Good Girl

Good Girl

Mel Sherratt

Copyright

Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

Copyright © Mel Sherratt 2020

Cover design by Henry Steadman © HarperCollinsPublishers 2020

Cover photography of street background © Daniel Ramsay/EyeEm/Getty Images; Figure © Henry Steadman

Mel Sherratt asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008371876

Ebook Edition © October 2020 ISBN: 9780008371883

Version: 2020-11-19

Praise for Mel Sherratt:

‘A terrific read’

Martina Cole

‘An absolute masterpiece. Twisty, turny and full of surprises!’

Angela Marsons

‘Mel Sherratt’s books are as smart and edgy as her heroines’

Cara Hunter

‘Mel Sherratt is the new queen of gritty police procedurals’

C.L. Taylor

‘Twists and turns and delivers a satisfying shot of tension’

Rachel Abbott

‘Heart-stoppingly tense. I love Mel Sherratt’s writing’

Angela Clarke

‘Gripped me from the first page and didn’t let go until the heart-stopping conclusion!’

Robert Bryndza

‘A writer to watch out for’

Mandasue Heller

‘Mel’s vivid imagination really brings her characters to life’

Kerry Wilkinson

‘Mel Sherratt is a unique voice in detective fiction’

Mail on Sunday

Dedication

To Maddy Milburn, thank you for everything.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Praise for Mel Sherratt

Dedication

Wednesday

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Thursday

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Forty

Forty-One

Friday

Forty-Two

Forty-Three

Forty-Four

Forty-Five

Forty-Six

Forty-Seven

Forty-Eight

Forty-Nine

Fifty

Fifty-One

Fifty-Two

Fifty-Three

Fifty-Four

Fifty-Five

Saturday

Fifty-Six

Fifty-Seven

Fifty-Eight

Fifty-Nine

Sixty

Sixty-One

Sixty-Two

Sixty-Three

Sixty-Four

Sixty-Five

Sixty-Six

Sixty-Seven

Sixty-Eight

Sixty-Nine

Seventy

Seventy-One

Seventy-Two

Seventy-Three

Author Note

Acknowledgements

A Letter from Mel

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also in the Grace Allendale series

Other books by Mel Sherratt

About the Publisher

WEDNESDAY

ONE

Sara Ellis glanced at the large pile of ironing beside her and sighed. How did so much accumulate in just a few days? She stood in the middle of the room with the TV on, listening to it more than watching it, while she pressed a pair of jeans.

Coronation Street was playing. She could still remember a time when she’d sat down to watch the soap religiously at half past seven every evening, but now, aged thirty-eight, she often found herself catching up with it after she’d finished everything for the day. Or, in this case, half-watching while ironing at gone nine of an evening.

There was so much to fit in around her full-time job at the solicitors she worked at: the cooking, the housework, and tending to the demands of her two children. Her youngest, Nat, was ten, and her eldest, Erin, sixteen – but still very much a child at times.

Since her ex-husband Rob had walked out on them three years ago, doing everything by herself had been hard. Money was tight, child care made it near on impossible for her to go out and socialise, and she was still reeling from the fact that he had left her for someone younger who had three children of her own. Rob hardly ever came to see his two any more – not that she would argue with him too much about it. It was better for the three of them if they didn’t see him at all. It only caused disruption.

Rob sent maintenance money, though it wasn’t enough – not by a long shot – but it meant Sara and the kids had a roof over their heads, and their home was clean and tidy. They managed as a unit of three, and they were much better off than some families. For starters, they owned their own home, even if she did struggle with the mortgage payments every now and then. Rob had left the house to her, stating it was the least he could do. Well, yes, that would have been true if the home had been paid for. Sara struggled to make the repayments on just her one wage, and she hadn’t been able to take the kids on holiday since Rob had left. But that was all changing soon. She’d booked them a fortnight in Tenerife for next summer; she’d been saving up little by little for a good while and was looking forward to it, despite it being several months away.

A loud banging almost had her jumping out of her skin. Quickly, she switched off the iron and rushed to the window. She popped her head around the curtain, giving her a clear view of the door. It was Erin’s best friend, Molly. Sara looked along the drive but couldn’t see her daughter, which was strange as they mostly came as a pair.

Molly spotted Sara and ran towards the window. ‘Let me in!’ she cried. ‘Please, let me in.’

Erin. Sara raced to the door. On opening it, Molly rushed into her arms, sobbing.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked. ‘Where’s Erin?’

‘She’s … she’s hurt,’ Molly sobbed.

‘What do you mean?’ Gently, she pushed the young girl away from her. ‘Molly, what’s happened?’

Molly held up her hands. It was then Sara noticed they were covered in blood.

‘Where is she?’ Sara demanded.

‘On the walkway. We were coming home and—’

Sara placed her hands on Molly’s shoulders and bent down slightly to look her in the eyes. ‘I need you to stay here while I go to her.’

Sara reached for her phone on the table and made a call to Lucy, Molly’s mum, while she searched out her keys. Sara and Lucy had been friends since school. The Redferns lived eight doors down on the opposite side of the road.

‘Lucy,’ she cried as soon as her friend answered the call. ‘I have Molly with me and she says that Erin is hurt. I need to go to her. No, she hasn’t said. She’s only on the pathway. Will you watch Nat for me? Thanks.’

