Taunting the Dead (36 page)

‘I have to go,’ she told him, the only sound their shallow breathing.

‘No one’s forcing you to stay,’ he whispered into her hair. ‘But you know how much I’d like that.’

His lips caressed hers again, light to the touch, then more urgent. She waited for him to stop. It had to be him who stopped. His hands moved over her back. She mirrored his action. She felt his tongue searching out hers. Oh, no, what if he didn’t stop? Her body began to respond in ways it shouldn’t.

‘Stop. Please,’ she whispered.

Terry stopped immediately. ‘Really? You want me to stop?’

Those eyes again.
I want to fuck you. Let me fuck you
, they pleaded.

Could she resist them one more time?

Allie left The Gables knowing she’d stepped way over her professional boundaries. She could lose her job if Terry so much as breathed a word. Shit, what had come over her? She could lose everything.

She texted Mark to see if he was still up. It was half past eleven. There was a slight possibility.

She couldn’t ring him. She couldn’t hear his voice yet. Not after what she’d done. But she needed to see him, feel his arms around her, reassure him of her love.

She fought back tears. She hadn’t thought of the consequences of her actions. One look, one touch, one word. That’s all it had taken for her to get too close. She was supposed to be manipulating him, not the other way round. Had the same thing happened to Carol, to Cathryn – indeed, even to Steph? Nick was right. Terry Ryder was a charmer.

Mark was in the kitchen when she got home.

‘Where have you been?’ he asked. ‘I thought you’d be back ages ago when you sent your first text.’

‘Sorry. We had to check CCTV footage after we thought we’d spotted something,’ she lied, kissing him and avoiding his eye.

He pulled away sharply.

‘No, really. Where have you been?’ His eyes gave away his anger.

‘Nowhere. I… I told you. I was –’

‘I can smell him,’ Mark spat. ‘I can smell his aftershave. It’s all fucking over you!’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Allie moved passed him and flicked on the kettle. She reached into the cupboard for a mug.

Mark slammed the door shut. ‘“Don’t be ridiculous”? You haven’t even asked me who I can smell.’

‘I work with men all day, Mark,’ she bluffed. ‘I’m always with men. That’s why I smell of aftershave.’

‘You never smell that strongly of it at the end of the day.’

His hand was still on the cupboard door. ‘Move your hand, please.’

‘Have you slept with him?’

Allie glared at him. ‘Is this where I’m supposed to ask who you’re referring to?’

‘Ryder!’ Mark shouted. ‘Have you slept with Ryder?’

‘No, I have not slept with him!’

‘Then why do you reek of his aftershave? I smelt it, last week at the charity event.’

Allie didn’t know what to say.

‘I’ll ask again, have you slept with him?’

‘No!’

Mark stood silent, tears pricking his eyes. Allie put a hand out to touch his face but he moved away. She followed him as he ran upstairs.

‘Mark!’ she shouted after him. ‘Mark, wait! Please!’

He stopped halfway and turned back to her. ‘The other night, when you were deep in thought, you were thinking about him, weren’t you?’

‘Of course I wasn’t!’

‘No wonder you didn’t visit your sister. And all the time I thought you were fretting about the case!’

‘I was!’ Allie replied truthfully. ‘I wouldn’t –’

Mark continued upwards, slamming the bedroom door in her face as she got near to. She stopped behind it for a moment, unsure whether to barge in and continue with the fight or leave him to it until he calmed down. That was, if he did calm down. She could hardly blame him for reacting that way.

But the more she stood there, the more she realised she had to talk to him. If she said nothing, he could sit there thinking the worst. And she was only stalling in case she slipped up, said something she’d regret.

She knocked on the door. ‘Mark, can I come in?’

He didn’t speak as she pushed it open. There was only one thing she had to ask him. Their relationship was built on it – before today, at least.

‘Mark, do you trust me?’

He looked back at her in amazement.

‘Do you?’ She raised her voice. ‘Do you trust me?’

‘I can’t believe you’re even asking me that.’ Mark sat on the bed with a thud. ‘Of course I trust you. I’ve always trusted you and I always will. But really, don’t you think you should be asking yourself that question?’

