by Mel Sherratt
‘Thanks, Angela.’ Allie signed the clipboard and put on protective clothing before stepping inside. Forensic officer Dave Barnett was closest to her as he stood up to take a look around the body.
‘Morning, Dave. We meet again.’ Allie smiled, despite the sombre moment.
‘Hey.’ Dave glanced in her direction. ‘Yes, I reckon it’s been, what – three, may be four weeks?’
‘About that. How are you?’
‘All the better for seeing your lovely face.’ Dave dipped his eyes again.
‘Morning, sir.’ Allie greeted Nick next. She moved nearer to him and stooped down beside the body, her face screwing up when she saw the wounds that had been inflicted. The man was lying on his side, his features distorted by the beating they had taken. Swollen eyes, nose and lips. Blood had run down his cheeks from a large gash on the head; bruises were still forming even though to her mind he’d most probably died during the altercation. She noticed blood on his shirt and pointed to it.
‘Cause of death is stabbing, right?’ she asked.
‘Can’t say for certain.’ Nick glanced her way. ‘It’s more than likely but he did take a good beating about the head as well.’
‘Any weapons nearby?’
‘Nothing yet. We need to get the area searched ASAP – and the bins.’ Nick handed an evidence bag to her. Inside was a wallet, a wad of twenty-pound notes and a driving licence pulled out from it on the top. ‘Take a closer look who it is.’
Allie glanced at it and cursed quietly. ‘Jordan Johnson. That’s all we need. Does his brother know yet?’ Allie hadn’t had too many dealings with Ryan Johnson on a professional basis lately, although she had seen him last month when he’d been with one of the victims of their last case at Car Wash City in Longton. He had tried to wind her up then, but she hadn’t reacted. She assumed he’d be a little more civil when she saw him today.
‘Jordan Johnson?’ Dave looked at her for a moment. ‘The fella who runs Flynn’s nightclub over in Marsh Street?’
‘The very same, and no – haven’t told the family yet.’ Nick nodded and stood up, his knees creaking as he straightened out. ‘The brothers have some very dodgy friends as well as enemies. Allegedly they’re involved with Terry Ryder and Steve Burgess, to name two that we know well.’
Allie shuddered as she checked out the state of the body. ‘Do you think it was a planned attack? Payback for something? Or a mugging gone wrong?’
‘I’ll tell you more as soon as I know for sure. He’s been moved, though.’ Dave pointed to the ground. ‘The blood has pooled there, indicating he was originally lying on his side. I wonder if someone was checking that he was dead before they left. And that’s an expensive watch to leave behind if someone wasn’t after him.’
‘Someone who was bothered about leaving prints behind, then,’ Nick commented.
A few minutes later, Allie left the tent. She took a deep breath as she watched people buzzing around her. It was funny to feel a sense of cautious excitement about their next case. It was a good distraction too – Karen would want her to carry on.
Nick joined her outside. ‘Jordan Johnson.’ He shook his head. ‘His brother isn’t going to be too pleased.’
‘I know.’ Allie wasn’t at all relishing the thought of seeing him again so soon.
‘You know he’s still living with Kirstie Ryder, don’t you?’
Memories of the last time she was at the Ryder house rushed to the forefront of her mind. ‘Ah, I had hoped he’d moved on by now,’ she replied, trying not to blush.
‘I’ll send someone to deliver the bad news to his next-of-kin but I think you and I can pay a visit to Kirstie,’ Nick added. ‘Can you set up things around here until then? Start with interviewing the woman who found the body. And, well, you know the drill.’
‘Yes sir.’
‘It’s going to become a media circus, this one.’
Nick paused for a moment and Allie dreaded what was coming next. Nick had known her for too long not to say anything, no matter how awkward the situation felt.
‘How’s Karen?’ he asked.
Allie sighed. ‘No better, no worse.’
‘Any time you want to come off the case, I don’t expect –’
‘I’m fine, Nick, thanks. I’d rather keep busy.’
