Taunting the Dead (18 page)

‘No, I stayed in, watched a video.’

‘With friends?’ He turned round quickly with a grin. ‘Or with a boyfriend?’

‘That’s none of your business.’ Kirstie’s voice faltered a little before regaining its composure. ‘I stayed over at my friend’s house last night.’

‘And who might that be?’

‘Her name is Ashleigh Stewart.’

‘And is she –?’

‘What’s going on?’ Kirstie’s eyes flitted from Allie to Nick. ‘Look, what’s with all the questions?’

‘I was about to ask the same thing,’ said a velvet voice from behind them.

It was his eyes that did it for her again. Just the same as they’d done on Tuesday night at the charity event. Just like they’d done when she’d seen him at one event or another through work. Pools of dark liquid sucking her in immediately. Down, down she fell into their depths. Not so much ‘come-to-bed’ eyes as much as ‘fuck-me-here-right-now-up-against-the-wall’ eyes. They sparkled with a hint of mischief, yet at the same time gave away the danger behind them.

Allie looked away as they lingered on her, unable to stop herself blushing. What was wrong with her? Under the circumstances, she was mortified.

Nick took a few steps forward. ‘I’m afraid we have bad news, Mr Ryder. It’s about your wife. Would you like to sit down?’

The confident look Terry had displayed moments earlier disappeared completely. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.

‘Could we speak to you alone?’

‘No,’ said Kirstie with a frown. ‘I need to know too.’

Nick looked at Terry for confirmation and cleared his throat when he nodded.

‘We’ve found a body this morning, on Brooke Lane, at the back of the car park of The Potter’s Wheel. We believe it to be your wife, Mr Ryder.’

‘No, tell me that’s not true!’ Kirstie cried, sitting down. ‘Tell me.’

Terry flopped onto a settee, his head resting in his hands. ‘But it can’t be her. I spoke to her only last night.’

‘At what time?’

‘About eightish. She was waiting for a taxi. I stayed over in Derby last night. I’ve been staying over there quite a lot recently. I have work there.’ His eyes were misted when he looked up. ‘What happened?’

‘She was attacked from behind and hit over the head. We’re not exactly sure what the murder weapon is yet. The forensic officer gave us an estimated time of between eleven p.m. and one a.m. You were in Derby then?’

‘Yes, I got back about half nine this morning. I never thought…’

As Kirstie sat crying, Allie took a handkerchief from her pocket and gave it to her. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss.’

Terry switched off the television, sat down next to Kirstie and pulled her into his arms.

‘Are you sure it’s her?’ he asked. Then, ‘Of course you are. We were with you both on Tuesday.’

‘Yes, we’re sure,’ said Nick, ‘although we do need you to formally identify the body.’

Terry nodded. ‘I’ll get my keys.’

‘Don’t you leave me!’ Kirstie cried.

‘I won’t.’

‘That won’t be necessary yet,’ Nick told them. ‘We need to ask you a few questions first.’

‘May I ask who found her?’

‘The cleaner at the pub. She spotted the body through an upstairs window.’ Allie cast her mind back to the distraught woman. She’d been the colour of Kendall mint cake.

‘Do you think someone killed her deliberately?’ Kirstie managed to speak through sobs.

‘We can’t tell as yet,’ said Nick.

‘How bad was she?’ Terry wanted to know.

Nick’s silence spoke more than any words. ‘Is there anyone we can call for you?’

‘I knew something was odd when she didn’t come home last night.’ Terry said. ‘I need to speak to Carole. You met her last week as well.’ Allie nodded. ‘I sent her a text message earlier – I sent Steph one too – asking if Steph was with her. They were out together last night.’

‘You didn’t call either of them?’ asked Nick.

‘No, it was too early.’

‘And did Carole…’

‘Morrison. Carole Morrison. She and her husband own The Orange Grove restaurant in Hanley.’

‘Did Mrs Morrison get back to you?’

Terry shook his head. ‘No, although I haven’t checked my phone in the last half hour.’

‘Don’t worry, we’ll speak to her shortly.’

‘They only went out for a drink,’ Terry continued in a daze, as if they weren’t there. ‘They usually get back around midnight.’

Allie could see he was struggling to contain his emotions as she wrote down Carole Morrison’s details. She touched Kirstie gently on her shoulder. ‘Will you be okay until the family liaison officer arrives?’

