Follow the Leader

by Mel Sherratt

  He would be all over the newspapers again tomorrow, he was sure. Ray would be too.

  Ray had been begging him to visit him in prison for the past couple of years now. But he didn’t fool Patrick with his words of apology. All that talk in those letters about how he wanted forgiveness – he knew it was lies. Fibs to lure him into thinking that everything was okay. Ray would never change: the drink would never let him go. Patrick was certain that if he let him back into his life, the torment would start all over again. What was the saying – a leopard never changes its spots?

  Ray hadn’t fooled him. He would never believe him. Never.

  When it was time to leave, Patrick folded up the newspaper and left it on the table. He pulled on his woollen hat and headed out of the pub. It was ten past three. He reckoned it would take him a good hour to walk over to Longton. He didn’t want to take the car and he wouldn’t run there as he’d have to run back – he needed to keep his strength for tomorrow.

  Joe groaned when he saw Ryan’s car pull up on the forecourt. He plastered a smile to his face as he showed him into his office.

  ‘Everything good, I hope?’

  ‘Yeah, not so bad.’ Ryan moved to the window and leaned his back on the sill. ‘Yourself?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Good.’

  ‘Can’t believe the police haven’t caught this serial killer yet, though. You heard anything since you got back? Anything on your ex-wife?’

  ‘Nothing new. Bunch of tossers.’

  ‘Right. I was wondering if you might want to continue our arrangement straightaway rather than wait around?’ Ryan questioned. ‘I reckon, with the right people, we could get a lucrative operation going.’

  ‘Sounds good, but I need a bit of time, yeah?’ Joe ran a hand through his hair. ‘The Missus is giving us grief already and we’ve only been back a day.’

  ‘I thought you were all for dumping her.’

  ‘Oh, I am.’ Joe nodded. ‘These things take time. I’ll have her gone by the end of –’

  A rap on the open door had them both looking up. Joe groaned inwardly and sat down at his desk.

  Allie was surprised to see Ryan Johnson in Joe’s office, but she did her best to hide it. Johnson was on the police radar as one of the men who were now keeping an eye on Terry Ryder’s businesses while he was in prison. She also knew of him because he and his brother Jordan ran Flynn’s, a nightclub on the outskirts of Hanley that was owned by Ryder’s daughter, Kirstie.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ she addressed them both with what she hoped was a friendly smile.

  ‘DS Shenton,’ Ryan addressed Allie with a smile, charm personified. ‘To what do we owe this pleasure?’

  ‘Not here for you today, Mr Johnson.’ Allie walked right in. ‘I just need a word with Mr Tranter.’

  ‘If that bitch has been saying anything . . .’ Joe cried. ‘She fell, all right?’

  ‘Oh!’ Ryan grinned. ‘Trouble at home?’

  ‘I’m not here about the assault on Rhian Jamieson, although it would be good if she could make up her mind whether you hit her or she fell.’

  Joe ran a hand over his chin. ‘Well, whatever else she said, it isn’t true either.’

  ‘She claims you have photographs of your ex-wife.’

  ‘Photographs?’ Ryan cocked his head inquisitively.

  ‘There’s no rule against it, if I have,’ Joe replied.

  ‘If they’ve been used for blackmail, there is.’ Allie held his gaze.

  Joe scoffed. ‘Is that what she told you? She’s such a kid.’

  ‘Is she, Mr Tranter?’

  ‘Is she what?’

  ‘Is she telling the truth?’ Allie continued. ‘Were you blackmailing your ex-wife?’

  ‘Of course I wasn’t.’ He held up his hands. ‘Rhian likes to make things up if she knows it will cause a row. She’s a make-up sex kind of girl, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Not sure that I want to.’ Allie glared at him.

  A silence fell between them.

  Ryan broke it with a snigger. ‘So, what are you going to do now?’ he asked Allie.

  ‘Not that it’s any of your business.’

  ‘You don’t have a warrant, though.’

  ‘I can get one.’

  ‘But you know that anything detrimental will have been moved by then, don’t you?’ Ryan pushed himself from the windowsill.

