Somewhere to Hide (The Estate, Book 1)

by Mel Sherratt

  Housing office Josie Mellor loves the community spirit of the notorious Mitchell Estate – when it doesn’t involve benefit cheats, aggression, or murder and mayhem, that is.

  But it isn’t exactly a party for some of her tenants...

  Kelly Winterton thinks Josie is sticking her nose in where it’s not wanted. Her partner’s just been packed off to prison and she’s left worrying how to fend for herself and her young daughter.

  Charlotte Hatfield has fled from her violent partner. With four children in tow, she lives in fear of him finding her again.

  Amy Cartwright has learning difficulties. She finds it hard enough looking out for herself and her six-month-old baby without being taken advantage of.

  In the midst of it all, Josie has secrets of her own. Trapped in a loveless marriage, she struggles to escape her controlling husband. And as her home life deteriorates, she realises only a thin line separates her from the people she’s trying to help. Can Josie save herself and return the estate to relative normality when a spate of burglaries causes havoc and deadly violence erupts? Or will both she and her tenants become victims of violence that no one will see?

  BEHIND A CLOSED DOOR - lies, dishonesty, heartbreak and betrayal... and the feeling that you’ll never trust anyone again.

  ALSO BY MEL SHERRATT

  Fighting for Survival

  Book 3, The Estate series

  Taunting the Dead

  Kindle KDP (UK) top 10 bestseller of 2012

  Word of mouth is crucial for any author to succeed. If you enjoyed reading Somewhere to Hide, please could I ask for a moment of your time to leave a review before you close the book? It would make all the difference and would be very much appreciated. Thank you so much.

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  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Ever since I can remember, I’ve been a meddler of words. Born and raised in Stoke on Trent, Staffordshire, I used the city as a backdrop for my first novel, TAUNTING THE DEAD, and it went on to be a Kindle #1 bestseller. I couldn’t believe my eyes when it became the number 8 UK Kindle KDP bestselling books of 2012.

  My writing has come under a few different headings - grit-lit, sexy crime, erotic crime thriller, whydunnit, police procedural, emotional thriller to name a few. I like writing about fear and emotion – the cause and effect of crime – what makes a character do something. I also like to add a mixture of topics to each book. Working as a housing officer for eight years gave me the background to create a fictional estate with good and bad characters, and they are all perfect for murder and mayhem.

  You can find out more at melsherratt.co.uk on twitter as @writermels

  And on Facebook

  Note from the author

  As soon as people know that I was once a housing officer and that I’ve written a novel on a housing estate, the next question is always ‘is it based on an estate you use to work on?’ That’s usually followed by ‘have you written about any real people in the books?’ The answer to both questions is no.

  The idea behind the series is there is good and bad in everyone, no matter what their background and upbringing. Everyone has a dark side; even the most dangerous people have a heart. Josie Mellor is my urban angel. I wanted a character who had to become non-judgemental, who had to distance herself from reality when she went home to her ‘normal’ life. I wanted to show that, no matter what our circumstances, underneath we are all the same. I suppose it’s down to the old adage, nature versus nurture.

  Somewhere to Hide is the first in The Estate series. In the second book, Behind a Closed Door, you’ll find not only appearances from Josie but some of the other characters pop up too.

  My hopes for the series? I’d like readers to go through emotional journeys with the women from The Mitchell Estate and feel happy for them when they ‘better’ themselves too. I want to show hidden crimes, things that happen to someone else behind closed doors – gritty content but happy endings, hope, encouragement.

  Read on for the prologue and chapter one of Behind a Closed Door

  PROLOGUE

  Of all the shenanigans that occurred on the estate, nothing sent shivers down Josie Mellor’s spine more than a no-response call.

  ‘Josie, it’s Trevor. The alarm’s going off at 5 Nursery Lane. No one’s answering.’

  ‘But that’s Edie Rutter!’ Josie grabbed her car keys, the phone still against her ear.

  ‘Her son can’t get there for about an hour,’ Trevor continued. ‘Any chance of you checking on her for me?’

