Taunting the Dead (DS Allie Shenton)

by Sherratt, Mel

  Back in The Reginald Mitchell, above where they’d been sitting, Lee leant on the balcony and watched Shaun leave minutes after his dad. From his vantage point, he had seen most of the meeting but he couldn’t tell if the job had been agreed or not. Although, from Shaun’s reaction, it was clear to see that he hadn’t taken the conversation lightly.

  He took a large swig of his pint. Shaun Morrison wouldn’t have been his first choice for the hit but he knew his dad must have a good reason. And Shaun might not be the only person he’d put forward for it. Phil might have chosen a few people to vet. He might even leave it until the last minute so that no one got wind of anything, so that it couldn’t be fucked up at the eleventh hour.

  Not certain that he’d got the right man, Lee decided to continue trailing his dad and bide his time. See who else he met over the next day or so. Quickly, he finished his drink and legged it back to his car.

  In Werrington, Mark parked up in the driveway at home and sighed long and hard. After a successful meeting had turned sour right at the end, he needed to let off steam. Allie would be home soon to hear him out; he knew she’d make him feel better about things. When she wasn’t on a case, she loved to smooth things out for him, talk negatives through to positives.

  He locked his car and looked over its roof towards where he heard a high-pitched voice shout out.

  ‘Yoo-hoo!’

  Mark watched his neighbour, Mrs Simpson, rush up the driveway as fast as her arthritic legs could carry her. If she hadn’t been holding a flower arrangement, he might have been tempted to pretend not to hear her. Mrs Simpson had lived in the house next door for over fifty years, the last eleven as a widow, and was the best neighbourhood watch lookout anyone could wish for. Trouble was, she was the best gossip, too, and was forever pushing herself into people’s houses to get the latest low-downs.

  Mark put on a false smile as she got to him at last.

  ‘Flowers, Mark. For Alison.’ She smiled with thin lips, eyelids covered with the brightest of blue powder. ‘They came this afternoon but as you weren’t in, I offered to keep them until you were.’

  ‘Aw, thanks, Mrs Simpson.’ Mark took them from her, wondering for a moment who they could be from.

  ‘Special occasion, is it?’ Mrs Simpson asked as he moved towards the house.

  Mark tapped his nose with his finger twice. ‘Now that would be telling. Bye, Mrs Simpson, and thanks again.’

  Despite her protests, he went inside, closing the door with a smile. He could imagine what would be all around the street by tomorrow morning: he and Allie could be expecting a baby, he and Allie could have won the lottery, he or Allie had been promoted again and could be moving out, not good enough for the likes of everyone else living here.

  But as he placed the flowers down on the table in the living room, something began to gnaw at him. It was 28 November. He hadn’t forgotten anything that he was aware of. Their wedding anniversary was in summer. Allie’s birthday was in March. It wasn’t a date he associated with Karen.

  He picked up the small envelope nestled in the arrangement. Despite his unease, it wasn’t his to open. And besides, he had a fair idea who the flowers were from. There had been only one man eyeing his wife up the night before. One man who’d made it perfectly clear that he would have preferred to have Allie on his arm rather than his drunken excuse for a wife.

  Thinking of weddings and faced with flowers, Mark cast his mind back to their own big day during the summer of 2001. Allie had taken his breath away as she’d walked through their friends to where he was waiting, awestruck by her beauty and the fact that she was to become his wife. She’d worn a floor-length sheath of ivory silk that had made his heart race and started a familiar unfurling in his groin as she’d given him the special smile that said she was totally in love with him. They’d taken ages to choose the right setting for the reception, at last deciding on a country hotel they’d stayed at when they’d first fallen in love. The day had been perfect and he’d loved every minute of it. He’d held her close, never wanting to let go.

  He slumped down into the armchair with his thoughts. Sharing her now with another wasn’t part of the bargain. But maybe this was something and nothing. Maybe it was someone from work who had sent them. Sam maybe; she was always thoughtful. He really hoped so.

