Follow the Leader (24 page)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Rhian read the message as soon as it came through. Then again, and again.

‘
Meant what I said. It’s over. Pack up your things.’

How dare he – how fucking dare he! She was the one who had been wronged yet she ended up being thrown out?

She flopped down into the settee, her recent upset turning quickly to fury as she pressed a hand against her split lip and winced. She wasn’t ever going home with her tail between her legs for anyone. And if their relationship was over, then she would seek her revenge first. And she knew exactly how.

Allie received a message to say that Rhian Jamieson had asked to speak to her urgently. She tried to hold in her surprise when the young woman opened the door with a swollen lip and a bruise appearing on her face.

‘What happened?’ she asked as she followed her into the
living
room.

‘Me and Joe had a bit of a disagreement. That’s why I calle
d you.’

‘We have other officers who can deal with this,’ Allie informed her. ‘Sorry to sound harsh but I deal with more serious cases than common assault. I’ll call this in for you and –’

‘It’s to do with one of your cases.’ Rhian moved to stand in front of the window. She turned her back to Allie for a moment and then faced her again. ‘I found some photos that Joe had taken of Suzi Porter. I think he might have been blackmailing her.’

‘Do you have these photos?’

‘No.’ Rhian sighed. ‘That’s what the argument was about, and why he hit me. I found them and wanted to know why he had them. He lashed out and then he left with them.’

‘How do you know he was blackmailing her?’

‘He told me.’

Allie raised her eyebrows inquisitively. ‘And you’d say that in court, would you?’

Rhian wouldn’t look at her.

‘Because that’s what would happen if we looked into this further. We have to have evidence and you know –’

‘I think he’s involved with her murder too!’

Allie sighed. ‘This had better not be a get-your-own-back-on-your-boyfriend conversation, Miss Jamieson.’

‘It isn’t!’

‘So your evidence is?’

‘He has the photos. That’s
your
evidence.’

‘What kind of photos are we talking about?’ Allie moved the conversation on.

‘Well, they weren’t holiday snaps!’

‘Are you talking indecent images?’

Rhian nodded.

‘Of Suzi Porter?’

‘Of
dead
Suzi Porter.’

‘And how is that relevant?’

‘I don’t know!’ Rhian tutted. ‘You’re the detective – you work it out.’

‘If you think that you’re getting one over on Joe by telling me this information,’ Allie took a step towards the door, ‘then I’m going to book you for wasting my time.’

‘There are other things too!’

Allie closed her eyes momentarily. ‘Go on,’ she said when she opened them again.

‘He wasn’t with me watching
The One Show
like he told you.’

‘Like you
both
told me,’ she remarked. ‘Do you know where he was? What time he came in?’

‘He came in about eight and no, I don’t know where he’d been. He wouldn’t tell me – he won’t even tell me now.’ She shrugged. ‘Maybe he’d gone over there after work. And when that other man was killed – that Mickey Flynn?’ Rhian continued. ‘Well, he was out then too.’

‘Could he have been at work then as well?’

‘Well, it was really early.’ Rhian folded her arms. ‘He says he was but how would you know?’

‘Indeed.’

‘He knew them all at school – he used to hang around with Mickey, told me he was thick as thieves with him. I bet he knows that man who’s survived too.’

‘Nathan Whittaker? So where was he when that attack
happened
?’

Rhian looked away sheepishly.

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Rhian.’ Allie turned to leave. ‘Don’t call me again unless you have something that is relevant to the murder of Suzi Porter or I really will arrest you for wasting police time. Do you hear?’

She’d got as far as the door when Rhian shouted.

‘There was blood!’

Allie stopped.

‘That night – he came in and ran upstairs to have a shower. There was blood on the front of his T-shirt. I panicked at first because I thought it was his. But he told me one of the blokes at work had had an accident and that he’d given him first aid. It could have been Suzi’s blood.’

‘And you didn’t think to tell me this before?’

‘Why should I?’

‘Oh, possibly because you’re lying to cover up where he was.’ Allie looked on incredulously. ‘And that you’re now trying to frame him for the murder of his wife.’

‘She’s his ex-wife,’ Rhian corrected.

‘Do you have the T-shirt?’ Allie snapped.

Rhian shook her head. ‘I haven’t been able to find it.’

‘You mean he’s washed it or he’s got rid of it?’

‘I don’t know. It was a plain white one – he’s got loads.’

‘Blood is hard to get out of white items. I’m sure you would have spotted it.’

‘Well, he must have got rid of it, then.’

‘So you have no evidence whatsoever?’

