by Mel Sherratt
‘So you haven’t seen the knife before?’
‘I hadn’t seen any of it before. The hole in the wall, the metal box, the money. And I certainly don’t know anything about a knife with blood on it. Is it Jordan’s blood on the blade?’
‘We’re running tests on it at the moment.’ Nick ran a hand over his chin. ‘Do you have any idea how it would have got there if the blood does turn out to be a match?’
‘If it does turn out to be a match, then someone close to me is in very serious trouble.’
Nick met his gaze.
‘I didn’t put it there,’ Ryan elaborated.
‘Did Kirstie ever tell you what happened with her mother and father?’
‘I knew already.’
‘Yet you chose to go and stay at the house of a known murderer?’
‘I see no danger in it. He’s not there.’
‘You’re very trusting.’
‘Is that a crime now?’
‘Not at all.’ Nick shook his head. ‘So, to clarify, you don’t know anything about the secret compartments?’
‘No.’
‘You don’t know anything about the knife and whose blood is on it?’
‘No.’
‘Or how it got to be at the house?’
‘No.’ Ryan folded his arms.
‘And you’re saying the money is nothing to do with you and that we won’t find your prints on it anywhere?’
Ryan shifted in his seat. ‘If my prints are on it, it’s been planted by someone.’
‘Oh?’
‘I run Flynn’s nightclub with my brother – or rather, I did. It’s possible that the bundles may have come from there.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘I’m just saying that I handle money often so it would be quite easy to get my prints on notes and set me up.’
‘So, one last time, Mr Johnson, where were you between one a.m. and four a.m. yesterday morning?’ said Nick.
‘I was at home. But you already know that, Inspector, as you’ve asked me before.’
Allie sat across the table from Kirstie in an interview suite, Perry by her side. As soon as she’d arrived at the station, Kirstie had arranged legal representation, and Ed Woodgate, a solicitor in a three-piece suit with slicked-back hair and round rimless glasses, had appeared in less than thirty minutes.
Even at this late hour, Allie was ready for the challenge of breaking Kirstie’s spirit. Kirstie had denied all knowledge of the money and the knife, yet Allie was convinced she had something to do with the murder of Jordan Johnson. There was too much similarity between that and what had happened back in 2011. She wondered how long it would take for a match to come back to the body and the weapon. Dave Barnett had come in to start off the procedure, then left again, saying he’d get a few hours’ sleep and come in early the next morning, push it to the top of his list of high priorities.
Allie went through the formalities and began.
‘Kirstie,’ she smiled politely at the woman sitting across from her, ‘can you just go over again for me where you were between one a.m. and four a.m. this morning, please?’
‘I was exactly where I told you I was when you asked me earlier.’
‘Remind me.’
‘I was in bed at home.’
‘Can anyone verify that?’
‘Yes and no. Ryan was home too, but he wasn’t in my bed.’
‘Weren’t you worried about Jordan after you’d fallen out?’
‘Why should I be when he was off seeing that tart?’
‘How do you know that?’
Kirstie tutted. ‘I don’t know for certain. I’m just using my detective skills – you should try it some time.’
Allie raised her eyebrows. She could feel Kirstie’s stare burning into her, as if she was trying to penetrate her soul, but she wouldn’t look away.
‘The woman you’re referring to – is it Sophie Nicklin?’
‘Well, I’ve only just found out her name but, yes, it seems he was with her. And he was found outside where she lives so he must have visited her, or was about to. You have questioned her too, I hope?’
Allie ignored her. ‘Do you get on with Ryan, Kirstie?’
‘He’s okay.’ Kirstie shrugged. ‘He’s a mean bastard, though.’
‘You took a shine to him when he came to stay with you, is that right?’
Kirstie clapped her hands slowly. ‘Oh, you’ve worked it out. Well done. Yes, I’ve been seeing Ryan since the month after he moved in.’
‘Did Jordan know?’
‘Yes.’
‘And he didn’t mind?’
‘Why should he?’ Kirstie shrugged.
‘So you were sleeping with both of them?’ Allie tried to look surprised but found that she couldn’t.
‘I was indeed.’ Kirstie curled back her fingers on one hand and looked at her nails. ‘I obviously have the touch.’
‘Didn’t it make either of them jealous?’
‘Nope.’
‘Really?’ Allie stuck out her bottom lip. ‘Both sleeping with a good-looking woman like you? I would have thought that might cause a little friction.’
Kirstie shook her head. ‘Ryan and Jordan couldn’t stand each other. They were always arguing.’
‘No brotherly love lost, then.’ Allie smiled.
‘If you say so.’ Kirstie folded her arms and sat back in her chair. The room was silent for a while.
‘Tell me about the money and the knife,’ Allie continued.
Kirstie shook her head. ‘I’ve never seen them before in my life.’
‘You honestly expect me to believe that?’ Allie couldn’t help but snigger. ‘We go straight into a room that you allow us to look around and find them in a secret compartment at the back of the wardrobe? The exact same place we found a knife three years ago with another murder victim’s blood all over it?’
