Lee hid his smirk. Kirstie might be a mouthy bitch and able to give someone a slap every now and again but she didn’t have it in her for anything more, despite all her hard talk.
‘I hate her,’ Kirstie repeated. ‘I wish she was dead.’
‘No, you don’t,’ he said absent-mindedly, all the time working out what to do now. He handed her a bag of white powder. ‘Here, have a bit of this. This should take the edge off things for a while.’
‘Ooh, ta.’ She took it from him. ‘You don’t mind me coming over tonight, do you?’ She pulled a full bottle of Jack Daniels from her bag. ‘I can make it worth your while. I lifted this before I came out. Stupid bitch will probably be too pissed to notice.’ She licked her lips. ‘Sex on demand as well.’
‘I don’t have anything better to do.’ Lee shrugged a shoulder: he’d just thought of a way out.
Kirstie slapped his leg as he sat down next to her. He piled dirty dishes on top of more dirty dishes at the end of the cheap wooden coffee table and pushed a magazine onto the floor to clear a space. Then he ran a hand over the grimy top before using a nightclub membership card to cut some of the powder into two lines. After taking a note from his wallet, he rolled it up and snorted a line. He held out the note to Kirstie. She quickly followed suit.
‘That’s so much better.’ She sniffed, wiping at her nose.
Lee opened the bottle of whiskey and passed it to her, encouraging her to drink away. ‘Where’s your old man tonight? Home or away?’
‘Away.’ Kirstie grinned as she felt the powder take hold. ‘I could stay over, if you like.’
Lee grinned back. ‘Fucking too right. Let’s order some food. What do you fancy? Chinese or Indian?’
‘Indian.’
Lee went through to the kitchen. Yes, Kirstie turning up unannounced had made his plan that little bit smarter. A good fuck would work off his pent-up adrenaline. It would take his mind off things and stop the night from dragging until he needed to go out. Then he could slip her a sleeping pill, sneak out to The Potter’s Wheel and be back before she even noticed he’d gone.
He poured the liquor into two glasses. To Kirstie’s, he added a lot. To his own, he added a little. He didn’t want to get booked for drunk driving, especially as the filth would be cracking down for the Christmas party season soon. He topped both glasses up with fizzy coke and took them back through.
He flopped down next to Kirstie on the settee, feet up on the table as she snuggled in next to him. His smile widened manically as the drugs heightened his senses. Oh yes, she would be the perfect alibi.
At the end of her shift that Friday evening, Allie headed off to see her sister.
‘Hello, Allie.’ Miriam Walters smiled a greeting as she sat behind a desk in the reception area of Riverdale Residential Home. A slight woman in her late fifties, she wore a white blouse with a tiny pink flower dotted here and there and a navy blue, round-neck cardigan. Her grey hair, wrapped up in a bun, and kind eyes behind thick rimmed glasses fondly reminded Allie of a grandmother she’d lost long ago.
‘Karen’s gone into her room as she was tired earlier on,’ Miriam added as Allie signed the visitors’ book.
‘Thanks, Miriam.’ Allie smiled. It was one of the things she loved about Riverdale. How the staff were not only there to welcome her in but they could always tell her where Karen was and how she was doing. If she’d had a bad night, they’d tell her. If she had made a slight bit of progress, they would report it. It gave her a sense of peace that she had made the right choice to move her sister there. ‘How’s she been?’
‘Fine. That cough she developed is slowing down now with the antibiotics she was prescribed.’
Allie continued past the desk and along the corridor, its biscuit-coloured wallpaper and Wedgwood blue carpeting welcoming her as she went through the double doors and into the main area, off where she would find the corridor to Karen’s room. Riverdale felt like Allie’s second home, she visited it so often. Always twice a week, more when she could make it. It was a newly built home, complete with all mod cons and technology that made things easier for Karen. Allie had moved her here when their mother, Barbara, passed away seven years ago from stomach cancer. It had been a traumatic time for Allie, watching someone who had been able to walk and communicate change into someone who couldn’t was pretty much like reliving what had happened to her sister.