‘Family liaison officer?’ Terry’s back straightened. ‘We don’t –’

‘It’s routine procedure, sir,’ Nick explained. ‘In cases such as this, we always employ someone to help the family understand what the police are doing. We need to get to the bottom of this, and as quickly as possible, for all your sakes.’

‘Do I have to have one?’

‘No, but it does look better if you co-operate.’

‘Better for whom? Are you suggesting that I had anything to do with this?’

‘On the contrary, sir, but we do have to keep an open mind. A family liaison officer is –

‘A waste of money, if you ask me. I’d rather you employed an extra officer to look into my wife’s murder.’ Terry closed his eyes for a moment. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not thinking straight. What I’m trying to say is that Kirstie will more than likely be round at her friends and I’m here alone now that… now …’

‘Let’s see how things go, then,’ Nick offered a compromise.

Allie kept her face straight. She knew they couldn’t force anyone to have an officer in their home twenty-four-seven and Terry was right – their time could be better utilised. But it seemed a strange request to refuse. And surely his daughter would want to stay close by her family home after what had happened?

After a preliminary search through some of Steph’s belongings, other officers started to arrive. Matt and Perry joined them to take down the first account from Terry as they made their way back to The Potter’s Wheel.

Allie wondered if the killer had left anything behind. Nick had set up a team to sweep the immediate area. Even if evidence had been trampled away on the car park the night before, the area around the body would be quite clean. She didn’t envy any of them as they pulled into the car park to check. It was still like the ice age out there, despite it being lunch time.

‘What do you think?’ Nick asked as he switched off the engine.

‘No FLO?’ she questioned, hoping that she didn’t sound insubordinate. But it had puzzled her ever since he hadn’t pushed the issue.

‘I have my reasons.’

Allie waited for him to continue but he didn’t elaborate. ‘You want my honest opinion?’ She sighed. ‘It’s unusual to have two murders around here in less than two weeks. It’s even more unusual that Terry Ryder can be linked to both of them. Call it instinct, gut reaction maybe, but something doesn’t sit right with me. I think those were crocodile tears back there. From both of them.’

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Shaun hadn’t slept on the night that Steph was murdered. How could he when he’d failed to do what he’d been asked to do? Hell, in his pathetic state, on the way home from dropping Stacey off, he’d even driven halfway to The Potter’s Wheel, like he was going to get extra courage on the way.

Minutes from the pub, he’d pulled the car across to the kerb and threw up into the gutter. He’d got back in his car to collect his thoughts, turning his mobile phone over and over in his hands until suddenly, with an angry cry, he’d thrown it onto the passenger seat and started up the engine. He’d been in The Orange Grove fifteen minutes later, knocking back the whiskey like no man’s business, thinking that his life was over. Or how it would be in a few hours when Phil found out that he hadn’t followed through.

He was supposed to have killed Steph Ryder. Put a knife in her heart and watched as she bled to death. He couldn’t do that! Murder wasn’t in his blood. He may as well top himself now and get things over with rather than wait around for Phil Kennedy to do what he couldn’t. He was well and truly fucked.

He kept going over and over how Phil might react when he next saw him. Would he come in to The Orange Grove and have a go at him in front of Carole and their customers? If he chose his moment, after the Regent Theatre emptied and its clientele were hungry, he could lose a fair amount of trade. Or would he do as he’d said, set the place on fire with both of them in it? Shaun swore he’d never sleep a wink again.

Last night, he’d been surprised when Carole had rolled in around midnight. Luckily for her he’d still been awake or she would have had to knock him up. She’d come in moaning, saying that Steph had abandoned her and she’d had to fork out twelve quid for a taxi back and what kind of friend was she, before staggering upstairs to bed. Shaun had stayed downstairs, sitting in the dim light of the restaurant with a mug of cold coffee and a half-empty whiskey bottle.

He’d sat there all night, listening to the sounds of the city outside. For a while it was noisy as people walked home after getting a kebab or a late night drink. Every now and then, he’d hear the faint beeps from the pelican crossing a few hundred yards away.

He woke just after eight with his head on the table and the bottle of whiskey empty by his side. But he stayed where he was and, after more coffee and more time lapsed, the next thing he knew it was past midday. Realising the restaurant should be open by now, he stood up. With heavy feet he went upstairs, wishing he hadn’t given up his ten-a-day smoking habit. He could kill for a cigarette right now. Then he drained of all colour. Even a thought about murder could do that.

Carole was in the living room. ‘You look like I feel,’ she told him as he stood in the doorway.

