Follow the Leader

by Mel Sherratt

  This time he would be the winner.

  Through the dark and quiet streets, Allie drove over to Longton, in the south of the city. From Anchor Road, she turned right onto a residential estate. At the far end of Red Street, a house had already been sealed off with tape. She parked as near as she could get and walked to the one she was after.

  Allie doubted any of the neighbours would get to sleep that night. Groups of people had congregated on the driveways of the houses either side. It seemed a tidy area, lots of newish cars and neat gardens, the lights from the emergency vehicles illuminating the street, breaking into the dark.

  She announced her presence to the officer at the door, pulled on the necessary protective clothing and stepped into the hall of number twenty-two. She followed the voices but, at the doorway to the kitchen, she hesitated for a moment, the sight in front rendering her immobile. Then she took a deep breath and went inside.

  A woman was tied to a chair, head slumped onto her chest, blonde hair hanging down covering her face. Allie’s eyes were drawn to multiple stab wounds to her chest and abdomen. It seemed frenzied rather than meticulous. The skirt the victim was wearing was soaked in blood, and a large quantity had settled in a puddle in her lap. The white shirt she had on had been ripped open, buttons pinged off, she assumed. Splatters of blood were dotted here and there, no significant pattern. Her feet and legs were bare, toenails painted almost the same red as the blood.

  The DI was already on scene in the room. So too were Dave Malpass, two more forensic officers and a photographer.

  ‘The control room said the call had come in via the victim’s husband, Kelvin Porter.’ Nick broke into her thoughts as he noticed her hanging back in the doorway. ‘He came home from work to find her like this.’

  ‘Poor bastard,’ said Dave. ‘It’s going to give him nightmares for a long time.’

  Allie moved closer to see what she could of the woman’s face. She didn’t look peaceful, her eyes giving away the horror and the pain she had suffered during the last minutes of her life. It was hard to see the woman like that but Allie knew it had to be this way. Nothing could be touched until evidence was gathered.

  ‘Do you think she was sexually assaulted before being dragged to the chair and tied to it?’ she asked, looking at the woman’s ripped top.

  ‘I can’t be certain yet, but from first glance, it’s not looking that way,’ Dave replied.

  Allie looked around the room, saw two wine glasses on a small table with numbered yellow markers next to them – exhibits five and six. ‘I didn’t see a forced entry,’ she continued. ‘She knew her attacker?’

  ‘I reckon so.’

  ‘So we need to rule out the husband?’

  ‘Yes, but he was at work. He’s the general manager, Trentham Country Club. We need to check but it seems he was there from seven until ten, and then came straight home. Emergency call was logged at 22.21 which fits in with the drive from Trentham to here.’

  Allie stood back and let the crime scene officers do their job.

  ‘Did she let her attacker in or did they knock on the door? And, just for now assuming it’s a male as her blouse is ripped open, did he force himself into the house the way he might have forced himself into her body? Or was it a random burglary followed by an even more random attack because someone got scared?’ She spoke to no one in particular.

  ‘So a definite “he,” then?’ questioned Nick.

  ‘Don’t you think so?’ she queried. ‘If we can rule the husband out, someone, probably male, came deliberately.’

  ‘Not robbery then?’

  ‘Possibly,’ Allie nodded. ‘But it’s one thing to rob a house, another entirely to tie up the occupant before brutally killing her. It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘It doesn’t make sense to me why anyone does this type of thing at all,’ said Dave.

  Nick came over to her then. ‘The letter V this time,’ he spoke quietly. ‘It was tucked inside her bra.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘We need to keep this away from the press for a while. The other thing I need to tell you is that her name is Sandra Seymour but you’ll probably know her as Suzi Porter.’

  Allie caught a breath. ‘As in glamour model, Suzi Porter?’

  ‘The very one.’

