his pen tapping on the notebook.

‘He called me a loser.’

‘And could you tell with that one word, was it a local accent?’

‘Yes, he was from Stoke.’

‘Good.’ Perry wrote this down and looked up again. ‘Have you any idea why he would call you a loser? Any significance to anything in your past? Or just a throwaway comment?’

‘Mia would say I’m always a loser,’ he grinned.

‘A joker!’ Mia squeezed his hand. ‘I said you were a joker.’

‘Hey, wait.’ Nathan frowned. ‘It
was
someone I remember from school, a loner who used to be the butt of everyone’s jokes. What was his name? Shorty! We used to call him Shorty. Patrick . . .
Patrick
. Shit, what was his real name?’ He paused for a fraction of a second, looking at Perry. ‘Can you remember? Morgan! That’s it! It was Patrick Morgan.’

‘Patrick Morgan? That short guy everyone –’ And then it hit him. Perry got out of the chair so quickly that it toppled over. ‘Are you absolutely certain it was Patrick Morgan?’ He got out his phone; scrolled down to the last message he’d received from Allie.

‘Yeah. I’m sure. Do you remember him?’

But Perry was no longer listening. He was running down the corridor, phone to his ear.

Allie’s phone rang, making her jump in the quiet of the room.
Seeing
Perry’s name flashed across the screen, she tried not to show her relief.

‘I need to take this call,’ she said, hoping to take control of the situation until she could think of how to get out of the house.

‘Of course.’

She answered it quickly, thankful it hadn’t got a stupid ringtone attached to it. ‘DS Shenton.’

‘Allie, thank fuck!’ Perry shouted. ‘I’ve just checked back with the station. Please tell me you haven’t gone in to Ranger Street yet to see Patrick Thomas.’

‘I’m here now,’ she said, a little shrill. ‘I’m with Mr Thomas.’

‘Is he in your line of sight?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Look, hear me out, and try not to freak him out either. I don’t think Thomas is his real surname. I think it’s Morgan, that he’s
Patrick
Morgan. Can you see a scar down the side of his cheek? I can’t remember what side it’s on, and it might not be as visible now, but it was large. About two inches in length?’

‘Yes.’ Allie gulped.

‘You can see it?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘Fuck, Allie. He’s the one. Stay calm, okay?’

‘Okay.’ She watched as the man in front of her – the
killer
in front of her – folded his arms and stood tall, never once taking his eyes from hers.

‘Patrick Thomas is Patrick
Morgan
. He’s Ray Morgan’s son.’

‘Right.’ Allie tried not to give anything away as she met
Patrick’s
stare. She prayed her legs would hold her weight as she felt them ready to buckle.