When Karen was attacked, Allie had been head-over-heels in love with Mark and recently back from university. She’d been waiting for a placement to start with the local council as a trainee social worker. Having got her first car only a week earlier, she’d been late to pick Karen up from Hanley after she’d been out for the night. Parking up outside Flickers in Town Road at eleven forty-five, she’d waited for ten minutes and thought that maybe Karen had stormed off to get a taxi from the rank nearby. She tried ringing her mobile phone but it was switched off. They later found out she’d left it at home. Not thinking any more of it, Allie headed back to her parents’ place – something else she’d never forgiven herself for. She should have gone to look for her.
CCTV in the nineties wasn’t as prominent as nowadays so there hadn’t been many sightings of Karen after she’d left the city centre. All the police could say was that Karen must have decided to walk home alone. Taking a short cut through an enclosed alleyway, she’d been grabbed by the hair – they knew this as Karen had a bald patch as big as a tennis ball at the back of her head – and pulled into bushes. She’d been raped and beaten. The attack was so severe the police said she’d definitely been left for dead. But Karen had survived as such, if you could call needing twenty-four hour care, being unable to talk and needing a wheelchair “survival.”
Karen had been moved back in with their parents. There was no way she could live independently anymore. Their father, Roy, had died two years afterwards of a heart attack. He’d never stopped looking for the attacker and campaigned right until the moment he died. When their mother had died, Allie had had to make the agonising decision to put Karen somewhere she would receive the care that she couldn’t provide. She and Mark had been married for seven years then. Even happy to concentrate on their careers and put children off until later, they weren’t in a position to look after Karen around the clock.
The decision to admit her sister to Riverdale had haunted Allie for months. She’d visited daily until she realised that Karen was safe and well looked after and that the staff were a caring bunch that made her and Mark feel welcome.
And to this day, Karen’s attacker had never been found. Fourteen years later, the bastard who had destroyed all their lives remained at large. Allie had joined the police for this very reason.
‘Hey there, Karen,’ Allie smiled as she opened the door to find her sister sitting up in her bed. The room was of standard size and set up with the machinery the staff used daily to keep Karen comfortable spread around it. The walls had recently been painted in a shade of lemon that made it feel sunny all year round, even though there were already scuff marks where the wheels of the chair had banged against them. Modern floral curtains were drawn across the window. A single wardrobe held Karen’s array of jumpers, cardigans and easy pull-on skirts and trousers.
It always pained Allie to see how similar they were in features but how damaged Karen looked underneath. Her deep blue eyes had a glaze to them, her face hardly any colour. In contrast, she wore a pink pyjama top underneath a deep purple cardigan. Her shoulder-length dark hair had been left loose. Allie noticed her nail varnish was beginning to chip and made a mental note to redo it when she next visited.
‘How have you been?’ she asked, even though she knew she wouldn’t get a reply.
Karen tried to smile.
Allie hung up her coat, wheeled the hoist to one side and pulled a chair nearer to the bed. ‘Your hair looks lovely.’
Karen groaned, her only way of communication. Over the years, Allie had learned to read her moods depending on that noise.
‘Let�
��s put on some music,’ Allie said after a few minutes of one-sided chit-chat. She’d long ago lost the embarrassment of speaking into an empty room and not being answered. She opened the CD cover on the system she’d bought Karen for her last birthday and checked to see what was inside. The nineties compilation CD that they mostly listened to was still there. Allie selected a track and sat down again.
‘Ce Ce Peniston, Karen,’ she said, taking her hand. ‘Do you remember? “Finally It’s Happening to Me.” 1993. Valentino’s, The Pig & Truffle, Flickers and Yates’s Wine Lodge. All gone now but we still have the memories, don’t we?’
