‘It’s not an excuse,’ Allie said truthfully. ‘In case it escaped your notice, a woman was murdered on Ryder’s – Georgia Road. We’ve spent two long days proving that it was a domestic. We finally charged her fella with it this afternoon.’
Mark clapped in a sarcastic manner. ‘Congratulations, Sergeant.’
‘Look, we’ve got some bastard locked up for murder. You know how important that is to me after –’
‘You can’t solve every case, Allie. Just because –’
‘After he’d beaten her to a pulp, he stabbed her in the stomach. Then he left her outside in the rain to die.’
Mark had the decency to look sheepish. Allie relaxed as she watched the fight in him evaporate. Despite the fact that he was nearly forty, with grey specks prominent in his dark hair and laughter lines crinkling around his brown eyes, he still had a cheeky boy image that made him look exceedingly childish when he sulked. God, he was handsome. She walked towards him.
‘Doesn’t it please you that we caught him?’ she asked.
‘You think I don’t care when I hear about your victims?’ Mark folded his arms. ‘Well, I do. I’m sorry that some sick fuck beat his wife and then stabbed her but it doesn’t stop me from missing my wife. It doesn’t stop me from spending time alone when I should be with –’
Allie silenced him with a finger on his lips. She gazed into his eyes, fiery with rage. ‘You make me so horny when you’re angry.’
‘That’s not funny.’ Mark pushed her hand away half-heartedly. She replaced it with her lips, moulding her body against his as the kiss turned from resistance to want.
‘You never used to hate my job,’ Allie told him when they caught their breath. Her hands reached down to undo the buckle on his belt. ‘You used to love the uniform then, especially when it was teamed with pink furry handcuffs and I played about with your truncheon.’ She slipped her hand inside his jeans.
‘That’s not fair,’ he groaned.
‘It’s what I need.’ She ran the tip of her tongue across his top lip. ‘I run a tight ship at work and I demand the same respect at home. And if you can’t follow orders,’ she squeezed down hard enough to be pleasurable, ‘then I’ll have to take down your particulars.’
As Allie managed to switch off for a few precious moments of down time, in Stoke-on-Trent another murder was being planned.
CHAPTER TWO
The next morning Steph Ryder opened one eye, squinted at the daylight and pulled an arm from beneath the thick winter duvet. That was one hell of a mad Friday night session. She tried to remember where she’d ended up and, more to the point, whom she had ended up with, but the visions wouldn’t surface. Her eyes fell upon the empty whiskey bottle beside the bed. God, she’d give anything now to feel the warm trickle of heat as it travelled down her throat.
She could hear faint music – rap, R&B – which meant that her daughter, Kirstie, was at home. She turned onto her back, hoping for sleep to take her again.
‘Wow, don’t you look grand first thing in the morning,’ a grainy voice spoke out.
Steph’s eyes darted to her right as her mind caught up with the logistics. She sat up quickly, pulling the covers close around her naked chest.
‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ she snapped. ‘Terry will kill you if he finds out.’
‘But he won’t find out, will he? Not from me, anyway.’ Phil Kennedy grinned. ‘I’m assuming you want me to leave pretty sharpish, though?’
Steph groaned and flopped back down. Oh God, what had she done? She had sworn she’d never get too involved and, so far, in all the time she’d been screwing Phil, she’d done just that. Thoughts rushed around her head, fighting with each other to make sense of the last few hours. She remembered being in The Potter’s Wheel last night with Tracy Smithson for the monthly pub quiz. She remembered joining in with two other regulars but still they hadn’t won, hadn’t even come near to winning. But then… nothing.
‘What time is it?’
‘Just gone nine thirty.’
Steph snuggled back down in the covers.
‘Need a shower,’ Phil said, as he made his way to the bathroom.
‘Make it quick.’ Steph sighed. Maybe this would turn out okay if she could get rid of him pretty sharpish. But wait – Kirstie! She darted across the room, her feet slapping on the parquet flooring in her speed. Across the galleried landing, she barged into her daughter’s bedroom, ignoring kicked-off shoes and clothes strewn over the bed, make-up covering a large dressing area in the middle of a bank of wardrobes.
