Only the Brave (A DS Allie Shenton Novel Book 3)

by Mel Sherratt

  Craig did as he was told. As he turned back, those eyes were on him again, this time flitting from him to the bag.

  Steve opened the zip, his shoulders drooping when he saw that there was money inside. ‘Do you want to tell me how the hell he ended up dead?’ he said finally.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Craig held up both hands. ‘He was battered when I left him but that’s all.’

  In an instance all semblance of calm was gone, and Steve flew across the office, pushing Craig up against the wall. He punched him in the stomach.

  Craig coughed as the wind went from him. ‘I wasn’t carrying a knife! I used a bat.’ He pointed. ‘It’s in the bag.’

  ‘You brought it here?’ Steve looked like he would combust.

  ‘I’m about to get rid of it. Could have done without waking up to coppers crawling around everywhere this morning. Luckily, I didn’t take the bag home.’

  When Steve remained silent, he continued.

  ‘I’d moved my car before I went out last night – I’ve been seeing a bit of stuff over in Regina Street so I left it at her place, got a taxi there and back from Flynn’s. That’s where I was until it was time to do the job. After that, I took the money and the bat back to my car and hid them in the boot. Then I legged it in the back way.’

  ‘I thought there was only one entrance to Harrison House, at the front.’

  ‘There is. I’m still nimble enough to climb up a floor from the outside, though.’ Craig felt the grip on him release.

  ‘But Jordan shouldn’t have died!’

  ‘I heard on the news that he’d been stabbed. Someone must have got to him after me.’

  Steve snorted. ‘Like everyone is hanging around the flats at that time of the morning.’

  ‘I’m telling you it wasn’t me. You need to start thinking who it could have been.’

  Steve let him go, moved around to the other side of the desk.

  ‘Have you any ideas?’ said Craig.

  Steve stacked up the bundles of money. ‘No, but they’ll wish they’d never got involved when I get my hands on them. Wait a minute.’ He counted the bundles again, frowned after a moment. ‘Ryder said thirty-five grand.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘There’s only twenty-five grand in here.’

  Craig shuffled forward, looked inside the bag as if more would miraculously appear, and then at the bundles of notes. A film of sweat began to develop on his forehead. ‘That’s all I collected, I swear!’

  ‘Don’t take me for a fucking mug.’ Steve made fists of his hands and leaned on the desk. ‘Where’s the rest of it?’

  ‘That’s all there was!’

  ‘You expect me to believe that?’

  ‘I haven’t been in the bag! I wouldn’t do that. I know the risks – plus you paid me good money to collect it.’

  ‘Money I want back. You fucked up on the job. You don’t deserve payment. I want my five grand, too.’

  ‘No, I –’

  ‘You must be on a death wish stealing from Ryder.’

  ‘Do you think I’d be stupid enough to do anything like that right outside my own front door?’ Craig tried to pacify him. ‘I’d be prime fucking suspect with my record.’

  ‘It seems more than a little convenient that you live close by and some of the money goes missing.’

  Steve still didn’t drop his eyes. Craig felt his life depended on a little grovelling.

  ‘When I left, he was breathing, I swear. A beating, you told me: face, body and legs. I know when to stop.’

  ‘What about the flats? You think anyone from there is stupid enough to take it?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Craig felt the sweat begin to pool at the middle of his back. His right eye twitched, the pressure to stop it increasing every second. He wanted to be any place but here in this office, stifled by the threat of violence.

  ‘You know why he was there? Why we chose that meeting place?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He’s knocking off a bird in Harrison House. Maybe you could start by finding out who she is. She might know something.’

  Craig nodded.

  ‘I want it back by this evening, Elliott.’ Steve glared at him. ‘Nine p.m. – no later.’

  ‘But there are police everywhere around the flats!’ Craig stepped forward, a pained expression on his face, ‘I can’t just –’

  ‘Just fucking find it!’ Steve came round the desk and grabbed the collar of Craig’s jacket. He slung him in the direction of the door so hard that he fell to the floor. He kicked him in the stomach. ‘If you don’t have it by this evening, it’s not my feet that I’ll be using on you the next time I see you. You got that?’

