As Phil’s face reddened enough to erupt, Shaun felt close to tears as his world fell apart around him. If he did the job, Terry would probably kill him. If he didn’t do the job, Phil would be after him. Maybe he’d give him a sickening reminder to wake up to every morning too, like a finger cut off with a serrated knife or an eye burnt out with a hot poker. Maybe he’d shoot his kneecaps away. Maybe he’d shoot Carole too or maim her in some way. Shaun had read about what happened to Sarah Maddison. He knew Andy Maddison would never do that to his wife – he, too, was a coward. Someone else must have been involved and he wouldn’t put it past Phil Kennedy to have carried out something as atrocious as that. He ran his hands over his head. What a mess.
‘If I did it, how would I go about it? I mean, where do I aim for? What’s the best… the best place… to…?’
‘The best place…’ Phil stumbled over his words too. He cleared his throat before continuing, this time with authority. ‘The best place is always the heart. But I doubt you’ll be able to do that, sweet boy. You do what comes naturally.’
‘Naturally?’ Shaun saw Stacey emerge from the kitchen. In a fit of panic, he slid the knife up the sleeve of his jumper. ‘How the fuck does murder come naturally?’
‘I want it done by the morning.’ Phil let go of Shaun’s collar and pushed him away. ‘You do the job, ring me the minute you’ve finished and I’ll clean up the mess. No one will be any the wiser. Except for you and me.’
‘And if I can’t?’
‘Ever seen how quick a fire can take hold of a place like this? And the damage it causes? I reckon thirty seconds would be enough to get this building going. Maybe you’ll both be asleep upstairs? Who knows when I’ll strike?’ Phil glared at him. ‘But one thing is for sure. I will strike. So either you do the job tonight or… boom!’ He raised his hands and spread his fingers out as if he were throwing out glitter. Then he walked out of the building without another look back.
As soon as he’d gone, Shaun felt that familiar building-up of saliva in his mouth. Breaking out into a sweat, he shivered uncontrollably. He raced across to the gents’ toilets, dashed into a cubicle and threw up into the bowl. Wiping his mouth, he slid down the wall, head in hands, into a heap on the floor.
What the hell was he going to do now? There was no way he could kill Steph.
But what if he didn’t? Would Phil really go through with his threat to burn the place down with him and Carole inside it?
Maybe he should go to the police. Not the done thing – grassers were really the scum of the earth – but was it his only choice? Then again – would they listen to him? Kennedy could deny it all because nothing would happen unless Shaun took action. And then he would be in deeper shit than he was right now.
He couldn’t go to Terry either, no way. Terry would find out he’d been borrowing money from Phil and not paying it back. As dire as the situation was, he’d hate to owe money to him: he had ways and means of getting it. If Shaun thought Phil was menacing…
And which one of them had actually ordered the hit? Did Phil plan to get one over on Terry by wiping out his wife? Or was Terry somehow behind this, getting Phil to do his dirty work for him? Maybe Phil didn’t want to be responsible in case Terry regretted it later. Shaun had heard stories and seen war wounds of men who had crossed him before.
He checked his watch. Three fifteen. Fuck! He had less than nine hours left of this day before Phil would know that he couldn’t do it.
He couldn’t!
Even though it wasn’t much more than a minute’s walk from Piccadilly, Phil knew he wouldn’t make it back to his car, which was parked just off Cannon Street. As he passed The Potteries Museum and Art Gallery looming up on his left, he darted down the steps from Broad Street and hid underneath the split-level entrance on the floor above. Amongst the grime and layers of dirt from the street, he started to shake profusely. A film of sweat built on his top lip. As a rush of nausea surged through him, he placed a clammy hand on the wall for support and threw up.
Once the sickness had passed, he sat on the curve of the wall. Head in his hands while the bitter wind blew above, he closed his eyes momentarily. But all he could picture was Steph’s face. Tears poured down his cheeks and he wiped at them fruitlessly.
