But Lee continued with the attack. Screaming out in rage, he kicked Shaun in the stomach, then in the head over and over. Blood from the wounds splattered across the kitchen units; blood from his stomach pooled onto the floor.
Shaun gave one last groan as Lee’s boot came down on him again. Moments later, his life slipped away.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Lee waited for his breathing to slow down enough to think straight. The knife clattered to the floor as he loosened his grip. He held shaky hands palm up. They were covered in blood. He glanced at the floor, at the mess he had created. Nudging Shaun with his foot, he said his name. He knew he wouldn’t answer. Half of his face was unrecognisable. His ear was probably perforated. But he insisted on trying again.
‘Shaun!’ When there was no response, his legs buckled and he dropped down on the floor next to him.
Fuck, he’d done it again. What the hell was wrong with him? Trying not to look at the place where Shaun’s face had been, he rummaged through his pockets. There were a few notes in his wallet, which he threw to the ground in disgust. He hadn’t come with his money! Damn. That wasn’t enough to cover the petrol to get him out of Stoke.
He leaned back on the refrigerator and closed his eyes. This couldn’t be happening. If Terry Ryder got to him before he did a runner, he’d be for it. Not only had he killed his wife, he’d done in his mate as well. And this one wasn’t going to be so easy to cover up.
He opened his eyes. Fuck, he had to hide the body. Trying not to gag, he dragged Shaun across the floor. Slipping in the blood, it took all his might to get him up and over the step into the hallway. Sweat pouring off him, he opened the cellar door and hurled him down the steps.
He grabbed a towel to wipe up the blood but there was too much of it. All he managed to do was swirl it around. Realising it was hopeless, he pulled off his T-shirt and wrapped the knife inside it. At the bottom of the stairs, he took off his boots and socks and left them there. Then he ran upstairs with the knife. There was no time to spare but he couldn’t go anywhere until he’d had a shower. There was too much blood. He’d have to swill himself down.
After a frantic scrub, he quickly threw on another T-shirt, jeans and trainers. All the time expecting someone to knock on the door and catch him in the act, he bundled a few clothes into a holdall, followed by the knife. Then he grabbed his phone. The last thing to do was call his dad. Phil answered on the third ring.
‘I’ve killed him!’ he cried. ‘Shaun Morrison. He’s dead.’
‘What are you talking about? Hang on, let me pull over.’ A pause. ‘Where are you?’
‘Listen to me, will you?’ Lee paced the room. ‘I’ve killed him. He told Terry that I killed Steph.’
‘I know.’
‘I couldn’t let him get away with – what do you mean, you know?’
‘Word gets around Stoke. You should know that.’
‘But you told me that I didn’t kill her!’
‘Where are you?’ Phil asked again.
‘I killed him, Dad. I need to get out of here.’
‘Lee, where are you? Wait!’
Lee disconnected the call and legged it.
Phil flipped his phone shut and threw it onto the car seat. Halfway home, he turned back and parked up just off Cannon Street again. Wanting to keep his car away from the city centre, he walked quickly to the alleyway behind The Orange Grove and sneaked in. There was no sign of Lee or his car. Shaun’s car wasn’t there either. After a few minutes searching the shadows, he left. Lee must have arranged to meet Shaun and then something had gone wrong. It wasn’t even an hour since he’d thumped him right here.
Back in his car he sat for a moment to calm down, trying not to think of how this might have implicated him too. Of all the people to kill, why did Lee have to choose Shaun? Now that Terry knew everything, he was bound to think it had something to do with him.
He banged his fist on the steering wheel. This was all Lee’s fault. If he hadn’t interfered, Shaun wouldn’t have had the guts to go through with the job. And he would have had time to tell Terry that he couldn’t do it either.
He started the engine. No matter how much he thought about it, this didn’t look good. Ryder would be after his blood for sure now – and his son’s. He needed to find Lee and quick – before Terry found either of them.
And if he didn’t find Lee within the next twenty-four hours, then he was leaving Stoke without him.