  ‘She went to Reginald High School, at the same time as Mickey Taylor. I think they were in the same year. I remember my sister talking about her. She was really jealous when she made the big time – not so when she realised what she was actually doing.’

  ‘Reginald High School was your school too, right?’

  ‘Well, yes, but –’

  ‘So you know both of our victims.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say I know her. I’ve heard of her – most people in Stoke have probably heard of Suzi Porter. You knew of her, didn’t you?’

  Nick nodded. ‘She’s made quite a name for herself.’

  ‘Perry will know her too, no doubt.’

  ‘Can you make a visit to the school?’

  ‘Not possible. It closed in 1995.’

  Reginald High School had been one of several over the city with large catchment areas before it had closed. A long time since, and the education landscape of the city was undergoing a massive transformation. There had been objections when the Building Schools for the Future program had been announced. Now, as well as secondary schools, there were academies, a pupil referral unit and special schools, each one a key part of the regeneration of the Potteries.

  Allie blew a breath out through her mouth. Two bodies in three days. Two letters, E and V.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me her name straightaway?’ she asked Nick.

  ‘I wanted you to work the room first. I also needed another perspective . . . wanted you to keep an open mind rather than make assumptions based on what she did for a living.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You wouldn’t treat this differently if you knew she was a glamour model?’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t!’

  Nick paused. ‘Do you see any other connection between the two of them?’

  ‘Well, I suppose it could be a long shot but . . . by all accounts, Mickey Taylor was one of the popular boys. One that every girl wanted to date.’

  ‘Right, and Suzi – Sandra, whatever her name was?’

  ‘I think I remember Sandra Seymour being one of the most popular girls.’

  Rhian was awake early the next morning. Warm and sleepy underneath the duvet as the rain bounced off the windowsill, she turned to face Joe. He was on the other side of the bed with his back to her. She didn’t mind – it was how they always woke up – but she stretched out luxuriously, making sure she touched his leg with her toes. Maybe it would wake him and they could have a repeat performance of the night before. But he didn’t stir.

  After the sex last night, they’d lain together for ages on the settee. It had been good to get time with Joe at last, even though she had nodded off. And – she grinned at the memory – she could take the loneliness when it led to glorious orgasms. The older man certainly won over guys the same age as her when it came to experience at good loving. She moved across and snuggled into his back. But, although he pulled her near, he slept on.

  Ten minutes later, she looked at the clock. It was only half past six but, with her mind alert as the rain sleeted noisily across the windowpane now, she decided to get up. Slipping her feet into fluffy slippers, she tiptoed downstairs and into the kitchen. Closing the door behind her, she switched on the kettle and the radio and pulled herself onto a stool at the breakfast bar. If she’d had her way, this old kitchen would have been ripped out by now and replaced. Even though she’d been with Joe for two years, most aspects of the house still had ‘bachelor’ stamped over them. The kitchen units were dark wood with cheap Formica worktops, and the stainless-steel sink was nasty and scratched. To her min
d, it really let the house down.

  With coffee made, she reached into a drawer for the kitchen brochure she had ordered online and flicked through the pages. The designs she was interested in were turned down at the corners – glossy white, aubergine and pale grey.

  She hoped Joe would come round to her suggestions soon; so far he’d been reluctant to splash the cash. Why is it that men always thought what they had was good enough until they were shown something else? She wondered again if she dared to go ahead without his consent and order the work to be done anyway. He’d surely be able to cough up funds, with the long hours he was working lately. And that cash he’d thrown at her last night amounted to two hundred quid, so he wasn’t short at the moment.

  The hourly news bulletin came on. She stopped with her mug halfway to her mouth when she heard the update.

  ‘Police are looking into the death of local glamour model Suzi Porter, who was found murdered in her home in Red Street, Longton, yesterday evening. Ms Porter, known previously as Sandra Seymour, was found with multiple stab wounds. A spokesperson for the Police says that her husband, Kelvin Porter, was brought in for questioning but has now been released pending no charges. They have no further comments at this time and a press conference will be held later this morning.’

