by Mel Sherratt
‘Your gut reaction is the same as mine.’ Allie grabbed a bottle of water from an open fridge. ‘As well as that, if Kirstie Ryder is strong enough to lash out at Jordan and it takes three men to pull her off him, maybe she could have followed him to Harrison House, taken him by surprise?’
‘With a bat and a knife?’ Perry grimaced.
Allie shrugged. ‘Like father, like daughter?’
‘But her alibi checks out so it can’t be that.’
‘Her alibi is the victim’s brother. They could easily be covering for each other.’ Allie nodded. ‘As far as I’m concerned, I wouldn’t trust her any more than I trusted her father.’
As soon as the words ‘Rebecca Adams’ had fallen from her lips, Sophie had been kicking herself. What on earth had possessed her to lie? The police were bound to find out and then they’d want to know why she’d said it. She might even be arrested for obstructing their enquiries! But it had been the only thing she could think of to stop them from linking her to Kirstie Ryder. If she found out, Jordan’s reputation could be in ruins. She seemed the type to want revenge.
Who would kill him? Had Kirstie found out and attacked him in revenge? Surely not. Maybe someone else had been waiting for him because they knew he was coming to visit her? Even if it were a random attack, she would never forgive herself for causing his death. Not only had she lost the man she loved, but he had been killed – murdered – right outside where she lived. It would be too painful to see that every day.
She pressed a button on her phone. Tears pricked her eyes as the selfie Jordan had taken of them flashed up. She ran a finger over the image. Jordan had taken it when they’d been sitting up in bed. Nothing sultry: they were naked but only their shoulders were showing. She was tucked underneath his arm; he had a look on his face that made her heart burn with love. Her long hair was bed-messy, falling over the chest that she’d loved to run her hand over, feeling coarse hairs prickling against her palm.
Just as quickly, she turned it off. She couldn’t look at his face right now. It was too raw. Instead, she took her place behind the curtain again, looking down across the car park. People were still milling around. A group of photographers had set up in a huddle in the far background. Sophie could make out the logos of the local newspaper and radio stations on the sides of vehicles. There were police everywhere, too. Over the past couple of hours she had seen more and more officers arrive and knew it would only be a matter of time before they questioned her again, put two and two together as to who she really was.
In amongst a group of people, she could still see Stella flitting around. Now if anyone could get the gossip to confirm it was Jordan, it would be her. Stella would be the one to go to, to see what was going on. But she couldn’t bring herself to go down there. She didn’t want to be anywhere near the police. And what if Stella said her name and they heard it and realised she wasn’t Rebecca Adams after all?
But then her thoughts turned to Jordan again. She didn’t want to go downstairs because she would see where it had happened, be closer to the gossip about his death. And while she was here, in her flat, she could live in denial.
She cast her mind back to what the police had asked her about. She hadn’t seen anyone coming into the building when she’d been watching earlier that morning. They couldn’t suspect her, though. She wasn’t the only one with dark hair. There was Stella, for instance. She wondered if the police had questioned her yet.
And then there was Stella’s horrible friend, Leah. Sophie doubted it would be Stella getting back in alone at that time of morning because Jordan had said that her husband wasn’t very nice and would probably go mad. She wouldn’t put it past Leah, though. She was always going out and coming home drunk, making lots of noise. Jordan used to bump into her all the time.
Would it be her? Could Leah have something to do with Jordan’s death?
Feeling like her heart would break, she hugged herself, trying to stop the shivering panic building up again. Tears poured down her face and neck and she did nothing to wipe them away.
She would have to move. She’d never be able to look out of the window, go out of her front door, walk down that pathway ever again without imagining him lying on the grass, bleeding to death, looking over at her flat where she slept, oblivious.
Once Stella had gone downstairs, she’d been caught up in the goings-on and it had been an hour before she’d managed to nip back upstairs. She went to check on Leah, but she was stopped in her tracks by a phone call from her friend Sophie, saying she needed to see her urgently. She hot-footed back the way she had come and knocked on the door of the flat next to hers.