  ‘I’m already on my way.’

  It took Josie less than five minutes to drive to Edie’s home. She banged on the front door and lifted up the letterbox to shout through.

  ‘Edie! It’s Josie. Are you there?’

  She looked through the window but could see no one in the front room. She raced around to the back and stood on her toes to look through the kitchen window. There didn’t seem anything amiss, although she couldn’t see the floor from where she was standing. She moved to the bedroom window, took off a woollen glove, and gave it a firm rap.

  ‘Edie?’

  Cursing her short legs, Josie moved aside a terracotta plant pot, jumped up onto the low wall and looked inside. Screwing up her eyes, she tried to focus through the pattern of the netting.

  In desperation, she began to lift up some of the pots around the tiny patio area. At her third attempt, she found what she was looking for. Moments later, she unlocked Edie’s front door and stepped in. Please God, she prayed, don’t let it be gruesome. Let her be asleep.

  The television was on low as she stepped into the tiny porch. Through the slightly open door, she could see a foot in a pink slipper. Pushing it open, her hand shot to her mouth. Wide eyes stared straight at her. Edie was lying on her back, her head turned towards the door. There was a pool of blood around her ear.

  Josie gagged. There was no life in Edie’s eyes but she looked terrified. The buzzer for the lifeline system still hung round her neck; Josie had fitted it when Edie’s husband had died. Alfred Rutter had left Edie broken-hearted and distraught – leaving Josie with the job of visiting her regularly to see that she was coping.

  ‘God bless you, Edie Rutter,’ Josie whispered into the silence of the room. It was then that she noticed the mess. The living room was littered with Edie’s possessions; the lamp and its occasional table lay on its side, photographs were ripped from their frames and discarded, glass shards sprinkled like confetti, and the mahogany sideboard stood with its doors wide open, its contents slung across the carpet. And what was that on the poker? She shuddered.

  A noise behind her made her jump.

  ‘Fucking hell, Andy, you scared the shit out of me! Couldn’t you have knocked to let me know you’re here?’

  ‘Sorry, the door was open. I heard the call and then I saw your car outside.’

  Tears streamed down Josie’s cheeks. Her hand shook as she pointed at Edie. ‘She’s dead. And I don’t think it was an accident.’

  Andy took off his police helmet and a glove. He checked Edie’s neck for a pulse. Then he held his palm in front of her mouth. But there was no sign of life.

  ‘What the hell happened in here, Andy?’ Josie asked. ‘It’s one thing to rob the old dears but another to take their lives as they try to defend what’s theirs.’

  ‘There are some nasty bastards out there. We can’t protect everyone, no matter how hard we try.’

  ‘How long do you think she’s been there?’ Josie glanced at the clock on the mantel piece. It was only nine thirty-two. ‘All night, maybe?’

  ‘Early hours, I suspect. She must have come round enough to raise the alarm before she died.’

  Josie pointed to the poker lying on the rug, knowing better than to touch it. ‘There’s blood on that.’

  Andy nodded before reaching f
or his radio. ‘I’ll get the team out, set the wheels in motion.’

  When Josie didn’t move, Andy placed a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him with tears in her eyes.

  ‘How can anyone do that?’ she asked. ‘Even if it was an accident, someone left her there to die. That’s beyond belief. It’s so cruel.’

  Andy sighed. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘This is the Mitchell Estate.’

  CHAPTER ONE

  Josie Mellor threw her car keys onto her desk and collapsed in a huddle on her chair.

  ‘What is it with me and the Bradley family? That’s five more complaints I’ve received in as many days. I was hoping after I’d been to visit Gina last week that the twins would behave themselves.’

  ‘Your three-fifteen’s here,’ Debbie Wilkins shouted over. ‘I’ve put her in interview cubicle one. She seems a bit stressed.’