Memories. Yes, that was all they had now. Allie gazed up at the photo frame on the wall. Seventeen individual photos of better times. A picture of the two of them as young girls with their parents. One of them both in roller skates at a caravan park. A strip of photos taken at Blackpool funfair in a booth. There was one of Karen and Robert Machin, whom she’d been engaged to – twice – before dumping him altogether. Another one with Phil Green. Another with someone Allie couldn’t remember now.
There was one of Karen at their wedding in 2001. Karen sat in her wheelchair, Allie kneeling down on one side, Mark on the other, holding hands across her lap. Allie’s floral bouquet rested there too. There was never any question that Karen wouldn’t be invited, despite the extra cost to hire a nurse for the day so that their mum could get a bit of downtime too.
Mark had been her stalwart after the attack. He’d only known Karen for a few months before and was as shocked as Allie when it happened. It had cemented a budding romance into the strong marriage of today. From that moment on, Allie knew he would always be there for her. Without him, she would have crumbled for sure. He tried often to talk her out of her guilt. She had been fifteen minutes late but she couldn’t ruin her life because of that, he’d told her over and over. Karen wouldn’t want that.
And at least he had known Karen before the attack. Mark could always sense when things were eating at Allie. When a case had been particularly nasty, he’d share memories with her to make her smile. Remember this, remember that. And Allie would smile for a while. And then the pain would come back.
Another photo of Allie in her police uniform. Mark had gone ballistic when she’d announced that she was quitting her social worker placement to join the police force. They’d had many an argument over it since, too. Allie would come home distraught as some woman being attacked brought back memories of Karen’s assault. A woman’s body would turn up and she’d be frantic to catch the killer. It had spurred her on to becoming a detective constable six years after joining the force. Four years after that, she’d passed her sergeant’s exam and a few months later, this position had come up.
As Karen’s eyes began to close, Allie turned the music down a little and stared at her. Such a fucking waste of life, she thought with bitterness. Karen had had everything going for her. She’d been hoping to move to London and turn a love of photography into a career. Karen had a flair for creating spectacular photographs. She might have made it big if some bastard hadn’t come along and tried to end her life.
By far the worst thing for Allie was the not knowing why. Had Karen simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or had the attacker stalked her for a while before pouncing on her? And had it been his intention to kill her from the start or had he slipped up and gone too far?
Why had he never been caught? The question ate at her every day. Had he been sent to prison for another crime before he’d had the chance to rape someone else? Had he died? Was he just passing through? Had he stopped at the one attack? And what the hell had become of him? So many questions left unanswered.
An hour later, Allie kissed her sister lightly on the forehead. Karen was fast asleep now. She put on her coat and slipped out of the room. Just as Karen’s attacker had slipped out of her life.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ten minutes before the eight thirty taxi was due, Steph poured another gin and tonic. She was glad Kirstie had stormed out after their fight, leaving her to get ready in peace. Even over the sound of the hairdryer, she’d heard the car screeching away. Stupid bitch. Lord knows when she’d be back but she’d show her. She’d double-lock the door tonight so she wouldn’t be able to get in until her mother got home. See how she liked sleeping out, even if it was in her car. She’d probably storm off back to Lee’s house anyway.
Steph hadn’t meant to lash out at her daughter but sometimes, she couldn’t explain it, she hit back – literally. Yet, although she took her anger out on Kirstie – like Kirstie took it out on her – she didn’t mean anything by it. She lashed out because it was the easy way out. She hated hearing the truth.
And despite everything, she knew Kirstie was right. She did need help with the drinking – not that she would ever admit it to anyone. Grinning, she knocked back the drink and poured another.
Her mobile phone rang. Terry’s name flashed up on the screen.
‘Hey you.’
‘Hey, how’s it going?’
‘Oh, you know, just had the day from hell.’ Steph found herself holding the phone close, wanting to hear his voice. ‘Are you still mad at me? I’m really sorry.’
‘You’re always sorry.’
‘But I mean it this time. Are you coming home tonight?’
‘I’m not sure. It could be tonight. It could be in the morning. You going to The Potter’s Wheel?’
‘Yeah, me and Carole are going around town first.’