When Sophie answered, Stella stared at her in surprise. Used to seeing her made up and always looking smart, she was shocked to see that Sophie was still in her pyjamas. Her hair wasn’t a mess but it hadn’t been straightened as usual, and her face was devoid of makeup, a ball of red blotches and swollen eyes.
‘Jeez, Soph, what’s wrong? You look like death warmed up.’
Sophie burst into tears. ‘I . . . I –’
Stella bustled them both inside. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked once they were sitting down on the settee.
Sophie composed herself enough to speak. ‘That man – that man who was attacked last night.’ Her face crumpled again as she looked at Stella. ‘If it’s who I think it is, I was having an affair with him.’
‘You mean Jordan Johnson?’
Stella saw Sophie freeze.
‘How do you know his name?’ Sophie asked.
Stella raised her eyebrows. ‘I make it my job to find out. How long have you been seeing him?’
‘Six months.’
Stella gasped. ‘But he’s seeing Kirstie Ryder!’
‘It’s not what you think. He isn’t one of those men who tells me he’s going to leave his wife and never will. I knew what I was getting into from the beginning.’
‘Did you meet him at Flynn’s?’
Sophie nodded. ‘He comes to see me when Flynn’s closes – always late at night. No one knows we’re seeing each other.’ She glanced at Stella. ‘You can’t tell anyone. Anyone. Do you hear?’
‘Oh, I won’t tell a soul.’ Stella mentally crossed her fingers behind her back. This information was too valuable to keep to herself.
1.30 P.M.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ Leah grabbed Stella and pulled her into the flat, shutting the door behind her quickly. ‘You’ve been gone for ages.’
‘I’ve been trying to find things out for you,’ Stella fibbed. ‘And we’ve been interviewed by the police. Have they been to see you yet?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did they mention seeing a woman with dark hair coming in to Harrison House this morning?’
Leah nodded.
‘They did to us too. I can’t for a moment understand why they would think it might have been me.’
‘It could have been.’
‘I know that, but I also know that it wasn’t. It was you.’
‘You didn’t land me in it, did you?’ Leah’s shoulders drooped.
Stella put up a hand. ‘Don’t worry, I steered them well clear. You do still have the money, though?’
‘What do you think I’m going to do with it? Give it away to the Red Cross? Hide it up my jumper?’
‘There’s no need to be sarcastic.’
‘I don’t know what else to do with it but keep it here.’ Leah sat down with a thump. ‘I have to give it back, don’t I?’
‘No, you can’t! Not now. They’ll want to know why you didn’t do it straightaway. It will look more dishonest.’
‘But what if they come and search the flat?’
‘I told you, they can’t do that without a reason or a warrant.’
‘I bet they have ways and means.’
Stella moved over to the kitchen area. ‘T
ea?’
‘No, I don’t want bloody tea!’ Leah exclaimed. ‘Did you find anything else out?’
‘Not much more than we already know.’
‘And it’s definitely him – one of the Johnson brothers?’
‘Yes, but you mustn’t tell Craig that I told you his name. You promised.’
‘I know.’
Stella paused. ‘He was with Jordan last night. He went to a party at Flynn’s.’
Leah wasn’t listening. ‘It could have been anyone.’
‘At that time in the morning?’
Leah stopped for a moment, wondering whether to say what was on her mind. She blurted it out anyway.
‘It could be your friend, Sophie.’
‘Why do you say that? She hardly ever goes out.’ Stella stopped short.
‘She’s the same build as me and she has long dark hair.’ Leah paused again. ‘We could make out that it was her.’
Stella recoiled. ‘To get the police off your back, you mean?’
‘No! But we could at least talk to her.’
‘I already have.’ Stella’s eyes darted around the room before landing on hers again. ‘I know it wasn’t her.’