  Rhian’s hand began to shake and she struggled to put her mug down.

  She raced to turn the radio up but the news reporter had already moved on to the next story. She stood in the middle of the kitchen, covering her mouth with her hand, wondering if she’d caught the right name. But then she realised how stupid she was being. She had definitely heard the reporter say Suzi Porter. The report had also said Red Street in Longton. Rhian had only ever sat outside number twenty-two in Joe’s car but she had been told a lot about it by Joe’s son, Jayden.

  Red Street was where he lived with his mum.

  Suzi Porter was Joe’s ex-wife.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘Are you sure it was her?’ Joe got out of bed quickly. He grabbed for a shirt from the wardrobe.

  ‘Of course I’m sure!’ Rhian stepped back before he knocked her out of the way in his haste. ‘It said her name and her address.’

  ‘What else did it say?’

  ‘That she died of multiple stab wounds last night.’

  ‘What time – do you know?’

  ‘It didn’t say.’

  ‘Fuck!’ Joe ran a hand through his hair. ‘Do they think it was Kelvin?’

  ‘No, they questioned him but he’s been released.’ Rhian paused. ‘Joe –’

  ‘This has nothing to do with me!’

  ‘I know that, but . . .’ Rhian stepped forward again. ‘Well, the police are bound to question you, too.’

  ‘Why would they do that?’

  ‘You’re family.’

  ‘I was family.’ Joe pulled on a pair of jeans. ‘She’s my ex.’

  ‘You see?’ Rhian drove home her point. ‘So it would be better if I knew where you really were last night.’

  ‘I told you! I was at work.’

  ‘I can tell you’re cagey about something – and if I can, so will the police.’ She sighed. ‘If I need to cover for you, I will, but you have to tell me what you were doing.’

  ‘I wasn’t anywhere near Suzi’s house. Christ, I need to get over to see Jayden.’ Joe paused. ‘He’ll have to come and stay with us.’

  In her haste to tell him the news, Rhian hadn’t stopped to think of that. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ she said.

  Joe frowned. ‘Why not?’

  ‘He’s going to be traumatised. Maybe he’d be better staying with Kelvin and Ollie, people he’s with all the time.’

  ‘I’m his father, for fuck’s sake. I know him better than anyone.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’ Rhian went to him and touched his arm. ‘Ollie is his brother. You can’t split them up when they’ve both lost their mum.’

  Joe gave a dry laugh, its tone nasty. ‘Don’t worry. I knew he wouldn’t be able to stay here. You’re hardly mother material, are you?’

  ‘Joe!’ Rhian dropped her hand as if she’d been burnt by his touch.

  ‘Well, you’re not, are you? You’re too full of yourself to care about anyone else.’ Joe stopped. ‘I need to take a shower.’

  ‘But you’ve just got dressed! Joe – Joe!’

  Joe turned back to her as he got to the en-suite. ‘You tell the police nothing, do you hear?’

  ‘I don’t have anything to tell them.’ Rhian scowled. ‘But you’re clearly hiding something.’

  He grabbed her roughly by the arm and pulled her near, until she was an inch away from his face. ‘Nothing! Do you hear?’

  ‘Yes! I hear you.’ Rhian tried to shrug away her arm. ‘Let go, you’re hurting me!’

  ‘Say it!’

  ‘I won’t tell them anything!’

  Joe pushed her away before slamming the door in her face. She moved to sit on the edge of the unmade bed. Christ, the morning was going from bad to worse.

  There had been no love lost between her and Suzi. Neither of them had liked each other from the moment they had met. Yet, even though they’d been divorced for a long time, any moron could see that Suzi still had feelings for Joe. Rhian cast her mind back – what had she called her when they’d first been introduced? A trophy girlfriend, something young to show off on his arm. Suzi had told Joe that he was having a mid-life crisis. Suzi had told her, very unkindly she’d thought, that Joe was on the rebound and needed to be careful of people like her – the cheeky bitch. They’d been separated for seven years by that time – how the hell could Joe be on the rebound?