‘I’m fine.’ Shaun glanced at her sheepishly. Her face had stains of last night’s make-up and her hair stuck up in tufts after a deep sleep. A purple dressing gown was wrapped around her, held together by her folded arms.

‘What’s up?’ she asked.

‘Nothing.’ He raised his mug, still full of cold coffee. ‘I’m making a fresh brew. Want one?’

‘Make it black.’ Carole sighed. ‘My head is pounding. Had a right skinful last night. Oh, I had a text message from Terry earlier.’

Shaun dropped the mug. Coffee splattered everywhere, the mug shattering into tiny fragments with a bang and a whoosh.

‘Do you have to be so noisy?’ Carole held onto her head with both hands. ‘What a mess you’ve made, you clumsy git.’

‘What did Terry want?’

‘Apparently Steph didn’t come home last night. No wonder I couldn’t find her. I bet she’s gone home with that lazy…’ Carole stopped.

‘That lazy who?’

‘That lazy tart, Tracy Smithson,’ Carole recovered quickly, thankful that she hadn’t given the game away. She could take a secret to her grave but she doubted that Shaun would – for the simple reason he would love to tell Terry Ryder that Phil Kennedy was screwing his wife.

‘So, she didn’t go home? She’ll turn up soon though, won’t she?’

‘Yeah, course she will. I reckon it’s because I was supposed to be staying over at her house. He was probably expecting the pair of us to be there this morning. You know how possessive he is with her, with all his texts and phone calls, checking up on her all the time. I’m not texting him back. Can’t stand that type of thing.’

Shaun wondered about the scathing tone but he let it go as he bent to pick up the remnants of the mug. Then he took them through to the bin. He almost dropped them again when he heard a news bulletin on BBC Radio Stoke. It was being reported that Leek New Road was closed off temporarily on one side due to a police incident. The reporter spoke of delays in traffic, for the next few hours at least, as a body had been discovered on Brooke Lane. Details were sketchy but more would follow as and when they received them.

But for Shaun, there weren’t any sketchy details. It had to be Steph. Blood rushed to his head and he sat down quickly. It must be her. It was too much of a coincidence for it not to be. But what had happened? Who had killed her? And how had they killed her? Fuck, her life could have been ending while he’d sat in the gutter throwing up. How guilty would that make him feel – stupid, spineless shit that he was.

There was no mention of how it had happened yet. Not nearly enough information to tie up the details for someone who should have murdered her to get away with saying that he had. Because that was the next thing he needed to figure out.

Christ, what was he going to do? He hit the heel of his hand on his forehead twice in quick succession. Think. THINK. Was someone trying to set him up as a killer, even though he’d never touched Steph? Or was someone wanting Steph dead more than Phil Kennedy? Could Terry have got to hear about it?

As he stood there, a sickening yet welcome thought struck him. Maybe he could bluff his way through this. He could tell Phil that he’d done it. After all, surely the real killer wouldn’t come forward? But what if Phil told Terry that it was him who’d killed Steph? His life would well and truly be over then, for sure.

Shaun choked back vomit. He was in a no-win situation.

If he told Phil that he’d done it, and Phil found out that he hadn’t, he’d be dead meat.

If he told Phil that he’d done it and Terry found out, he’d be dead meat.

If he told Phil that he hadn’t done it, Phil could burn this place down. Or, worse, he could put his debt up!

Shaun slapped his forehead again. THINK. But he couldn’t: he was all thought out. Much worse, he realised that his fate could even lie in the hands of whoever was first to walk through the door – Phil Kennedy or the police.

‘Thought you were making a brew?’ Carole said, coming in behind him. ‘Bleeding hell, what’s wrong with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘Nothing.’ Shaun pushed past her. He needed time alone again, to think about this new development. ‘I’m going downstairs. We’re late opening up.’

‘Charming,’ Carole harrumphed. ‘I’ll make my own bleeding cuppa.’

Quarter to one. Phil sat in his living room. For hours, he hadn’t wanted to switch on the radio to hear the news. Yet he needed to. If there was no mention of anything untoward, then he’d have to get ready to scarper for a few days. He’d checked his phone half an hour ago. Terry had stopped ringing him shortly after ten. Maybe Steph had stayed out all night and had now got home. Last night at The Potter’s Wheel, he’d only had about twenty minutes with her before she’d disappeared. He’d tried to keep her in the pub but when he’d turned back after getting another drink at the bar, she’d gone. Thankfully, her friend was nowhere to be seen either so he assumed they’d gone home together. Soon after that, he’d cadged a lift home with one of the guys he knew.