‘When? And why couldn’t it have been her?’
Stella stared at her pointedly. ‘Promise you won’t tell anyone I’ve told you this.’
Leah looked at her blankly. ‘Who the hell would I tell?’
Stella relayed her conversation with Sophie.
Leah shook her head in incredulity. ‘I thought she was a right goody two-shoes. Never had it down for her being a home-wrecker.’
‘Well, ordinarily yes, but messing with Kirstie Ryder?’ Stella gave a shudder.
‘Come to think of it, I’ve seen him here a few times.’
‘I haven’t.’
‘You’re not out as late as I am. It’s when I’ve been coming home.’ Leah sat with her head in her hands. ‘I should have just handed the money in.’
Stella sat down beside her and put an arm around her shoulder. ‘I think the best thing is to keep quiet and act normal for now.’
‘But you don’t have a bag of money! And –’
‘If we stay one step ahead of everyone, then we can sort this out.’
‘We?’
‘You do want my help to keep it quiet, don’t you?’
Leah laughed inwardly so as not to annoy her friend. Stella had never kept quiet about anything in her life. But she did need to trust her with this.
‘If you say anything to the police, you know what people are like,’ Stella added. ‘They’ll point their fingers at you regardless, and then everyone will know you’re a thief. Mud sticks around here.’
‘Well, Sophie’s in the wrong, too.’ Leah knew she sounded like a spoilt child but she hated that Stella seemed excited.
‘That’s completely different from what you’ve done!’
‘You see!’ Leah stood up quickly. ‘I’m giving it back.’
‘No!’ Stella stood up too. ‘Just hide it and then we’ll see what happens later.’
‘Okay. I suppose I could take it to my mum’s.’
At the station, Allie was walking up the stairs with Perry to their office when her phone rang.
‘It’s Mark,’ she told him. ‘I’ll catch you in a moment.’ When he’d gone ahead, she answered the phone. ‘Hey.’
‘Hey.’
‘How is she?’
‘No change. They said the results of the tests should definitely be back tomorrow though.’
‘And how’s work?’ Allie didn’t want to hear anything about the tests yet. Oblivion was her best option at the moment.
‘It’s not as hectic as yours. No one has committed a murder – well, not yet, anyway.’
Allie smiled as she pushed on the door to her office. An open plan space was crammed with desks in twos and threes, officers at some of the computers. At the far end she could see Sam over at the whiteboard.
‘I have to go. I’ll catch you later.’
‘Okay, I’d better go too – they’re calling me to a meeting. Stay safe. You’re still with your bodyguard?’
Allie laughed and said goodbye to him. Then just as quickly, she sighed. She had disconnected the phone before she’d told him that she had been at Ryder’s house again. She knew he wasn’t going to be happy. If she mentioned his name at home, Mark’s shoulders always rose and his face darkened. But she had to tell him before the press conference that afternoon. After all that had happened last time with Ryder, he’d be angry if he thought she was holding it back from him.
Sam was writing in black marker pen on the board as she got to her. She handed her the disc.
‘Thanks.’ Sam turned to her. ‘How are you?’
‘Good.’ Allie smiled at her friend. ‘Everything’s good at the moment. Steady. Stable. Holding on.’
‘Good,’ Sam repeated and gave her arm a squeeze. ‘What have you got?’
‘CCTV from Flynn’s nightclub last night. Can you check it from nine p.m. onwards, please? Log who goes in and out of the private room for me?’
‘Will do. Coffee?’
‘Gagging for one.’
Allie sat down at her desk, keen to grab a bite to eat. Perry was already tucking into his sandwich.
Minutes later, Sam plonked a mug down next to her.
‘You’re an angel.’ Allie pointed to a small package. ‘Cheese and onion bap for you.’
‘Ooh, thanks. So how did your big reunion with Kirstie Ryder go?’
‘She was very welcoming. Said she didn’t want me in her fucking house.’
