Taunting the Dead (DS Allie Shenton)

by Sherratt, Mel

  ‘Someone must have seen something,’ she said, trying not to look down again until she had to.

  ‘I suppose there’ll be snippets of information to fit together. But there were also a lot of people around that could have messed up potential evidence.’

  ‘Has anyone found her bag?’ Allie glanced around, trying to take in every tiny detail.

  ‘Nothing yet.’ Nick stood up. ‘We’d better get over to Ryder’s address and break the news.’

  Allie stood up too. She flipped the door back on the tent and stood for a moment, breathing in the air. Big, huge, icy gulps of the stuff to calm her nerves. Her eyes searched the large crowd now standing behind yellow crime scene tape and wondered if the murderer was part of the group. Some, she knew, liked to come back to taunt their victims, as well as the police.

  She wondered if she should mention to Nick about the flower arrangement she’d stuffed in her bin on Wednesday night. Maybe she should just gauge Terry Ryder’s reaction when she saw him. Besides, under the circumstances, she could hardly bring the subject up. Thanks but no thanks; I don’t want your flowers.

  And really, in the scheme of things, was it all that important now? Maybe he had acted on the spur of the moment. Back then, it had seemed so pathetic. This morning, it seemed… sad.

  Terry arrived back from Derby at nine thirty after managing to pass the commotion at The Potter’s Wheel without having a heart attack. The first thing he did was try Phil again on the pay-as-you-go mobile. He’d been trying since the early hours to get through but the line had been switched off every time. Fuck, he’d told Phil to ring him the minute the cleanup crew had finished. He sat down on the bed with a thud. Something had gone wrong.

  He heard a car pull up outside and raced to the window. But it was only Kirstie. Had she been out all night too?

  ‘Do you know anything about this?’ he asked as he flew down the stairs.

  ‘Fuck!’ Kirstie jumped as she pulled her key out of the lock. ‘Let me get in first, will you? Do I know anything about what?’

  ‘Language.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Although Kirstie swore like a navvy and had been told not to in front of her father, words slipped out as habit.

  Terry tried to calm his rapid heartbeat. Would he normally be this worried if Steph hadn’t come home? Wouldn’t he try to find out if she had stayed over somewhere?

  ‘Sorry, sweetheart.’ He followed her through to the kitchen. ‘Your mother never came home last night. Did she say anything to you about staying out with Carole?’

  ‘No, but we didn’t exactly split on good terms.’ Kirstie pulled back her hair to reveal a slight bruising on her cheek. ‘She hit me again last night. And it was only tea time and she was pissed.’

  Terry came nearer to inspect the damage. He could hardly see a mark. ‘I suppose you were mouthing off at her?’

  ‘No! Why do you always side with her when you, of all people, know what a cow she can be?’ Still under the effects of a little white powder, Kirstie felt braver than usual. Lucky for her that her dad’s mind was elsewhere or she would have copped it.

  ‘Was it anything to do with you not coming home last night, I wonder?’ Terry wanted to know.

  Kirstie froze. Shit, she’d thought she’d got away with it. ‘I stayed over at Ashleigh’s,’ she lied.

  ‘You’d better be sure about that. You weren’t with Lee Kennedy? I told you not to see him again.’

  ‘I know you did. I’m telling the truth, Dad. I was over at Ashleigh’s. Ring and check if you don’t believe me.’ Calling his bluff, she reached for her phone but he didn’t take it from her.

  Terry looked towards the front door as if Steph was going to magically appear. Picking up the coffee he’d made, he took it through to his study. With his Blackberry, he sent a quick text to ask what time she was coming home. At least it would look like he was bothered about where she was.

  Through the pay-as-you-go mobile, he tried to reach Phil again. But still there was no answer. He threw it down onto his desk and stared ahead, all the time the sense that something had gone wrong growing by the minute. If Phil Kennedy had fucked up, he could have done a runner and left him with the mess to clean up. He knew he wouldn’t relax until he’d heard from him.