  ‘A bit stressed?’ Josie retorted. ‘She ought to try finding dead people and dealing with the aftermath like I did with Mrs Rutter last month. And before I can take a minute to catch my breath this afternoon, I’ve got to deal with all this.’ She pushed aside the pile of phone messages on her desk that had grown considerably since she’d left it two hours ago. ‘I’m sure our tenants think I have the answers to all their problems.’

  ‘Poor Edie Rutter,’ Debbie said as she joined her. ‘I really liked her. She was a lovely old sort.’

  Josie had been distraught when Edie had been found dead with head injuries in her bungalow a few weeks ago. The place had been trashed and a huge sum of money, among other things, had been stolen. But Mrs Rutter’s daughter had been particularly upset that a pearl necklace with a clasp in the shape of a butterfly was missing. It had been a family heirloom for years. There had been no leads at all, not even with the press coverage it had received for a couple of weeks afterwards.

  ‘It doesn’t seem fair, does it?’ Josie could feel tears forming again. ‘People shouldn’t die all alone. I met her son at Mr Barber’s funeral. He thought a lot of his parents, not like some of the families on the estate.’

  ‘Cluck, cluck, Mother Hen,’ Ray Harman chirped up. ‘It’s a good job everyone has Josie Mellor.’

  Josie pulled a face at Ray. ‘Yes, it is, because if it was up to you, there would be no Mitchell Estate, right?’

  Ray nodded, pushing his glasses up his nose. ‘You got me.’

  ‘Yes, I got you a long time ago, you smarmy git,’ she muttered under her breath.

  ‘You’ve only yourself to blame, though. If you would insist on spoon-feeding the morons, then what do you expect?’

  Josie ignored him. She’d known a lot of people like Ray during her eighteen years working for Mitchell Housing Association. Ray was in his late forties and had been a housing officer for longer than Josie, yet he didn’t mince his words when it came to job dissatisfaction. Between the two of them, they covered the sprawling estate, along with Doug Pattison, the maintenance officer. Doug looked after reporting all the repairs needed at the properties, but would always offer to help out if Josie didn’t feel safe going to a visit alone. Ray, however, would be far too busy checking if garden hedges were an inch higher than they should be or whether Ms-Anderson-at-number-fifty-two’s skirt needed to be an inch higher than it was.

  Josie picked up two folders from her desk and wiped her eyes again. ‘Right, then, I’d better get started on the next one. As the saying goes, no rest for the wicked.’

  She put on her broadest smile as she walked into the glass-walled cubicle a few minutes later. ‘Hello, Kelly.’

  Kelly Winterton’s face scrunched up with indignation.

  ‘And, you,’ Josie turned her attention to the young child sitting next to her, ‘you must be Emily. Am I right?’

  Emily nodded shyly.

  ‘Do you remember me? I’ve met you before, at your house, and it’s very nice to see you again. Now, if I give you some pens and a colouring book, do you think you can choose a picture to fill in with some bright colours while I speak to your mummy?’

  ‘Have you got a red one?’ asked Emily, wide brown eyes looking up expectantly. ‘Please.’

  Josie gave her one of the folders and watched her face light up when she saw the packet containing felt-tipped pens of every colour. Along with her mittens, her coat and scarf came off in a flash and she got down to work.

  ‘Now then, it’s your turn.’ Josie pushed a thick form across the table towards Kelly. ‘You’ll need to fill in the bits I’ve marked with a cross while I go through your options.’

  Kelly remained silent while she chewed on her nails.

  ‘As the tenancy is in Mr Johnstone’s name only, and due to his recent trip to Her Majesty’s Services, the number one priority is to stay where you are now – at Patrick Street – while we set eviction proceedings in motion.’

  ‘Eviction proceedings!’ Kelly cried. ‘What do you mean? He’s only been sent down for six months!’

  Josie flicked over a page and pointed to a box. ‘Mr Johnstone isn’t entitled to housing benefit if he’s in prison for longer than thirteen weeks, and as he won’t be able to pay the rent himself, we’ll try and get him to give up his tenancy. Six months will give him a bill of at least two thousand pounds to pay when he gets released. And he’ll have a criminal record – which will work in our favour. We don’t do evictions willy-nilly. We feel we have a duty of care to offer you something else, and we have to follow procedures – take Mr Johnstone to court first, sign paperwork, so it’s likely to take a while. You can stay at Patrick Street until that date, if you wish.’