Sam smirked. ‘Was it weird being there again?’
Sam and Perry had worked with Allie on the investigation into the murder of Steph Ryder and knew a bit about her demons around Terry Ryder. They’d both been at the funeral when Ryder had been arrested and had seen how Kirstie had reacted to her afterwards, screeching in front of everyone that it was all Allie’s fault, that she had it in for her family. That she had been out to get her father for years and that it was common knowledge.
She’d blamed Allie for stitching up her boyfriend too, reassuring everyone who would listen that he was a loving, charming man and not the murderer he had been made out to be. All lies, of course – the said boyfriend, Lee Kennedy, had kidnapped Kirstie and tied her up for a short while.
‘Yes, it felt as if Ryder was about to come back through the door again,’ she said. ‘As if he was still there, you know?’
‘He practically thinks he still is. Lots of people seem to be working for him on the outside. Did you learn anything new?’
‘Yeah, there are too many bloody flats at Harrison House,’ Perry joined in. ‘Glad I’m not in uniform and having to collate all the actions afterwards.’
‘That’ll be me here until midnight then,’ Sam sighed.
‘We’ll get help if necessary,’ Allie soothed.
‘Speaking of which, uniform have found Jordan’s car,’ she added. ‘It was parked in Sparrow Street, a few minutes’ walk from the flats. Residents questioned there say that it was a regular sighting.’ Sam clicked her mouse a few times. ‘Oh, Jordan’s phone records are just back.’
‘Who was the last person to contact him?’ asked Allie, wiping crumbs from her mouth with a napkin.
‘Miss Sophie Nicklin, flat 210, Harrison House. A text message.’
‘Flat 210?’ Allie looked at Perry. ‘That’s where Rebecca Adams lives. We went to see her earlier.’
‘She was one of the women with dark hair who we spoke to,’ confirmed Perry.
‘There are tons of calls and text messages to that number, mostly in the early hours of the mornings,’ Sam continued, eyes flicking over the screen. ‘All late at night, and text messages during the day.’
‘Did she s
ay she lived alone or did she have a flatmate?’
Perry looked through his notebook. ‘I thought she lived alone.’
‘Me too.’ Allie took a gulp of her drink. ‘We’ll go to see her next, find out why she gave us a false name. Sam, let Nick know, will you?’
2.00 P.M.
As Ryan turned his car into Malcolm Parade, Kirstie was reminded of where she used to live on the Marshall Estate. Uniform semi-detached houses lined up in a row, postage-stamp sized front gardens, drives for one car, hardly room for any garages. Miserable-looking at this time of year with its dark nights and mornings, dreary grey days and winter weather.
She’d been a teenager when she’d left all her friends behind to live in The Gables. The property had wowed her, especially the size of her bedroom, but in some ways life had been much simpler before. For starters, Mum hadn’t been drinking as much and they had got on fairly well. Maybe if they had stayed on the estate, Mum might still be alive today.
She spotted a tabby cat sitting on a windowsill as they drove along to number 46, Ryan’s family home. Already she was dreading the game playing. So far, the brothers’ mum, Betty, had not cottoned on that she and Jordan hadn’t really been able to stand the sight of each other for the past year or so. Kirstie had been rehearsing what to say all morning: how she was going to miss Jordan, how much she loved him, how she would never get over losing him this way, blah, blah, blah. It was all about keeping up appearances; she hoped she could still convince Betty that she and Jordan had been very much in love. What would happen if she slipped up now that it came to it?
Ryan and Jordan were Betty’s only children. Ryan’s father, Clive, had died several years back now so Kirstie had never met him. She found his mother suffocating, to say the least, and she seemed so old. But even though she would never admit it to anyone, she did enjoy their family get-togethers, although it did make it awkward when Ryan and Nicole had separated. Ryan’s children had been annoyed at the separation too – both were teenagers who threw more tantrums than she did. Kirstie hoped they wouldn’t be there now.