Follow the Leader

by Mel Sherratt

‘You mustn’t let anyone do this to you, do you hear?’ Mrs Spencer said kindly to him as she wiped his mouth. ‘If you become a victim now, you’ll always be a victim. You need to stand up and fight for yourself.’

  Patrick just listened. What did she know? She didn’t know that Johnno and his bunch of mates were always on at him. They were just too much for him.

  Chapter Thirty

  Rhian was in the kitchen when she heard Joe’s car screech to a halt in the driveway. She sighed: she was hoping he would have mellowed since their argument. As he came in, she stayed in the kitchen doorway. His face was void of expression but the slam of the door told her all she needed to know. She turned round and went back to the breakfast bar, picked up her coffee. She was damned if she was going to say sorry first.

  ‘You’d better give me one good fucking reason why you sent the police round to my office,’ he cried when he joined her. ‘Or I’m going to do a lot worse than slap you across the face.’

  Rhian’s shoulders drooped. ‘Oh. She visited you, then.’

  ‘What did you tell her all that nonsense for, you stupid bitch?’

  ‘It isn’t nonsense,’ she snapped. ‘You do have photos of your ex-wife.’

  ‘I have holiday pics of my ex-wife!’ He gave an exasperated groan.

  ‘I’m sorry, babe, I really am. But I love you so much that I – I guess I felt threatened and . . . what?’ She raised her hands, realising she had read his silence wrong. ‘I’ve said I’m sorry. What more do you want?’

  ‘It doesn’t change things. I meant what I said this morning, even more so now. I want you out.’

  ‘But . . . you can’t.’

  Joe brought his face close to hers. ‘I can do what I like,’ he spoke through gritted teeth.

  Rhian flinched. ‘I’ll change. I can –’

  ‘If you don’t leave by tonight, I’m going to chuck everything you own onto the pavement.’

  ‘You’re throwing me out because I told the police –’

  ‘She came to my office.’ He grabbed her roughly by the chin. ‘Wanted to know if an allegation that I was blackmailing Suzi before she died was true.’

  ‘Ow!’ Rhian felt her lip splitting again from the slap he’d administered earlier. ‘You’re hurting me!’

  ‘Have you any idea how much trouble I’d be in if it got back to Ryder that the pigs had been in there? I told you before, but would you listen?’

  ‘But it had nothing to do with work!’

  ‘Ryder wouldn’t know that! He only needs to be told that the police were there and I could lose my legs as well as my job!’

  Rhian burst into nervous laughter. ‘You’ve been watching too many gangster programs.’

  Joe slapped his hand down on the worktop next to her and grabbed the front of her jumper. ‘Don’t fucking laugh at me.’

  ‘Then don’t lie to me.’ She tried to push his hand away. ‘If you weren’t with Suzi, you were up to no good with someone. All those late nights and work meetings – and on top of that, a trip to London. You don’t fool me. You were up to something.’

  ‘Well, I wasn’t murdering my ex-wife. The blood that you must have taken great pleasure in mentioning wasn’t mine.’

  Rhian’s eyes widened.

  ‘I’d already told you it was from one of the lads from work who had cut himself. But you wouldn’t listen. What were you expecting to get from that?’

  ‘She didn’t believe me anyway!’ Even though she could see his eyes darkening and his fingers curling into a fist, she continued. ‘But you were up to something.’

  ‘So you thought that you’d get your own back by saying I was involved in Suzi’s murder?’

  ‘Well, what were you doing?’

  ‘We’ve been ringing fucking cars! There’s a whole bunch of us working on getting a load together. Some bloke in London was paying us top whack.’ He showed her his hands. ‘These have been toiling. I’ve been spraying the cars. It was a trade I was good at before being locked up but when I came out, I couldn’t get another decent job. But you’ve probably put a stop to that now too!’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We stored the cars around the back of Car Wash City. We won’t be able to use Ryder’s gaff now that the police have been around.’

  ‘But they didn’t come about him!’

  ‘It doesn’t matter – can’t you see? Any suspicion that could bring in the law could topple everything and then I really would be in trouble. You’ve ruined it with your petty jealousy.’

