Follow the Leader

by Mel Sherratt

  He’d spent the next day and night with her before she’d left, and he’d stayed on for a further four days. And as soon as the plane had landed in Manchester and he’d got back home, the first thing he’d done was arrange to meet her again. They’d married three years later.

  Did she feel safe with him, he wondered? Protected, even? She always said she did. But could he protect her if he didn’t know what they were up against? Despite fooling around with her earlier, the case was playing on his mind, the fact that he knew both victims getting to him more than knowing that they were now linked.

  Lisa stirred in her sleep and turned away from him. He snuggled into her back, pulling her body in close. Breathing the scent of her hair, he swallowed. No bastard was going to take this away from him.

  The Longton office of Car Wash City was on King Street, half a mile from where Joe and Rhian lived in Smallwood Avenue. Early at his desk the following morning, Joe stretched up his arms and yawned. Fuck, what a night; even he could smell alcohol on his breath despite gargling with breath freshener twice before leaving the house. He was surprised he’d managed to drag himself in at all after the drink he’d consumed last night. After comforting Jayden and chatting with Kelvin, who luckily had agreed it would be better to leave the boys together with him for now, he’d been glad to get out of the oppressive atmosphere. But he’d been unable to stop thinking of Suzi so had headed for the Duke of Wellington pub. Once he’d sat down at the bar, everyone there had wanted to talk about Suzi too. After a few pints, he’d given his keys to the landlord and staggered home just before midnight.

  The house had been in darkness. He was hoping Rhian had stayed up so he could apologise and keep her sweet, but the stupid cow had turned off all the lights and gone to bed. Instead of waking her and starting a row, he’d collapsed in the spare room to sleep it off. And, even though he’d had the bed to himself and had slept a heavy drunken sleep, he was aching all over.

  He swore loudly, banging his fist on the desk. What an idiot he was telling Rhian that he didn’t trust her. Of course he didn’t, but spitting it out like that was a sure recipe for disaster.

  The door to the office opened and Ryan Johnson came in. Joe’s shoulders sagged. Christ, that was all he needed.

  ‘Problem, Ryan?’ he asked, glancing up at the bear of a man in a thick black overcoat, a stripy scarf knotted at his neck.

  ‘We need to move on this job, Joe. It’s getting out of hand.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’m hearing rumours that we’re under surveillance.’

  Joe sat forwards. ‘What the fuck?’

  ‘How many of the seven do we have?’

  ‘Only five.’

  ‘Can we get another two?’

  ‘For next weekend? Not that quickly.’ Joe bit at the skin around his thumbnail. ‘And I need to be careful.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The old bill are all over me at the moment.’

  Ryan folded his arms. ‘Jesus Christ, Joe. What the fuck have you been up to?’

  ‘I haven’t done anything! Suzi Porter – the woman who was murdered on Wednesday night – she’s my ex-wife.’

  ‘Fuck!’ Ryan’s eyes widened. ‘Do the police know who did it yet?’

  Joe shook his head. ‘They didn’t when they questioned me yesterday.’

  ‘They questioned you?’ Ryan took a step forward.

  ‘I’m family! Well, I was. But I haven’t done anything I need to cover up. Not with Suzi, anyway.’

  Ryan gnawed at his bottom lip. ‘We need to get this job out of the way, this weekend rather than next. Are you good to go on Sunday?’

  ‘I – I don’t know. It’s going to be difficult.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘My son needs me. He’s only ten.’

  ‘But this job needs to be finished!’

  ‘What if the police need to question me again, start wondering where I am? Or come sniffing around here because I’m not at home? Then we’ll be in bother.’

  Ryan questioned with a frown. ‘You sure you weren’t involved?’

  ‘No, I fucking wasn’t!’

  ‘Then you have nothing to worry about.’ Ryan paused. ‘We can be there and back in a couple of days if we push the work through. We’ll get paid for what we give him for now. Then when things settle down your end again, we can get the other two. Okay?’

  ‘I suppose. And he’ll pay for five?’

