by Mel Sherratt
‘Some detective you are,’ Allie tutted. She leaned forward to switch up the heater. ‘Well, this factory – legit, is it?’
‘It seems so. The website says he’s been in business for twenty years – won loads of awards. He’s done okay for himself considering.’
‘Considering?’
‘To be honest, I thought he’d be locked up by now. His wife must have had some hold on him. I can just about remember her. She was good-looking but nothing special.’
Perry drove towards the centre of Burslem and, a few minutes later, turned off Moorland Road and on to a small industrial site. There were seventeen units on the map by the entrance; they were after number five. Taylor Made Pottery Factory was the middle unit of a block of nine.
Perry squeezed his car into a space opposite the frontage. They approached the door to the reception area with caution over slippery tarmac. As they drew nearer, a woman rushed towards them from inside the building. Allie pressed her warrant card up against the glass and they were let in.
‘I couldn’t believe it when Derek told us what had happened,’ the woman said, shaking a head of blonde-grey curls.
‘Did you know him well, Mrs . . . ?’ asked Allie.
‘Campbell – Doris Campbell. Yes, I’ve been here since the business started. Mickey was like a son to me, his brother too. Martin is in a terrible state.’ She burst into tears.
Once she’d composed herself, they followed her through the office and down a narrow corridor. Allie glanced at the certificates on the wall – Outstanding Business Award 2008, The Sentinel Business Awards runner-up for small businesses, certificates of training courses taken. An award for pottery design of the year 2013.
‘He was well liked, then?’
Doris turned to them slightly, a fond smile on her face. ‘Yes, he had such a warm personality, and always the joker. Never unkindly, mind. He’s going to be missed by so many people.’
The door at the end of the corridor led them into a large warehouse, its silence immediate. Allie tried to imagine how it would be normally: machinery whirring, kilns firing, bells on machines ringing, drowning out any chances of hearing a radio piped through in the background.
Today a group of people with heavy hearts sat around. Four women and three men huddled around a coffee machine. Two men stood over by a window deep in conversation. A larger group were sitting around three settees laid out at the far end of the room, next to a row of kitchen units and a drinks machine.
‘We stopped production as soon as we heard,’ a voice behind them said.
They turned to see a man with the aging features of Mickey Taylor, the same shock of auburn hair. His cheeks were red, eyes swollen. A younger man stood behind him: Allie assumed that this was Mickey’s brother, of whom Doris had spoken so fondly.
‘Derek Taylor, Mickey’s father,’ he told them. ‘This is my son, Martin.’
‘We’re so sorry for your loss,’ Perry told him.
‘It’s just a job to you.’
‘I know it’s hard to deal with, but –’
‘I’m sick of waiting around here while his killer is on the loose. You should be chasing him down, not questioning the people he worked with.’
‘Martin.’ Doris laid a hand on Martin’s arm, but he shrugged it off.
‘You’ve every right to feel angry, we get that,’ Allie spoke firmly. ‘But,’ she looked at him for a moment, needing to gain his trust, ‘please, any tiny detail you may remember could help us find the person responsible.’
‘I need some fresh air.’ Martin walked off.
Perry stopped Doris from going after him. ‘Give him some space,’ he said. ‘He’ll talk when he’s ready.’
‘Sorry about that.’ Derek flinched as a door slammed. ‘I lost his mother only last year and now, well,’ he paused, looking away for a moment, ‘I can’t believe this has happened too. Mickey was a great support to us both.’
‘How was business, Mr Taylor?’ she asked, changing the subject in the hope of distracting the obviously upset man.
‘It was good. Mickey’s life couldn’t have been better. Well, perhaps a little less stress once in a while, but with orders piling in, having to recruit extra staff brought along more headaches. Still, Mickey had the last laugh.’ Derek smiled faintly. ‘His teachers at Reginald High School had been certain he’d make nothing of himself but he’d proved them all wrong. Taylor Made Pottery Factory has been going strong for twenty years now.’ Then his demeanour changed. ‘Why would anyone kill my boy?’ His voice broke and he held back a sob before he spoke again. ‘He didn’t do anyone any harm. He was kind and gentle and a – a gentle giant.’