‘Kirstie?’ Steph pushed on the half-open door to the ensuite bathroom. But it was empty, save for a wet towel thrown on the floor for Jeanie, their cleaner, to pick up.
She tiptoed over to the window, feeling the tension leaving her shoulders. Except for her car, the driveway was empty. It looked like Kirstie had gone out without waking her – something she did quite often when she knew her mother had been out the night before. So with a bit of luck, maybe Kirstie hadn’t seen Phil after all. And, as she spotted his car parked further down the cul-de-sac, she was more than thankful that he’d had the sense not to park too close.
‘No one’s home,’ Steph remarked when she went back into the bedroom. Phil stood naked, towelling dry his hair. She felt the familiar feelings of longing as her eyes flicked downwards. ‘Funny. I thought I heard music.’
‘You did. I switched on the radio to catch the news.’ Phil threw down the towel and beckoned her over.
‘Why did you come here last night?’ Steph needed to know. ‘You could have ruined everything.
‘I wanted to fuck you in his bed.’
‘Slut!’
‘You’ve got to admit it’s a real turn-on. Look.’ Steph stifled a grin as Phil’s flaccid penis began to unfurl and stand to attention. He curled her slender fingers around it. ‘I reckon now that I’m here we should make the most of it.’
‘You have no fucking idea how much grief I’ll get if he finds out about this, have you?’ She shook her head.
Phil moved his hand over hers, urging her to move with him. She stared at him, watching his pupils dilate, hating herself for feeding off the danger of him being there. Loving herself for being able to have this man as well. Phil Kennedy carried off the mean and moodiness of a bad boy to perfection. His hair was fairly short, dark and curling slightly at the neckline, with the odd hint of grey here and there. He had a faint scar down the side of his face towards his ear, a sign of a deal gone wrong when he was learning his trade, and a chipped front tooth after someone had lashed out at him with a pool cue. His physique for a man in his early forties was remarkable. Steph knew she’d never tire of running a hand over his chest and rippled torso. Yet even though she loved him in her own way, he was still only a plaything to her. Sometimes she wished he would understand that.
Phil’s dark eyes bore into hers. It was as if he sensed he could search out her soul. As he continued to move her hand up and down, he won. With his other hand, he pulled her close and onto the bed.
‘This bed?’ she asked as she ran a hand through his damp hair.
‘This bed,’ he repeated.
‘Go fuck yourself, Kennedy.’ Steph’s tone was more defiant than she’d intended.
‘You already have.’
In one fluid movement, Phil straddled her. She tried to wriggle from beneath him but he grabbed a wrist in each hand, forcing them up either side of her head. ‘And you’re going to fuck me again.’
‘No, I’m not. You need to go!’ She bucked her thighs underneath him but he stayed strong. She liked a fight. He knew she liked it rough. It was nothing more than role play.
Taking a breather as he moved down to her breasts, Steph threw her head back, laughing as she did. Fuck Terry Ryder, she thought. Phil was right. It was such a turn-on doing it here, on their bed.
Kirstie Ryder hadn’t got up early to go out that morning as her mother had surmised. She hadn’t actually got home at all from the nigh
t before. Instead, she had stayed over at her boyfriend’s house. Luckily for her, she knew her dad wouldn’t be back from Derby and her mother would be too hung-over to realise – or to care, even. But she needed to get a move on if she was going to get away with it.
‘Fuck, my head’s killing me!’ She yelped as she lifted it up from the pillow. She nudged the life form in the bed next to her. ‘What did you do to me, you bastard?’
Lee Kennedy turned towards her, a sly grin on his face. His dark hair was tousled, stubble on his chin making him look even sexier than Kirstie could have imagined.
‘I didn’t hear you complaining last night,’ he said.
‘From the state of the frigging brass band drumming away in my head, I bet I was in no fit state to say – or do – anything. What time is it?’
Lee looked at his watch. ‘Ten past ten.’