Allie never gave a second thought to the state of Carole Morrison’s relationship debacle once back at her desk. Her head was buried in paperwork when Nick shouted to her.
‘This has been sent over from the path lab.’ He handed her a file. ‘You’re never going to believe this.’
Allie read a line and frowned. She read it again and looked up at Nick.
‘What the...?’
As they’d predicted, the report stated that there was none of Terry Ryder’s DNA on the knife. But the name of the person the blood belonged to was familiar to them.
‘It’s Sarah Maddison’s blood?’
Nick nodded. ‘The blades have been compared and it’s a match. This is the knife missing from the set in their kitchen. Sarah’s and Andy’s fingerprints are present but none belonging to Terry Ryder.’
‘So why would it be left at his house?’ Allie sighed. It didn’t add up. What were they missing? ‘A bloodied knife is found in Terry Ryder’s house, in a secret compartment, and it has the blood of another victim on it. Sarah Maddison was killed by her husband and he’s locked up awaiting trial because his blood and prints were everywhere, despite the knife.’
‘They would be. He definitely killed her. He confessed.’
‘But what if it was made to look like he’d killed her?’
Nick sighed. ‘Now you’re talking utter bollocks.’
Allie held up her hand. ‘Hear me out. The Maddisons rent a house from Terry Ryder. Maddison butchers his wife there but the murder weapon is found at the Ryders’ home? Why?’
‘But there’s none of Ryder’s blood or prints on the knife.’ Nick perched on the edge of her desk. ‘So we can’t charge him.’
‘What if Maddison started it and then Ryder finished her off without him knowing?’
‘But why?’ Nick stared at her. ‘Why would he do that?’
‘Maybe to see if he could?’ Allie paused dramatically. ‘What if he was going to kill Steph and decided to kill someone else first?’
‘As a trial run, you mean?’
‘Yes. I know the Maddisons fought a lot, and we didn’t like Andy that much, but he did love his wife. And his kids.’
‘That’s ridiculously far-fetched.’ Nick wasn’t too keen.
‘But, sir. If –’
‘If that was the case, why would the knife be at Ryder’s property? Surely he would have got rid of it or left it with Maddison at the scene?’
‘I don’t know.’ Allie slapped the desk in frustration. ‘But that knife was in there for some reason. According to Carole Morrison, aside from Terry Ryder there are only two other people who knew about the compartment. One of them is dead and the other is her. But what if Steph told Phil Kennedy about it? You know, pillow talk?’
Nick paused. ‘Do you think Kennedy could have planted it?’
Allie nodded, stifling a yawn. ‘But why would it be in Steph Ryder’s wardrobe if it hadn’t got his prints on it?’
‘Kennedy might not know it didn’t have Ryder’s DNA on it.’
Allie’s eyes widened and then returned to normal. ‘Oh, I don’t know.’
‘Go home,’ Nick told her.
Allie looked up, a little startled. ‘Sir?’
‘Go home, sleep on it. You’ll have your answer in the morning.’
Allie glanced at the clock on the wall: it was nearing nine thirty. ‘As if it’s that simple.’
Nick stood up. ‘It is. You’re a good investigator, Allie, but everyone needs rest to think straight. Go home, sleep on it.’
> Allie texted Mark to say she wouldn’t be much longer. She finally packed up and headed for home twenty minutes later. As she passed through the city centre with its array of partygoers getting into the Christmas spirit, she switched on the radio to try and rid her mind of Terry Ryder. But all she could see was the state of Carole Morrison, her battered face, her bloodied nose and clothes. One of them was lying about what happened yesterday morning after she’d left. The clues were there, every piece of the jigsaw. She just wasn’t looking hard enough. She mentally laid out all the facts.
Carole Morrison had so much to lose if it was her. Now that Shaun knew about the affair – the alleged affair – with Terry she might have lost him anyway. And why cover up her assault by lying about an attack on a small car park?