  ‘There had better not be anything detrimental.’ Allie met his gaze.

  ‘There isn’t!’ said Joe.

  ‘Are you talking photographs now, Sergeant?’ Ryan laughed.

  ‘Of course.’ Allie turned away from him and back to Joe, before she lost her temper.

  ‘Well, in that case,’ Joe pushed the tin towards her, ‘these are what Rhian found. I was keeping most of them for Jayden. Feel free to peruse at your leisure.’

  Allie opened the lid and took out a few of the photos.

  ‘You see?’ he shrugged. ‘Lots of couples take these kinds of photos on holiday. Lots of women go topless on beaches. These are no different.’

  ‘So this bruising on Rhian’s face?’ Allie wouldn’t be put off.

  ‘You don’t give in, do you, Sergeant?’ Ryan laughed again. ‘She fell, didn’t she, Joe?’

  ‘She did.’

  ‘Rhian also mentioned that you’d come home with blood on your T-Shirt,’ Allie said, ‘on the night that Suzi Porter was murdered.’

  ‘She did what?’ Joe stood up quickly.

  Ryan gasped. Allie ignored him, kept her eyes locked on Joe’s.

  ‘You know, on the night that you said you were watching The One Show together.’

  ‘The One Show?’ Ryan burst out into laughter. ‘Really?’

  ‘Mr Johnson,’ Allie barked. ‘Either leave the room or be quiet. This has nothing to do with you.’

  Ryan held up his hands in mock surrender.

  ‘I told her it wasn’t my blood.’ Joe went to the office window and pointed. ‘Do you see the boy there, in the blue top? The one with the grubby bandage on his hand? That’s Luke and he fell off a low step, trying to reach the middle of a Land Rover roof, the soft bastard. Landed on the corner of the bumper and sliced his finger. Nothing to worry about but it didn’t half bleed. He had it glued at A&E – you can check their records. That’s where the blood came from on my T-shirt.’

  ‘Where’s the T-shirt now?’

  ‘It’ll be in the wash. Or it will have been washed and shoved in the basket waiting to be ironed. You can check that too, if you like. Rhian isn’t good at getting chores done around the house.’

  ‘How twenty-first century of you to have a woman to do your ironing.’

  ‘I pay her in kind.’

  Ryan laughed again. When Allie glared at him, he put a finger to his lips.

  Allie sighed. ‘Where were you really on that night, Mr Tranter?’

  ‘I was home, like I said. Rhian is lying.’

  ‘And how do I know that if you don’t have an alibi now?’

  ‘Her word against mine.’ Joe shrugged again. ‘You’ll have to prove otherwise.’

  ‘Yes, you’re good at that, from what I heard,’ Ryan spoke again.

  Allie stiffened as Ryan stepped closer to her.

  ‘How far did you go to get the truth out of Terry Ryder?’ he asked.

  Allie swallowed as she glared at him. For a moment, they stood with eyes locked together, but she was determined not to rise to his bait. Instead, she turned from Ryan to look at Joe again. ‘I repeat, Mr Tranter, where were you on that night?’

  ‘I was at home, with Rhian.’

  Allie stood for a long moment, looking from one man to the other. ‘Fine,’ she gave in finally. ‘I’ll get an officer to come and take a statement to that effect. See if you can recall any further details by that time.’ She took
out her card and handed it to him. ‘One more thing, before I leave. We’re making sure that everyone who left Reginald High School in 1989 is aware of the importance of taking extra precautions with their safety at the moment. So, I’d watch your back if I were you. We might not be the only people interested in your whereabouts.’

  Joe stood up quickly. ‘Are you saying this killer might come after me?’

  Allie yielded. ‘We’re asking people from that time who knew any of the victims to be extra careful. Can I trust you to look after yourself for a while?’

  Joe watched as Allie marched out of the door and across the forecourt, feeling a nerve twitching in the side of his temple.

  ‘She’s a feisty bitch, that one,’ Ryan said as he, too, watched Allie disappear. ‘Does she think she has something on you?’

  ‘No, they’re obviously panicking since this guy has been killing everyone. Bit worried about being told to look after myself, though,’ Joe laughed nervously.

