Taunting the Dead (13 page)

‘Are you mad?’ He stopped slicing as soon as she told him. ‘Surely you haven’t forgotten what she said to you yesterday?’

‘Of course I haven’t,’ Carole replied curtly. ‘But you know Steph. She’s all mouth and she has apologised.’

‘You’re so gullible.’

‘I just want to get out and have a laugh, that’s all.’

‘She was downright nasty yesterday. Or have you forgotten that too?’

Carole hadn’t forgotten. Every word of the disagreement was still etched at the front of her mind. But the bonus side of it happening was that to make it up to her, Steph had invited her to stay over at The Gables. With a bit of luck, Terry would come home. Spending a few moments with him was worth a night listening to Steph’s moans and groans. Better still, she might get a bit of time alone with him in the morning before coming back here. Steph always lay in bed after a session.

‘No, I haven’t forgotten.’ Carole moved past Shaun to unload some of the plates from the dishwasher. ‘But you know Steph. Once she’s sobered up, she’s all sweetness and light. She’ll –’

‘Steph Ryder will never be sweetness and light,’ Shaun broke in.

‘Maybe not, but she’s footing the bill because she was so awful to me. So it’s a win-win situation. I get a night out and it’s all on the house.’

‘It’s Friday and we need you here.’

‘It’s one Friday night and we’re only going into town for a couple and then back to The Potter’s Wheel. There’s an Elvis tribute band on.’

The door behind them opened and Stacey popped her head round. ‘Someone to see you, Shaun. Phil Kennedy?’

‘What the hell does he want?’ Carole looked at Shaun, who had paled in a flash. ‘It isn’t time to pay him yet.’

Shaun ignored her as he went through to the restaurant, hoping that Phil wouldn’t let it drop that he’d seen him on Wednesday. Carole followed close on his heels.

Phil sat down on a stool by the bar. Unshaven with a tatty scarf around his neck and wearing an old Donkey jacket, Carole thought he looked more like an old tramp than a man Steph would want to bed.

‘Chuck us a whiskey over,’ he said without looking up at them. ‘It’s fucking freezing out there.’

‘We weren’t expecting you.’ Carole’s tone was icy.

Shaun shot her a look that clearly said
shut up
. She raised her eyebrows questioningly at him.

‘I thought I’d pop in and have a quick chat with Shaun about business. You don’t mind, little lady, do you?’

Carole hated it when he patronised her. She would never see what Steph saw in him, especially as she had Terry to go home to every night.

Shaun tapped a measure into a glass from the optics and slid it over. Phil knocked it back in one, slamming the glass down. He smacked his lips as the warmth trickled through him. ‘That’s much better.’ He caught Carole’s eye. ‘I’ll have a coffee as well, darling. And make it strong.’

Carole was about to shout Stacey over when Phil raised his hand to stop her.

‘Can’t you take a hint, you stupid bitch? Get lost.’

As Carole sloped off, Shaun perched on a stool next to Phil, dreading the start of the conversation.

‘So,’ Phil’s eyes flitted across to him, ‘that job we spoke about the other day?’

‘Yeah, I wanted to talk to you about –’

‘No time for talk.’

‘But I don’t know the slightest thing about –’

‘Keep your voice down,’ Phil cautioned. ‘We don’t want that wife of yours getting a whiff of any scandal, now, do we?’

Shaun wondered if the only scandal would be a report of his death sprawled all over the front page of
The Sentinel
. He could see the headlines now – ‘Local Man Found with Throat Cut.’ Or worse. He’d probably just disappear, never to be heard from or seen again. That’s how Phil Kennedy usually worked – so he’d heard.

But despite his anxiety about his life being over, he had to tell Phil the decision he’d come to.

‘I can’t do it.’

Phil turned towards him slightly. ‘You sure about that?’

‘I –’ Shaun faltered. ‘I’ve never done anything like that in my life.’

A silence fell between them.

‘Fine.’ Phil spoke at last. ‘Get me my money and I’ll be on my way.’ He smiled at Carole as she joined them again.

‘There’s nothing like a fancy cup of coffee on a chilly November Day. Biscuits too. You spoil me.’

Carole put down the tray, laden with three cups. ‘May I join you?’

‘You really are a pushy one.’ Phil looked up at her. ‘This is business talk.’

‘But this is my business, as well as Shaun’s!’

