by Mel Sherratt
‘I thought I could but now I’m not so sure.’
A lone tear trickled down her face. ‘Joe, I –’
He stood up, glared at her for an instant and then stormed out of the room.
‘Joe! Wait!’
Joe climbed into his car, sat for a moment, and then banged his hands on the steering wheel. What the hell was that stupid bitch insinuating, coming on so heavy like that? She’d made him feel as if he was hiding something, going over the top with her accusations. What an idiot he was to think he could trust her. He prayed, for both their sakes, that the investigation into Suzi’s murder would be over soon, that the police would do their job, catch her killer and life could return to normal. The last thing he needed was the police breathing down his neck. It only took one of the nosy fuckers at work to get word back to Terry and he would be in for it, even without him finding out about the job. Terry wouldn’t rest – he’d want to know why the police had been there. It would also lead the police to the cars stored around the back behind the gates.
What a day – and it wasn’t even lunchtime. And he had such a busy week planned too. With money in his pocket, he could be a bit choosier about his next job, though, maybe not do anything until later in the year. He just needed to be careful not to get caught. Joe had heard the tales, seen firsthand a few times what Ryder was capable of. And, despite the man being in prison, he knew there were others on the lookout for him outside.
He started the engine and reversed quickly out of the drive. He knew he should go and see that his boy was okay first but his mind wouldn’t rest until he’d checked that everything was fine at work. Jayden would have to wait.
As he drove out of Smallwood Avenue, he didn’t notice Allie sitting in her car.
Chapter Thirteen
Thursday morning, Allie sat at her desk resting her chin in her hands. It had been twelve hours since they had found the body of Suzi Porter and, apart from a few snatched hours’ sleep, work had been non-stop. It was at times like these that she was glad she was a small part in a large team. Yet, even though Nick was constantly asking her to go for inspector, she was happy with her role as sergeant. There was enough paperwork and red tape at her level; she didn’t want to move further up and then have to work out strategies and policies and whatnot. She liked the hands-on approach.
Having known both of the victims, plus a lot of the people they would have been at school together with, Allie had given Perry the task of checking out that link.
‘There’s not enough to piece anything together,’ Perry told her as he came back to his desk. ‘It does seem that Mickey wasn’t ever in trouble again after leaving school.’
‘Anyone stand out to you when we spoke to the rest of the staff at the factory on Tuesday?’
‘Not really.’ Perry got out his notebook and flicked through it. ‘No one crossed Mickey because he was fair if you treated him right, you know what I mean?’
‘And no other connection between him and Suzi Porter apart from Reginald High School?’
‘I’ve checked with the central library next door. Because our school closed in 1995, they hold exam results but not year registers. Want me to go further afield? It might take a while.’
‘Yes, thanks.’
‘And, as you know, she was divorced from Joe Tranter, so all three would have known each other. They would have all known me too, for that matter.’
‘Yes, I thought so.’ Allie nodded. ‘Was Tranter in your class or your year?’
‘My class,’ Perry confirmed.
‘He has form, though, doesn’t he? Now I remember – he was locked up for theft when I first started in uniform.’
Perry nodded. ‘He came in for domestic violence a couple of times when he was married to Suzi. No charges brought against him, though, and nothing since.’
‘His story that he was at home when Suzi was murdered doesn’t ring true. His girlfriend backs him up but I’m not sure. I might see if I can get her on her own.’ Allie thought for a moment. ‘He definitely had motive.’
‘Although he probably had more to lose in the cash stakes.’ Sam passed them each a mug of coffee and sat down, joining in the conversation. ‘Records from Financial Forensics Unit show that he got a lump sum when they divorced,’ she continued. ‘It’s all gone now – bank accounts are all but empty and two credit cards maxed out. His salary goes in at the beginning of the month and is spent by the end too.’
