Taunting the Dead (DS Allie Shenton)

by Sherratt, Mel

  He’d been in there a matter of seconds when the door opened behind him. Looking up as he finished off, he grinned at the sight before him.

  ‘Wash those hands, why don’t you,’ Veronica Roberts purred. Now that he could see all of her, he realised what a treat he was in for. Below the dress she had fine, toned legs covered in what he hoped were black stockings. He licked his lips as his eyes flicked downwards to four-inch heels. She lowered her hand to the hem of the dress and pulled it up, tantalisingly slowly. Yes, they were stockings. And she was wearing no underwear. He grinned as he felt himself harden.

  She followed him over to the basin where she covered her hands with his as he soaped up. He rinsed them under the water, watching her every move through the mirror in front and, not bothering to dry his hands, he turned to face her, pulled down the front of her dress and sank his teeth into her nipple. She moaned loudly. He glanced up to see her neck thrown back.

  The wind caught the door to the hallway slightly and as noise filtered in and back out again, Terry grabbed Veronica’s hand and led her into the cubicle. They kissed, bodies pressed together as close as possible, hands eagerly exploring bodies. She pulled his buttocks closer as he moved his hand up towards the top of her stockings.

  Terry liked to please his women, make them come back for more. Veronica tried to pull his head up as he sucked at her breast and pushed his fingers inside her at the same time. He felt her left knee buckle and smiled. She was definitely his for the taking.

  ‘Fuck me, Terry,’ she whispered, along with another moan of pleasure. ‘I can’t hold out much longer. You have to join me.’

  The outside door opened again and this time voices were heard. Terry put his hand across Veronica’s mouth and continued to knead her with his fingers. Her eyes pleaded with him to stop. He stared into them, knowing that would turn her on even more.

  The men were there for quite some time. The music playing low allowed for the exchange of a hand for his lips and he kissed her, his tongue diving in to find hers. She pulled at the buckle on his trousers, then the zip. It was his time to contain the pleasure. They stopped as the door opened again. If the room didn’t empty soon, they would both explode. But the men who had come in minutes earlier both left and the room descended into silence once more.

  Terry hitched up Veronica’s dress and pushed himself into her wetness. She wrapped her legs around his torso and, steadying herself on the wall, began to move with him. This time she wasn’t quiet.

  Once it was over, they laughed. They adjusted their clothes and Terry left her in there while he tried to contact Steph again.

  When there was no answer he cursed.

  ‘Come on, Terry,’ a male voice shouted through from the restaurant. ‘You can’t spend all night on that bleeding phone.’

  Terry raised a hand as he continued to listen to the unanswered ring tone. Damn Steph. If she didn’t get to The Potter’s Wheel, there would be all hell to pay. He put away his Blackberry and pulled out a pay-as-you-go phone. Quickly, he sent a text message.

  ‘Terry!’

  Sighing loudly, he went back to his table.

  Steph was late getting to The Potter’s Wheel because Carole hadn’t been ready when she’d arrived at The Orange Grove and she’d had to wait. As she propped up the bar, helping herself to a few more gin and tonics for her troubles, it was obvious that Carole and Shaun had been arguing. She knew he didn’t approve of Carole going out with her. But she laughed as she clocked his stony face. He would never dare stop her.

  They made it to two pubs before heading to the taxi rank at ten thirty and over to The Potter’s Wheel, where the crowd was heaving and the music loud. It was standing room only in the lounge where the band was set up. The crowd the group had brought along with them was huge. Most of the regulars had to stand at the bar, glaring at the non-regulars hogging their seats.

  Steph loved it at The Potter’s Wheel. Busy or empty, she didn’t care. As long as nothing kicked off, it made for a lively atmosphere. And until a curry called, it was where Steph intended staying.

  After she’d been served, she squeezed back through the three-deep crowd at the bar and walked towards Carole. Then she squashed herself into a space made for one and budged everyone else up to make room for the two of them. At least Carole was starting to thaw now, although it had taken long enough for her to come on side again. Already it was quarter past eleven and she’d only just started to let go. Now she was telling her how worried she was about Shaun. Well, at least that’s what she thought she’d been saying. Steph had zoned out ages ago. She didn’t want to talk about men tonight. She wanted to get rat-arsed.