‘There’ll be no fucking business if you don’t sort out some cash for me soon.’

‘Why don’t you take yours upstairs?’ Shaun urged, knowing that Phil could spill everything to her in seconds. ‘Once I’m done here, I’ll come up to you.’

‘Yes, run along, that’s a good girl.’

After telling Stacey to keep an eye on things, Carole stormed upstairs, looking over for one last time as she climbed. How dare Kennedy dismiss her as if she were a five-year-old child and needed to go to bed! She was a partner in this business too. Both their names were on the lease of the shop; both their names were on the business loan they were struggling to make payments on. But neither man so much as glanced at her. Men! If they thought they’d got the better of her, then they were wrong. She slammed a door then tiptoed back across the landing and sat on the top step, out of view but hoping to catch some of the conversation.

As soon as Carole was gone, Phil grabbed Shaun’s wrist. ‘So what’s it to be then, Morrison?’

‘I can’t. I’ve never killed anyone,’ Shaun whispered, his face ashen. ‘I can’t do it to order. And not to someone I know.’

‘Look, it’s simple.’ Phil gripped him harder. ‘You do the kill and I’ll wipe out your debt.’

Shaun couldn’t say he wasn’t tempted. To have twenty grand cleared in an instant would be a godsend to him, and to Carole. To get Kennedy off his back would be an even bigger relief. They’d be able to enjoy the business, run it how they wanted, hire more staff so that they could spend more time together instead of one of them upstairs while the other worked downstairs. Maybe they’d be able to rent a place to live in and extend the business like they’d planned to do eventually.

But to kill someone to erase that twenty grand? No, killing wasn’t in his blood. Hell, fighting wasn’t. Shaun prided himself in being a fair-natured man, level-headed, good to have as a friend.

And what about Terry? Where did he fit into all this? Occasionally he’d heard about him doing his own dirty work but, more often than not, he’d get someone else to do it. That’s why he was involved with the Kennedy brothers. Phil and his brothers had a reputation for doing as they pleased. Steve was doing time for murder, a fifteen-year stretch. Phil had been banged up several times but for the past few years had stayed on the outside. Terry seemed to trust Phil far more than he did Shaun, so why wasn’t Phil carrying out the hit? He should never have taken the money from him. Damn the recession affecting their business. They should have sold up and cut their losses. Because right now he was so far up to his neck in shit that he wondered if he’d ever get out of it.

His eyes flitted briefly around the restaurant, the business they’d built up from scratch. They’d wanted it to feel like eating outdoors as much as possible but there was a sense of space as well as privacy if required. They’d thought that getting everything done high spec would bring more custom. The ambience had been just right, plus great Italian dishes with no one nearby to compete with. It was their dream – still was their dream. He couldn’t let it go in an instant – could he?

‘Supposing I did pull it off?’ Shaun pinched the bridge of his nose and blinked slowly. ‘How would I do it?’

Phil took a flick-knife from his pocket.

Even though they had their backs to the room, Shaun still looked over his shoulder. The restaurant was empty. Stacey had gone through to the kitchen with the last of the dishes. He picked the knife up and turned it over and over. His stomach did the same thing.

‘Twenty grand, gone in a second.’ Phil clicked his finger. Shaun jumped at the sound it made next to his ear. ‘And all this could be yours again.’

He looked up to see Phil twirling round, waving his arms. Then before he could react, a finger was shoved in his face. ‘You do want this business of yours to be a success, don’t you?’

Shaun put down the knife. ‘I can’t kill for it!’

‘You can and you will.’

‘No!’

Phil grabbed him by his collar and pulled him closer. ‘Do I have to make myself clearer for you? Either you do the job or your business will go down, one way or another. And you will go down with it.’

‘Does Terry know about this?’

Phil stumbled for a fraction of a second before gaining his composure again. ‘Of course he does. What do you take me for?’

‘I need to talk to him first.’ Shaun shook his head. ‘He wouldn’t allow this to happen. I can’t do this on your say-so. I can’t!’

‘Look, just fucking do it! OKAY?’