  9.20 A.M.

  Craig clutched an arm to his stomach as he sat waiting for the traffic lights to change at Limekiln Bank. All he’d had to do was give Jordan a good beating, Steve had said. Make it enough to put him in hospital for a week or so, off his feet for a few more. He’d wanted to make a quick buck. And fighting for him was easy money. Everyone knew he was a thug. But he wasn’t a killer.

  His car had been given a quick once-over while he’d been at Car Wash City and the bat disposed of so it was safe to take it home now. He parked on Ford Green Road, noticing a few more neighbours’ vehicles nearby. For a moment he sat looking across at Harrison House, wondering whether anyone there knew anything.

  Had someone come across Jordan, seen the money nearby and run off with the stash? And if so, why only ten grand of it? Or had someone killed Jordan because they knew he would have a bag full of money, and then taken some of it from him?

  Another thought crossed his mind. Could Jordan have taken some of the money himself? Maybe he had conned them all.

  And what of the mystery woman that Jordan was knocking off from here? He went through a list of possibilities as to who it might be. She’d probably be quite young, definitely good-looking and maybe a little bit classy – which ruled out half the women in the flats. The other half would be too old, were single with kids or had partners, although that hadn’t stopped some of them from straying.

  One thing he knew for certain was that it wouldn’t be anything to do with Stella. There was no way someone like Jordan would look at his wife – even he found her repulsive at times. She hardly wore any makeup – most days she would slob around the house pretending not to stuff her face on titbits as she was on this latest diet fad, rather than get off her arse and do some exercise to keep everything working. And her job in the local chippie didn’t do her any favours at all. But she was always good for an alibi. And she had a nose for gossip.

  He and Stella had lived at Harrison House for the past eight years. Between them they knew most of the tenants. Staring at the windows now, he crossed off the ones that didn’t fit the bill. He ignored a lot of the families and couples. Discounting Stella, that left two women he could think of. Leah, the dozy bitch who was Stella’s best friend, and that posh bird who had moved in next door a few months ago. He knew where he was hedging his money. And he knew just the person to ask to find out.

  9.30 A.M.

  Craig kept his head down as he made his way back to the flat. Near to the path they had cordoned off with crime scene tape, he saw Stella. If he threw her a line, she would go fishing for him.

  He strode over to her. ‘I want a word with you.’ He grabbed her arm and marched her away from the crowd. Out of ear range, he turned to face her. ‘What have you heard?’

  ‘Not a lot.’ Stella shook her head, pulling her arm free. ‘The police won’t say who it is.’

  ‘Who found him?’

  ‘Rita Pritchard. She was taking that mutt of hers out for –’

  ‘Has anyone questioned you yet?’

  ‘Only while I was here. They said they’d be coming to see us both together though.’

  He nodded. ‘Let me know if a
nything else happens.’

  But Stella wouldn’t let it rest. ‘Why all the interest?’ she asked.

  Craig glanced around furtively to make sure that no one was near enough to hear him. ‘It’s Jordan Johnson.’

  Stella’s hand shot to her mouth and her eyes widened. ‘Shit.’

  ‘Keep it shut for now.’ He pointed at her, inches away from her face. ‘I’ll know if you’ve said anything.’

  ‘You can trust me.’

  Craig glared at her for a moment, feeling her crumbling under his gaze.

  ‘Rumour has it that he was knocking off someone in the flats.’

  ‘No way!’ Stella’s eyes widened again.

  ‘Find out what you can and tell me as soon as you hear something.’

  ‘Okay.’

  He let her go and jogged up the stairs, past several neighbours and a few uniformed officers knocking on the ground floor properties. Once inside the flat, he flopped into the armchair and held his head in his hands. All at once the enormity of how much trouble he was in came crashing down around him.