  When the band took a break, Carole spoke to her again ‘What?’ she shouted, pretending that she couldn’t hear over the drone of other people.

  ‘You’re not listening to me, are you? That’s why I said you were a bitch.’

  ‘I know, I know.’ Steph wasn’t at all bothered by the insult. ‘I can’t help myself.’

  ‘Huh.’ Carole reached for her drink. ‘That’s a poor excuse.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Carole. When are you going to let up?’ Steph whined. ‘You’ve been going on all night.’

  Carole grinned and nudged Steph. ‘I’m winding you up. I’m all mild and mellow now.’

  ‘Oy!’ Steph cried. ‘Watch me drink!’

  ‘You and your drink.’ Carole laughed. ‘I’d get you another but seeing as you’re buying tonight...’ She finished her Bacardi and rattled the melting ice cubes around the bottom of the glass. ‘Another?’

  ‘Already? It’s a good job I’m married to Terry Ryder,’ Steph sighed as she took it from her, ‘or else you’d bleed me dry.’ She pulled out her phone and checked for missed calls.

  ‘How many?’

  Steph peered at the screen. ‘Four,’ she replied with a grin. ‘Only four attempts to get in touch with me. I must be losing my charm.’

  ‘I wish someone would check up on me like that,’ Carole said wistfully. She lurched forward as someone squeezing past her banged into her shoulder.

  ‘You wouldn’t if you knew why.’

  ‘Oh?’ Carole was intrigued. ‘I thought it was to see that you weren’t bleeding him dry.’

  ‘Ha bloody ha. You are a barrel of laughs tonight.’ Steph’s smile was saccharine. ‘No, he doesn’t trust me.’

  ‘It’s a bit late for that. You’ve been married forever.’

  ‘Yes, I know, but he thinks I’m going to shoot my mouth off and say something that I shouldn’t.’

  ‘I don’t follow.’ Carole looked on in confusion.

  Steph moved her head closer to Carole’s. ‘He’s getting into some dodgy things and he doesn’t like the fact that I know about some of them.’

  ‘Has he said that?’

  ‘Nope, you know Terry. Keeps thing close to his chest. But just because he shuts himself away in that study doesn’t mean that I don’t get to hear anything. I’m a dab hand at listening at the door.’

  Carole was impressed. ‘So what have you heard?’

  Steph tapped a finger to her nose, nearly poking her eye out during the process. She grinned. ‘I know lots of things about Terry that could put him away for years.’

  ‘But they’re things that you wouldn’t use against him or else you would have shopped him years ago.’ Carole paused. ‘Tell me something new.’

  ‘I found a note screwed up in Terry’s waste paper bin in his study. Something’s going down tonight.’

  Carole gulped, recalling the visit that Shaun had received from Phil earlier in the day.

  ‘What did it say?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m not sure what it meant but it mentioned Friday night and involves twenty grand.’

  ‘Twenty grand!’ Carole nearly choked on her drink.

  ‘Keep your voice down!’ Steph hissed as heads started to turn in their direction. They huddled together as she continued. ‘I mean, fancy losing twenty grand like that. I’d do my nut.’

  �
�Oh, you mean someone is going to lose twenty grand.’ Carole blew out the breath she’d been holding as she took in the relevance of Steph’s words. ‘You mean they’re playing cards?’

  ‘I’m not sure if it’s that simple.’

  ‘You’d better be careful what you say about it, then.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me.’ Steph knocked back the last of her drink. ‘I have my own security.’

  ‘Really?’ Carole raised her eyebrows.

  Steph leaned forward. ‘Let’s just say I have something that links Terry to a murder.’

  ‘Yeah right.’

  ‘It’s true!’

  ‘You’re winding me up. Terry wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave evidence around for someone to use against him. Besides, I don’t think he has it in him to do anything that nasty. I reckon Phil Kennedy does all his dirty work for him.’

  Steph frowned. It was clear that Carole was off her rocker if she believed that. She picked up her glass and stood up unsteadily, holding onto the table for a moment.

  ‘Another Bacardi?’

