by Mel Sherratt
‘Why should you care?’ Kirstie looked pointedly at Allie. ‘Especially you. You should leave, before I have you removed.’
‘I’ll have you arrested if you don’t stop with the threats,’ Nick warned.
Kirstie lowered her eyes for a fraction of a second.
Allie was shocked to find that the girl was still as immature as ever. Obviously fending for herself for the last three years had done nothing to help her grow up.
‘Can you tell me when you last saw Jordan?’ Nick repeated.
This time Kirstie answered. ‘Last night. We had a row.’
‘Do you often argue?’
‘We’re a couple – of course we do.’
‘What were you arguing about?’
Allie tried not to smirk at Nick’s bluntness. She saw Kirstie bristle but at least she didn’t retaliate too much.
‘That’s none of your business.’ Kirstie glared at Nick.
‘Please cooperate, Kirstie,’ Allie couldn’t help but snap. ‘I’m sure you have things to be doing.’
‘I wasn’t talking to you!’ Kirstie snapped back. ‘And yes, we have a funeral to sort out. I’m . . .’
Finally, they saw some grief, some atom of emotion hinting that Kirstie might have cared for Jordan, as she began to cry.
‘Jordan had been coming home late at night a lot recently,’ Kirstie spoke after she had composed herself again. ‘He was at the party –’
‘The party?’
‘It was for the bar manager’s wife,’ Ryan explained. ‘It was held at our club, Flynn’s. I was there, too.’
‘Yeah, and I wasn’t.’ Kirstie’s top lip curled into a snarl. ‘I wasn’t lowering myself to go. Can’t stand the woman. But I was so bored and pissed off being alone so I rang Jordan to check when he would be back.’
‘What time would that have been?’
‘Around ten, I guess.’
‘Was Jordan at the party when you spoke to him?’ asked Nick.
‘Yes, he said he was coming home soon, but when I rang him again at eleven, he told me he had some business to sort out and he might not be home at all.’
‘Does he often stay out at night?’
‘There’s a stay-over room at Flynn’s,’ said Ryan. ‘It isn’t used much though.’
‘I stormed over to Flynn’s and had it out with him anyway,’ added Kirstie.
‘Why?’
‘I put the money up for it and he takes the piss by thinking it’s his. I own that place, not him.’ Kirstie glanced at Ryan. ‘Nor you, either.’
Ryan threw her a warning look that didn’t go unnoticed by either Allie or Nick.
‘So, this row?’ Nick tried to move things along.
‘Rowing was an understatement,’ muttered Ryan.
‘I lashed out at him, okay?’ Kirstie retorted. ‘I was convinced he’d been having it away with some stuck-up tart behind the bar. I had a go at her, too, but she denied anything was going on. Well, she would, wouldn’t she?’
‘What time would that be?’ asked Nick.
‘About half past eleven, I guess.’
‘And what did you do afterwards?’
‘I came home. Jordan didn’t. I thought he was at Flynn’s until I heard this morning.’
‘You didn’t call him later to see where he was?’ asked Allie.
‘No, I was too mad with him.’ Kirstie shook her head. ‘Not that it’s any of your business.’
Allie kept her sigh to herself. ‘Were you on your own here?’
‘No, I came back, too,’ said Ryan.
Allie and Nick turned to him at the same time.
Ryan raised his hands and then dropped them by his side. ‘She’d more or less ruined the atmosphere by then.’
‘Thanks for that,’ said Kirstie.
Ryan rolled his eyes.
‘And you were both here for the rest of the night?’
‘Yes,’ Ryan nodded. ‘Kirstie was still up when I got in so we had a coffee and then she went to bed. I stayed up, had a couple of whiskeys and went to bed myself about an hour later.’
‘You didn’t check up on Jordan?’ queried Nick.
‘Why should we?’ retorted Kirstie.
Ryan stiffened. ‘I gave him a call, about half past one I think, but he didn’t pick up.’
‘You wouldn’t think anything of him not coming home?’