  It was nearing six thirty when Allie got home after her shift. She smiled when she saw the outside light on and the curtains drawn. Good, Mark said he’d be home early tonight. She’d popped into the supermarket to get a piece of steak and a bottle of red. After last night’s antics, she fancied chilling out tonight.

  ‘Honey, I’m home,’ she shouted through from the hallway in a comical fashion. But by the time she’d hung up her coat and emptied the bag of shopping Mark still hadn’t shown his face. Frowning, she went through to the living room to investigate.

  Mark sat upright on the settee. He still wore his work suit, his pale blue shirt open at the neck, his tie hanging loose. The television was on but although he was staring at it, she could tell he wasn’t watching it. His face was like thunder.

  ‘What’s up?’ she asked, placing a hand on his upper arm.

  Without looking at her, he threw a thumb over his shoulder. Allie twirled round and saw a large display of flowers in the middle of the table, standing in their own water container.

  ‘They’re not from me,’ Mark spat out.

  Obviously.

  He handed her a small white envelope.

  ‘Oh,’ was all she managed to say. Allie turned it over, thankful that he hadn’t opened it. Then again, she didn’t want to open it either. She had a sinking feeling about who they would be from. But Mark was looking expectantly at her now. Heart in her mouth, she opened the envelope and slipped out the card.

  ‘Lovely to see you again last night, Allie. Thank you for your delightful company, as always. Terry Ryder.’

  Allie held in her fury as well as her shock. Terry Ryder knew that sending them would get her into trouble. They were a spectacular array of festive flowers in colours of red, gold, green and white. She looked at them briefly, picking out red roses, white carnations, holly and pine cones. The florist, Fresh Bloomers, was one of the most expensive in the city.

  ‘Are they from him?’

  Mark still wouldn’t look at her.

  ‘Him?’ she asked.

  ‘That Ryder bloke from last night?’

  ‘Yes, they’re from him.’

  ‘What did he mean by seeing you again?’

  Allie picked up the arrangement and left the room. Mark followed her out into the back garden. She lifted the lid of the bin.

  ‘You’re not going to chuck them away!’ He spoke as if it were a baby she was throwing out with the bath water.

  ‘Of course I am,’ she replied. ‘He had no right to send them.’

  ‘That would depend on what the flowers are for.’

  ‘Mark!’ Allie felt a tremor run through her at his tone.

  ‘You have to admit, he was a little too friendly last night. So what did you do to deserve them when I wasn’t there?’

  ‘But you were there!’

  ‘I was with my boss for twenty minutes. That was ample time for you to…’

  ‘That’s a great accusation to come home to.’ Allie banged down the lid. ‘Please tell me you’re drunk.’

  ‘I’m stone cold sober.’

  Ouch.

  ‘He’s playing games.’ She touched him lightly on the arm. ‘He wants you to react like this.’

  ‘But he knows where you live, can’t you see? He has the upper hand!’

  ‘I don’t believe we’re having this conversation!’ Allie stormed back into the house. Of all the things to come home to, this would have been right at the bottom of the list. What was that man playing at? She hadn’t encouraged Terry Ryder in any way. And if she had, she wouldn’t have got away with it. Not with his bitch of a wife giving her the evil eye for most of the night.

  ‘Allie! Wait!’ S
he heard Mark shout behind her.

  She was halfway up the stairs before he caught up with her.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘But you have to see it from my point of view. If he is playing around, then I feel threatened by it.’

  Allie stopped mid-step. She sighed and turned back to face him. He looked so miserable. How long had he been home alone after the flowers had been delivered? How long had he sat in that chair imagining all sort of things? This was madness. Her sweet husband was hurting so much because of someone else’s petty actions. She had to put a stop to this.

  ‘Mark,’ she spoke quietly. ‘Do you trust me?’

  ‘Of course I do. It’s him that I don’t trust.’ He looked away in embarrassment.

  ‘You don’t have to trust him. Look at me. Look at me!’ Allie tilted up his chin so that she could see him properly. ‘I love you. I want to be with you and no low-life loser like Terry Ryder is going to stop me from doing that. Okay?’

  Mark gave a slight nod of his head.