  And, either way, there’d be trouble.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The address printed on the driving licence was The Gables, Royal Avenue, Endon and was three miles away from The Potter’s Wheel. On the journey there, Allie couldn’t rid herself of Steph Ryder’s image. She gazed through the window at the oncoming traffic but instead saw Steph’s head turned to one side, one eye wide and dead, her head a mass of tissue and congealed blood.

  Royal Avenue was just off the main road but well hidden from view, a cul-de-sac of individually designed homes set on its own, surrounded by fields and farmland. Allie often referred to it as Millionaire’s Row when she went past it with Mark.

  ‘Do you think it was a random attack or premeditated?’ she asked Nick as he drove past a few houses, top of the range cars parked in most of the driveways.

  Nick pulled into the gateway of the fifth property on the right. ‘Seems pretty random to me, but you never know.’ He came to a stop and yanked up the hand brake. ‘Christ, will you look at this place.’

  The Gables stood regal in stature, over two floors, a row of three garages attached to the right. To the left, a pair of wooden doors guarded secrets they might never find out. Above the grand entrance, a large, rectangular stained glass window proudly displayed the crest of the local premier football team. The house looked to be no more than a decade in age, woodwork still in good condition, gardens tidy even though it was the middle of winter. The drive that they swept onto finished the look precisely.

  ‘How the other half live,’ sighed Allie, overwhelmed by its beauty.

  The front door was opened by a young woman. Allie could tell at a glance that it was Steph Ryder’s daughter.

  ‘Hi.’ Nick flashed his ID badge in way of greeting. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Carter and this is Detective Sergeant Shenton. Is Mr Ryder home?’

  ‘He’s in his office. Do I need to get him?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘You can wait in there.’

  They stepped into a large hallway with double doors, parquet flooring and stairs leading to a galleried landing. Nick urged Allie forward first with a nod of his head.

  The doors led to a large living area that stretched out in an L-shape at the back to accommodate a dining area and kitchen. On one of the pristine cream walls, a television set dominated the right side of the room. Allie’s heels tapped on oak floorboards this time. Three black leather settees surrounded a small coffee table that looked out of place. At the far end were a dining table to seat ten and a bank of glazed doors that led out onto a landscaped garden. Allie could see a pond with a fountain at the side of a large decked area. Several wooden loungers stood in a row, waiting to be sat upon.

  ‘Far cry from the houses we usually visit,’ Nick muttered, his eyes unable to rest on anything in particular.

  The young girl was back. ‘He’ll be down in a minute.’

  Nick smiled his thanks. ‘So, you are?’

  ‘Kirstie. Kirstie Ryder. Would you like a coffee?’

  ‘No, thanks. We’re fine.’

  Allie studied Kirstie discreetly. Like her mother she was striking, although in different ways. Her hair, dark as opposed to Stephanie’s blonde, was cut into an angular bob. She was of average height, if a little skinny, and had the most dazzling blue eyes.

  ‘Christmas shopping later?’ Allie asked, feeling awkward just standing there. Then she cursed to herself. She was about to tell Kirstie that her mother was dead. Stupid fool. She glanced at Nick who, thankfully, remained impassive.

  ‘I’m going this afternoon,’ Kirstie replied.

  Oh no, you’re not.

  Nick walked over to the front window and took in the row of cars outside. The black Range Rove
r he knew belonged to Terry Ryder. The red Mini Cooper S with black and white chequered roof surely belonged to Kirstie. There was a grey Mercedes SLK parked next to it. He wondered if that had been Steph’s, which meant that she’d had a lift on her night out.

  ‘Any Christmas parties last night?’ he asked Kirstie.

  ‘No, I stayed in, watched a video.’

  ‘With friends?’ He turned round quickly with a grin. ‘Or with a boyfriend?’

  ‘That’s none of your business.’ Kirstie’s voice faltered a little before regaining its composure. ‘I stayed over at my friend’s house last night.’

  ‘And who might that be?’

  ‘Her name is Ashleigh Stewart.’

  ‘And is she –?’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Kirstie’s eyes flitted from Allie to Nick. ‘Look, what’s with all the questions?’

  ‘I was about to ask the same thing,’ said a velvet voice from behind them.

