Taunting the Dead (DS Allie Shenton)

by Sherratt, Mel

  Allie wondered. Could Terry Ryder be involved in Sarah Maddison’s murder? She chewed on her lip for a moment before she drove away with her thoughts.

  Terry Ryder watched Allie Shenton drive past in her car before he came out from behind the billboards situated at the far end of the road. He’d been doing his usual site check on land that he was interested in purchasing when he’d noticed her sitting there. A property developer from out of the area had bought a few acres for which Terry had put in a lower bid at auction and had built a block of twenty-four apartments. But none of them had sold, due mainly to the extortionate asking price in a city that was struggling to survive in the current economic climate. Had he been from Stoke-on-Trent, the developer would have known the land wasn’t the bargain he’d originally thought. Terry had been trying to get him to pass it on to him for some time now, but at such a low price that the builder refused to sell. Instead the apartments stood empty, earning no one any money and making the area look even more run down than it was.

  He threw down his cigarette and headed off down Georgia Road, where he let himself into number two. Greeted by the sounds of grunts and the odd groan from the front room, he walked in as if he owned the place – which he did. Phil Kennedy was on the floor, straddled by a girl who looked young enough to still be at school. Even half clothed as she was, Terry could see a pretty young thing blossoming but young things weren’t to his taste. Her eyes were closed as Phil pushed her up and down, but as she felt the tug of his stare, she opened them and screamed.

  ‘Fuck! There’s a geezer gawping at us!’ The girl jumped up and off Phil in a flash and grabbed for her jeans and top, at the same time trying to avoid flashing him an eyeful.

  Phil turned his head to see who had stopped him at the peak of his enjoyment and grinned when he saw Terry standing there. ‘Yet again, you catch me on the job. How’re you doing, soldier?’

  Terry said nothing. The girl stood in the doorway trying to catch Phil’s eye.

  ‘Let me get rid of her,’ Phil muttered. He pressed a small polythene bag containing a tiny amount of white powder into the girl’s hand.

  ‘Is that fucking it?’

  When Phil said nothing, she snatched it from him. He followed after her flurry of curse words.

  Terry sat down at the table in the front window. This house, owned by a man in his seventies, had been one of his first acquisitions; he’d purchased it at a knock-down price due to its disrepair. It had taken a lot to get rid of the lingering smell of death after the owner had been left to rot for eight weeks before someone called the police to report a break-in, but it had turned out good in the end. Downstairs, two small rooms had been knocked into one large airy one. Worn floorboards had been covered with laminate flooring. Old tiled and iron fireplaces had been restored and reset, light fittings updated and the Formica kitchen ripped out and replaced with state-of-the-art cupboards and gadgets.

  Once he’d completed number two, Terry had purchased every house that opened up to him in the row. Over a five-year period he’d acquired, with a few helping hands and a few extra pushalongs, seventeen of the twenty-two properties. The other five had proved far trickier but eventually even they succumbed to pressure. Once one of them had been found dead after having a suspected heart attack, and the family had been paid a hefty sum to help out with funeral expenses, the other four emptied quite quickly and soon every property in Georgia Road belonged to Terry.

  Number two was the only one in the row to be fitted out to this particular standard. That was because number two had been kitted out especially for his number two. Since Phil’s older brother, Steve Kennedy, had been banged up for murder and Terry had taken the patch from them, he’d kept Phil sweet, making sure he got the best of everything. And up until now, Terry would have trusted Phil with his life.

  Phil came back into the room, adjusting his clothing.

  ‘Have you been able to get into number fourteen yet?’ Terry asked.

  ‘Not yet. I’ll get to it as soon as I can. Just a clear-out, is it? Or are you moving someone in?’

  ‘Moving someone in.’

  ‘Want a brew?’ Phil asked as Terry checked his watch.

  ‘I’m not stopping.’ Terry walked out into the hallway and opened the cellar door, slowing momentarily to search out a light switch before disappearing down the stone steps. ‘Can you sort out a move-around?’