‘I’m not my brother’s keeper, Inspector.’ Ryan look bemused. ‘It’s a long time since I’ve looked out for him. He’s – he was thirty-one.’
‘What about his car?’
‘I hadn’t given that a thought.’ Ryan frowned.
‘Does he still drive a Land Rover Discovery?’ Allie had received details back from the PNC check, although she hadn’t been informed as to whether it had been found on the car park or surrounding streets yet. She made a note to see if Sam was checking any cameras in the area too.
‘Yes. Black, mark four,’ said Ryan. ‘Nice beast.’
‘A status symbol, if you ask –’ said Kirstie.
‘No one was asking you,’ Ryan responded.
‘Don’t you have any idea as to who it is yet?’ Kirstie turned on Nick next.
‘We’re following a few leads,’ Nick informed her.
‘I hope they’re the right ones after the fiasco when my mother died.’
Allie saw Nick tense as Kirstie rose tall. God, the girl really was more obnoxious now than when they had first met her three years ago.
‘I’m not sure I recall any fiasco, Ms Ryder,’ Nick replied.
‘She fitted him up.’ Kirstie pointed at Allie before looking away.
‘Shut up, Kirstie,’ said Ryan.
‘Don’t tell me what to do!’
Another awkward silence followed.
‘We’ll be in touch when we know more,’ Nick said eventually.
‘I hope you have something concrete soon,’ Ryan said as he showed them out.
‘I hope so too, Mr Johnson.’ Nick nodded, making eye contact for a fraction longer than was necessary. ‘We’ll be seeing you soon, no doubt.’
‘What do you reckon?’ Nick asked Allie as they walked back down the drive towards their cars.
‘The last time we saw Kirstie Ryder, every other word was a curse. At least she’s grown up in that respect.’ Allie raised her eyebrows. ‘Her manners are still atrocious though.’
‘Couldn’t agree more.’ Nick smirked. ‘We have a whole bunch of people at that party to interview, and we need to get CCTV footage from Flynn’s nightclub to look at that fight.’
‘I can collect it – get it gone through ASAP. I want to have a look around too – that okay with you?’
‘Yes. I’m going back to the station.’ He paused for a moment. ‘I trust you can handle this one on your own?’
Allie knew he was referring to what had happened during the Steph Ryder investigation. He wasn’t the only one who thought she had stepped over the mark.
‘Yes, sir, thanks.’
‘I don’t mean alone when I say that.’
‘Yes, sir.’ She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. ‘And I’m not sure about all that back there. Did it seem obvious to you that they were trying too hard to make us think they couldn’t stand each other?’
‘Who, Kirstie and Jordan or Kirstie and Ryan?’
‘Kirstie and Ryan. Didn’t you see the furtive glances passing between them? That conversation had definitely been rehearsed.’
Nick paused with a hand on the roof of his car. ‘I think Jordan Johnson was put in there to keep an eye on Kirstie and maybe when it all went sour, Ryan was moved in, too.’
Allie nodded in agreement. ‘Although it does seem a weird choice, given his age.’
‘That’s Terry Ryder for you. I’m sure he’ll have s
ome strange reason for it. And remember what you said to me the last time we had to deliver bad news?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘How do you feel about this visit?’
‘I feel exactly the same.’ Allie sighed. ‘They’re crocodile tears, aren’t they?’
As soon as the police had left, Ryan raced back through to the living room.
‘What the hell was all that?’ he seethed. ‘Don’t you think you laid the sarcasm on a bit thick?’
‘That woman ruined my family!’ Kirstie stood with folded arms. ‘I do not fucking want her in this house again!’
‘Watch your language.’
‘Oh, so now you think you’re my father as well as my lover?’
‘No, but I might slap your legs just the same.’
Kirstie flinched but stayed where she was as he stepped closer. ‘You wanted me to throw them off the scent, didn’t you?’
‘With a bit of believability, yes. Not by playing stupid games. They could see right through that. You sounded suspicious.’