  ‘Oh, he’ll pay for them one way or another.’ Ryan nodded. ‘I’ll see to that.’

  ‘I don’t want any trouble.’ Joe held up his hands.

  ‘Then don’t give me any grief.’ Ryan moved to the door and Joe followed him. ‘I’ll be here about ten thirty on Sunday morning.’

  Joe nodded, watched him leave. Outside, he could see three cars being washed down, several young blokes rushing around earning their pay. The camaraderie was good, but he couldn’t see himself ever doing menial jobs like that again to earn his crust. However, he did need his money to keep coming in, no matter how dangerous it was to continue.

  Right now, though, it seemed even more imperative to keep Rhian sweet, to make sure the police didn’t pick up any scent of what he was up to. He reached for his phone, made a call. After yesterday’s fiasco at home, he doubted that she’d be pleased about his latest plans, so it was even more essential that he keep her on side for now.

  Rhian held in her anger as she sat drinking coffee in the kitchen. From morning until night yesterday, she’d heard nothing but Suzi Porter’s name. If she switched on the radio or the television she was there. A few of her friends rang but all they wanted to talk about was Suzi. Even her mum had been quizzing her every day since on the phone. Suzi seemed to be such news in the city, completely overshadowing the murder of the other bloke; Rhian even found mention of her when she checked her Twitter account on her phone. It was as if she had come back to haunt her.

  By her side, a message flashed up on her phone.

  ‘Hey, babe. Give me a call – wondered if you’d heard any more about Suzi yet? Is it true she was gutted like a fish? Euw. Hugs, speak soon. Bx’

  Rhian huffed at the friendly attitude of the so-called mate that she hadn’t seen in at least a year. All she wanted was the gossip, and she wouldn’t give her that, even if she did know something. Beth was just being nosy.

  She raked a hand through her hair and switched on the television. But all she was greeted with was her again. How had she become so famous? Rhian fumed. Still, she had more important things to think of right now.

  She was still bristling from Joe’s words the day before. Who did he think he was, saying that he couldn’t trust her? It was the worst insult of them all. But what hurt the most was that she couldn’t stop thinking of the look that had gone between Joe and that sergeant halfway through the conversation. It was as if they both knew some sort of sordid secret at the mention of Car Wash City. Rhian knew all about Joe’s past and that he had been into prison when he was younger – two stretches for theft, a few months each time. Had that woman put him away for one of them? Was there history between them?

  To make matters worse, Joe hadn’t come home until well after midnight. She hadn’t been asleep when he’d closed the front door noisily before bundling himself off to sleep in the spare room. Even across the landing she could hear him snoring loudly, the sleep of someone who’d had a skinful.

  She’d still been annoyed when she’d heard him sneak in early that morning, rifle through his drawers, open and shut the wardrobe door. It wasn’t even light so she’d pretended to sleep, hoping that he’d kiss her awake, chat to her, say he was sorry. But nothing.

  She’d stayed in bed until he’d left. And now she was stuck here, not knowing if he’d be out all day or when he’d come home. He hadn’t even sent her a text message that she could ignore. Nevertheless, having time to
think on her own, she realised it was in her best interests to get on his good side again. Joe was okay in small doses. And she did love him in her own way, even if she didn’t intend on staying with him forever. She could play along just as he wanted her to.

  She logged on to her laptop and idly began to flick through her favourite clothes websites, looking for a black coat in particular. If there was this much interest in Suzi’s murder, there was a possibility that TV crews could cover the funeral. She needed to get herself something special to wear. The thought instantly cheered her up.

  She was drinking her second mug of coffee when she heard Joe’s car pull into the drive. She raced to the mirror to check her appearance. God, she looked good. She smiled at her reflection, then pouted. Maybe this could be an ideal time to have some make-up sex: she only had a couple of nail appointments today and they were both booked in for late afternoon. She rushed back to the breakfast bar just as he appeared in the doorway.

  He took a few steps towards her and pulled a bouquet of red roses from behind his back. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  ‘For which part?’