  ‘Course.’ Phil followed quickly behind. ‘I’m already on it. We’ve moved Kris Mantell from sixteen to thirty-two, then back to sixteen. Sally Churchill moved from eight to twenty-four and I put Dave Russell in with her. No one’s any wiser as to who lives where.’

  Terry nodded. ‘That’s okay, then, if you’ve done the numbers.’

  Phil breathed easy again. If Terry was asking him about the numbers, then he must be in the clear over his antics with Steph last night. Once he’d got home that morning, his mind had gone into overdrive at the sheer stupidity of his actions. He could have ruined everything but, worse, he could have ended up without his kneecaps.

  As he stepped down onto the cellar floor, he saw Terry pick up a wrench from the aluminium shelving on the side wall. But he didn’t have the split second needed to move in time before it was swung across his face. It caught him in the mouth, splitting his top lip. The force of it took him by surprise and he crashed backwards into a pile of boxes. Cigarette packs and the latest line in counterfeit T-shirts came hurtling down on top of him. He curled up in a ball waiting for the next hit. But it didn’t come.

  Terry stooped by his side. ‘You think everything is a joke, Phil?’

  ‘‘Course not, Tel.’ Phil brought a hand to his lip and wiped away blood. ‘I’m letting you know that everything is in order.’

  ‘I’m not so sure that it is. Let me tell you what I heard this morning.’ Terry shook his head slowly from side to side as he balanced on his haunches. ‘Things that I never thought I’d hear about you. Obviously they might not be true. But, you never know…’

  Phil pushed himself up to a sitting position. He gulped. ‘I don’t know what you mean, Tel. I would never let you down, you know that. I’m your man, right?’

  Terry remained silent for a moment. Then he stood up before continuing.

  ‘Yes, you’re my man, and to a certain extent that means that I will protect you. I will look after you and see no harm comes to you. But if I ever find you doing anything I don’t like, I’ll –’

  ‘You won’t!’ Phil interrupted.

  Terry glared at him. Then he drew his foot back, aiming for the chin this time. He felt an extraordinary sense of satisfaction when it connected and Phil’s head jerked backwards before slamming onto the floor. He wiped the spittle from his face.

  ‘Get yourself cleaned up. I’ve a job that needs doing and you’re just the right person to carry it out.’

  Lee Kennedy needed money. Keeping Kirstie Ryder sweet with cocaine and the odd perfume present didn’t run cheap. But as long as it got him up to her house for a gander of what was what, he was prepared to take a gamble. There was no way he could stand back and be a pushover like his dad. Besides, he wanted into a world of luxury, too. It was where he belonged.

  Coming from his base at number eighteen, stepping through the loft spaces, Lee had dropped down into number two moments before Terry arrived. At the sound of the front door opening, he’d pushed himself, unnoticed, back against the wall. Staying put for a moment, he watched a young girl storm out, followed by his dad. His dad came back in again and then he heard the cellar door open. Stealthily, he tiptoed down the stairs and hid behind the door.

  A few minutes later, unable to believe what he’d heard, he’d dashed back up the stairs and onto the safety of the landing when footsteps alerted him to someone coming up from the cellar. He covered his mouth with his hand to ensure no sound emerged and waited for Terry to leave. Then he pondered his next move, trying to grasp how useful overhearing that conversation could be for him.

  Fuck, what would T
erry do if he knew he’d been earwigging at the top of the stairs? He’d kill him, that was for sure. This was big news, a dangerous job. Something he’d never thought would happen – not in a thousand years.

  But, as he began to think about it more, Lee smiled. As quietly as he could, he crept up the loft ladders again. He was through as far as number eight when he heard Phil shout behind him.

  ‘Oy! Get your arse back here.’

  Lee’s shoulders sagged as he turned around.

  Back in the kitchen of number two, Phil tended to his cut lip over the kitchen sink.

  ‘What did you hear?’ he said without turning his head.

  ‘I heard it all, man!’ Lee became animated. ‘Is he serious? He really wants you to do his wife in?’

  ‘Yeah, I thought he said that too.’

  ‘Are you going to do it?’

  ‘Are you fucking crazy?’ Phil dabbed a cloth to his mouth, pushed past him and into the living room. ‘What if I did it and he changed his mind? That would be my life over.’