Had he gone too far back there? All that stuff about burning the building down. Would it have scared Morrison too much? There was a fine line between lying and being found out. But he’d had his reasons. He’d had to make it seem realistic despite not wanting Shaun to go through with the hit. Shaun would never have the courage to put a knife through someone’s heart – especially someone he knew – if he’d never killed before. It was the best place Phil could have told him to attack – such a hard thing to pull off. Much easier to go for the inside groin, far less personal. Oh, God. He ran a hand through his hair and glanced upwards.
Housed over three floors, the museum told the story of an inventive and industrious city, famous for the creation of some of the best ceramics in the world. People from all over the country still came in droves to admire the Staffordshire Hoard, but none of that interested Phil in the slightest. The only treasure he was interested in was Steph.
The brakes of a bus squealing as it stopped at a junction brought him back to reality. He stood up quickly and made his way the few hundred yards to his car. Once inside he lit a cigarette, taking a deep drag to calm his nerves, and prayed his plan would work. He needed to relax until tomorrow, knowing that he’d done what he’d set out to do. With more time for Terry to get used to the idea that the hit wouldn’t be carried out, he could set himself up for the inevitable beating coming his way. There was always a price to pay for going against Terry Ryder’s wishes.
From the same shop doorway that his dad had hidden in two days earlier, Lee watched Phil disappear around the corner on to Piccadilly. His suspicions confirmed, he lit a cigarette and took a long, deep drag.
This was turning out to be far better than he’d imagined. He’d expected someone much harder than Shaun Morrison to be lined up for the job. Someone who would kick the shit out of him if he demanded money to cover something up. But Morrison? Lee knew he’d come from the Marshall Estate and had known Terry since school days but that was all he’d ever heard about him. His name was clean. As far as he knew he hadn’t been locked up for anything. Then again, neither had Terry Ryder. But Morrison had been close enough to be Ryder’s right-hand man. So why wasn’t he? Something must have gone wrong. He must have bottled something in the past.
Lee finished his cigarette, chucked the butt to the floor and walked back to his car. He wasn’t about to bottle it. He had plans to make for tonight.
Trying to piece together the snippets of conversation she’d overheard, Carole stayed put at the top of the stairs as she saw Shaun dash into the toilets. She hadn’t managed to hear much but what she had convinced her there was something going on. Phil had mentioned tonight, and she’d heard him going on about the money they owed. And something had definitely spooked Shaun. Even from here she could hear him throwing up. She went downstairs.
‘Shaun!’ She knocked on the cubicle door. ‘Shaun, what’s going on?’
‘Nothing. I came over a bit dizzy, that’s all.’ Shaun opened the door. He walked unsteadily over to the sink and splashed his cheeks with water. ‘Daren’t say that the soup’s off,’ he said, trying to make a joke.
But Carole wasn’t in the mood for games. ‘Whatever he wants you to do, you mustn’t –’
‘Were you listening?’
‘No,’ she lied, hoping her expression wouldn’t give her away. ‘I’m really worried about you. I hate Phil Kennedy and I hate the situation we’re in. That bastard has got us eating out of his hand.’
Shaun managed to keep the shake from his voice as he looked back through the mirror at her. ‘I’m okay.’
‘You sure?’
‘I’m sure. But I don’t want you going out tonight, do you hear?’
‘Something is going on,’
she cried. ‘Tell me, Shaun.’
Shaun paused while he thought of what to say. ‘It’s nothing. I’m not feeling well and I might need you to –’
‘Oh, I get it. This is all because I’m going out with Steph. That’s all you think I am, some sort of skivvy. Well, I don’t care if you’re dying on your feet tonight, I’m going out.’
‘Carole!’ he shouted as she stormed out. ‘Wait!’
Fuming, Carole slammed the door on his protests and left him to it. She knew there was no point talking to him when he clammed up. This had nothing to do with her going out tonight. This was all down to Kennedy’s visit. The fact they didn’t want to include her in any meetings or conversations set her mind racing. But she knew the best thing for now was to keep quiet and let Shaun think things through.
Because something was going on.