‘We often called him that,’ Doris confirmed. ‘Come and sit in the office for a moment, Derek. I’m sure the police will come back before they leave.’
‘Let’s get this over with,’ Allie said quietly as she and Perry were left alone. ‘We can interview the family at the end.’
Chapter Five
Just after half past ten that evening, Perry let himself into his house, closing the front door as quietly as possible. It had been a long, busy day and he was exhausted. Finding the living room empty, he went upstairs and opened the bedroom door to see his wife asleep with the light on, her Kindle on his pillow. He gazed at her, half-expecting her to be wide awake and fooling around, to break down in giggles if he stayed watching much longer. But after a few seconds, she still didn’t move.
Not wanting to wake her straightaway, he switched the light off and showered in the main bathroom. But after a quick bite to eat and a hot drink, he climbed into bed beside her, the warmth of her body instantly comforting. Normality, he sighed, that’s what he wanted. Mundane, day-to-day normality.
Lisa snuffled in her sleep and he pulled her close. Half-sitting, half-lying, he waited for his mind to rest after the events of the day. Mickey Taylor – he’d been glad he hadn’t had to go and tell his wife what had happened. Allie had told him about the daughter, too, how hard it had been for her to watch her fall apart.
Lisa wrapped an arm around his chest and pressed her body along the side of his. ‘Hey,’ she said sleepily.
‘Hey yourself. You’re to bed early.’
‘Yes, felt knackered when I came in from work – again. How about you? Was it a bad one?’
‘Nothing for you to worry about.’
‘Did he have a family?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, that’s so sad. Did you have to visit his wife?’
‘No, Allie went with Nick. Then we went to his factory. There were lots of staff who thought highly of the guy. Took us a while to get through them all. They were all upset too – not a one unaffected by it. We have to go back in the morning to question the early shift. I doubt anything will come of it, but you never know.’
Lisa lifted her head and gazed at him, trying to focus in the dim light through half-closed eyes. ‘Ouch.’
He ran a hand over her hair. ‘I’m a big boy, Lees. I can cope with it.’
‘I still worry for you. Was it tough?’
‘I wouldn’t be human if I said it wasn’t.’ Perry thought back to the moment when Mickey Taylor’s father had finally been unable to contain his grief. ‘Or good at my job. I want to nail the bastard who did this though. I . . . I knew him.’
Lisa propped herself up on her elbow. ‘Oh. Are you okay?’
Perry nodded to reassure her, knowing he needed to hide his distress. But even though he had dealt with a few murders over the years he’d been in the force, nothing could have prepared him for it being someone he knew. Even though he hadn’t seen Mickey Taylor in years, it had come as quite a shock.
‘Mickey was a piss-taker, one of the jokers,’ he explained. ‘I had some good times growing up with him, having a laugh. If I’m not asked to attend the funeral, I might go anyway. Show my respect.’
/> Seeing Lisa stifle a yawn, he realised it wasn’t fair to keep them both awake. He pulled her further into his arms, enjoying the feel of her skin against his. It made him realise that he was alive, able to face another day. Not like Mickey Taylor. He wondered how his wife and daughters were doing. Would they be coping? Sleeping? Crying? Unable to go to bed because they didn’t want to wake up in the morning and realise their nightmare wasn’t a nightmare but was in fact a reality, that they had lost a husband, a father and a friend because some heartless idiot had taken him away from them?
Maybe the team would get a break tomorrow, realise that it was just some random act of violence – a druggie after a quick hit or something. Something simple yet, if so, bloody tragic.
He reached across and turned out the light. Exhausted and emotional, Perry hoped sleep would wear him down soon.
Allie parked her car in the driveway of her home and killed the engine. She let herself in, hoping to remove the heaviness of the day along with her coat as she left it in the hallway. In the living room, she found Mark sprawled along the length of the settee.