Kirstie stared at Allie, the atmosphere becoming electric. Silence again. Then Kirstie sat forward.
‘What really did happen between you and my father?’ she glared at Allie. ‘I heard you were the bitch that got away. What does that mean?’
‘Answer the question, Kirstie.’
‘No, really, I have no idea. You obviously have the same allure as I have with men.’
‘Hardly.’
‘Don’t they all find you irresistible?’
Ed Woodgate coughed to get her attention, shaking his head when Kirstie caught his eye.
‘This is about you, not me.’ Allie wouldn’t be drawn, although she wanted to lean across the table and slap Kirstie hard. ‘So you’re saying you have no idea how the knife or the money got into the back of your wardrobe?’
‘I’m saying exactly that.’
‘Someone put them there.’
‘Well, it wasn’t me.’
‘Did Ryan know about the compartments?’
‘Of course.’
‘So he could have put the items there?’
‘Now you’re getting it.’ Kirstie smiled.
Allie fumed inwardly. Oh, she was getting it, all right. She was naffed off with every word that Kirstie said.
February 6, 2015
12.30 A.M.
Back in her cell after her interview, Kirstie sat in the corner of the small room, knees drawn up and her arms wrapped tightly around them. She rested her chin on her kneecaps to stop her bottom lip from trembling. Despite her bravado in the interview, the truth was she was terrified. It was her first time in a police cell. She didn’t like feeling caged in, alone, vulnerable. Hearing people yelling obscenities and banging on walls, doors clanking, keys jangling. She hoped to God she wouldn’t have to get used to it any time soon.
The lights were on low, and she’d covered her legs in a blanket she’d been provided with but sh
e knew she wouldn’t get any sleep. She didn’t like knowing that the police wanted her to trip up, were waiting for her to make a mistake. Despite her distress, she knew she was in good hands with Ed Woodgate. He was a good solicitor, kept on the payroll for this type of thing. But she couldn’t help wondering what else the police would find.
In reality, she still didn’t quite know who was doing what for her father on the outside. She knew money was being moved around. She knew there were some dodgy dealings but she never saw any of it. Steve Burgess had looked after that side of things and she’d been glad of it.
Because Kirstie was alone and vulnerable, people had used her to get back at her father. But she was on her own for sure now. She would try not to crack under the pressure but if she did, she was going to act like a Ryder to the very end, no matter what the outcome.
2.00 A.M.
Allie was home at last. It was quiet, eerie even, as she retrieved her belongings from the back seat of the car; the only noise coming from a white van that had driven past and parked further up the street, its engine ticking over, its occupants probably saying goodbye. Drained and emotional, she tiptoed upstairs, desperate to see Mark. She opened the bedroom door, saw his familiar shape, his chest rising and dropping as he lay with his arms above his head, and closed it again quietly. She didn’t have the heart to wake him. What was the point going to bed anyway? She knew she would be restless and up again in a few hours. It wasn’t fair to disturb him.
In the kitchen, she made a quick sandwich and took it through to the living room. She was starving, hadn’t eaten anything substantial since lunchtime.
It was nearly twenty-four hours since she’d taken the call about the murder. Never in her wildest dreams did she think she would be visiting The Gables so soon.
Kirstie Ryder – she shuddered as she remembered the look she had given her across the interview room. Those eyes, as cold and as deceiving as her father’s, trying to read her every thought. And now all she could think about was Terry. She was so nervous about seeing him again, especially with Nick by her side. She’d have to be careful what she said, ignore him, try not to rise to his bait. Because she had been foolish on the night she’d gone to visit him alone. It had been irresponsible of her, naive even. It still haunted her all the time.
He could have killed her in an instant.
If he had wanted to.
Going to see him again was like facing her demons straight on. But would the devil eat her alive and spit her out or would she climb out of the flames? She could see herself, three years ago, naive yet intrigued by this man whom everyone seemed to fall for. The women loved his sex appeal, the power he exuded; the men loved the danger of working with him, the lifestyle, the image, the whole caboodle.
Yet in some ways Terry Ryder was no more than the drugged-up layabouts who stood on the street corners of any sink estate, selling his wares, making his money illegally, getting others to do his dirty work so that he could stay out of prison and live the life of Riley. He had lived it up – but she, and her team, had put a stop to it. Just in the nick of time.
They hadn’t got everything yet but with each investigation, they became a little closer. She hoped they would ruin him before he was due out of prison, so that he would have one sentence rolled onto the next and never see the light of day again. At least while he was locked up they had better control of him, even if he did have people on the outside who were prepared to stick their necks out for him.
One day, sure enough, he would slip up.
The living room door opened and Allie was jolted out of her reverie as Mark appeared in the doorway.
‘Hey.’ She smiled as he sat down beside her, feeling herself blushing because she was thinking of Terry again. She leaned over to kiss him. ‘Sorry, did I wake you?’
Mark yawned and ran a hand through his hair. ‘Couldn’t settle without you home.’
‘You were snoring like a trooper when I came in.’
His smile was slight, lazy, but it was there.
‘How’s the case?’