After a successful shopping spree in the Potteries Shopping Centre, Steph drove to Georgia Road. Not wanting to draw too much attention to herself, she left her car in the next street and ran across to number two.
Even though Phil had told Steph that he’d be out, she banged hard on the front door several times just to make certain. Then she raced around to the back and did the same on that door. When she was convinced there was no one in, she shouldered open the door to the outhouse and searched out the light switch. Pulling on a length of cord revealed no power. She cursed and pushed open the door to let in as much light as possible.
Originally an outside toilet, the cistern had long gone and it was now full to the brim with half-used tins of paint, paint brushes stuck in cans of turpentine, tools and boxes. A pair of stepladders and a rickety ancient Black and Decker Workmate stood in front of an old wooden dresser. Careful where she was treading, Steph climbed over a pile of house bricks and pulled open the second drawer of three on the dresser. Grimacing, she felt about inside it until her fingers curled around a hard, sharp object wrapped in something soft to the touch. She gripped it and pulled it out. Heart racing, she unwrapped a piece of towelling cloth to find what she had come for.
Quickly she covered it up again, put it away in her handbag and legged it out of the back gate.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Later that afternoon, Steph took a sip of wine and relaxed back in the warm water. She twirled the bubbles around with her toes, relishing the peace and quiet. This was her favourite room in the house. They’d had this bathroom redone only last year. A designer dream of black and white marble, interjected with a flash of bright in the form of fuchsia artwork. The bath had been her choice. She’d wanted one deep enough that she could lie snugly underneath the water with every body part covered and no plug to sit on, a blessing in itself.
Steph recalled the earlier years when she and Terry had shared a bath in the house they’d rented on the estate. She’d always used to end up sitting at the tap end because Terry would race ahead to get in there first but it had been fun. Not like now; he’d probably want to hold her head under the water until she stopped breathing. She giggled; she did love the stupid bastard.
Still, sometimes she wished she and Terry could go back to that time when they’d first met. Or even as far back as when they’d first moved into The Gables. Ten years ago, things had been much better. Now their relationship was so volatile that she couldn’t tell whether he loved her or not. There was such a thin line between love and hate.
Steph knew that she still loved Terry despite the goings-on with Phil, but most of the time she was afraid to show it for fear of rejection. What was the point if she was only going to get abuse back from him? She’d seen the way he looked at her, the waning interest over the years.
No. She shook her head to clear her thoughts and refilled her glass with more wine. Even when things were tough, she knew they’d be okay. They were Terry and Steph Ryder, one of the wealthiest couples in Stoke-on-Trent. They’d get through this rough patch, just like the rest. And then she’d be able to relax again.
Over on the far wall, a flat-screen television was showing The Weakest Link, the volume down low. Steph sank further into the water before hearing a door open on the landing outside.
‘That you, Kirst?’ she shouted.
‘Yes. Who else were you expecting?’ Kirstie popped her head round the bathroom door. She was wearing skinny jeans underneath an oversized grey jumper, a long purple scarf and Ugg boots. Steph sighed. She wished she’d take her shoes off in the hallway before treading in the dirt.
‘Ha, ha.’ For once, Steph didn’t want to argue. ‘Had a good day?’ she offered.
‘Since when was going to college having a good day?’ Kirstie came into the room and sat on the edge of the bath.
‘You’ll be glad of it when you get a qualification.’ Steph stuck up a leg, admiring her newly painted toenails.
‘You’ve never taken an exam in your life and you did all right for yourself.’
‘That’s because I found your father.’
Kirstie dipped a hand into the bubbles and pulled out a handful. She watched them disappearing on her palm. Steph knew she was trying to pick the right words to say even before she spoke.
‘Mum.’
‘What do you want?’
Kirstie looked at her with a frown. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I know that tone, Kirstie Ryder. It is your “can I have” tone. Do you think I’m made of money?’
‘How do you know it’s money that I’m after?’
‘Don’t you always want money?’