  ‘Now, I have some down time tonight and I want to enjoy it with my man. I don’t want to worry about a pesky bouquet of flowers that should never have been delivered. What do you say?’

  Finally she saw the tension leave his face. He smiled. ‘I’ll start on the steaks while you shower. Unless you’d like soaping down…’

  Allie managed a smile back. ‘Steak. I’m ravenous.’ This time she did kiss him.

  Going through to the bedroom, she removed her jacket and flung it on the bed. In her haste, she snapped at the buttons on her clothes as she fought to undo them. Naked in record time, she dashed into the shower and scrubbed at her skin, wanting to release the iciness crawling through her veins.

  So that’s why he had run after them last night, in the disguise of offering a friendly lift. He’d been after their address, the sneaky bastard. She knew it had been a bad idea but hadn’t wanted to give the game away that he was under suspicion, that they were watching him.

  What was he up to? Was it harmless fun or something more daring that he was after? She let the water run over her head as she struggled to comprehend what he was playing at. Or even what his motive was.

  One thing she knew for certain. No one was entitled to mess with her marriage, or her feelings. She’d have to be very careful around Mr Ryder in the future – even though her thumping heart was telling her different.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‘Don’t you think the world is in enough of a mess without all these threats of cuts and job losses?’ Steph said between mouthfuls of food as she tucked into her lunch. She and Terry were at The Orange Grove for a pre-arranged Thursday get-together with Carole and Shaun. Three of their staff were on hand to wait on the owners for a change – something that Carole enjoyed.

  Shaun was in an even more unresponsive mood than usual. Carole had tried talking to him earlier but he’d told her to leave it alone, said he wasn’t feeling well. She knew there was no point delving any further when he shut himself off like that.

  ‘It’s enough to make someone kill themselves,’ Steph continued. ‘I mean, if I had to work for peanuts and was then told I’d be losing my job – which would result in me losing my home and everything I own in it – I think I’d prefer to hang myself. Leave everyone else to take the flack for it and watch from up there.’ Steph pointed her knife up to the ceiling, opened her mouth to speak again and then stopped. ‘What?’

  Terry burst out laughing. Carole followed suit. Even Shaun sniggered. Steph sat still, waiting for the laughter to subside so someone could share the joke with her.

  ‘What?’ she repeated when no one did.

  ‘You are such a card.’ Terry wiped his mouth with his napkin before picking up his glass. ‘You’ve never worked a day in your life, never mind had to pay for a mortgage, household bills and things for the kids. You have no idea what a modern couple would go through.’

  ‘And how can you say that killing yourself is an easy way out for anyone?’ Shaun joined in.

  ‘Yes,’ added Carole, hoping that the others hadn’t noticed his harsh tone. ‘It’s not a clever idea to get yourself out of the shit and then leave everyone else behind to clean up the mess for you. It’s really selfish, if you ask me.’

  ‘I wasn’t asking you,’ snapped Steph.

  ‘But then,’ Terry spoke before Steph had the chance to let rip, ‘Steph is nothing but selfish. Isn’t that right, darling?’

  Steph gave her husband a tight-lipped smile. ‘Yep, that’s me. Selfish Steph.’

  Terry grinned at her. ‘That is so funny. No, really. “Selfish Steph.” Now, why didn’t I think of that one?’

  As Carole joined in with his laughter, Steph got to her feet and grabbed her handbag. ‘Need some air,’ she muttered before storming outside, practically knocking over the poor waiter who had come to collect the dishes.

  Dragging heavily on a cigarette went some way to calming her down, but inside Steph was fuming. Why did they always have to have a go at her? If it wasn’t about her opinion, it would be about what she was wearing. About what she had been doing.

  Still, at least the meal was free as Carole and Shaun never let them pay. And Steph always made sure she drank lots for that reason too.

  She sighed loudly. Usually she enjoyed their lunches, even though Shaun was as moody as ever. But, for once, she’d like to have a laugh with people who weren’t laughing at her, who weren’t mocking her.