  Carole nodded. Steph grinned as she heard a phone beep the arrival of a text. ‘Ha, he’s after me again.’

  Carole reached for her bag. ‘I think it’s mine.’

  ‘Aw, see. He does love you after all.’

  Steph sat down minutes later with their refills as the band geared up to start again.

  ‘Well?’ She flopped back into her seat.

  ‘Well, what?’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Nothing much.’

  But Carole glancing at her watch didn’t go unnoticed.

  ‘He’s having a go, isn’t he?’

  ‘No, he isn’t.’

  ‘Yes, he is. Look at you. Your body language says it all.’ Steph pointed at Carole’s face as the singer tested his mic: one-two, one-two. ‘Shaun’s given you a hard time about coming out with me again, hasn’t he?’

  ‘Leave it, will you?’

  ‘Hey, don’t come all bolshie with me!’

  ‘I’m going out to get some fresh air.’ Carole pushed past her. ‘I’ll be back in a while.’

  ‘Be sure to tell him to fuck off from me while you’re there, won’t you?’ Steph shouted. She sloped back in her seat as eyes fell on her again.

  Damn that Shaun Morrison. Who did he think he was, demanding that his wife tell him her every move? She knew that was what the text message had said. What else would have made Carole so annoyed?

  As the band started to play again, Steph began to get more irate. Carole would probably skulk off now and leave her to make her own way home. Well, stuff her. She knocked back her drink and started on Carole’s. Waste not want not.

  Someone was trying to catch her attention. She looked up. Phil Kennedy stood at the bar. He raised his glass to her. She raised hers back: at least there was someone she could talk to if Carole continued to blow hot and cold.

  At nine o’clock, Lee had been standing in the empty shop doorway opposite The Orange Grove again. He’d been able to see right inside the restaurant, saw that stupid fucker Shaun faffing about being all smiles with the few people at the tables. From there, he’d been able to see when his car left the rear entry of the restaurant car park.

  Now, two hours later, lucky not to be given away by the people walking past who’d glared at him suspiciously as he watched a fit piece with blonde hair lock the door, he realised it was time to move to his car.

  Minutes later, Shaun and the girl came out of the back of the building and climbed into a car. They drove off and Lee followed close behind. Fifteen minutes later, the girl got out in Milton and walked off with a wave. He picked up Shaun’s tail again and they cut through to Leek New Road. But at the junction of Newford Crescent, instead of turning right towards The Potter’s Wheel, the car headed left, back towards the city centre.

  Lee stopped at the junction. What the hell was going on? Had Shaun bottled it, the stupid knob?

  He turned left and followed. Ahead, Shaun pulled into the side. Was he using his mobile? Lee drove past but he couldn’t see. He stopped at the next junction, reversed at speed and headed back the way he’d come. Shaun’s car was still there but he couldn’t see Shaun. Then he spotted him bending over on the kerbside. Fuck, he was puking up. He had bottled it.

  Lee parked a few yards up and watched through his rear-view mirror. Shaun stayed put for a few more minutes before getting back into his car and driving off in the same direction.

  Lee banged his hand on the steering wheel. What a useless piece of shit. His dad would be livid. And his plans had gone to pot in a split second. Unless…

  There was only one thing for it. He put his foot down and drove towards The Potter’s Wheel.

  Part Two

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Early on Saturday morning, December first, Allie had been waiting for Mark to bring her tea and toast in bed when she’d taken the phone call. It was eight thirty. She hadn’t realised yet, but she had much to thank Terry Ryder for as she and Mark had just made love again. Since Tuesday it had been as if Mark, knowing she was desired by another man, had felt the need to prove he was enough for her. And he had proved it again last night – twice, in fact. But the phone call had taken away any cosiness. She pushed away old memories attempting to flood her mind.

  ‘Who was that so early? Has there been a mur-dah?’ Mark asked as he rejoined her, plopping one of two mugs down onto the cabinet by the side of her bed.

  ‘There’s been a woman’s body found over on Brooke Lane.’ Allie pulled back the duvet and sat up. ‘By The Potter’s Wheel pub.’

  ‘Are you going to be okay?’