‘Yes, but –’
‘You’re not pregnant, are you?’ Steph’s eyes widened in horror, knowing that one of them being in a mess would be bad enough to sort out, never mind both of them. She was dreading going back to see Doctor Turner on Monday morning. She’d cancelled the follow-up appointment twice in the past two days. ‘Please tell me you’ve not slipped up with that Kennedy idiot. Your dad will do his flipping nut!’
‘No, I’m not fucking knocked up!’
‘I wouldn’t put it past you.’
‘Mum!’
‘Are you sure you’re not up the duff?’
‘Yes, I’m sure!’
‘So what is it, then?’ Steph said a moment later. ‘You never come and sit with me unless you want something. Or if you’ve done something you need me to straighten out for you.’
‘I want to move in with Lee.’
Steph’s eyes narrowed. ‘Has he asked you yet?’
‘No, but he will.’
‘How do you know? You’ve only being seeing him – even though you’re not supposed to be – for a few weeks.’
‘I just know.’ Kirstie folded her arms.
‘No.’ Steph sat up and reached for a towel. This was one argument that she couldn’t have with her daughter looking down on her. She felt too vulnerable in the water.
‘But if you’d listen to me for a moment,’ Kirstie cried. ‘I want –’
‘I said no.’ Steph stepped out of the bath and started to pat herself dry. ‘You want me to take all the shit so that you don’t have to. You want me to change your dad’s mind from “over my dead body” to “go on, give it a shot”. Don’t you?’
Kirstie’s lilac-enhanced eyelids dipped to the floor.
‘I’m not stupid. I know what you’re after. And you’re a big girl now. You’re seventeen, not seven. You need to ask your dad yourself.’
‘But he’ll say no!’
‘Precisely. Which is what I say too.’ Steph glanced sideways while rubbing her hair dry. ‘He’s a bad influence, Kirstie.’
‘But –’
‘No buts. Your dad doesn’t even know what happened the other day.’
‘And you’re so clean on drugs that you can preach?’ Kirstie snapped, forgetting that she needed to be in pleasant mode.
Steph ignored her comment, flung the towel into the laundry basket, pulled on her dressing gown and left the room. But Kirstie followed her across the landing and into the master bedroom.
‘I know you can’t get through a
day without a drink of some sort,’ she said caustically. ‘You’re an alcoholic, Mum, whether you admit it or not. And you’re a fucking mess. I don’t know what Dad sees in you. I really don’t.’
At the mention of Terry, Steph turned and slapped Kirstie hard. The sting on her hand stayed with her for quite some time afterwards.
Kirstie’s head reared to the right before she turned to glare at her mother. Then she slapped her back.
Steph was so shocked that she stood there, hand on her cheek. It was the first time that had happened. The two women squared up to one another.
‘I hate you,’ said Kirstie, bursting into tears. ‘I hate you with all my heart.’
Steph closed her eyes as tears began to brim in them too. She wouldn’t let Kirstie see how upset she was. And it was the only way she knew how to stay calm rather than lash out again. Really, it was high time she learned to live with her daughter’s outbursts. Although, thinking back to what she’d put her own mother through, she wondered if, in some bizarre way, this was payback time.
When she opened her eyes again, Kirstie was still there. But Steph really didn’t want to fight.
‘You’re lucky I’m going out tonight,’ she told her sharply, her true feelings hidden away again. ‘I’ll forget we ever had this conversation and I won’t tell your dad anything if you just leave me in peace.’
‘But –’ Kirstie was ready to go again.
‘Shut up!’ Steph held up a hand to silence her. ‘I’ve had enough of your whining. Close the door on your way out.’
The slam that followed reverberated through every bone in her body. Steph sighed dramatically. What was wrong with that girl?
Lee couldn’t believe it when Kirstie knocked on his door just after six, barging past him. She knew they weren’t supposed to be seeing each other tonight. But how could he get out of it without arousing suspicion?
‘I fucking hate her with a passion.’ Kirstie dropped onto his settee with a huff when she’d told him all about the fall out. ‘I should have hit her harder, the bitch. Lashed out at her good and proper, put her in her place.’
Taunting the Dead (DS Allie Shenton) Page 11