As Phil’s face reddened enough to erupt, Shaun felt close to tears as his world fell apart around him. If he did the job, Terry would probably kill him. If he didn’t do the job, Phil would be after him. Maybe he’d give him a sickening reminder to wake up to every morning too, like a finger cut off with a serrated knife or an eye burnt out with a hot poker. Maybe he’d shoot his kneecaps away. Maybe he’d shoot Carole too or maim her in some way. Shaun had read about what happened to Sarah Maddison. He knew Andy Maddison would never do that to his wife – he, too, was a coward. Someone else must have been involved and he wouldn’t put it past Phil Kennedy to have carried out something as atrocious as that. He ran his hands over his head. What a mess.

‘If I did it, how would I go about it? I mean, where do I aim for? What’s the best… the best place… to…?’

‘The best place…’ Phil stumbled over his words too. He cleared his throat before continuing, this time with authority. ‘The best place is always the heart. But I doubt you’ll be able to do that, sweet boy. You do what comes naturally.’

‘Naturally?’ Shaun saw Stacey emerge from the kitchen. In a fit of panic, he slid the knife up the sleeve of his jumper. ‘How the fuck does murder come naturally?’

‘I want it done by the morning.’ Phil let go of Shaun’s collar and pushed him away. ‘You do the job, ring me the minute you’ve finished and I’ll clean up the mess. No one will be any the wiser. Except for you and me.’

‘And if I can’t?’

‘Ever seen how quick a fire can take hold of a place like this? And the damage it causes? I reckon thirty seconds would be enough to get this building going. Maybe you’ll both be asleep upstairs? Who knows when I’ll strike?’ Phil glared at him. ‘But one thing is for sure. I will strike. So either you do the job tonight or… boom!’ He raised his hands and spread his fingers out as if he were throwing out glitter. Then he walked out of the building without another look back.

As soon as he’d gone, Shaun felt that familiar building-up of saliva in his mouth. Breaking out into a sweat, he shivered uncontrollably. He raced across to the gents’ toilets, dashed into a cubicle and threw up into the bowl. Wiping his mouth, he slid down the wall, head in hands, into a heap on the floor.

What the hell was he going to do now? There was no way he could kill Steph.

But what if he didn’t? Would Phil really go through with his threat to burn the place down with him and Carole inside it?

Maybe he should go to the police. Not the done thing – grassers were really the scum of the earth – but was it his only choice? Then again – would they listen to him? Kennedy could deny it all because nothing would happen unless Shaun took action. And then he would be in deeper shit than he was right now.

He couldn’t go to Terry either, no way. Terry would find out he’d been borrowing money from Phil and not paying it back. As dire as the situation was, he’d hate to owe money to him: he had ways and means of getting it. If Shaun thought Phil was menacing…

And which one of them had actually ordered the hit? Did Phil plan to get one over on Terry by wiping out his wife? Or was Terry somehow behind this, getting Phil to do his dirty work for him? Maybe Phil didn’t want to be responsible in case Terry regretted it later. Shaun had heard stories and seen war wounds of men who had crossed him before.

He checked his watch. Three fifteen. Fuck! He had less than nine hours left of this day before Phil would know that he couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t!

Even though it wasn’t much more than a minute’s walk from Piccadilly, Phil knew he wouldn’t make it back to his car, which was parked just off Cannon Street. As he passed The Potteries Museum and Art Gallery looming up on his left, he darted down the steps from Broad Street and hid underneath the split-level entrance on the floor above. Amongst the grime and layers of dirt from the street, he started to shake profusely. A film of sweat built on his top lip. As a rush of nausea surged through him, he placed a clammy hand on the wall for support and threw up.

Once the sickness had passed, he sat on the curve of the wall. Head in his hands while the bitter wind blew above, he closed his eyes momentarily. But all he could picture was Steph’s face. Tears poured down his cheeks and he wiped at them fruitlessly.

Had he gone too far back there? All that stuff about burning the building down. Would it have scared Morrison too much? There was a fine line between lying and being found out. But he’d had his reasons. He’d had to make it seem realistic despite not wanting Shaun to go through with the hit. Shaun would never have the courage to put a knife through someone’s heart – especially someone he knew – if he’d never killed before. It was the best place Phil could have told him to attack – such a hard thing to pull off. Much easier to go for the inside groin, far less personal. Oh, God. He ran a hand through his hair and glanced upwards.

Housed over three floors, the museum told the story of an inventive and industrious city, famous for the creation of some of the best ceramics in the world. People from all over the country still came in droves to admire the Staffordshire Hoard, but none of that interested Phil in the slightest. The only treasure he was interested in was Steph.