  ‘Your life will be over if you don’t do it for him. Why does he want it done now, anyway? He’s been with her for years.’

  ‘You know what they’re like. It’s a love-hate thing. One minute, they’re all over each other. The next, they’re at each other’s throats like street fighters.’

  ‘I don’t know what he sees in the slag.’ Lee dropped onto the settee. ‘She’s a fucking nutcase, if you ask me.’

  ‘Less of the lip.’ Phil clouted him round the head.

  Lee flinched. ‘All right, all right, keep your fucking hair on. I’m only going by what Kirstie says about her. So, it’s this Friday then? At The Potter’s Wheel?’

  Phil didn’t reply. If he didn’t say it aloud, it wouldn’t happen, right? Still trying to come to terms with what he’d been told to do, he shuddered. Fuck, had Terry found out about him and Steph? Was this some sort of punishment? Or some kind of loyalty test?

  ‘You’re not bottling it?’ Lee frowned as he watched Phil’s shoulders sag.

  ‘Of course I’m not.’ Phil pulled the cloth away from his lip to see if the bleeding had slowed. ‘I just don’t want to be there to pick up the pieces afterwards if he’s full of grief.’

  ‘Then get someone else to do it.’

  ‘You heard him. He said it had to be me.’

  ‘But why?’

  Phil shrugged. ‘I suppose he doesn’t trust anyone else.’

  Lee doubted that. From where he stood, there didn’t seem to be any love lost between the two men. He knew that Terry Ryder had muscled his way in while his uncle Steve was away. Still, if the job had to be done, this could work to his advantage. He was glad he’d dragged himself down here now.

  ‘Looks like you’re screwed, then,’ he said. ‘Got any lager in?’

  Without a care in the world, Lee sauntered into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Behind the open door, he smiled again. This could work out perfectly for him if his old man couldn’t do it. Because whoever did do it could then be blackmailed. It was an easy way to make some money. And, if push came to shove, he’d kill Steph Ryder himself.

  He pulled out a can and tore off the ring. He had some planning to do but this certainly called for a celebratory drink.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  On Tuesday morning, Steph opened her eyes a little in the darkness. Something had woken her. She yawned, scratching at her thigh as she felt a feeling similar to something crawling over it. She turned over, pulled the duvet under her chin and settled down to sleep again.

  An arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her across the bed. What the fuck? But all was clear when she felt Terry’s erection rub up against her bare back. She felt his hand between her legs, pushing his fingers deep inside her. She tried not to gasp, tried to focus on the clock. Fuck, it was ten past six. Far too early for this.

  ‘I’m tired, Tel,’ she said, her voice groggy.

  ‘And I’m horny and need my fix.’

  Steph closed her eyes but her body had other ideas as it began to awaken. She pressed back into his chest and her legs opened that little bit wider. She reached behind her, turning half on her side to accommodate him. He pushed himself into her, grabbed her thigh and began to move slowly with her.

  She tried to turn towards him more but he pushed her back. Then he grabbed a handful of her hair, pulled hard and yanked her head towards him.

  ‘Bleeding hell, Tel,’ she cried. ‘My neck.’

  ‘I don’t give a fuck about your neck.’ Terry pushed her over onto her stomach and entered her from behind. With her face pushed into the pillow, she could hardly breathe but she knew she wouldn’t complain. This was how Terry liked to play rough. This was how he liked to think he had the upper hand. She stayed that way for a while until suddenly, mid-thrust, she pulled away from him.

  ‘You bitch,’ he spoke hoarsely. In the dark, he had the upper hand. Steph tried to scramble away but he was too quick. He grabbed her hair again and threw her back onto the bed, picking up from where he’d started. She let him continue this time, grabbing hold of his buttocks, forcing him into her, deeper and deeper. When his rhythm quickened, she dug her nails into his back, feeling flesh turn to blood underneath them. He continued to move inside her. Faster, faster. She felt the waves of orgasm engulf her and she cried out into the dark. Moments later, Terry cried out too. His breathing laboured, he fell on her. They lay together in silence.

  ‘You will always be mine,’ he said into the darkness.