‘Hey.’ Allie ruffled his hair. ‘How was your first day back?’
‘It seemed to go on forever. But not as long as yours.’ Mark yawned and stretched his arms in the air. ‘You got anything concrete?’
‘Not yet.’ Allie perched beside him and relayed the details that she could.
‘I can’t believe this is someone else you know,’ Mark said afterwards. ‘I hope this isn’t going to become a habit.’
‘I knew him vaguely!’ Allie nudged his shoulder, thankful that he was joking. But she did pause for a moment, recalling her last murder investigation. Both she and Mark had met Steph Ryder, although neither of them could claim to have known her all that well. It was a good thing, really, Allie deduced, considering the circumstances leading up to the arrest of her killer.
‘Mickey Taylor.’ Allie shook her head slowly. ‘I still can’t believe it. Perry knew both him and his wife. He reckons he was a right lad at school.’
‘We were all right lads at school. Most of us grew up, though, when we walked out of the gates for the final time and joined the real world.’
‘I suppose. Most of the time I can distance myself from my work, but it was really sad. Gorgeous house, one of the large detached ones on Holly Lane. And, do you know, apart from the obvious signs of grief, Kath’s really looked after herself. Makes a refreshing change.’
‘You mean she still looks good for our age group?’
‘Your age group, old man,’ Allie mocked. ‘I’m younger than you.’
‘And, boy, will you never let me forget it.’
‘No, I never will.’ She bent down to kiss his forehead, so grateful that they still got on so well after fifteen years of marriage. She watched him for a moment longer, letting his familiarity stabilise her. It made her feel peaceful, lucky to have him to come home to.
She went through to the kitchen. Despite the lateness of the hour, she was hungry after grabbing what she could throughout the day. The first hours of any murder enquiry were manic, with hardly a moment to breathe. There were no properties near to the scene of this one, but house-to-house enquiries had started around the surrounding streets, which meant setting up the enquiry, rounding up extra bodies, appealing for witnesses and dealing with them – although there hadn’t been any so far – scouring CCTV to see if it had panned over the area at the right time and caught anything, waiting for forensics coming in, getting the Financial Forensic Unit to check Mickey’s position, obtaining the family’s phone records. If it weren’t for the fact that everyone they wished to speak to, or anyone who could give them information, would be asleep now, most of the team would still be at their desks.
Mark padded into the room, barefoot, dressed in navy pyjama bottoms and a white T-shirt. Allie’s stomach flipped over at the sight. She felt blessed that he could still do that to her, that he still warmed her heart, still made her insides tingle. She reached up as he drew near, running a hand over his late-in-the-day stubble.
‘You hungry?’ she asked as he pulled her towards him, squeezing her tightly around the waist.
‘For you?’ He kissed her. ‘Not at all. But I’ll have whatever you’re having food-wise.’
She pushed him away playfully.
‘How was Karen?’ she asked. Mark had said he’d visit when she’d rung him earlier, knowing that she’d be late home. Despite Karen’s brain condition, she was aware of happy and sad. If Allie didn’t visit for more than three days in a row, she would sulk. It made Allie feel even guiltier.
‘She was good.’ Mark yawned. ‘I said you’d be by tomorrow. You will be able to sneak a few minutes with her?’
‘You know I’ll do my best.’
‘Yeah, I do know that.’
‘Meaning?’ she frowned.
‘You know what I mean. Family first and all that.’
Before she could defend herself, Mark left the room. Allie groaned quietly. Despite his protestations, sometimes it would be good to come home without the worry of being chastised for working long hours. She knew only too well that she needed to keep work and play separate, and there was a fine line to tread.
But he was wrong when he said she didn’t think of her family. It was at times like these that she did nothing but. That’s why she often needed to distance herself from Karen, to stop the raw pain from seeping in again. Of course, it had deadened somewhat over the years since the attack. But often in cases such as Mickey Taylor’s, when she had to spend time with victims’ families, it brought her own feelings to the forefront again. She couldn’t help that.