‘Yes, I thought as much. But, you know you can go just as soon as, well . . .’ Nick’s skin flushed a little too. ‘You can go at any time.’
Allie nodded, holding in tears. She couldn’t look at him now.
‘And unless you’re going to meet someone in particular off site, take an officer with you at all times – even if it’s a uniformed one. Keep your eyes peeled and report to me anything that you don’t like the look of.’ He paused to clear his throat. ‘Especially after what happened to Chloe Winters last month.’
Sifting through paperwork and searching computer files had been something to take Allie’s mind off the reality of waiting to say goodbye to Karen – statistics on rapes, sexual assaults and attacks on women in Stoke-on-Trent over the past seventeen years. It hadn’t been a nice task, but it was one she was working on alongside her other jobs. So far she could see no emerging pattern but during that last case, the attacker had definitely given her fair warning that it had been happening since – and that it could happen again.
She’d spent a lot of hours comparing and compiling notes, all in her own time. Except for Sam, her work colleague, no one else was aware of what she was doing. She’d interviewed seven women so far, gone back over the evidence that they’d had at the time. She’d dug deep, trying to think who would be unlikely to report a sexual or physical assault; maybe the victim knew her attacker and was frightened about what he would say, which could mean he was a powerful man or one with a violent reputation. For some reason she couldn’t quite pinpoint, though, Allie didn’t think any of these things. She was more inclined to think of him as a loner, someone who thought he should be more than he was, someone who used force to control women because he had no say in his day-to-day life.
Allie wanted to complain, protest that she didn’t need babysitting. A risk assessment had been put into place for her at work, in case he came after her next. But as far as Nick was concerned, she’d only received that one note. Despite the possible danger, she wanted to be able to do her job without restrictions. Although she felt guilty for being dishonest, she’d decided not to tell him about the second rose she’d also received. So far she’d avoided telling Mark that Nick didn’t know about it either.
‘Also, stay in sight of someone all the time as per the brief,’ Nick added. ‘Be looked after for a change. And speak to me if anything else happens, yes?’
‘Yes, sir,’ she nodded.
‘He might be around here today.’ Nick looked in the direction of the small crowd that had gathered by the end of the path. ‘This is a perfect time for someone to target you because you’re busy. Just try not to drop your guard.’
As Nick walked off, she hated herself for it but she gave herself a mental shake and pushed all thoughts of her sister, and her attacker, to the back of her mind. The investigation was all she wanted to think about for now.
7.00 A.M.
Ryan Johnson woke up with a foul taste in his mouth and a fuzzy head. He lifted his arm to check the time on his watch. Groaning at the early hour, he turned over and tried to go back to sleep. But the events of the previous night came hurtling at him.
He’d only drunk so much to keep his nerves at bay. After coming home once Kirstie had left Flynn’s last night, they’d stayed up for an hour getting their story straight before calling it a night and going to bed. Kirstie had played a blinder at the party. A couple of times would have been enough but in typical Ryder style, Kirstie had laid into his brother. Credit to Jordan, neither of them could stand the bitch but Jordan hadn’t lashed out at her once over the three years he’d
been keeping an eye on her. Even so, after only a few months living at The Gables, Ryan would be glad to be rid of the bickering that went on between them.
He stretched and yawned, running a hand over his trim torso. Although Kirstie was a looker, she had more money than sense, having loaned him and Jordan enough to buy Flynn’s nightclub. She said she’d trusted them, silly cow. If Kirstie thought Daddy would be proud to see how his little girl had turned out, she’d be very much mistaken. In three weeks time Flynn’s would belong to him and Jordan and, by that time, he hoped that his brother would still be in hospital, preferably unable to walk unaided thanks to the beating he’d received on Ryan’s orders.