Rhian shook her head.

‘Did Joe hit you?’

‘No, he didn’t.’

‘He
didn’t?’

‘No, I was lying.’ Rhian said. ‘I tripped and fell, landed right on my nose. I’m such a clumsy cow.’

Allie stormed off down the hall and opened the front door.

‘Aren’t you going to check out his office at Car Wash City?’ Rhian shouted after her.

‘I don’t have time to go on a wild goose chase.’

Allie got back into her car and started the engine. Even though she knew Rhian was after making trouble for Joe, she wouldn’t have put it past her to panic and ring him if she thought she might be on her way to see him.

She headed for Car Wash City.

Rhian sat at the breakfast bar, her foot tapping on the side of the stool. Why wouldn’t that woman take her seriously and act on what she had told her?

It had been on the tip of her tongue to spill that she knew more than she was letting on about his past. But for once, she’d been smart enough to keep her mouth shut. She ran upstairs and into the back bedroom. With a big heave, she pushed aside a chest of drawers and dropped to her knees. Catching hold of the carpet, she tugged at it until it gave way from the grippers again and pulled out the envelope that she had slipped underneath. Inside it were two photos she had removed from the batch in the tin.

Joe thought he’d been clever taking all the photos but he’d have to be smarter than that to catch her out. The press would be interested in some of them, she was sure, and they might pay a hefty sum for them too, especially as Suzi was still so prevalent in the news.

She smiled, wincing as her lip split again. If Joe wanted her out, those images might be her insurance.

Patrick sat in The White Cafe in Stoke tucking into a large plate of shepherd’s pie, chips and gravy. With a branch of Potteries Pizza situated in the next street, people were used to him coming in here. Even though he was later today, it was often a stop he’d call at before heading to Morrison’s if he was down that way. Their
breakfasts
were good and cheap too and for the best part would fill him for the rest of the day.

Already, it was full of the regular dossers. Over in the far corner, a man who seemed no more than twenty and in need of a decent bath was trying not to fall asleep in his coffee. Patrick reckoned he was putting off the inevitable, letting the demon spirit invade his veins and head at The Wheatsheaf around the corner. He wondered what the draw to it was. Having a dislike for alcohol after seeing what it had done to Ray, he hadn’t ever been addicted to anything. He hadn’t smoked either – too many memories of cigarettes put out on his bare arms and legs when he was younger.

Belly full, he slid his plate to one side and drank his tea. The tea was good here too. He slurped, couldn’t help himself. Grinned like a five-year-old, so did it again. He picked up his copy of that day’s
Sentinel
and opened it out. He was already splashed all over the front page but inside there was more about what they knew of him, which seemed all speculation.

He read Simon Cole’s name again in the by-line. Patrick was leading on every part of the story now, even though there were no photos of him. He’d quite grown to like Simon over the past two weeks. He seemed to report fairly, always equally, showing both sides of the story.

By the side of a report on a young girl who had been raped earlier that week, most of the letters on page nine were critical but hilarious. People blaming the police for not catching him, accusing them of keeping quiet. He read too of an incident earlier in the week when two blokes who had been in his class at school had attacked each other, both convinced that one or the other was involved.

Patrick was glad people would remember him. He’d stayed invisible for long enough, and now it was time to do the final act. Just like the red herring in a book, his story had the capacity to be explosive or a damp squid. He sniggered to himself. This game of his
was
like writing a novel. Making sure he was one step ahead of the police all the time: twists, plots, an ending to die for. Plus had he not killed most of the victims, had the timing not been right or had something gone wrong at the last minute, such as Nathan Whittaker surviving, then he’d always known he was going to move on to the next victim at the allotted time.
Killing
everyone was his goal but finishing the game on time was his main priority.

He would be all over the newspapers again tomorrow, he was sure. Ray would be too.

Ray had been begging him to visit him in prison for the past couple of years now. But he didn’t fool Patrick with his words of apology. All that talk in those letters about how he wanted forgiveness – he knew it was lies. Fibs to lure him into thinking that everything was okay. Ray would never change: the drink would never let him go. Patrick was certain that if he let him back into his life, the torment would start all over again. What was the saying – a leopard never changes its spots?

Ray hadn’t fooled him. He would never believe him. Never.

When it was time to leave, Patrick folded up the newspaper and left it on the table. He pulled on his woollen hat and headed out of the pub. It was ten past three. He reckoned it would take him a good hour to walk over to Longton. He didn’t want to take the car and he wouldn’t run there as he’d have to run back – he needed to keep his strength for tomorrow.