  God, but dead. As shocked as Rhian was, though, she couldn’t help but think that Suzi Porter had got what she deserved. She was a bitch – Joe was always telling her that. And it did get her out of the picture for good now – despite the circumstances, Rhian was definitely thankful for that. Perhaps now Joe would be able to concentrate on her more often too. He’d always been sloping off to meet Suzi, saying there was a problem with Jayden that she wanted to discuss with him.

  A cold shiver ran through her. Had they really been meeting to discuss Jayden? She frowned as her mind went into overdrive. Something wasn’t adding up and she was determined to find out what it was.

  Where had Joe really been all those nights he said he’d been working late?

  Joe stripped off again quickly, stepped into the shower and turned on the water. As the spray poured over him, he lifted his face, letting his tears mingle for a moment before slapping his palm against the tiled wall. He wanted to scream, but Rhian would hear him. How could Suzi be dead?

  But then panic set in. Rhian was right. The police would come sniffing around; he’d be one of the first suspects. It was always the family who were questioned first. This was such bad timing for him. But, more to the point, he couldn’t believe the stupid bitch would even begin to question him about where he was last night.

  Fuck – what if the police started digging around to see what he was really doing? And if Ryder got wind that he was to blame for bringing the law into his offices, then he’d be in trouble anyway. Screwed, no matter which way he turned.

  Joe had worked as general manager at Car Wash City for three years, ever since the last manager had disappeared and Terry Ryder had been sent to prison. Before that, he’d worked for Terry doing one odd job or another for over ten years. The car washes were legitimate businesses – they raked in a fair bit of money each week throughout the city. But the police didn’t know what Ryder had really been up to. Joe didn’t know either; Terry kept that side of his business close to his chest. And if the police did have intelligence, all six offices would have gone when Terry Ryder was no longer there to look over them.

  Working for Terry was lucrative and kept Joe in the style he was accustomed to. He knew that was what Rhian
liked about him. She thought he was a player when in reality he was only the caretaker. But he made a purpose of keeping himself to himself, not wanting to trust anyone in this game. He’d heard what happened to people who crossed Ryder and he didn’t want any part of it. He enjoyed the money he was paid too much for that. Although it was never enough.

  So when Ryan Johnson, another of Terry Ryder’s acquaintances, had come with news of a lucrative job, who was he to turn down the opportunity to make a few grand on the quiet? No one would be any the wiser – providing the police didn’t come snooping around. Even more so, the job was being sewn up soon so, even though it was lousy timing, he needed to go down to London for a few days next week.

  He shuddered again, his thoughts momentarily returning to Jayden. Maybe he would be better staying with Kelvin and his half-brother, Ollie, as long as Kelvin was in a fit state to look after them right now. Kelvin would most probably stay with family, or at a hotel. Until the police had completed all the forensics and removed all traces of the murder, Joe supposed he wouldn’t be allowed back into the house. That’s if he ever wanted to return there. Suzi was bound to have shed some blood.

  Pushing aside his guilt, he convinced himself it was the right thing to do. More than likely, Kelvin would want to keep both boys with him anyway – they’d grown up together since Ollie had been born. Yes, he’d persuade Kelvin that they would be grieving for their mum – let them stay together for a while and then once this job was over, they could work out what was best for them.

  Nothing could go wrong – an injection of cash was all he needed and he’d be okay for a while.

  As investigations continued that morning around the murders of Mickey Taylor and Suzi Porter, Allie left Perry with a team of officers going house-to-house on Red Street and Sam with a list of tasks that Nick had given to her during the morning’s briefing. While they cracked on with those, at Nick’s instruction she went to see both Suzi Porter’s husband and ex-husband.