  Ryan stood for a moment, then nodded. ‘Let’s talk again when there is less heat on you. Let me know how you’re fixed. I do want you as part of my team.’

  Once Ryan had left too, Joe paced the floor. That stupid bitch, Rhian! She’d sent the sergeant there because she knew they’d be after him like a shot once she mentioned the blood. How could she betray him after all he had done for her? After all he had put up with.

  He swiped his keys from his desk and stormed out. ‘If anyone wants me, I’m at home,’ he said to the lads outside before getting into his car.

  This old man, he played six,

  He played knick-knack on his sticks.

  With a knick-knack, paddy-whack,

  Give the dog a bone.

  This old man came rolling home.

  1983

  Patrick couldn’t believe his luck when he got an invitation to Dawn Spencer’s tenth birthday party. The whole of class nine had been invited. And he was going to go and enjoy himself with everyone else. He arrived at her house in a grey suit and a tie that his dad had insisted on him wearing when he’d told him about it. He’d worn it to his nan’s funeral the year before. The jacket was tight across the chest and he could no longer fasten the double-breasted buttons, and the trousers were flapping around his ankles, making him realise how much he had grown.

  If his mum had been around, she would never have let him go in the suit. She would have known what was best for him to wear. No one dressed up that smart for a birthday party. Everyone knew that games were played. You can’t play games in a suit.

  The gateposts either side of the front path had balloons tied to them, bobbing up and down in the slight breeze of a sunny day. There were banners across the front door – Happy Birthday – and more balloons too. Patrick grinned – he was so excited to be part of this. Usually he was never invited to anyone’s party.

  Everyone else knew to turn up with a present for the birthday girl too.

  The birthday girl greeted him at the door with a look of disappointment. It made his heart sink a little.

  ‘Where’s my present?’ Dawn said as he stepped into the hallway.

  ‘I – I haven’t got one,’ he made up the first thing he could think of. ‘My dad was working and didn’t have time to get anything for you. Sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid.’ She folded her arms across her blossoming chest. ‘Everyone knows your dad is an alkie and can’t keep a job because of it.’

  ‘No, he isn’t!’

  ‘He is so.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘I do too!’

  ‘Come now, don’t fight,’ Dawn’s mother intervened. ‘Young man, would you like to come and sit at the table? I’m sure you’ll know most of the other children.’

  Patrick was shown into the dining room, which had wide-open patio doors leading out onto a large garden. There, a table was set and eleven children sat around it; a brightly coloured tablecloth was almost hidden beneath plates of food. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw the amount. Triangle ham sandwiches, sausages on sticks, quarters of mini pork pies and sausage rolls, cheese and pineapple chunks on cocktail sticks, and bowls of crisps and peanuts.

  He smiled shyly at everyone until Johnno sat forward with a smirk on his face that made him sober up instantly.

  ‘What are you dressed like that for?’ Johnno pointed at him and everyone stopped what they were doing to look. When he laughed, everyone else followed.

  There were two seats left and Patrick sat down on the one farthest from Johnno. He fingered the collar of his shirt, already feeling uncomfortable in it.

  ‘There’s lots of food.’ Sandra Seymour handed him a plate. ‘Come on, eat up.’

  ‘Yeah, eat up, Shorty.’ Johnno snatched it from her. ‘I’ll get it for him.’

  Johnno piled his plate high and passed it to him. Patrick tucked in, all smiles. He hadn’t tasted food so good in a long while.

  He was on his third sandwich when another girl came in. It was Melody Edwards. The only seat left was next to him but she proclaimed in a loud voice that she wasn’t going to sit there.

  ‘Don’t be rude,’ her mum admonished and pushed her gently into the seat. ‘He’s in your class and you should be polite to him.’

  ‘No one wants to sit with him at school.’ Melody shimmied to the far edge of the seat, as far from Patrick as she could physically get without falling off it.

  The girl on the other side of her pushed her away. ‘You’re squashing me!’ she protested.

  ‘I don’t want to sit by him!’

  ‘You shouldn’t have been late then.’