‘Fuck!’ Kirstie shot up and then sat on the edge of the bed again as the room began to spin. ‘I have to go. Now.’
‘Don’t fret, woman. It’s only one night.’
Kirstie stood up, grabbed her T-shirt and shrugged it on. Reaching the bedroom door, she held on for dear life before turning back to Lee. ‘I feel like shit and it’s all your fucking fault. Why did you insist on that last line of coke? Why didn’t you just take me home?’
‘I thought you’d be better sleeping it off here rather than getting in trouble again.’
‘He’ll still do his frigging nut if he knows,’ Kirstie shouted through from the bathroom as she sat on the loo.
‘Why?’
‘Oh, no reason in particular.’ She wasn’t going to tell him that she had a trip to New York lined up if she managed to stay out of trouble until Christmas. She knew he wouldn’t understand. ‘What time shall I meet you later?’
‘Seven, if we’re going to bed again.’
Kirstie came back into the bedroom and grabbed the rest of her clothing from the floor. It was surprising that she could find her belongings at all given the amount of Lee’s things that were on the floor too. He might sport the latest in designer jeans and footwear but he wasn’t a dab hand at looking after them. Items had been cast aside once worn, along with dirty cups, car magazines and a fit-to-burst ashtray. And the smell! She wished he’d change the sheets once in a while. Then she recalled with a grin the way she’d left her bedroom the previous evening, even if it did smell of perfume and deodorant rather than of teenage man.
Lee pulled back the duvet and patted the bed.
‘Nice try, cowboy.’ Kirstie pouted suggestively. ‘You’ll have to look forward to it later.’
Lee slapped her backside as he swept across the room naked.
Kirstie grinned again. Fucking hell! She still couldn’t believe she was going out with Lee Kennedy, one of the bad boys of the Marshall Estate. And, with both of them extremely good-looking, she knew they made the hottest couple ever. Wait until Ashleigh heard about last night and what they’d been up to. She would explode with jealousy!
She dressed quickly, trying to push all thoughts of her dad to the back of her mind. If he discovered that she’d been with Lee all night, never mind snorting drugs with him, he’d go ballistic. Not because she’d slept with him – at seventeen, she could sleep with whoever she wanted, which she did, and often. It was because he’d told her to stay away from Lee – she’d lost count of how many times – although she wasn’t sure why. He seemed harmless enough to her, if a little rough and ready.
‘Come here, bitch.’ Lee grabbed her on his way back to bed. He kissed her roughly as she resisted.
‘Leave me a-fucking-lone.’ She tried to wriggle free. ‘I have to go.’
Lee pushed her down to her knees. ‘You’re going nowhere until you’ve blown me away.’
‘But –’
He shoved his erect penis into her face. ‘Nowhere,’ he repeated.
Kirstie sighed loudly. Knowing that he wouldn’t let her go until she’d made him shoot his load, she ran the tip of her tongue up and down his shaft as he held her head in place. Might as well get it over with and then she could be on her way.
Once finished, she wiped her mouth and stood up, expecting at least a kiss of gratitude. But Lee got back into bed.
‘See you later then?’
‘Yeah, laters.’
Disgruntled with her dismissal, Kirstie turned sharply on her heel, making sure she slammed the door on her way out. Men!
Twenty minutes later, she cursed when she saw the black Range Rover parked in the driveway of her home next to the Mercedes that belonged to her mum. She checked her watch: quarter to eleven. Ah well, she’d have to lie if he collared her.
Once in the house, she stood in the kitchen, almost waiting for the study door to burst open and for her dad to rush out and go hell for leather. She squeezed her eyes shut. But… nothing. She sighed with relief.
After texting Lee to let him know how much she’d enjoyed their night together, she made a cup of tea and two slices of toast and curled up on the settee. She switched on the television. Oh, great, she smiled, a repeat of Jeremy Kyle.
Terry Ryder did hear his only daughter come in but decided to ignore her for now. He had far more important things to think about than where she had slept last night. Besides, he’d been enjoying the peace and quiet.