Could Phil Kennedy have planted the knife at The Gables to get Terry into trouble and if so why? No DNA on the knife proved that Terry hadn’t committed the crime. But could Nick’s suggestion be right? Did Kennedy think that Terry’s DNA was on the knife? Had he intended on setting Terry up? Had Steph intended on setting Terry up, even?
She indicated right at the top of Bucknall New Road and headed towards Limekiln Bank, thinking then of the bit on the side, Cathryn Mountford. It had puzzled Allie as soon as she’d stepped into her plush apartment. Cathryn had a business of her own. Why would she risk her reputation and livelihood to lie for the likes of Terry Ryder? They’d checked the deeds to the property. He didn’t keep her. Ms Mountford had owned it for six years. Why would she cover for Terry if he had committed murder?
She pulled up at Limekiln traffic lights waiting for the red light to change. This whole thing was a mess. Why couldn’t she work it out?
‘Stuff this.’ On impulse, Allie flicked her left indicator on and headed towards Endon. Ten minutes later, she pulled into the driveway of The Gables and got out of her car. She banged on the front door and stepped back onto the driveway.
As she waited for someone to open it, panic set in. Shit! She hadn’t thought further than him being home alone. What if Kirstie answered? How would she explain her actions?
The relief must have shown on her face when Terry appeared. She tried not to take in his casual clothing of jeans, loose white shirt open at the neck. His hair was wet, his feet bare.
‘You should have got here a few minutes earlier,’ he smiled. ‘I was in the shower.’
‘I need to talk to you,’ she told him sharply, ignoring his insinuation.
‘Sure, come on in.’ He moved to one side for her to pass by.
‘No, I’m staying outside.’ Allie pointed at him. ‘I don’t trust you.’
‘You don’t trust me?’ Terry feigned hurt.
‘Don’t play games with me, Ryder. I can see right through your bullshit.’
Terry held up his hands. ‘You let me go.’
‘Only because we don’t have anything to charge you with.’ Yet.
‘That’s because I didn’t do anything.’ Terry slipped his feet inside his slippers and stepped onto the porch. ‘I didn’t kill Steph. She was the apple of my eye.’
Allie snorted. ‘People I’ve spoken to say that your relationship was a sham.’
‘You mean Carole?’
‘No, just –’ Allie stopped for fear of breach of confidentiality.
‘They let me go,’ Terry repeated. ‘What does that suggest to you, Detective?’
‘It’s Detective Sergeant,’ Allie snapped childishly.
‘Okay, then, Detective Sergeant,’ Terry put emphasis on both words. ‘It means that I didn’t do anything.’
‘It means that we haven’t got enough evidence to nail you, you bastard.’
With a nifty move, Terry grabbed her arms and pinned her to the side wall of the porch. She struggled to get away but he was too strong. Her legs flailed trying to knee him in the groin, but he blocked her at every attempt.
‘Let me go!’
‘Not until you calm down. You have to trust me, Allie.’
‘It’s Detective Sergeant!’ Terry relaxed his grip but not enough for her to break free. ‘Let me go.’
‘Tell me why you’re here if you’re so threatened by me.’
‘I’m not threatened by you.’ Allie’s breath let him think otherwise as it became shallow. Her heart pounded inside her rib cage. She wasn’t certain if it was through fear or lust.
‘I know you’re not. Because, deep down, deep down in there...’ He gazed at her chest, his eyes lingering. ‘You know there’s nothing to be threatened by.’
Allie gasped as she felt his hardness pressing up against her when he eased his leg in between hers. For some reason, she resisted her urge to fight anymore.
‘I – I’ve seen what you do to your women,’ she spoke softly, his intense stare hypnotising her into submission.
‘All lies,’ he whispered, his breath close to her cheek.
Allie shivered. It wasn’t the December air that made her skin break out all over in goose bumps.
‘Let me go.’
‘If you calm down, I will.’
She didn’t move.
He smiled, hypnotising her that little bit more. ‘I mean you no harm. I’m just scared of what you might do.’
‘What I might do?’ Allie laughed incredulously.
‘You seem a little agitated.’