  ‘It wasn’t my fault. It was my mum’s. She was late, not me.’

  The girl shrugged as if she couldn’t care less.

  ‘Would you like some ice cream now, Patrick?’ Mrs Spencer asked as she came round to dish it out with the jelly.

  Although he was full, Patrick couldn’t resist. ‘Yes, please,’ he nodded enthusiastically.

  ‘Have some sauce,’ Johnno said, squirting lots of raspberry gloop on top. Patrick eyed it with longing and began to eat. But the ice cream took its toll. After a few mouthfuls, he put down his spoon.

  ‘You can’t leave any,’ Johnno insisted. ‘It’s bad manners at someone else’s party.’

  ‘I can’t eat any more,’ he explained. ‘I’m going to be sick if I do.’

  ‘Eat it.’

  Patrick knew by Johnno’s harsh tone that he’d be in for it if he didn’t finish it all. Grateful even to be at the party, he swallowed the rest of the desert in big mouthfuls, feeling his stomach expand, his insides curdling as the jelly slid down his throat and the ice cream landed heavily on top of all the food he’d already consumed.

  All at once, he wished that he hadn’t.

  ‘Time for games,’ Mrs Spencer cried, clapping her hands to get the children’s attention above the noise they were making. ‘What shall we start off with? Blind Man’s Bluff? Pass the Parcel? Tinned Sardines?’

  ‘Hide and Seek!’ suggested Johnno.

  ‘I’ll be “It,”’ said Dawn, eagerly. ‘It’s my party.’

  As Johnno ran off, he grabbed Patrick’s arm. ‘Come on,’ he cried. ‘I know a great place where we can hide.’

  As Johnno tore upstairs, Patrick lolled after him, his insides curdling more with every step. Most of the children had gone outside into the garden or into the kitchen.

  He stopped at the bottom step. ‘Won’t we get in trouble going up there?’

  ‘We won’t be found for ages,’ said Johnno, beckoning to him. ‘Come on.’

  Patrick decided to follow him.

  Johnno opened the door to the airing cupboard and pushed him inside. ‘Quick, get to the back.’

  Patrick climbed in and clambered as far into the cupboard as he could go. It was a tight squeeze but
he managed to turn himself around and pull up his knees so that Johnno could get in beside him. But Johnno just stood in the doorway, a smirk on his face again.

  ‘Bye, freak,’ he said and closed the door.

  Patrick found himself in the dark. He froze for a moment before scrambling to the door. He reached for the handle but it wouldn’t go down. He tried again. ‘Johnno!’ He banged on the door. ‘I’m stuck! Let me out!’

  Panic took over as he heard Johnno laughing outside.

  ‘I’m not letting you out, Shorty,’ Johnno said. ‘You were only invited because everyone in the class was, you stupid idiot. No one likes you.’

  Patrick banged on the door again, the darkness seeming to creep up on him. ‘Let me out,’ he screamed, tears welling in his eyes. ‘I don’t want to be in here! Let me out!’

  ‘Don’t be such a baby.’ Johnno kicked the bottom of the door.

  ‘What are you doing upstairs? Come down here at once.’

  Patrick heard Mrs Spencer’s voice and banged on the door again.

  ‘See you later, loser,’ Johnno whispered before thundering down the stairs.

  Patrick banged on the door again but no one heard him. He sat down on the floor and began to cry. Then he felt his stomach churning again – oh, no, he was going to be . . . He threw up over his trousers and shoes. As the smell assaulted his nostrils, he threw up again. Crying now, all he wanted to do was go home.

  It seemed like a lifetime before anyone found him.

  Finally, Mrs Spencer opened the door. ‘We’ve been looking for you everywhere. What on earth are you doing in here?’ She pulled him out by the arm and wrinkled up her nose. ‘Oh, God, you’ve been sick. What a mess you’ve made!’

  At the bottom of the stairs, he could see all the kids in his class laughing at him. Johnno stood in the middle of them, his laughter the loudest.

  ‘That’s enough, children,’ Mrs Spencer admonished.

  Patrick tried not to cry again as she led him through into the bathroom. Why did it always happen to him?