  If he didn’t get the missing money back, it was a question of who would come after him first – Steve Burgess, Ryan Johnson or someone sent by Terry Ryder.

  He’d have to play safe, use his contacts, wait for the police to do their stuff and then go out once it was dark. He could use his charm, try out his persuasive tactics. Better still, he could use his fists.

  At least he was good at something.

  Steve knew his next visitor wasn’t going to be so easy to pacify. Craig had been gone less than twenty minutes when Ryan arrived. The door reverberated off the wall as he pushed it open with force.

  Steve came round the desk towards him. ‘Ryan, I’m sorry. I’m –’

  ‘I’ve just been consoling my mother – organising a fucking funeral!’ Ryan tore across the room. ‘I told you to warn him off, not fucking kill him!’

  ‘Keep your voice down!’ Steve held up his hands, noticing some of the lads looking round at the sound of raised voices again. He closed the door behind Ryan. ‘I didn’t have him killed. You know it wasn’t part of the deal.’

  ‘Someone stuck a knife in him, and when I’m finished with whoever it was, they’re going to get the favour returned.’

  ‘Believe me, I’ll find out who did it.’ Steve rested a hand on Ryan’s shoulder. ‘But we have another problem. There was only twenty-five grand in the bag.’

  ‘I packed that bag myself.’ Ryan eyed him suspiciously. ‘There was thirty-five grand in it.’

  Steve picked up the holdall and unzipped it. ‘Does it look like it’s all in there?’

  Ryan stretched the opening with his hands and looked inside. ‘There was thirty-five.’ He frowned. ‘Who did the job?’

  ‘Elliott.’

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake.’ Ryan kicked out at the leg of the desk.

  ‘He says he didn’t stab Jordan. He beat him up, just like we planned – just like he was paid to do – and then he legged it with the bag.’

  ‘And he didn’t count the money after he’d picked it up?’ Ryan stared at him incredulously.

  Steve raised his eyebrows. ‘Would you have stood in the middle of that path and counted it out?’

  ‘I would have counted it when it was safe!’

  Steve shook his head. ‘If he does have it, his days are numbered. If he’s given it to someone else to keep safe until this has blown over, I want it back first and then I’ll deal with Elliott. Or maybe someone did take it. Either way, he’s in a lot of fucking trouble.’

  ‘What’s he doing now?’

  ‘I’ve told him to put out feelers.’

  Ryan’s hands clenched into fists and he stepped closer to him. His eyes were dark, a vein popping in his temple. ‘I trusted you to do a job.’

  ‘I did the job!’

  ‘You didn’t do it very well!’

  Steve folded his arms, wondered if what he was about to say was a good idea or not. But he had to know.

  ‘How are you so certain that your little brother didn’t siphon some of it for himself?’

  ‘You bastard!’ Ryan threw a punch, catching Steve on the chin. ‘You killed my brother and now you’re trying to fool me into thinking he stole the money, too?’

  Steve stepped back and raised his hands in the air. ‘Calm down and think rationally, will you?’

  ‘My brother’s dead!’

  ‘How long have we worked together? Do you really think I’d be double-crossing you after all this time? We’re friends, Ryan. I have your back.’

  ‘Jordan had my back.’

  ‘Really?’ Steve raised his eyebrows. ‘You’re so certain of that?’

  Ryan paused for a fraction. ‘He had my back.’

  Sensing the younger man was calming down a little, Steve continued. ‘The woman he was knocking off . . . It wouldn’t be anything to do with her?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Do you know her?’

  Ryan shook his head.

  Steve thought for a moment. ‘Well if you don’t have the money and I don’t have the money, then who the hell does?’

  9.45 A.M.

  Ryan screeched off the forecourt of Car Wash City. There was no way he was giving Burgess the name of the woman whom Jordan had been seeing. If she had no involvement in his murder, he didn’t want to hurt his mother if anything untoward came out. Betty wouldn’t want to know that he’d been disloyal, even if she didn’t know the true nature of Jordan and Kirstie’s relationship. She was still getting over the break-up of Jordan’s marriage. Besides, he needed to check with her – this Sophie Nicklin – to see if she knew anything.