‘And, according to Kelvin Porter, Suzi was always giving him hand-outs. Said it was for their son, but even he doubted it. I suppose he could just be living beyond his means, like some people do?’ Allie said, and then sat quiet for a moment in the noise of the office. ‘And then there’s this letter business,’ she added. ‘I wish we could get our heads around it.’
‘E. V.’ said Perry. ‘It’s got to be a word being spelt out.’
‘Or an anagram?’
‘I hope not.’ Sam shuddered as she went to pick up a ringing phone. ‘That means there will be more killings. Don’t like the sound of that. . . . DC Markham.’ Her head bobbed down.
Allie glanced across at the photographs of Mickey Taylor and Suzi Porter on the whiteboard in front of them. Several lines written in black marker pen were linking them, but there were lots more with no links at all. Unanswered questions – there were so many of them. She’d feel much better, she assumed they all would, when the evidence had been collated and the pieces began to fit.
‘It could be the beginning of lots of words,’ said Allie to no one in particular.
Perry swung back and forth on his chair. ‘Do you really think it could be something to do with our school?’
‘Not ruling anything out yet. After the briefing, let’s head over to talk to Kelvin Porter’s colleagues. Suzi’s a member of the gym there. We should be able to shed some light on their relationship.’
The interest around Suzi Porter’s murder was gathering momentum in the press due to her status. So when they arrived at Trentham Country Club, Allie and Perry knew there was bound to be lots of curiosity: staff who wanted to know more, members who wanted to be associated with her, everyone claiming to know more about her than they really did.
The club was set in twelve acres of land on the outskirts of Trentham in the south of the city. The building was fairly new, a modern and minimalistic structure, the mood inside one of calm and optimism.
Allie introduced them both to a young woman sitting at the reception desk.
‘I’m Maggie, head receptionist,’ she informed them, tapping a manicured nail twice on her name badge. ‘We couldn’t believe it when we heard.’ She didn’t give either of them time to reply before continuing. ‘Suzi Porter, of all people.’
‘Why do you say that, Maggie?’ Allie wanted to know.
‘Well, everyone knew Suzi. She was a huge celebrity around here. Acted like a right diva, though.’ She pushed blonde hair behind her ear. ‘Always thought people should be at her beck and call. Always rude, hardly ever friendly. Really up herself, you know.’
‘You didn’t like her, then,’ Perry stated the obvious sarcastically.
‘I’m only telling the truth.’ Maggie shrugged.
‘And it’s what we want to hear,’ Allie advised. ‘We need to build up a picture of Suzi – places she frequented, people she saw, things that she did. Any regular routines and appointments, whom she might see, etcetera. Can you check to see the last time she came in, please?’
‘Let me see.’ Maggie’s fingers tapped on a keyboard. ‘She was in on Monday morning. I think that was the last time, yes.’ She scrolled the mouse up and down the screen. ‘Monday morning. She had a session booked with Tom.’ Maggie looked back up at them then. ‘Tom is the physiotherapist. He does a great massage.’
‘Is he here now?’
‘Yes, I saw him come in around nine.’
‘Where can
we find him?’
‘I’ll put a call out for you.’
While they waited, Allie stared through the glass wall in front of them into the gym. Rows of pounding feet on treadmills and stationary bikes. A few people dotted here and there on weight machines.
‘Ever been here?’ she asked Perry.
He pursed his lips. ‘Not enough real working out for my liking. I bet the closest that room gets to clients working hard is when someone like Suzi comes in and they’re rubbernecking.’
‘Not everyone likes pushing heavy weights and growing muscles,’ she protested.
‘It’s all show, if you ask me.’ Perry shrugged. ‘I like to sweat.’
‘I think it’s got a good vibe.’ Allie saw a young woman lifting a weight that looked twice as heavy as she was. She raised her eyebrows and looked at Perry. ‘See, not all show.’
Through the glass they watched as a man walked towards them, the gym logo splashed across his black T-shirt. Allie would put him at mid-thirties. His look gave out a mixed impression – a hint of a bad boy but with the air of someone who cared more about appearance than being able to fight his way out of a situation. The square jaw and close-cut blonde hair might have made him seem menacing, if it weren’t for his baby-faced chubby cheeks and cheeky grin.