It was nothing personal with Jordan, but Ryan had to look out for himself. He was happy for his brother to continue working with him, but he was going to be the one in charge. He didn’t report to anyone. When they were younger, he and Jordan had been quite close. But now he wasn’t into all that blood-is-thicker-than-water shit. Ryan had been the one whom Jordan looked up to, but once Jordan had stepped in to look after Kirstie, everything had changed. He had lorded it up as if he were part of the Ryder clan. Ryan had put up with it for over two years but eventually he couldn’t stand it any longer. Things with his wife had been over for a while, so moving in was perfect. From the Ryder home he could make sure he knew exactly what was going on, and he could keep an eye on his increasingly arrogant brother. Once living with them, though, he’d soon found it was all a big act between little bro and Kirstie and that they hated each other with a passion. So for him, the hit couldn’t come quick enough. He couldn’t stand this pussy-footing around much longer. And now that Jordan was in no fit state to look after anything, things could move on as planned. It was a big risk but hey, only the brave would dare mess with the Ryders.
His phone vibrated across the bedside table. As he reached for it, he noticed he had six missed calls. The name of the caller now wasn’t a welcome one.
‘What do you want?’
‘I’ve – I’ve been calling you for ages. Ryan, I –’
‘This had better be good, Nicole,’ Ryan butted in, ‘or else I’m going to string you up by that false hair of yours. What do you want?’
‘It’s Jordan.’
Ryan rubbed at his eye with a knuckle. Then his heart began to sink at her pregnant pause.
‘He’s dead, Ryan. He’s been stabbed.’
‘What do you mean, he’s dead?’ Kirstie Ryder said once Ryan had come into her room to tell her the news. She pulled back the duvet and jumped out of bed, following him as he raced into the family bathroom. ‘What’s happened?’
Ryan rested his forehead on the tiled wall before banging his fist on it. ‘I don’t know everything yet.’ He turned his face to look at her, tears glistening in his eyes. ‘The police told Mum that he’s – he’s been stabbed.’
‘No.’ Kirstie shook her head. ‘But he can’t be! That wasn’t part of the plan, was it?’
‘You know it wasn’t.’
Kirstie began to cry. ‘Did it happen at Harrison House?’
‘Yes.’
‘So it must have been one of Steve Burgess’s men.’
‘We don’t have any proof.’
‘Then we’ll find some.’ Kirstie laid a hand on his arm. ‘Someone must have seen something.’
‘At three o’clock in the morning?’ He threw her a look. ‘Yeah, everyone would be walking around then. It’s the reason we chose that time. And those flats – there’s no cameras. We might never find out who it was.’ Ryan turned round and with his back to the wall sank to the floor. ‘When I get my hands on them . . .’
Kirstie wiped at her eyes before sitting on the floor by his side. ‘I’m so sorry, Ryan.’ She put her arms around him, tried to bring him into her embrace but he pushed her away.
Just as quickly he was up to his feet. At the sink, he splashed cold water on his face.
‘I need to go and see Steve,’ he said, ‘find out what went wrong.’
‘Jesus Christ, Ryan,’ Kirstie sobbed. ‘We have to go and see your mum first.’
‘I’ll go afterwards.’ He flicked his eyes her way. ‘Are you sure you have your story straight?’
‘I left Flynn’s at eleven, you left at midnight and we were both here. Neither of us saw Jordan as he didn’t come home.’
Ryan nodded.
‘And you’re sure I don’t need an alibi for that hour as he was with you until midnight?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘Steve has that on CCTV?’
‘Yeah.’ Ryan ran a hand through his hair. ‘Shit, I was probably one of the last people to see him alive now. This is some fucking cock-up.’
‘There were lots of people who saw him last night,’ Kirstie reassured. ‘It was why the party was set up. Don’t worry about that side of things. Although if this comes back at me, my dad’ll have my arse out on the street. He said if I get into any more trouble, I’ll be out and he –’
‘It’s always the same with you, isn’t it?’ Ryan turned towards her, his face creased with rage. ‘Let’s all think about Kirstie Ryder first. My fucking brother is DEAD.’
‘Ryan, I’m –’
He pushed her out of the room abruptly. ‘Leave me alone for a minute.’