  She huddled in the doorway, the rain pouring down outside, dark clouds matching her mood. She hitched her bag onto her shoulder and, in a moment of anger, walked away to join the throng of shoppers. Fuck the three of them: if they wanted to be petty about things, then so could she.

  After a brisk walk into town, she soon realised it had been a bad plan. The wind blowing the rain into her face, she stopped off at Walkabout and ordered a double vodka. Two hour later, with a few more inside her, she made her way back.

  The restaurant was empty apart from the three of them by now. Terry was laughing at something that Carole was saying, their heads bent together in conversation. Shaun was wiping glasses behind the bar. Jeez, he looked more miserable than when she’d left.

  ‘Well, well, well.’ Terry laughed snidely. ‘The wanderer returns.’ Steph walked past him but he grabbed her arm and pulled her onto his knee.

  ‘You’re drunk,’ she told him, smelling alcohol on his breath.

  ‘I’ve only had a whiskey with my coffee, my love. I can always stop at one, not like you. Did you buy anything? Maybe something to wear before you hang yourself?’

  Steph’s body tensed as he and Carole began to laugh. ‘Don’t start again,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t funny the first time.’

  ‘Get a grip, Steph.’ Terry pushed her off his knee. ‘You harp on about shit all the time and we sit back and take it. Actually, we’ve had quite a nice lunch without you running someone or other down.’

  Steph leaned forward and poured a large glass of wine. Then, as the background music came to a finish, she filled the silence.

  ‘For your information, dear husband,’ she stared at Terry and then pointed at Carole, ‘and yours, I had a far better time walking around the shops on my own than sitting listening to you three going on about your businesses and how much money you’re making and how everything is hunky-dory in your lives.’

  ‘Don’t make me laugh.’ Carole folded her arms. ‘Our lives are as far from hunky-dory as they are happy ever after. I’m sick of you insinuating all the time that we have money to burn. We don’t. In fact –’

  ‘That’s enough, Carole,’ Shaun’s raised voice reached them.

  Carole turned to him and sneered. She’d wondered where he’d sloped off to the minute Steph had gone off in a sulk. He glared back at her but, spirit boosted by the wine, she didn’t care.

  ‘Someone needs to tell her that things don’t only go wrong in Steph Ryder’s world.’ She pulled herself to her feet. ‘Someone ought to tell Steph Ryder that sometimes this friend
of hers would like to have a shoulder to cry on instead of listening to her woes all the time. Not that she has any woes worth listening TO! Her woes are whether or not she has enough whiskey to keep her occupied for the next few days and whether she has enough fags to choke herself on for the next few days.’

  ‘I beg your pardon!’ said Steph.

  ‘You don’t care about your family,’ Carole continued. ‘You have a lovely daughter that you don’t give a stuff about. You have a beautiful house – sorry, mansion – that you don’t care about. You’re not even grateful that you’re fed and clothed and looked after by someone else. And it’s crystal clear that you don’t care about him, either.’ Carole nodded her head in the direction of Terry. ‘All you care about is yourself!’

  ‘Ladies,’ Shaun came over then. ‘I think you both ought to calm down.’ He turned to look at Terry who was clearly amused by the scene in front of him. ‘You need to take her home.’

  ‘Giving orders now, are we?’ He didn’t even look up as he got out his phone.

  ‘No, I –’

  Terry ordered a taxi as the two women squared up again. He sighed loudly afterwards. ‘Funny how alcohol can change the mood of any happy occasion in the blink of an eye. Come on, Steph. Let’s go. We’ve obviously outstayed our welcome.’

  Carole sat down now, the bravado she’d felt earlier disappearing quickly. She rarely fell out with Steph to this level. They had words all the time because Steph always had to be right, or share a heated opinion that had to be agreed to. But Carole, like now, usually backed down. Steph when she was miserable was bad enough. Steph when she was angry? Sometimes Carole couldn’t cope with her.

  The room was silent except for the music that had started up again in the background, the atmosphere in minus degrees. They heard a horn peep outside.

  ‘Come on, drunkard,’ said Terry, taking Steph’s elbow.