‘Tom Shaw?’ Allie held up her warrant card as he walked towards them. ‘Might I have a few words?’
‘It’s about Suzi Porter, isn’t it? I can’t believe she’s been murdered.’
‘Yes, can you tell us the last time you saw her?’
‘Why?’
‘Just routine questions for now.’
Tom looked at them through half-closed eyes. ‘I’d have to check in the diary log to be certain – two, maybe three weeks ago.’
‘We’ve already done that.’ Allie pointed to the reception where Maggie was trying to look as though she wasn’t listening. ‘We know she was down to see you on Monday morning.’
‘It was a no-show.’ He opened the door into the gym. ‘She never even rang to say that she wasn’t going to make it. I keep my own diary of appointments too.’
‘Is she one of your regular clients?’ Allie asked as they followed him across the room. She glanced to her side on hearing an almighty growl coming from a man who was lifting weights.
‘No, she comes in when she has a spot of backache. She often gets it when she’s been standing up all day for a photo shoot.’ Purposely, he looked down at Allie’s feet, in particular the three-inch narrow heels on her boots. ‘Is it any wonder when she wore heels most of the time? You women are martyrs to your beauty.’
Behind Tom, Allie rolled her eyes at Perry. ‘Can you see who’s around staff-wise and start questioning them too?’
With a nod, Perry disappeared. Allie continued to follow Tom. Up ahead, he unlocked a door and led her through into a small office with a massage couch. As he searched through a filing cabinet, a text beeped in to her. Allie checked it and then put away her phone as Tom turned back, holding a black ring binder.
‘Here it is – the last time I saw her was December twenty-second.’ Tom showed Allie a spreadsheet for that day’s appointment. ‘She had an ache in her lower back and I helped to massage it away.’
Seeing him blush the colour of a ripe tomato, Allie decided to wait before continuing.
‘I’m not going to admit to anything you can’t prove,’ he added eventually.
She held up her hand. ‘All I want to know is did you see her yesterday?’
‘No, I just told you!’
‘What time were you here?’
‘I was on a late shift. You can check.’ He pointed to the file again. ‘I was with clients.’
‘So were you handing out extras with the massages?’
‘I don’t follow.’
Allie smiled coyly, dipping her eyes slightly. ‘Oh, I think you do.’
Tom coughed. ‘They were all men.’
‘Ah, not your type.’
‘Look, I’ve already told you that I was here yesterday – two till ten.’
‘Yes, you did.’ Allie smiled. ‘But you could easily have slipped out within those eight hours. I need to rule that out too. So my next question is, did Mrs Porter have any . . . massages . . . from anyone else here?’
He shook his head. ‘No, I’m the only physiotherapist.’
‘Do you know if she was seeing anyone from here?’
‘How would I know that?’
‘Oh, I’m sure there are lots of rumours that circulate around clubs like these. It’s a great place to relax – and I suppose there are bedrooms to hire too?’
‘She didn’t come to the club that often.’ Tom did a fair job of shrugging noncommittally. ‘Besides, her husband is the manager here.’
‘And was that awkward?’
‘Not for me. I have appointments booked for all clients. I just do my job.’
‘With the door locked?’
‘What?’ His brow furrowed.
‘Would the door be locked when you were, you know, massaging?’ Allie raised her eyebrows.
‘Of course the door would be locked. You can’t expect people to strip if they think someone might barge in at any time!’
‘And that’s company policy, is it?’
‘Well, no, but –’
‘Don’t you think that could be open to misinterpretation? What if someone said that you molested them when the door was locked?’
Tom paled. ‘She didn’t say that, did she?’
‘She wasn’t in any fit state to speak.’ Allie shook her head. ‘She was murdered, Mr Shaw. Do any of the other staff know about the extras you provide?’
‘Of course they don’t!’