‘But we need to make sure we get our stories watertight. This wasn’t supposed to happen!’
The door slammed in her face. Kirstie turned on her heels, padded downstairs and into the living room and located the TV remote control. She flicked through the news channels to see if anything flashed up about Jordan, but there was nothing. Maybe it was too early, or maybe it wouldn’t be covered by national channels, would be kept more local. She went through into the kitchen, picked up her iPad and located Signal Radio. Perhaps something would be on the next news bulletin.
With shaking hands, she made a mug of coffee and sat down on the settee. It was at times like these that she very much wished her father was here.
Once Kirstie had gone, Ryan’s knees buckled and he sat back down on the floor, head in hands. His little brother was dead and it was all his fault. Yet he hadn’t told Steve to arrange for Jordan to be killed. He’d wanted him to maim him, rough him up, at the most put him in hospital for a few weeks so he’d have time to get used to the idea that Flynn’s was out of his control and in the hands of his big brother now. He only wanted him out of the loop for a while, not killed!
What the hell had happened? He knew Steve had been at Flynn’s last night, the party set up for his wife’s birthday a ruse to ensure that they were all in one place and could give each other alibis if necessary. He knew Steve had given the job to someone else but he hadn’t been keen on telling him who – said he’d be better off not knowing.
Ryan banged on the walled tiles with the flat of his hand. If it was that gormless idiot Craig Elliott, then there’d be more bloodshed before the day was over. How had a simple fight got so much out of control? Jordan could handle himself but he’d wanted him taken down by surprise, before he could retaliate. How had he ended up being stabbed? A beating, that’s what he’d been told was being set up. He’d told Steve not to use any weapons.
After a few minutes, he pulled himself together. The fear of it being found out that he’d set Jordan up for something that had obviously got out of control would keep him going for now. He wasn’t sure how he would face his mum if the truth ever came out. She’d be cut to the core to lose one son but to know that the other was somehow involved might send her over the edge. Her heart had been weak for some years now. Why the hell hadn’t he thought of that?
It was because he’d been so cocksure that nothing would go wrong. Now, he’d have to make sure that Steve kept his mouth shut too. And if he wouldn’t, then he would do some serious damage.
Once he’d showered and shaved, he felt more in control. In his room, he dressed quickly and appropri
ately in black jeans, a smart but casual dark tweed jacket and a white shirt. First he needed to see if the delivery had been made. He’d start with Steve Burgess, find out exactly what had gone wrong. Next, the inevitable question that would be on everyone’s lips was why would Jordan be over at Harrison House in the early hours of the morning. He needed to see . . . what was her name? Sophie – Sophie Nicklin.
Then he would spend some time with his mum, go through what the police needed from the family and hopefully keep poker-faced long enough for them to believe that he didn’t have anything to do with his brother’s death.
More importantly, he needed to check if the money had been delivered. Because if it hadn’t, he would be in much more trouble by the end of the day.
7.30 A.M.
‘Allie!’
She turned at the sound of her name and saw Simon Cole, crime reporter for the city’s local newspaper, The Sentinel, jogging towards her. Dressed in running gear, he paused when he got to her. At least with his hands on his knees while he caught his breath, he was at her eye level for once. He was six foot two to her five foot six, with kind eyes and was one of those people who never seemed to see the negative in anything, despite what he covered in his profession. His brown hair was a tad longer than he usually wore it, at a length where Allie wondered if he was trying to take on the look of a young George Best, sideburns to match. But he was too long and gangly for it to be effective. Instead it made him look awkward but cute – like a little boy on his first day at school making too much of an effort to fit in.
All around them people were gearing up for a long day ahead. In the car park, groups of uniformed officers were arriving. Except for emergency service vehicles, no one else was being allowed in to the cul-de-sac. The top of Rose Avenue, and the only way vehicles could access the car park of the flats from the main road, had been cordoned off for now.
‘Never had you down as a jogger,’ Allie smiled as Simon looked up at last.