But it was what made her do her job well, and she didn’t want to change that at all.
Chapter Six
Rhian Jamieson let out an impatient sigh as she waited her turn in the queue at the Co-op. The woman standing in front of her packed her shopping slowly while her toddler wrecked the display of cheese and onion crisps at her side. Rhian clocked her cheap jeans and sweater underneath a denim jacket that must have been fashionable at some time or other. Lank hair, several strands coming loose from a ponytail, was scraped severely away from her face. Dark circles under her eyes and a spotty chin, face devoid of any make-up.
Rhian twirled a strand of her own freshly washed hair around a finger, unable to understand how someone could let herself go that much. The woman seemed barely older than her, yet at twenty-six, Rhian probably looked better now than she ever had in her life. Slim waist, blonde hair, glamour model figure and pouting lips, designer coat, leather-look skinny trousers and stiletto ankle boots – she knew she looked amazing.
‘That’s eighteen pounds forty-seven pence, please,’ said the checkout assistant as she waited for the customer to finish. There were several people in the queue behind Rhian now, some starting to roll their eyes and check their watches. Rhian gnawed at her bottom lip to stop herself from screaming out as the woman thrust a note into the cashier’s hand. Why couldn’t she hurry up!
Fifteen minutes later, Rhian was out of the shop and rushing to her car. It was her own fault, really – she hadn’t planned on being out so late the night before but she’d bumped into friends while out shopping. Her confession that her fella was working away for the night had led to an impromptu evening doing manicures for several women. It had been lucrative at least – and pleasing that her new business venture was taking off. She’d forgotten all about getting some food in so would have to tell Joe she’d been to M&S – she was sure he’d never know.
A few minutes into her journey, she had to slow for a red light. While she was stationary, she glanced into the black people-carrier stopped at her side. The woman driving it pushed neat blonde hair behind her ear and checked her eyes in the rear-view mirror, rubbing a finger under each one before she was satisfied with her reflection. Behind her, a young child was sleeping in a car seat. Rhian’s
heart melted at the sight of a pink hat and matching coat. Recently, she’d begun to feel a maternal tug towards babies, which shocked her completely. She’d always thought she’d never have children so it was a strange feeling – although she wondered if she would cope with a small being relying on her twenty-four-seven.
As the lights changed to green and they both drove off in opposite directions, Rhian imagined what it would be like to pull into the drive at home and pick up a baby rather than a bag of ready-made food from the back seat. But then again, an afternoon lounging in a luxurious bath with a glass of something chilled before Joe was due back was pretty tempting too.
She turned into a small estate of newly built houses off Victoria Road. A minute later, she was in Smallwood Avenue and parking her car in the drive of number four only to find that Joe was home before her. Frowning, she wondered what had brought him back so early.
Rhian had been living with Joe for the past two years. Joe owned the property, a four-bedroom house in a row of almost identical ones. It was tidy, although lacking charisma, but Rhian loved living there. It still gave her a buzz to let herself in, walk the length of the long hall. Off it was a living room equivalent to the size of the downstairs of her parents’ home, and after that was the kitchen with its conservatory that opened out onto a garden with a hot tub that she made the most of whenever the weather was fit.
‘Only me, babe,’ she said as she opened the front door and pulled her key from the lock. She hung up her coat and went through into the kitchen.
Joe was sitting forward in a chair, watching Sky News. All hunched up, looking intense – it didn’t do anything for him. Rhian’s friends often teased her, knowing she was only after a sugar daddy, always asking what it was like to wake up next to someone sixteen years older. But she did enjoy the status of dating an older guy, and the perks that came with being with this one. Was it worth it just for the money he gave to her? Hell, yes. But even though everyone assumed he was rolling in money because of his ex-wife, Rhian knew differently. Joe had money of his own stashed away too. He’d told her he’d never go short, having come away from a bad marriage with a good pay-out. It was one of the reasons she was still with him. That, and his broody look and sex appeal. Even at forty-two, he was certainly eye candy.