  Josie had Kelly’s full attention now. ‘But what if he only serves three months, half his time? Scott’ll keep his nose clean, you know him.’

  ‘Not my rulings, I’m afraid. And if he doesn’t assign the property straight back to us, for every week he’s inside, he’ll be liable to pay when he does get out.’

  Kelly sat forward. ‘I’ll claim benefits, then. I live there too.’

  ‘Are there any bills in your name?’

  ‘How the hell should I know?’ They sat in silence until Kelly sighed loudly.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ she replied.

  ‘In that case, you have no proof that you’ve been living there. You’re registered with the benefits agency from 18 Christopher Avenue.’

  Kelly frowned. ‘No, that’s my mum’s address. I left there five years ago when I shacked up with Scott.’

  ‘Not according to our records.’

  ‘But he filled the forms in for me!’

  Josie raised her eyebrows questioningly.

  ‘I had my money paid into my own account,’ Kelly snapped. ‘I didn’t have to ask him for it if that’s what you’re getting at!’

  ‘No, what I’m trying to tell you is that he lived at Patrick Street claiming as a single man. You were – unbeknown to you, maybe – claiming as a single mother.’

  ‘But why would he do that?’

  ‘To get more money. Lots of couples scam that way.’

  Kelly shook her head. ‘He wouldn’t do that, not to us.’

  ‘Oh, he would,’ Josie told her. ‘And he has.’

  For a moment, Kelly sat quietly while her brain tried to work out the logistics of the conversation. She wondered how long the eviction process took but didn’t dare ask. Even she realised that rights must be different when a prison sentence got handed out.

  ‘Mummy, look at my picture,’ said Emily, thrusting the drawing book at Kelly.

  ‘It’s very good.’ Kelly glanced at it quickly. ‘Can you do another one while I finish off? There’s a good girl.’ She looked at Josie and spoke quietly. ‘And my other option?’

  Josie pointed to another box. ‘You could have your own tenancy. It would have to be another property, though – it couldn’t be Patrick Street because that’s in Mr Johnstone’s name.’

  Kelly quickly wrote down her national insurance number. ‘Would Scott be able to mo
ve in with me when he gets out?’

  ‘Yes, but you’ll have to declare it to the benefits agency. No more single living.’

  ‘I didn’t know that I was.’

  Josie turned the form over to the back page. ‘If you do decide to have your own tenancy, there are two flats ready to view.’

  Kelly narrowed her eyes. ‘You never said nowt about moving into a flat!’ she hissed.

  ‘There are only the two of you, and with you being classed as homeless now, you don’t have much of a choice, I’m afraid.’

  ‘But I'm not homeless – you’re forcing me to leave my house! And there are three of us. You’re forgetting Scott.’

  Josie leaned forward, aware how vital it was that she gained Kelly’s trust. ‘I don’t feel good about doing this but Mr Johnstone played things really clever. By keeping your name off any of the household bills, as well as the tenancy agreement, it means that you can’t prove you’ve been living there for the past twelve months. Therefore, you’re not entitled to stay. If he won’t sign the forms, we’ll start eviction proceedings for non-payment of rent. Eventually, the property will come back to us.’

  ‘But you know how long I’ve been living there!’ Kelly’s eyes pleaded to Josie. ‘You could vouch for me!’

  ‘It’s not that simple. For all I know, you could have been staying over for a couple of nights whenever I’ve visited.’

  Kelly sat back in her chair again and folded her arms. ‘So I’m fucked, whichever way I look at things?’

  Josie was used to tenants swearing at her when she told them something they didn’t want to hear. Unlike some of the violent ones who’d come within an inch of her face to do so, she sensed that Kelly wasn’t using it for the benefit of annoying her. Her anger seemed to be directed at the system.