  He drove down King Street, thankful of the traffic that would keep his speed down. What had Burgess been thinking? He would never have trusted Elliott to do the job. Or was this part of the plan for something to go wrong?

  He didn’t trust Steve – had never liked the man, just tolerated him because of who he was. The money had been arranged to do a bigger job, one that he was certain would hold him in good stead if it happened. Would it be pulled off now or would the heat of the police around Jordan’s death mean that it would be put on hold? He hoped to God it wouldn’t. He wanted rid of Kirstie as much as he had known his brother had.

  Yet, despite his brother’s death, it left Flynn’s nightclub solely in his hands now come the end of March. He’d take great pleasure in sacking Burgess. He’d even enjoy throwing him off the premises. Burgess had always seemed like an undercurrent threat to him, as if he had been sent to keep an eye on him and Jordan as well as be a father figure to Kirstie. He’d often wondered why Terry hadn’t sent him in to do the job that Jordan had done. Maybe it was an age thing to keep Kirstie happy. But then again, Kirstie knew when to toe the line. Ryder always put people in their places, family or not.

  10.00 A.M.

  When Leah woke up, she knew by the pain in her head when she moved that she wouldn’t be able to recall what time she’d got in the night before – couldn’t even remember getting home. Still it had been good to let off steam after the crap week she’d had. Her supervisor had hauled her into the office last night and put her on written warning after being late again. One more mark-down and she’d be out of a job. Well, that had certainly put her in a good mood for the rest of the week. It wasn’t even as if she had a great job. She worked in a restaurant – it was a ten-a-penny role. But it was a position that she needed. She was up to her eyes in debt, plus she owed Kenny Webb so much money that she had to look over her shoulder every time she went out the door.

  By her side, her phone beeped an incoming message. It was from her friend, Stella.

  Wake up sleepyhead. I’ll be along in ten minutes. Something BIG is going down! Sx.

  Leah sighed. The only thing she was interested in getting down was something that
would stop the nausea rolling over her every time she moved. She pulled the covers back and sat on the edge of the bed, head in hands. Her forehead was clammy. Christ, she must have been wasted last night. She tried to think who she had seen; sometimes that would trigger a memory. She hated it when she blacked out. She could have done anything, and with anyone. Still, at least she was in her own bed. That was definitely an added bonus after some of the places she’d woken up in lately.

  Yet again, she wished she were in a stable relationship. The longest she’d been with a fella so far was two years and that had finished because she’d been giving more violence out than she’d been getting back. It had scared her, the loss of control on her part, so she’d got out. It had also left her lonely and, at twenty-seven, all she wanted to do now was find someone to love, maybe start a family, erase the memory of so many one-night stands. But what man in his right mind would want a woman like her?

  She glanced around the chaos in the room, the floor strewn with size ten clothes and size six shoes, discarded from the night before. Her makeup bag, hair straighteners and paraphernalia dropped where she’d last used them on the floor by the window. Her knickers curled up where she had stepped out of them. Yeah, Leah Matthews, she chastised, you really are quite some catch.

  As she stood up, she noticed a bag on the floor. It was black with a white trim, a drawstring for a handle, the type you could throw over your shoulder if you were going to the gym or swimming. She frowned, trying to think where it had come from. It certainly wasn’t hers, and it hadn’t been there when she’d left the flat the night before.

  Had someone come home with her last night?

  ‘Hello?’ She felt stupid saying it as she crept along the hallway that linked every room: the tiny kitchen squeezed into one corner, the living room, a bathroom that had seen better years and two small bedrooms. But she was alone. There wasn’t a strapping hunk wearing next to nothing, preparing a bacon buttie before bringing it to her in bed. There wasn’t even a fat hungover bloke, which was what she normally woke up next to on mornings like this one.