  Shocked by the venom in his voice, Rhian pouted. ‘If you want me out, I’ll go, but if I do, I’m going to make sure your precious son sees all the not-so-innocent photographs. Or maybe the newspapers might be interested in a story about how horrible Suzi was. If you’re not going to give me any money, then I’ll have to make some of my own. Because I sure as hell am NOT going back home to my parents.’ She walked to the door.

  ‘Get out!’ He pushed her in the back. ‘Get out of my house right now.’

  Suddenly Rhian realised the enormity of what was happening. She held on to the kitchen doorframe as he pushed her again.

  ‘I said fucking leave!’

  ‘I’m going nowhere.’

  Joe pried her hands away and pulled her towards the front door by her hair. He opened it and threw her out. She landed on her knees in the middle of the drive.

  ‘Bastard!’ she sobbed, getting to her feet again as he stood in the doorway. ‘I hate you.’

  ‘Yeah? Well, the feeling is mutual.’

  Rhian ran at him. He pushed her away, tripping over the step in his haste. Seeing the advantage, she ran past him again. If she could just get inside . . . He pawed at her leg but she got through the door and into the kitchen. He raced after her.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ she sobbed.

  ‘Oh, but I think you are.’

  Spying a small saucepan on the draining board, she picked it up and threw it at him. He knocked it away with his arm and it clattered to the floor. He came at her again and she screamed. Scanning around for what else she could use, she stepped backwards out of his grasp. Her bottom hit a drawer handle behind her. Still facing him, she reached back and opened the drawer with one hand, scrabbled inside it. Grasping the handle of the first thing she touched, she brandished her prize.

  ‘Leave me –’

  Joe ran straight into the small knife, the blade disappearing into his stomach.

  Rhian let go of the handle.

  Joe staggered backwards, his face contorted with pain. ‘Fuck . . . what have you done . . .’

  ‘I didn’t mean it!’ Rhian burst into tears. ‘It wasn’t my fault. Oh, God! Joe, are you okay?’

  He reached for the handle.

  ‘No, don’t take it out! You’ll make it worse.’

  ‘Worse?’ Joe gasped, dropping to his knees. ‘How can anything be worse?’ He sagged back against the wall.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she sobbed.

  He looked up at her. ‘Don’t just stand there, call an ambulance. Hurry up!’

  Hearing the door creak open behind her, Rhian turned quickly to see a man standing in the doorway. He was wearing black running gear, muscular thighs visible through thick leggings. A black woollen hat covered his head.

  ‘We had an argument,’ she cried, ‘and he ran into the knife. I didn’t stab him.’

  Patrick stepped into the kitchen. ‘What the fuck have you done?’ He screwed up his face. ‘This is my game. You don’t get to make the moves.’

  Rhian froze. ‘Who – who –’

  ‘I’m alive, you morons,’ said Joe. ‘Just get me an ambulance, will you?’

  Rhian grabbed for her phone on the table. Patrick got to it first and swiped it out of her reach.

  ‘What did you do that for?’ She bent down to pick it up.

>   Patrick brought his knee up into her face. The force of it sent her backwards and she landed heavily against the cooker door with a groan. Her head flipped back and cracked against the handle. In seconds, she flopped to the floor, out cold.

  ‘Hey!’

  Patrick turned to face Joe. ‘Well, well, well.’ He shook his head slowly as he surveyed the situation. ‘Another minute or so and I might very well have been too late. Lucky for me that I decided to call when I did. Snazzy home you have here. I’m normally quite good at talking myself into places – it’s the look of innocence I portray, I suppose – but you made my job a whole lot easier. You left your front door open.’

  ‘I wanted her to leave.’

  ‘Ah.’ Patrick nodded and then sneered. ‘Still got a way with the ladies, I see.’

  ‘Phone.’ Joe pointed. ‘Pass me the phone.’

  ‘Let me help first.’ Patrick stooped over him. Before he could react, he pulled the knife from Joe’s stomach.

  ‘You silly bastard.’ Joe groaned and tried to get up. Blood poured between his fingers and he sat back abruptly again.

  ‘Oops,’ grinned Patrick.