‘You and Carole?’ She heard him snigger. ‘That woman is a sucker for punishment.’
Steph ignored him. ‘Maybe go for a curry after or order one and bring it back here. Do you want me to ring you when I’m on my way home, see where you are? I could always order you something?’
‘Best not. I’m not sure where I’ll be. Look, I’ve got to go.’
‘Love you.’
‘Yeah.’
The phone went dead.
Steph tutted. ‘Love you too.’
Feeling flat after the call, she topped up her glass with more gin and sat down on the settee. But it wasn’t long before her phone jumped into action again. It was a text message this time.
‘U got it babe?’
A car blasted its horn as it turned in at the gate. She quickly sent a reply.
‘Got it. xx’
Steph tottered through to the hallway, rechecked her make-up in the mirror and then smiled. Telling Steve that she’d got the knife was only half the tale really. Yes, she’d got the knife; yes, he’d told her to hide it in the garage, somewhere it wouldn’t be found by Terry but could be found if the police were ever given a tip-off.
But no, she hadn’t hidden it in the garage. It was still somewhere that Terry wouldn’t find it but it was there for her own purposes now.
The horn blasted again. She knocked back the last of her drink, grabbed her belongings and disappeared into the night.
While his wife was out around the pubs of Hanley, Terry spent a couple of hours dining out with a few of his business associates in Derby. They were in Carlito’s Way, a Greek restaurant known for its opulent décor as well as its food. The restaurant had been fully booked that night but Terry had made a call and a table for six had been theirs.
Across from him sat Charles Roberts and his wife, Veronica. Terry was looking forward to catching up with Charles tonight, to see how their latest project was coming on. Charles was a large man in stature as well as in life, his ruddy complexion making him look like a farmer. He was a property developer and the main reason Terry came over to Derby so often. Between them they’d invested in a block of dilapidated flats sold off by a local housing association and were in the process of renovating them into premier apartments. Due for completion in early spring, already there were people waiting to sign when their release date was announced. It felt good to have something legit that he could be proud of.
But tonight Terry only had eyes for Charles’ wife, Veronica, whom he’d met on several occasions l
ike these; she was looking as spectacular as ever. She was dressed in a tight, short crimson dress, sleeveless to complement toned arms. Her hair was dyed a snazzy shade of red, cut in a sleek bob and sharp for her age, which he put at late thirties. Terry caught her eye and winked. Watched with a grin as a flush formed over her chest. Putty in his hands.
To his right sat Richard Powers and his wife, Jean. Richard was in his early fifties and the project manager for the site. A short man whose belly always fought to stay inside his shirt, he didn’t look the type to haul himself onto scaffolding to spot-check a roof or shimmy up and down a ladder at breakneck speed. But, so far, he’d done a cracking job. For once, Terry had found someone who he would happily take through to his next venture. Charles Roberts, however, he wasn’t too sure about.
A hand squeezed his thigh underneath the table and he turned his head to the left. Terry had met Cathryn Mountford at the start of the project, six months ago, and had shared a bed with her only a week later. She was twenty-eight, ran her own accountancy business and was his most dazzling piece on the side yet. Young, fresh and exciting with long, blonde hair and fantastic tits, she also had legs up to her armpits that she loved to wrap around him. He moved her hand to his crotch and gave it a squeeze so that she’d know how much he wanted her. She smiled at him. It was heading to be a good night all round. He hoped his gamble to be with her tonight would pay off.
Terry wiped his mouth, put down his napkin and excused himself. Instead of heading straight for the toilet, he tried to reach Steph on his Blackberry. It was just gone ten and he wanted to see if she was at The Potter’s Wheel yet. But there was no answer.
Although he cursed, it wasn’t unusual for Steph. She was always forgetting her phone. Or maybe the music was too loud for her to hear its ring. He leaned on the wall, shivering slightly as the front door blew in the cold night before closing quickly again. Thinking he’d try again later, he slid shut the phone and headed for the gents.
Taunting the Dead (DS Allie Shenton) Page 12