  It was his eyes that did it for her again. Just the same as they’d done on Tuesday night at the charity event. Just like they’d done when she’d seen him at one event or another through work. Pools of dark liquid sucking her in immediately. Down, down she fell into their depths. Not so much ‘come-to-bed’ eyes as much as ‘fuck-me-here-right-now-up-against-the-wall’ eyes. They sparkled with a hint of mischief, yet at the same time gave away the danger behind them.

  Allie looked away as they lingered on her, unable to stop herself blushing. What was wrong with her? Under the circumstances, she was mortified.

  Nick took a few steps forward. ‘I’m afraid we have bad news, Mr Ryder. It’s about your wife. Would you like to sit down?’

  The confident look Terry had displayed moments earlier disappeared completely. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.

  ‘Could we speak to you alone?’

  ‘No,’ said Kirstie with a frown. ‘I need to know too.’

  Nick looked at Terry for confirmation and cleared his throat when he nodded.

  ‘We’ve found a body this morning, on Brooke Lane, at the back of the car park of The Potter’s Wheel. We believe it to be your wife, Mr Ryder.’

  ‘No, tell me that’s not true!’ Kirstie cried, sitting down. ‘Tell me.’

  Terry flopped onto a settee, his head resting in his hands. ‘But it can’t be her. I spoke to her only last night.’

  ‘At what time?’

  ‘About eightish. She was waiting for a taxi. I stayed over in Derby last night. I’ve been staying over there quite a lot recently. I have work there.’ His eyes were misted when he looked up. ‘What happened?’

  ‘She was attacked from behind and hit over the head. We’re not exactly sure what the murder weapon is yet. The forensic officer gave us an estimated time of between eleven p.m. and one a.m. You were in Derby then?’

  ‘Yes, I got back about half nine this morning. I never thought…’

  As Kirstie sat crying, Allie took a handkerchief from her pocket and gave it to her. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss.’

  Terry switched off the television, sat down next to Kirstie and pulled her into his arms.

  ‘Are you sure it’s her?’ he asked. Then, ‘Of course you are. We were with you both on Tuesday.’

  ‘Yes, we’re sure,’ said Nick, ‘although we do need you to formally identify the body.’

  Terry nodded. ‘I’ll get my keys.’

  ‘Don’t you leave me!’ Kirstie cried.

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary yet,’ Nick told them. ‘We need to ask you a few questions first.’

  ‘May I ask who found her?’

  ‘The cleaner at the pub. She spotted the body through an upstairs window.’ Allie cast her mind back to the distraught woman. She’d been the colour of Kendall mint cake.

  ‘Do you think someone killed her deliberately?’ Kirstie managed to speak through sobs.

  ‘We can’t tell as yet,’ said Nick.

  ‘How bad was she?’ Terry wanted to know.

  Nick’s silence spoke more than any words. ‘Is there anyone we can call for you?’

  ‘I knew something was odd when she didn’t come home last night.’ Terry said. ‘I need to speak to Carole. You met her last week as well.’ Allie nodded. ‘I sent her a text message earlier – I sent Steph one too – asking if Steph was with her. They were out together last night.’

  ‘You didn’t call either of them?’ asked Nick.

  ‘No, it was too early.’

  ‘And did Carole…’

  ‘Morrison. Carole Morrison. She and her husband own The Orange Grove restaurant in Hanley.’

  ‘Did Mrs Morrison get back to you?’

  Terry shook his head. ‘No, although I haven’t checked my phone in the last half hour.’

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ll speak to her shortly.’

  ‘They only went out for a drink,’ Terry continued in a daze, as if they weren’t there. ‘They usually get back around midnight.’

  Allie could see he was struggling to contain his emotions as she wrote down Carole Morrison’s details. She touched Kirstie gently on her shoulder. ‘Will you be okay until the family liaison officer arrives?’

  ‘Family liaison officer?’ Terry’s back straightened. ‘We don’t –’

  ‘It’s routine procedure, sir,’ Nick explained. ‘In cases such as this, we always employ someone to help the family understand what the police are doing. We need to get to the bottom of this, and as quickly as possible, for all your sakes.’

  ‘Do I have to have one?’

  ‘No, but it does look better if you co-operate.’