  ‘All of it.’

  ‘You said some horrible things to me.’ She conjured tears ready to fall.

  ‘I didn’t mean any of them.’ He held out the flowers for her.

  Tentatively, she took them from him.

  ‘I panicked when I saw the police,’ he explained.

  ‘Did you go to see Jayden?’

  ‘Yeah, I stayed chatting to Kelvin for ages.’

  ‘It’s a good job you get on so well with him.’

  ‘I know. It was Suzi who caused the friction.’ He paused. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again.

  ‘I’m sorry too.’ Rhian stepped closer to him and pressed a finger to his lips. ‘It’s in the past, yeah?’

  He pulled her into his arms and she buried her face in his chest, hiding the grin spreading widely across her face. God, he was such a pushover. He might have a temper every now and again, and clearly she had to watch what she was doing, but she could handle him. And what she needed to do right now was keep him sweet until she found out more about what he had really been doing on Wednesday evening.

  This old man, he played three,

  He played knick-knack on his knee.

  With a knick-knack, paddy-whack,

  Give the dog a bone.

  This old man came rolling home.

  1984

  Patrick jumped from sleep and sat up in bed, the bass tone of the music reverberating through the floorboards. Elvis Presley began to sing of being lonesome tonight. Rubbing at one eye, he pressed the button at the side of his cheap digital watch to illuminate the time: two thirty-three a.m.

  The house was cold and he snuggled back under the covers. He heard voices, low mumbling. Who had Ray brought back with him this time? Sometimes it would be a man to have more drink with. Sometimes it would be a woman and he’d hear them, having sex. It was disgusting. Sometimes there would be a few people and he’d cower in bed, praying that the door wouldn’t open.

  But then he heard a woman giggle. It was followed by heavy footsteps, taking the stairs in four jumps. The handle on his bedroom door dropped, the door flying wide open with the kick of a boot. It bounced back off the wall, causing Ray to stagger slightly as it knocked him off balance. Patrick sat still as a stone in the dark, watching his father’s silhouette against the light from the hallway, and hoped he wouldn’t piss himself again

  ‘What are you doing in bed, you idle fucker?’ Ray slurred, swaying towards him across the room.

  Patrick prayed that Ray had drunk enough booze to collapse when he got to his bed. Maybe he’d sink to the floor in a drunken stupor, like he’d done last week, and he could sneak past him and go to sleep on the rickety settee downstairs.

  No such luck tonight. The duvet was yanked away and thrown to the floor like a discarded Durex. Patrick curled up in a ball, skin and bone beneath his pyjamas, bracing himself for the onslaught of punches that was bound to come. Fresh bruises atop of ones that hadn’t yet healed from his last attack.

  Ray grabbed his arm and dragged him out of bed. ‘Come on, downstairs!’ he demanded. ‘It’s party time.’

  Eleven years old, undernourished and weak, Patrick wasn’t strong enough to protest. From above, he could smell Ray’s rotten breath as he kept a firm hand on his arm.

  At the living room door, he pushed him forward. ‘I have a surprise for you, short-arse.’

  The woman sitting on the settee reminded Patrick of his English teacher, Mrs Martin. She always had long hair tied in a ponytail and red lipstick. But she was never dressed in a short skirt, with a fake-fur jacket that looked like its owner, a little worse for its years. And she always smelled nice. This woman smelt like Ray.

  ‘Hellooooo,’ she slurred, beckoning him over to the settee. ‘Come and sit down next to me.’

  Patrick stayed rooted to the spot until Ray put his fist in his back and pushed him forward again. He perched at the other end of the settee as far away as he could get.

  ‘What’s your name?’ she asked, making a big show of moving towards him.

  ‘Patrick.’

  ‘Patrick!’ She burst into raucous laughter.

  Patrick didn’t think his name was funny.

  ‘So, this is your old man, then?’ She held out her hand and Ray came over to them. ‘I wonder if he takes after you, Raymond.’ She gave Ray’s bicep muscle a quick squeeze, laughing again.