Allie frowned. He had that look on his face again. The anger, the fear, the mistrust that she had caused all rolled into one.

It was her time to question. ‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s simple,’ Mark replied. ‘Do you really trust yourself?’

A few miles away, hidden from view behind a row of council-owned garages in Bucknall, Lee sat huddled in his car, trying to keep warm. He switched on his phone and checked the missed calls that his dad had left. There were at least two every hour since they’d last spoke. He switched it off again. He didn’t want to talk to him. He didn’t want to see anyone. He just wanted it to be light.

It was nearing midnight but he wouldn’t go home. He couldn’t stay in the house knowing there was a body in the cellar. And he knew it was only a matter of time before the police came after him. Once they’d spoken to Shaun’s wife, they’d call at his house. He needed to be gone by then.

For now, he lay low. First thing in the morning he was going to ring Kirstie. She was the next part of the plan.

Midnight. Allie had left half an hour ago but still Terry sat going over things that she’d questioned him about. He had known all along what her game was, why she’d come round to see him. Why she’d left when she did. She couldn’t fool him. He, too, could play games.

One thing he should have done was give her more credit. She had a shrewd mind, able to make something out of nothing to enable it to work in her favour. She’d started off with the knife, casually moved on to Carole and then to Phil before he’d won her over.

For the life of him, he couldn’t work out why Phil had planted the knife in the secret compartment or how it had got there in the first instance. It irked him that he couldn’t. As far as he was aware, only he and Steph had known of the compartment in her wardrobe. Steph wouldn’t have known about the knife unless Phil had given it to her for safekeeping. Had Phil been blabbing to Steph before she was killed? Or had Phil planted it without Steph knowing? The more he thought about it, Phil could have slipped over when he was with Cathryn in Derby. But, still, why would he hide the knife? He knew it didn’t have his DNA on it. And why the hell hadn’t he checked properly when he’d looked after the police had gone? He’d immediately checked out the box but hadn’t thought to check inside the rolls of jewellery. Why would he? He hadn’t thought anyone would hide anything in them. And there hadn’t been time to check everything. He’d been well and truly had by someone.

Terry’s fists curled into balls as he fought back the urge to punch the nearest wall. This was all Phil Kennedy’s fault. And that fuck-up of a lad of his. He grabbed his phone and dialled a number. He was going to put a stop to this.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Back at his home, Phil tried Lee’s mobile again but still the phone was switched off. It was after two a.m. – where the hell was he? He peered through the front window but nothing had changed in the darkness. There was no sign of Lee’s car parked anywhere along the road.

Finally, he shoved on his boots and went upstairs. Maybe there’d be some clues as to his whereabouts at Lee’s house. He pulled down the loft ladder and took the shortcut through the loft spaces, dropping gently down into number eighteen. It was deathly quiet.

‘Lee?’ Phil said loudly, switching on the landing light.

There was blood on the bathroom door handle. Phil paused before pushing open the door and stepping back in horror. The room was awash with it. Smears on the shower cubicle, a diluted puddle in the tray. There weren’t any footprints but there were patches of blood on the taps, in the basin. A damp bloodied towel was thrown to the floor.

Phil turned around but there was no blood outside the room. He checked the two bedrooms quickly and then made his way downstairs. It was on the second step down that he could see Lee’s discarded boots. He leaned over the banister and gasped. Through the open kitchen door, he could see thick swirls of blood on the floor in the shape of a number eight. Bloodstained towels lay dumped in a pile on the work top. Phil surveyed the floor. From where he stood, he couldn’t see a body. Not that it really mattered. Lee would be the first suspect in his own home.

He needed to get out of there fast.

His mobile rang as he ran back up the stairs, scaring him so much he wondered if his heart would stop. He checked the caller display to see Terry’s name flash up. Fuck! He ran a hand over his chin. Should he answer it and see what he wanted? Terry wouldn’t be able to see where he was. He could say he was anywhere, really. But his courage deserted him. He rejected the call and switched off the phone as he made his way back to his house.