  ‘Better for whom? Are you suggesting that I had anything to do with this?’

  ‘On the contrary, sir, but we do have to keep an open mind. A family liaison officer is –

  ‘A waste of money, if you ask me. I’d rather you employed an extra officer to look into my wife’s murder.’ Terry closed his eyes for a moment. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not thinking straight. What I’m trying to say is that Kirstie will more than likely be round at her friends and I’m here alone now that… now …’

  ‘Let’s see how things go, then,’ Nick offered a compromise.

  Allie kept her face straight. She knew they couldn’t force anyone to have an officer in their home twenty-four-seven and Terry was right – their time could be better utilised. But it seemed a strange request to refuse. And surely his daughter would want to stay close by her family home after what had happened?

  After a preliminary search through some of Steph’s belongings, other officers started to arrive. Matt and Perry joined them to take down the first account from Terry as they made their way back to The Potter’s Wheel.

  Allie wondered if the killer had left anything behind. Nick had set up a team to sweep the immediate area. Even if evidence had been trampled away on the car park the night before, the area around the body would be quite clean. She didn’t envy any of them as they pulled into the car park to check. It was still like the ice age out there, despite it being lunch time.

  ‘What do you think?’ Nick asked as he switched off the engine.

  ‘No FLO?’ she questioned, hoping that she didn’t sound insubordinate. But it had puzzled her ever since he hadn’t pushed the issue.

  ‘I have my reasons.’

  Allie waited for him to continue but he didn’t elaborate. ‘You want my honest opinion?’ She sighed. ‘It’s unusual to have two murders around here in less than two weeks. It’s even more unusual that Terry Ryder can be linked to both of them. Call it instinct, gut reaction maybe, but something doesn’t sit right with me. I think those were crocodile tears back there. From both of them.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Shaun hadn’t slept on the night that Steph was murdered. How could he when he’d failed to do what he’d been asked to do? Hell, in his pathetic state, on the way home from dropping Stacey off, he’d even driven halfway to The Potter’s Wheel, like he was going to get extra courage on the way.

&
nbsp; Minutes from the pub, he’d pulled the car across to the kerb and threw up into the gutter. He’d got back in his car to collect his thoughts, turning his mobile phone over and over in his hands until suddenly, with an angry cry, he’d thrown it onto the passenger seat and started up the engine. He’d been in The Orange Grove fifteen minutes later, knocking back the whiskey like no man’s business, thinking that his life was over. Or how it would be in a few hours when Phil found out that he hadn’t followed through.

  He was supposed to have killed Steph Ryder. Put a knife in her heart and watched as she bled to death. He couldn’t do that! Murder wasn’t in his blood. He may as well top himself now and get things over with rather than wait around for Phil Kennedy to do what he couldn’t. He was well and truly fucked.

  He kept going over and over how Phil might react when he next saw him. Would he come in to The Orange Grove and have a go at him in front of Carole and their customers? If he chose his moment, after the Regent Theatre emptied and its clientele were hungry, he could lose a fair amount of trade. Or would he do as he’d said, set the place on fire with both of them in it? Shaun swore he’d never sleep a wink again.

  Last night, he’d been surprised when Carole had rolled in around midnight. Luckily for her he’d still been awake or she would have had to knock him up. She’d come in moaning, saying that Steph had abandoned her and she’d had to fork out twelve quid for a taxi back and what kind of friend was she, before staggering upstairs to bed. Shaun had stayed downstairs, sitting in the dim light of the restaurant with a mug of cold coffee and a half-empty whiskey bottle.

  He’d sat there all night, listening to the sounds of the city outside. For a while it was noisy as people walked home after getting a kebab or a late night drink. Every now and then, he’d hear the faint beeps from the pelican crossing a few hundred yards away.

  He woke just after eight with his head on the table and the bottle of whiskey empty by his side. But he stayed where he was and, after more coffee and more time lapsed, the next thing he knew it was past midday. Realising the restaurant should be open by now, he stood up. With heavy feet he went upstairs, wishing he hadn’t given up his ten-a-day smoking habit. He could kill for a cigarette right now. Then he drained of all colour. Even a thought about murder could do that.