‘I don’t know how I could because I didn’t have anything to do with his death. And you’re supposed to be grieving – I didn’t see much of that.’
Ryan clenched his hands into fists. ‘Just because I’m not bursting into tears every five minutes doesn’t mean I’m not grieving. I’m just trying to get us out of this mess in one piece. I do things at my own pace, Kirstie, you know that, and that includes taking revenge on the bastard who did this to my brother.’
Kirstie relented. ‘We’ll be off the radar in no time. The police will be clueless as to what really happened.’
Ryan shook his head. ‘But even we don’t know what happened! Nothing should have gone wrong.’
Kirstie walked slowly towards him and cupped his face in her hands. ‘I know you’ll miss him; so will I. But he was in the way, you have to admit. And once this is all sorted we can get on with our life together. You and me – just think how powerful we’ll be.’
Ryan smirked. ‘You are one shrewd bitch.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment, Mr Johnson. The detail is always in the small things – the surname Ryder give it away to you?’
‘You really think you’re untouchable, don’t you?’
She clasped her hands together around the back of his neck and licked her lip in anticipation. ‘Oh, I’m definitely touchable, as you well know.’
He released her hands, pushing her to one side. ‘My brother is dead and I want to know who the hell killed him.’
‘Don’t go overboard with the family thing,’ Kirstie huffed, folding her arms. ‘You were happy enough to put him in a hospital bed.’
Ryan shook his head in exasperation. ‘You might think that you’re indispensable because you’re a Ryder, but look at you now, alone in this big house. Someone needs to look after you or else who knows what could happen to you . . .’
‘Oh, grow up, Ryan. You can’t threaten me.’
He grabbed her arm as she tried to push past him. ‘Really, Kirstie,’ he warned, ‘don’t fuck with me. I’m nowhere near as nice as my little brother.’
Ryan tried to contain his temper as he stormed into the garden to the mini-gym he and Jordan had installed the previous summer. He began to lift some weights, trying to get rid of his aggression. It would be much better than cracking Kirstie one, despite his yearning to punch away that smug grin from her face. She was still such a child at times. But at least she hadn’t guessed the exact reason why he was here.
Jordan moving in with Kirstie had been Ryder’s idea but it couldn’t have worked out better for Ryan. When Terry had gone to jail, he’d asked Ryan to step in to look after a couple of branches of Car Wash City. But it hadn’t been enough. He’d wanted to be more in the know, find out how Ryder made his money. Eventually, he’d come up with a plan to wheedle his way into the house, maybe get Kirstie on side. So far that had led to nothing. Ryder obviously kept his cards close to his chest, not even trusting his daughter with much of his business.
Still, he’d had some great sex. It hadn’t taken long to get Kirstie into his bed. It had been fun to feel young legs wrapped around him, see firm breasts hanging down as she’d straddled him, feel ribs and hips instead of rolls of fat, see smooth lines instead of wrinkles. Like her mother by all accounts, Kirstie was a goer and her appetite for sex made up for the obligatory once-a-fortnight missionary position he’d got, if he was lucky, after being married to Nicole for so long. Not that he’d ever gone without in between, but that was nothing to do with anyone.
Yet, even though he was still in shock over his brother’s death, Kirstie was right. There was no love lost between him and Jordan. And now that his brother had gone, it seemed he might possibly be in a better place. He could even take over things from Jordan. By the time Terry got wind of anything going wrong, it would be too late. He couldn’t do much while he was locked up, especially now that Steve Burgess was on side with Ryan. Two powerful men against Ryder. Terry might think he was in control but he was running out of enemies on the outside who would keep his empire going.
What he needed to do now was to keep Kirstie sweet – no matter how hard it would be to hear her constant whinging and complaining and keep up with her insatiable appetite for sex. But first he needed to find out who had killed his brother and get the missing money back. And he knew just where to start.