Halfway through the loft spaces, he searched out the holdall where his stash of emergency money was hidden and threw it over his shoulder. Once at his own loft opening again, he threw the bag down onto the landing and climbed down the rickety ladder. He heard a noise, turned sharply. He listened but he couldn’t see or hear anything. Laughing nervously at how freaked he was, he pushed the ladders into the loft and secured the hatch.

He bent to pick up the bag but it had disappeared. He turned full circle. Where the fuck had it gone?

‘Looking for something?’ Terry appeared from behind the bedroom door.

Every ounce of courage in Phil’s body deserted him instantly but he never showed it.

‘Alright, Tel?’ he nodded a greeting with his head. He was about to make the speech of his life when he spotted Shane Flint and Mitch Casey behind Terry. The cleanup crew.

Phil made a run for it. Trying desperately not to stumble, he legged it down the stairs. Nearly at the front door, a hand on his shoulder pulled him back. Spinning him round to face them, he then felt a punch in the stomach. He bent over with a groan and a knee brought upwards rammed into his face. Dazed, he fell to the floor as an elbow slammed into his back. But the worst was yet to come. A dark sack was pushed over his head.

‘No.’ He tried to shout but it came out as a mumble. Gasping for air, he tasted the fear of other men. He’d used this bag previously to do exactly what Terry was doing to him now. The end results had never been good. Before he could protest, he was dragged to his feet, marched through the back of the house and bundled into the boot of a car.

Terry had thought long and hard before deciding to do the hit on Phil himself. And after speaking to Allie earlier, he knew he needed to move fast. He could have relied on the crew to do it for him but he wanted the satisfaction of watching Phil die. He wanted to be the last person he saw and the last person he heard when he took his final breath.

In his Range Rover, he drove out of the city towards Leek. After a few minutes, he turned off into a lane. Another left and a few more and he pulled up outside a gate. Behind he could see the headlights of another car. He opened the gate and let the driver go through. Once he’d driven his vehicle in, he secured the gate again, switched off his headlights and drove forward slowly so as not to make too much noise.

He parked behind a row of dilapidated garages, hidden mostly from view by overhanging trees and unruly moss on top of a corrugated roof. He’d bought them and the land a few years ago at a pittance from a local farmer. The four acres weren’t a prime development site. Lots of locals with horses to stable had offered numerous prices for it over the years. But Terry wasn’t interested in selling it to anyone.

Except for the odd lights in the distance from the lane, the site was in darkness. During the day, the area was fairly secluded. The farm in the next field ran a boarding kennels for dogs. The howls of lonely pets crossed the quiet fields at regular intervals. At night, Terry would be really unlucky if more than a handful of cars passed by. There was a four-foot-high hedgerow in between that and the garages. And the dogs howled more during the night. It was the perfect place. No one would hear Kennedy screaming.

Terry undid the lock on the first garage and pulled open the door. He switched on a florescent tube light to reveal an open space. A shelving unit along one wall held cans of paint, steel boxes, tubs of screws. At the far end, a stained wooden chair stood next to a pile of tyres. Shane and Mitch dragged Phil, awake but groggy, across the floor, shoved him down onto the chair and tied him up.

‘Let me go, you bastards,’ Phil said from underneath the sacking.

The two men remained silent as they worked. Once finished, Terry chucked a bunch of keys at Shane.

‘Take my car; be seen around town in it and I’ll call you when I’m done.’ Only when he heard them drive away did he pull off the sacking.

Phil blinked profusely as his eyes adjusted to the light. Although he’d guessed where he was from the noises he’d heard, seeing it made real panic set in. He pulled at the binding on his wrists and feet but all he ended up doing was tipping over the chair, knocking himself to the floor. His face scraped against the broken tarmac. He was sure he’d cracked his cheekbone. But that didn’t upset him as much as the next thought that shot through his mind. There was so much blood on the floor already that forensics would be lucky to spot his amongst it.

Terry dragged Phil back to sitting with an exaggerated sigh.

‘Please, you don’t want to do this, Tel.’

Terry walked round to stand in front of him. Under the pale overhead lighting, Phil caught a glimpse of his eyes. They looked like the eyes of someone possessed.

Terry shook his head, as if the sight before him was painful to see. ‘I never thought I’d see you in that chair. I thought I could trust you with my life.’