  Steph stifled a yawn. ‘I know, babe. I know.’

  ‘I mean it, Steph. If I can’t have you, then no one can. If you ever leave me, I’ll scar you for life. You realise that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, course.’ Steph nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. She’d heard it all so many times in the years they’d been together.

  ‘And if I ever catch you, or hear that you’ve been with anyone else, I’ll kill you. And then I’ll kill him. Do you hear me?’

  Steph’s body froze underneath him. Had he heard something? Was someone watching her? Shit, she’d have to be more careful. She felt for him in the dark, brought his lips down to hers and kissed him. ‘Now why the hell would I want anyone else?’

  Steph hadn’t intended on sleeping in too long but in the warm glow of post-orgasm, she’d closed her eyes again and another three hours had passed. Sleepily, she ran a hand over the empty space beside her and then sat up quickly. Disorientated, she blew the hair out of her eyes and focussed on the clock.

  ‘Shit!’

  She’d been hoping to fit a flying visit to Phil in on her way to the city centre. Terry was heading to Derby and this might be her only chance to warn Phil to be careful. She’d never make it now before her appointment. She’d have to go afterwards.

  Within twenty minutes she was showered, dressed and dashing down the stairs into the family room. Terry sat at the breakfast bar, newspaper in hand.

  ‘Have you seen my car keys?’ Steph asked as she searched the work surfaces.

  ‘What’s the rush? What are you going to be late for? Hair? Nails? Spray-tan? Another important meeting in your oh-so-busy life?’

  Missing the derisive tone, Steph raised her eyebrows. He must have read her mind. She was off to Powder and Perfume to get her hair done before she went to top up her tan. She splayed her fingers on one hand. Maybe she’d get her nails filed again while she was there. Roberto would always squeeze her in.

  ‘Must look my best at the charity event tonight.’ Her voice changed to a whiney tone. ‘Do I have to go? Can’t you say I was ill or something?’

  ‘No, I want you there. It proves a united front.’

  Steph rolled her eyes. Didn’t he realise that everyone knew they didn’t play happy families behind closed doors? Suddenly she spied the keys in the fruit bowl underneath the apples. What the hell were they doing there!

  ‘I’m going to be so late.’

  ‘You’d better run along, then. It’ll take an age to get
you looking half decent.’

  ‘Ha, ha. You’d hate to see a white naked butt, or black roots at the top of my blonde hair, though, wouldn’t you, Mr Perfectionist?’ She threw the keys in the air and caught them on their descent. ‘I won’t be long. Shall we do lunch at The Orange Grove?’

  ‘Not today.’ Terry checked his watch. ‘I won’t be back until teatime.’

  But Steph was already out of earshot.

  Allie slipped a black dress over her head, pushed her arms through and shimmied as it dropped to just above her knees. Visiting her favourite dress shop in her lunch hour felt like a delightful treat as the weather had turned nasty. The rain pelted down outside the Intu Potteries shopping centre but Extravagance, which boasted one of the most charismatic changing rooms she had ever been in, made up for it. The walls were coloured with candy pink and white stripes, enough to look stylish but not sickly. A cream leather settee sat against the back wall. Underfloor heating ensured that toes were never cold while trying on strappy shoes.

  She looked in the mirror and grinned. The dress was a halter-neck, showing off her shapely back and toned arms, and was low enough to make a statement and not a point at the neckline. It was pulled in underneath the bust and flared out lightly below. Allie held up her hair, stood on her tiptoes and twirled round.

  Mary Francis, owner of Extravagance, was busy unpacking shoes from boxes at her side. In her late fifties, she wore a cerise two-piece shift dress and cropped jacket, thick cream tights and matching ankle boots suitable for the cold weather snap they were experiencing. Her immaculate hair was greying and cut in a trendy short, sharp style. Extravagance had been in business for seventeen years now, and was always Allie’s first stop. Even though Mary’s prices were often steep, Allie rarely made it to many more shops because of her fabulous stock. Besides, she liked having something different that she could wear over and over, despite the extortionate price tag.

  ‘Where is it being held?’ Mary asked. ‘Tell me again.’