Allie told him all she could, and a little of what she shouldn’t, knowing she could trust him with the details.
‘Tough day,’ he sympathised, pulling her towards him. ‘I really don’t know how you do it.’
‘But you mind a lot, don’t you?’ She nestled in the crook of his arm, flicked her feet up.
‘You work sensible hours most of the time. I suppose I can’t grumble. And I like my own company. I can watch what I want on the TV.’
Allie was glad he couldn’t see her face as her eyes brimmed with tears. ‘I was happy to keep my mind occupied. I’m dreading tomorrow in more ways than one.’
He held her closer for a moment. ‘I think it’s going to be tough all round.’
‘Did they say what time the tests would be back?’
‘They said they’d call when the consultant wanted to see us, save us hanging around. Well, when I say hanging around – they mean sitting for hours on end waiting for him. I gave them my number and asked them to call me first. Would you like me to hear the results and then let you know?’
‘Please, I don’t think I could handle that.’ She squeezed shut her eyes. Why was he always so good to her when she kept so much from him? She decided to come clean, no matter how much he would be hurt.
‘I have to go and see Terry Ryder in the morning,’ she said, sitting up and away from him.
Mark’s eyes had been closing again but they opened wide immediately. ‘In prison, you mean?’
‘Yes. Nick wants to question him about the case and he – he wants me to go with him.’
‘Why are you telling me now?’
She looked at him with so much love she feared she would burst. ‘Three years ago, I didn’t tell you about the first rose that was delivered to Karen. You were angry at the time when I had to see Ryder, when his wife was murdered. I didn’t want you to think . . . I don’t want to keep anything from you.’
The silence that followed became loaded. But she had to accept it, wait for his response.
‘Is there anything else you’re not telling me?’ he said eventually.
She shook her head.
Mark stood up, looked down at her for a moment and held out a hand. ‘It’s late, come to bed.’
She let him pull her up, kept hold of his hand while he turned out the lights, and followed him upstairs. Who knew, indeed, what the day would bring, but she had Mark. That was all she needed.
Fuck Terry Ryder.
She wouldn’t allow him to get under her skin again.
2.30 A.M.
Damn this investigation! He was finding it harder and harder to get near to Allie. Why couldn’t that Johnson fool have been offed next weekend? It would have been much more convenient. This was no job for a grieving woman to be doing.
It had broken his heart to watch her for the two weeks she had sat with her sister every day and night after she had been taken ill. She had barely moved from her side, and the hospital cafe had been a perfect place for him to sit unnoticed and watch the doorway. Allie was too busy, too full of dread and guilt, to notice anyone watching her.
He hadn’t expected her to be up and out of the house so early this morning. It had thrown him at first. Leaving her road after seeing that her car wasn’t parked next to Mark’s, he’d been on his way to the hospital when he’d heard the news on the radio. Someone had been murdered – what terrible timing for her. He’d driven down Ford Green Road, excited to clap eyes on her, parked his car in a side street near to Harrison House and gone to see what was happening.
If Allie was at work, then he assumed that all must be well with Karen. He hadn’t wanted to go inside since he’d left the rose in the box. He couldn’t risk anyone stopping him seeing Allie this late in the game. Karen had been stable for three weeks now, but she could die at any moment.
He wondered if Mark was always happy about the long hours that Allie worked. Having an ambitious wife could go against the grain for some men. Not that he would mind, himself. He’d gladly support Allie if she were his wife. Although he would enjoy the role-play more – she could dress in her uniform and handcuff him to the bed any time that she saw fit. That thought spurred him on tremendously. Not long to wait now.
Looking down at his phone, he paused the video recording of the press conference on the tiny screen, not interested in the slightest in what the lead officer was saying. He ran a finger lightly over Allie’s figure. He had footage of her from the last case she’d worked on too – saved on DVD for him to look at on a 50-inch widescreen HD television. He would transfer this clip onto it when he got home, watch it again and again, put it with the rest. God, she was beautiful. He imagined running his hands through her hair, imagined what was beneath the white shirt and jacket that she wore. Had she ever worn a long coat with no underwear beneath it to tantalise Mark?
On the seat beside him were photos of Allie through the years. He’d followed her career since she’d been a trainee social worker, before she’d joined the police force. Photographed her on numerous occasions, far too many to count. When she was visiting Karen’s that New Year’s Eve. He’d sent the first rose then. When she’d been coming and going to Riverdale Residential home to see Karen, at the funeral of her dad and then her mum. At her house, in every car that she’d owned. Photos of her in the new Subaru she’d picked up just before Christmas.
He’d almost come unstuck when, after hearing about his friend from school going around murdering people he knew last month, he’d become obsessed with Karen again. He’d wanted to know how it would have felt if he hadn’t hit her so hard, if she hadn’t played him along, if she had been willing to let him screw her. He knew she’d wanted it really, no matter how much she had screamed. And that young girl, Chloe Winters, had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. He’d been walking around and saw her. She’d reminded him of Allie with her slim figure and long dark hair, and before he knew it, he’d grabbed her hand and begun to run with her.