Kirstie slumped on the settee, trying to take it all in. Ryan was an aggressive bastard, but she wasn’t going to let him intimidate her. She’d been through too much over the last few years to let that happen. Three years ago, Kirstie had had to grow up fast. Although there was no love lost between her and Steph, Kirstie had always looked towards her late mother for money. Finding herself alone a few weeks later when her father had been remanded in prison for the murder of several people, she had gone into a mad panic.
She’d been slightly crazy, she thought now. She’d even fallen out with her best friend Ashleigh, for no good reason. Alone in this big house with no real friends, just people looking to take advantage of a Ryder. There had been a few wild parties, the police being called out to their tiny respectable avenue of individually designed houses on numerous occasions, until she had been summoned to see her father. Terry had told her in no uncertain terms that if she didn’t grow up and stop making him look like an idiot, he would cut her off and she would be out on her ass. And then he’d dropped the bombshell that he was putting in someone to look after her. No matter how she had protested, it hadn’t made a scrap of difference.
Three days later, Jordan had knocked on the door.
She’d been bowled over by him in the beginning. Jordan had been twenty-eight then, and everything she might want in a man if he hadn’t been shoehorned in to look after her. He kept himself fit too, something that she loved. A toned and firm body to tempt her. She’d been horny from the moment she saw him. She’d thought it would be one of her father’s old cronies – her money had been on Steve Burgess. But he had a wife and children and although he was there to help her out regardless, he had a family home to run. But Jordan wasn’t married. He had a child with another woman but the relationship between them had fizzled out way before he’d come to live with her.
It hadn’t taken long before they’d started sleeping together, but they’d argued almost immediately and eventually they’d agreed to see other people discreetly, although to the outside world they would be a loving couple so that Terry wouldn’t get mad that they were not getting along as planned. Both of them wanted to keep him happy. Jordan had moved out of her bed and into a spare room.
When Ryan had turned up on the doorstep a few months ago, the story that he’d fallen out with his wife and needed somewhere to stay for a while had fallen flat with Kirstie. She wasn’t stupid, knew it was her father interfering.
Eventually she’d realised the advantages of having the older brother on
side, so she’d made it a goal to seduce Ryan, too. It had taken her a bit longer than with Jordan, but after a month, she had had him. And he wasn’t bad either.
But, still, at least she had an alibi for where she was when Jordan was murdered. And that was all she wanted Ryan for. All she needed to do now was keep him sweet until this was all over and then she would be on her own again.
12.00 P.M.
Time was ticking on and Craig was no closer to finding the money. He’d rung a few contacts but no one knew anything about Jordan’s murder, so he decided to look closer to home. Craig went up two flights of stairs and banged on the door of flat 404. The police hadn’t got up to the top floor yet and he was more or less out of view of the woman who was standing guard at the foot of the path leading to the crime scene.
A woman in a well-lived face appeared. She had egg yolk down the front of her grey jumper, an inch of blonde hair at the bottom of a mass of wiry-straw grey hair, and a large mole on her upper lip that Craig remembered from when they had gone to school together. She was the same age as him but looked ten years older. He’d go so far as to say that she had let herself go more than Stella had.
‘Your boys in, Sand?’
Sandra Granger didn’t bother to open the door further, just turned and walked back the way she had come. He stepped into the hallway. Stale cigarette smoke, body odour and something he couldn’t quite put his finger on but didn’t want to think too much about stung his eyes. He blinked profusely.
He followed her into a living room, stark and grubby, the curtains still closed even though it was nearing midday, the television showing one of the home makeover shows that seemed always to be on a loop. A coffee table sat in the middle of a chequered red and white rug, stacked with mugs, plates and an overfilled ashtray.
A young lad lay on the sofa but he sat up as soon as he saw Craig in the doorway. In his late teens, he was thin to the point of being gangly, as if he hadn’t grown into his body yet. His hair was shaved quite close to his head, his skin covered in spots. On the right side of his neck, he had a tattoo of the Staffordshire knot. He wore a black tracksuit.