  ‘Come on, man. Please just get me the phone.’

  ‘I think that should be “just get me the phone, Patrick.” ’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Patrick – that’s my name. You’ll probably remember me as Shorty, although I’m not as short now, obviously. Do you remember me? I was in your class for most of my school years. You made my life hell.’

  Joe gave a lopsided smile, his eyes beginning to glaze over. ‘Yeah, that would be me. I was a right shit at school.’

  ‘You used to call me a loser.’ Patrick glared at him. ‘But I seem to recall there are winners and losers in every game.’

  ‘What the fuck are you talking about? I need help – just get me an ambulance.’

  ‘The game we’re going to play – it’s just like the ones you used to play with me, Johnno.’

  Joe’s eyes struggled to focus again; he blinked profusely. ‘What did you say your name was?’

  ‘Patrick.’

  ‘Ah, Shorty – yeah, I remember you now.’

  Patrick’s right eye began to twitch. ‘Oh, I bet you do.’ From his pocket, he pulled out a white magnetic letter. ‘You heard about the recent murders, Johnno? Mickey Taylor – now, you must remember him. He was your buddy, and one of the ringleaders. He was the first one in the game to go.’

  Joe coughed a little.

  ‘Then there was your ex-wife.’ Patrick sniggered. ‘Changing her name from Sandra didn’t make her attractive to me. Yeah, I suppose she was quite beautiful, until you got close up. It was easy getting into her house too. I said I was Matthew Thompson – you remember him from 5C? I showed her a photo and pretended to be him at first. She didn’t recognise me either. And when she gave me some lip,’ he made a fist and smacked it into the palm of his other hand, ‘wham bam. Knocked her out and tied her to a chair.’

  Joe had gone quiet.

  ‘I wanted to stab her,’ Patrick pointed to his own chest, ‘right there in the heart. Because that’s what she did to me. That’s what you all did to me. You took away every ounce of confidence I had. She snubbed me too – so I finished her off as well.’

  Patrick could see Joe’s head leaning to one side. ‘Don’t go to sleep on me just yet.’ He leaned forward and pushed him up a little. ‘Because I need to tell you that next up was Frank Dwyer – you remember him, Johnno? The dirty fucker. One afternoon after games had finished, he asked me to stay behind. Said he wanted to give me extra lessons. Took me into the showers and made me undress. He . . . Never mind what he did.’ Patrick closed his eyes as he fought to keep away the images.

  ‘Malcolm Foster – now you won’t know him at all, Johnno. The reason I killed him, I hear you asking? Simple, really. As I was doing my research on Dirty Dwyer, I found out Foster was buying images from him – filthy, disgusting photos of little boys being made to do despicable things. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together, the dirty bastard. So, as a little bit of fun – and to throw the police off a bit – I thought I’d get rid of him too.’

  ‘And then there was Nathan Whittaker. You remember Whitty, Johnno? He made me look a prick at the last school disco. I fucked up with him because he survived. But I’m not going to fuck up with you.’

  Joe held out a hand and groaned.

  ‘I’ve been following you all for months – years, some of you. So when it came time to put the game into play, everything was meticulously planned. Everything was in order. I’m sure the police worked out that the word I was spelling was revenge but they weren’t quick enough to know who I was going to come at next.’

  Joe coughed.

  ‘E – Mickey Taylor. V – Suzi Porter – Sandra Seymour, to you and me. E – Frank Dwyer. N – Malcolm Forrester. G was Nathan Whittaker. And now you.’ He held up the letter so that Joe so could see it, tapping on his leg to get his attention.

  ‘Pain. Heat,’ whispered Joe. ‘Help.’

  ‘Certainly.’ Patrick pulled his own knife from the inside pocket of his jacket and stooped over him. Then he rammed it into Joe’s stomach, into the wound that was already there, and drew it up. Next he reached for the knife that was on the floor, lifted it up above his head and, holding it with two hands, drove it down into the side of Joe’s neck.

  ‘Pity your woman is still sparked out. She’s missing the best part.’