The study was one of the things that drew him to The Gables. Of course any house could have a room changed to suit, but this one had been perfect as soon as he’d stepped into it. The decor spoke of class, of good taste. It spoke of money.
He sat behind a mahogany desk, polished to perfection by the cleaner twice a week. His pens were set out in a line, his notebook next to them – without a scribble as it would look untidy. Lined up on the bookcases in front of him were books that the previous owner had left, although he’d rearranged them to be colour coded. He didn’t get spare time to read but if he had paperwork to catch up on, he’d sit in one of the two leather armchairs either side of the window and overlooking the garden.
Although he was considered a successful businessman to the people who mattered, there were parts of that business that he kept firmly under wraps. It was these things that caused him grief as he dealt with the many fuck-ups. Terry puffed heavily on a cigarette, hoping that he was almost rid of the recent headache he’d acquired. Before going to Derby overnight, clearing up the mess that Andy Maddison had left behind had taken him near on two days. The police had been swarming round Georgia Road as well as questioning him here, at home, twice. He supposed it was only fair, and routine. He was the landlord of the property where the murder had taken place. But he hated anything that could draw attention to him or his dealings, especially anything that could encourage the police to start digging deeper into his affairs. Or any deeper. Terry knew they wouldn’t stop until they caught him good and proper. But so far, with friends in high places, he’d managed to stay one step ahead.
And now that Maddison was out of the way, he could pick a new tenant. There was no end of people waiting for a place to shack up on Georgia Road – Ryder’s Row, as it was known locally – a fact that he was immensely proud of. Everyone wanted a piece of him. Everyone wanted to become part of his empire. Once the police gave the property clearance, he’d have the house occupied again – with a much more useful tenant this time.
Half an hour later, Terry heard the bed creak in the room above him as someone turned in it. Not for the first time he wondered if Steph was ever going to get up that morning. As it was nearing eleven thirty, it probably meant that she was so hung over that she couldn’t get up. It wasn’t unusual for her to stay in bed until after lunch because she knew that it pissed him off.
Lately her drinking had been getting out of hand. Her actions were certainly being talked about, if the phone call he had received earlier that morning while on his way back from Derby was anything to go by. Steph had been at The Potter’s Wheel last night. Nothing unusual in that; it was one of her regular haunts. But the caller had informed him that Steph had left wit
h Phil Kennedy. It could have been seen as innocent, if the caller hadn’t told him he’d also seen them necking in the car park. And that he didn’t like.
The harsh winter light cast shadows across the desk, matching his mood. Maybe it was a good thing that Steph wasn’t up. She was better out of his sight right now or he knew there’d be another argument. But he did need to sort things out with her, and soon. Either that or he might easily slip his hands around her neck and squeeze until her eyes popped out of their sockets. She’d become such a liability, but he knew one false move would bring the police. Terry knew he couldn’t hide everything, no matter how careful he thought he was. It would only take one silly slip-up and his life could be fucked up forever. He wasn’t going to let any blonde tart do that to him, not even if the blonde tart was his wife of twenty years.
His mobile phone rang, the caller display showing the name Phil Kennedy. Talk of the devil.
‘What?’ he snapped.
‘Problem at number three, Guv.’
Stoke-on-Trent had been renowned the world over for its pottery industry but, as technology had had a hand in lowering production costs, local pottery firms were closing on a regular basis and production moved abroad to take advantage of cheap labour prices. Terry had bought six small pottery firms that had gone bust. Born and bred a local boy, he’d opened a base of Car Wash City in each of the six towns. Number three was based in Longton, over in the south of the city. To the working public, Car Wash City did a roaring trade on car valets and wash-downs. But what went on behind closed doors was what the police were really interested in. And why there was a problem now.
‘Go on,’ Terry said.
‘Looks like someone’s had their hands in the till again. They’re about two grand short on takings for the past three weeks.’
Terry ran a hand through his hair. ‘I’ll be there in an hour.’ He ended the call and threw the phone onto the desk. Trouble at the office was the last thing he needed.
Taunting the Dead (DS Allie Shenton) Page 2