  Allie smiled at Mark’s sympathy, even though she knew he’d be upset that she might be working all weekend. Then again, maybe he might not be that annoyed. Stoke City were playing that afternoon and it was being televised.

  ‘I have to go.’ She kissed him. ‘I’m sorry to ruin the weekend – again. Will you ring Ruth and Chris to put them on standby?’ Ruth and Chris were friends they’d known since they’d met. They’d recently moved house and had invited them over for a meal.

  ‘Yeah.’ Mark nodded and climbed back into bed. ‘I might even go on my own if you’re going to have a late one.’

  ‘I’ll let you know.’

  Half an hour later, Allie drove along Leek New Road in the direction of Endon. The car park of The Potter’s Wheel had been cordoned off before she arrived, as had the entrance to Brooke Lane. Two uniformed officers stood guard ensuring no one drove in. Another officer a few yards behind them held a clipboard. He was taking note of anyone who came to or left the scene. Allie recognised the DI’s car and pulled in next to it. Already there were a few onlookers: an elderly man and a black Labrador sitting at his feet, two teenage boys with a skateboard apiece, a few of the staff who had turned up to work at the pub, a woman gawping across the road as she waited at the bus stop. Allie shuddered involuntarily: that type of thing always gave her the creeps. What did they find fascinating to look at?

  Detective Inspector Nick Carter was talking to a man in a suit when he saw her approaching.

  ‘It’s a nasty one, Allie,’ he said as she reached him. ‘The back of her head has been bashed about as if it was a potato. And,’ he sighed, ‘we know her.’

  Allie took a sharp intake of breath. This was a first for her. She followed Nick, unsure of what she was about to witness but knowing that she had to view it for herself. Despite what had happened to Karen, someday she hoped to be faced with being the lead on an investigation like this. A tent had already been erected, covering the area where the body had been found. She pulled on plastic shoe covers and latex gloves and they went inside.

  Allie’s hand moved to cover her mouth, trying desperately to keep the hurried piece of toast she’d eaten inside her body. The woman was face down, arms at her sides. From where she was standing, Allie surmised she could be anywhere between early twenties and early forties. She was fully clothed in designer boot-c
ut jeans, black high heels with a slight platform and a turquoise sleeveless top. None of her clothes were torn in any way but she wasn’t wearing any jewellery. Blonde hair on what was left of her head was covered in blood and brain matter, the indent of a weapon an impossibility to gauge at this stage due to the force of the attack. Allie carefully moved to the other side to get a closer look at her features, and felt her legs go weak as she recognised who it was.

  ‘Ohmigod! It’s Steph Ryder.’

  ‘I can’t believe we were with her the other night.’ Nick stooped down for a closer look. ‘Whoever did this was in a rage. I’ve never seen anyone hit so many times before.’

  ‘Time of death?’

  ‘Eleven p.m. to one a.m.,’ said the man she’d seen talking to Nick earlier. Dave Barnett, the forensic officer on duty, was a tall man with thinning grey hair, glasses perched on the end of a large nose and chubby hands that didn’t look fit for the job but were renowned not to miss a trick.

  ‘She was hit from behind,’ he continued, motioning with his hand. ‘Fell to the floor and then someone kept on hitting.’

  Allie swallowed before stooping down too. Steph’s eyes were open, staring ahead at nothing. Never again would she see a summer day, another smile, a beautiful sunset. Allie welled up. No matter how many victims she saw, it never took away the shock. Steph Ryder was someone’s mother, someone’s wife, someone’s friend. She would have been going about doing her own thing, like her sister, Karen.

  ‘There are a few cars left in the car park so one of them may be hers,’ said Nick. ‘There was a group on here last night by all accounts. We’ll get as much as we can checked out but it will be a nightmare to locate everyone. Half of them will be too pissed to remember clearly. Still, there won’t be much door-to-door to carry out.’

  Allie nodded. Although The Potter’s Wheel was on the main road, there weren’t many dwellings nearby. Brooke Lane at the end of the car park went at least half a mile before any houses started to emerge. On the other side, open playing fields and two football pitches. Across the road, more fields. The Potter’s Wheel was as close as this area got to a village pub.