  Chapter Thirty-One

  When Rhian opened her eyes, she groaned as a pain shot across the front of her face. Her vision blurred, she rubbed her head, gasping as her hand came back bloody. Had she hit it on something? She focused more and saw a saucepan on the floor and then Joe’s feet. She sat up slowly.

  Joe was sitting on the floor, his back to the wall, staring at her with a blank look. His head had dropped to one side. Blood seeped from his neck on the other, soaking his T-shirt. By his side was the knife she had accidentally stabbed him with.

  ‘Joe!’ Scrambling across the floor, Rhian lifted his head. His eyes were glazed. ‘Joe,’ she whispered, tears pouring down her face. ‘Joe!’ She shook his shoulders. ‘No, no, NO!’ She pulled him into her arms and screamed. ‘Help me! Somebody, help me.’

  She looked closer at where the knife had been sticking out of his stomach. There was a wound, about an inch in length. But then she noticed a bubble coming from the pool of blood on his neck. She peered at it, saw blood escaping from there too. She sobbed; she hadn’t done that as well, had she? No, she would have remembered. One was an accident, but two knife wounds? No one would believe she hadn’t inflicted both, would they? Shit, she was in so much trouble.

  Where was her phone? All she could remember was bending down to get it and then darkness. Wait, there was a man! Where was he? Oh, God – had the man who had murdered Suzi killed Joe too? Was he still in the house? She sat still for a moment and listened. She couldn’t hear anything. And wouldn’t he have come back to attack her again if he’d heard her screaming? Well, she wasn’t about to go looking. She was staying put – here with Joe.

  She glanced at him again, her breathing erratic as the reality of how much trouble she was in began to hit her. What if the police didn’t believe that someone else had done this?

  Allie and Perry had been over to Waterloo Road to chat to some of the shopkeepers around the car park where Nathan Whittaker had been attacked. They were just grabbing a quick coffee when Allie’s phone rang. Perry smirked as it played Plan B’s Welcome to Hell this time.

  She handed her coffee to him and answered it, pressing her spare hand to her ear so that she could block out the traffic.

  ‘Yes, we’ll check it out. Back-up going too? Okay, we’re on our way.’ She disconnected the call and turned to Perry. ‘There’s been a call from Rhian Jamieson. She says there’s been an intruder.’

 
; ‘Fuck! You’re sure it’s not another cock and bull story?’ Perry quickened his step as they approached the car.

  ‘No, I gave her a right bollocking this morning. I don’t think she’d dare to make something up. She is asking for me, though.’

  On the drive over, Allie couldn’t help thinking that this might be a trick after the conversation she’d had with Joe Tranter a few hours ago. There’d clearly already been another domestic between them, but . . . no. Rhian wouldn’t, surely? And with a killer on the loose, they wouldn’t chance anything anyway.

  In Smallwood Avenue, the front door of number four was ajar as they walked up the drive, the Focus and Joe’s Range Rover parked next to each other. Allie reached out her baton and lobbed it out full; Perry did likewise. She pushed the door open fully, allowing them both to see into the hallway.

  ‘Rhian,’ she shouted through. ‘Miss Jamieson? It’s the police.’

  Directly in front of them, Rhian appeared in the kitchen doorway. She was barefoot, her clothes and hands covered in blood.

  ‘It wasn’t me!’ Rhian started to cry. ‘There was a man – he came in through the door. He knocked me out. And I – oh, God, it wasn’t me!’

  ‘Are you alone?’ Allie needed to know.

  ‘I – I think so. But Joe, he’s . . . I think he’s dead.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  Rhian pointed at him with a shaking hand.

  Allie assessed the situation and stepped inside. At the kitchen doorway, she stopped for a moment in shock when she saw Joe Tranter lying on the floor. Quickly snapping on sterile gloves, she took two quick steps and dropped to her knees beside him. Gut instinct told her that he was dead but she had to make certain. Rhian started to cry again as she came closer but she wasn’t her concern for now. Uncomfortable with the blood around his neck, screwing up her face while she tried to keep her dinner down, she lifted his wrist to feel for a pulse. There was nothing.

  She shook her head at Perry. ‘Call it in,’ she said. ‘Get an ambulance, too, for her. And get her out of here.’