She could feel her resolve slipping away but she had to go through with this. He loosened his hold, stepped away and in seconds was back in the doorway. She clutched her chest while her breathing returned to normal.
He held her stare for an agonisingly long few seconds.
‘You’re welcome to join me for coffee,’ he threw over his shoulder as he walked the length of the hallway.
Allie knew he was offering more than coffee and wondered if her nerve would desert her. It was an open invitation.
How far would he go to keep her sweet?
She followed him in to find out.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
While Terry was busy in the kitchen, Allie went through to the living area of the family room. The house seemed empty, clinical, still a little too tidy. When had Steph become so disorderly, she wondered?
Her heels clicking on the wooden floor, her eyes flitted around looking for… looking for what, exactly? Did she expect to see Carole’s blood? Or the hammer that had brutally taken Steph’s life? A giveaway clue that would tie him to the murder of his wife? She sat down with a sigh.
The television was tuned to Sky News, the sound button on mute. It screened pictures of some deal gone wrong in the Middle East. Allie watched the yellow ticker tape go across the bottom of the screen with familiarity. Christ, what the hell was she doing here?
Barefoot again, Terry padded over to her and slid a tray onto the table. Two coffees, two small whiskeys.
‘I don’t drink when –’
‘On duty? Surely you’re off duty now?’
Allie knew what he was referring to but he was wrong. ‘I was actually going to say that I don’t drink a drop when I’m driving. Seen too many accidents caused by only the one – occupational hazard.’
‘Ah, fair point.’ Terry knocked back one measure and picked up the other glass. ‘Do you mind?’ he asked. When she shook her head, he downed that too. Then he sat down beside her on the settee.
‘How’s Kirstie?’ she asked, not out of concern but wanting to know if she was here alone with him.
‘She’s at Ashleigh’s,’ he replied. ‘What did you really come here for?’
‘I needed to know things.’
‘Things?’
‘Tell me more about Terry Ryder,’ she stalled. ‘Who is the man inside?’
‘I’m not who you think I am.’
‘And who do I think you are?’ Allie taunted. She stared at him, wondering exactly what he had to offer her. What information she didn’t have already.
He turned his body slightly towards her. ‘You think I’m a killer, don’t you?’
‘I have my theories.’
‘You tell me.’
‘I wouldn’t do that.’
‘How do I know?’ Allie paused momentarily, trying to find the right words. ‘You give me mixed vibes. I don’t know whether to trust you or not.’
‘You mean my reputation precedes me?’ He bit his lip as if wanting to say more, but he didn’t.
‘Yes and no,’ she responded.
‘Meaning?’
‘I saw the way you were with Carole Morrison. She was scared of you, but somehow you get me to believe that everything she told me was a lie?’
‘It was. The woman is delusional.’
‘Why, because she fell under your spell?’
‘Are you under my spell?’ Terry moved closer. ‘I wish to God that you would be.’
She shivered as he ran a finger over her hand. ‘Why did you send me flowers?’
‘Why does a man usually send a woman flowers?’
‘But you knew they’d cause me grief at home. I’m happily married and –’
‘Are you?’
‘Am I what?’
‘Happily married?’
‘Yes, I am. Like I said –’
‘I know you’re married so why say happily? It kind of defeats the purpose. Makes me think that you’re not.’
‘Well, I am.’
‘That’s okay, then.’
She looked away, felt his stare on her. ‘What do you want from me?’ she whispered.
‘I want all of you.’
‘And do you always get what you want?’
His laughter made her stomach turn over. Her eyes rested on his neck as he thrust his head backwards.
‘Of course I don’t,’ he smirked. ‘I’m not invincible.’
No, just unbelievable.
‘Tell me about this knife.’ She changed the subject quickly.
‘There’s nothing to tell.’ He kept his eyes on hers.
‘Everything has a story. No prints on it. A murder victim’s blood on it. Found in your house.’
‘It wasn’t found. It was planted.’
‘Ah.’
Taunting the Dead (DS Allie Shenton) Page 28