‘So you didn’t see her yesterday at all?’ Allie repeated purposely.
Tom looked at her sharply. ‘No.’
‘Because if you did,’ Allie paused for effect, ‘and she went home without taking a shower . . . Or if you did happen to have sex that very afternoon, well then, once the forensics come back, there may be traces of you on or inside her.’
‘I wasn’t with her!’ Tom raised his hands in surrender. ‘And I didn’t see her on Monday. She was booked in for nine thirty a.m. I was pretty pissed off about it at the time but I’m actually feeling quite lucky now. At least you can’t pin this on me.’
‘We don’t pin things on anyone. This isn’t an episode of Life on Mars. This is real life.’
‘I – I didn’t meant that,’ he said.
Allie took out her card and handed it to him. ‘Let me know if you think of anything that might be of interest.’ She pressed it into his hand. ‘And I sincerely hope that your story of events is corroborated by what other staff members will tell us, Mr Shaw.’
Allie left the room and went to find Perry.
‘Anything?’ He asked when he saw her.
‘Well, Suzi Porter was into the extras provided by Tom Shaw,’ she said quietly.
‘Motive?’
‘Possibly.’ Allie waggled her phone in the air. ‘But I’ve just had a message from Dave. We’ll need to check prints, plus see where he was early Monday morning, but unless Tom Shaw killed Mickey Taylor too, he’s in the clear. Dave says he’s found the same set of fingerprints on both magnetic letters. We have ourselves a double murder investigation.’
Chapter Fourteen
‘I can’t believe they both had something to do with your school,’ said Lisa, snuggling in next to Perry as they got into bed that night.
‘Yeah, it’s mad.’ Perry pulled his pillow down a little. ‘It’s freaky too.’
‘Freaky?’ Lisa balked. ‘It’s bloody well scary, if you ask me. Are you sure you’re not in danger? I mean, how do you know that you won’t be next?’
‘Because I’m special, Lees. It’s not my time yet.’
&nbs
p; ‘It had better not be.’
Perry grinned to lighten the mood. ‘You wouldn’t be able to cope without me, would you?’
‘I wouldn’t go that far.’
‘You wouldn’t!’ he teased.
‘I might not be able to change a tyre on the car if I had a flat – but, equally, I know a man who can.’ Lisa grinned.
‘Lost,’ he added. ‘You’d be lost without me.’
‘I think you’ll find that’s the other way around. I made you into what you are. So I –’
Perry laughed. ‘I was fine before I met you.’
‘You had terrible dress sense, your hair was a mess and you looked old before your time.’
Perry pulled her on top of him. Lisa squealed, trying to wriggle out of his grip as he began to kiss her. He slipped his hand inside her top and ran his fingers lightly up and down her back. Then he rolled over and on top of her, burying his face in her cleavage for a moment as she squealed again.
‘This is where I belong,’ he said, turning serious at last. ‘This is what I’d miss and this is what no one is taking from me.’ He kissed her again, more urgently as she responded.
Sleep after sex always came easy for Perry but he was awake again in the early hours. He checked the clock: quarter past two. Lisa slept soundly beside him. He listened to her breathing, watched her shape in the dark. Although he’d joked about her being lost without him, he knew it would be the opposite way around. They’d met on a boozy holiday in San Antonio, Ibiza eight years ago. He’d been on a lads’ holiday and she’d been with her friends on a long hen weekend. He’d seen her a few times in different bars throughout the evening. She was small and thin to his tall and bulky, with long blonde hair and a perfect smile she threw his way. When she smiled a few times more, he’d gone over to chat to her. In the last bar, they’d hooked up.
He couldn’t believe it when she said she came from Stoke-on-Trent – but it was the last week in June and, back then, that was the traditional time that the pottery firms would close down for two weeks’ annual holiday. Even people who didn’t work ‘in the pots’ often had two weeks off then with partners or friends and, in popular resorts, the bars would be full of Stokies, so much so that it could almost feel like home from home.