  ‘This is Molly,’ Ray told Patrick. ‘And she wants to have some fun tonight.’

  ‘Yes, with both of you.’ She turned to Patrick, running the tip of her tongue across her top lip. She reached over for him and he moved back as far as he could go.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ She came nearer still, until she was an inch from his face. ‘Don’t you fancy me? We could have some fun.’

  ‘Stop it!’ Patrick grabbed hold of the collar of his pyjama top, pulling it close to his neck.

  Molly took hold of his chin. Then she puckered her lips. ‘Come on, little fella. Let’s see what you’ve got for me.’

  Patrick closed his eyes tightly, hoping the vomit would stay inside his throat.

  ‘Open your eyes,’ she told him.

  When he refused, she squeezed his chin harder.

  ‘Open them!’

  Patrick did as she asked.

  She peered at him for a moment, and then burst out laughing again. ‘The look on your face, you big numpty,’ she cried. ‘I don’t want a boy, I want a man.’ She turned back to Ray, who had his trousers unbuckled in readiness. ‘I just wanted someone to watch.’

  Patrick shivered. ‘I don’t want to.’

  Ray glared at him. ‘I don’t give a fuck what you do or don’t want to do. You’ll do as I say.’

  Patrick made a run for the door.

  Ray blocked his way. Pushing him down into the armchair, he clouted him across the head. ‘Now, son, we can do this the hard way or the easy way. The hard way will be just as much fun for me, so . . .’

  Patrick pressed himself into the back of the chair, pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around his knees. Maybe he could just pretend to watch and then they would both fall asleep.

  Ray kissed Molly for a few moments, hands all over her breasts. Then he bent her over the settee, slid his hand inside Molly’s skirt and, a few seconds later, entered her roughly from behind. He grabbed a handful of her hair and wrenched back her neck as she laughed again.

  ‘Whore,’ he hissed, his breath coming in short bursts. ‘Filthy, stinking whore. No one else would have you. No one else would want to fuck you. You’re lucky to be with me.’ He pushed her head forward again. ‘Don’t look at me, bitch.’

  Patrick covered his ears while they were too busy to notice him. He’d never be rid of the images of Ray pumping her and grunting
like a pig.

  All at once it was over. Ray thrust hard one last time and they collapsed together on the settee.

  Patrick sat there for what seemed like an eternity. He wanted to leave the room, go back to his bed and put his head underneath the covers. Escape from it all. But if he did that, one of them might see him. They might come up to his room; he couldn’t allow that. It was his sanctuary – he didn’t want that tarnished too.

  Fifteen minutes later, when his father’s breathing had slowed, he watched as Molly inched her way from beneath him. Slowly, she slid to the floor.

  ‘I need the toilet,’ she said to him. ‘Where is it?’

  He pointed upwards.

  She winked at him. ‘You can go now, you little squirt.’

  Patrick tiptoed out of the room and up the stairs. When he was back in his room, as quietly as he could, he pulled on clothes and trainers and got under the covers. If Ray came to get him again, he would have enough time to leg it out of the front door and come back when he was sober.

  Chapter Fifteen

  On the outskirts of Hanley, Frank Dwyer stumbled out of The Sneyd Arms pub, pulled his collar in close and tucked his hands in his pockets. Ignoring the police car with its lights on disco alert, the scream of a woman as the man she was with was arrested and held against a wall by two police officers, he continued past. He sniggered to himself: just another happy night out for someone.

  The bitter wind caught his breath, stinging his cheeks as he pushed against it along Milton Road. At least the whiskey chaser with his last pint had warmed him up. Close to midnight, he started to sing under his breath. ‘Oh, Spanish eyes.’

  A few minutes later, he pushed open a rickety gate. Staggering down the path to his house, he caught his foot on the slab the council had yet to fix. Almost falling, he steadied himself. He stretched out an arm and hit the door running, with a bang. He laughed: that’ll wake the nosy cow next door, like he gave a shit.