‘Is she coming right now?’ Molly asked.

‘Yes.’ Sara disconnected the call, noticing the young girl was shivering. ‘She’ll be here in a minute. Stay here and—’

‘I’m coming with you.’

‘No. Please. Stay with Nat and your mum.’

It struck her then that Molly hadn’t told her what had happened. But there was no time for that now. She had to get to her daughter.

She left the door on the latch and ran towards the road. She met Lucy at the pavement.

‘Go,’ Lucy said, rushing past her. ‘And call me as soon as you know.’

Sara ran towards the path that led to the main road. She could hear Molly behind her, found no comfort in it. All she wanted was to see Erin.

The path was well lit as she raced along it. On the ground ahead, near to the grass, she spotted a shadow. As she drew level, she saw it was Erin and dropped to her knees.

‘Erin, love, what’s happened?’

But Erin didn’t respond. Her eyes were glazed over, her skin pale. If it weren’t for the blood, Sara would have said she’d taken some kind of drug. There was so much of it, dark red seeping through her jacket and onto the tarmac. She wiped a hand across Erin’s forehead, crying out when her daughter still didn’t respond. Instinctively, she pulled her into her arms and fumbled to get her phone out of her jacket pocket.

‘Ambulance, please. My daughter – she’s unconscious and covered in blood.’ She gave the details required, all the time cradling her child; trying not to notice how cold she was, not to see the blood on the tarmac in the light of the lamp. By her side, she could hear Molly’s snuffles but she couldn’t take her eyes off Erin.

‘It’s okay,’ she whispered as she stroked Erin’s hair. ‘Help will be here soon. I’ll keep you warm and safe until then. You just stay with me. Do you hear?’

TWO

Detective Sergeant Grace Allendale was sitting on the settee when her mobile rang. At first she thought it might be Teagan, calling for a lift. Simon had collected his daughter from college and the three of them had eaten dinner together before he’d dropped her off at her friend’s house for a couple of hours. As it was half-term, Teagan was staying with them, and going in to work with Simon as she wanted an insight into the running of a newspaper. She was taking a course in media at Stoke-on-Trent College, hoping to be a journalist like her dad, once she’d finished university.

But it wasn’t Teagan on the phone. It was Grace’s DI, Allie Shenton.

‘There’s been a mugging,’ Allie said. ‘A young woman, sixteen, has been stabbed in a walkway off Sampson Street, Baddeley Green. I’m heading up a team. Can you join us to liaise with the family?’

‘Yes, of course. I’m on my way.’ Grace disconnected the call and got straight to her feet, Simon looking over at her sudden movement. She knew his journalistic senses would already be activated. Last month he’d been promoted to crime editor of Stoke News after his boss had retired. Grace had never got on with Phil Thurston – he’d always tried to get one over on her, especially when he’d heard of her relationship to the notorious Steele family.

‘What’s happened?’ Simon asked.

‘A mugging resulting in a stabbing. Female, teenager.’ Grace told him all she could as she pulled on her boots and coat. She grabbed her keys, adrenaline pumping through her. ‘Say goodnight to Teagan for me. I’m sure this is going to be a late one.’

‘Will do, and Grace?’

She was already at the front door but stopped to wait for him to join her. He kissed her. ‘Be careful.’

‘I’m always vigilant, but thanks.’ She gave him a faint smile.

Last month, an officer from their station had been killed in the line of duty. PC David Cunningham had been attending a burglary when he was attacked by one of three men who had gone out with intent. A fatal blow to his head had put him in a coma and all machines were switched off a week later, when there was still no sign of life after tests had been carried out. His killer, a sixteen-year-old, had been remanded into youth custody but that didn’t alter the fact of the matter. An officer hadn’t gone home at the end of his shift.

It had affected them all deeply. When it was one of your own, someone who you saw on a regular basis, it hit you hard. Dave had been a practical joker, always up to something to make the days go by with a smile. He was compassionate and a good officer too, liked by a lot of people out on the streets of Stoke-on-Trent.

Grace gave Simon a hug.

‘I’m going to ring Teagan, tell her to go straight home to her mum,’ he said.

‘So you can come to the scene of the crime?’ Grace knew he would be concerned for his daughter’s safety but equally he’d want to report the case as it happened.

‘Well, I—’

She pressed a finger to his lips. ‘Just keep out of everyone’s way.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ He grinned.

‘I’ll ring you when I can,’ she told him as she climbed into her car.

The incident had happened across the main road from the Bennett Estate, in the north of the city. In her own car, Grace had no means of getting there quickly without the sirens and flashing lights, but the roads at that time were fairly quiet anyway. The October night was clear and dry; a light breeze rustling through the trees.

Grace could see lights on in houses as she drove along Dividy Road. People safe in their beds, mostly out of harm’s way, and here she was going to the stabbing of a sixteen-year-old. It wasn’t going to be easy policing.

At the top of Sampson Street, the cul-de-sac where the path was located, she saw blue lights flashing. Parking as close as she could, she headed towards the crime scene tape, which was already in place across the road. The incident had been reported over the radio waves as she drove and she’d learned that the victim had been taken to the Royal Stoke University Hospital.

She drew level with her colleagues, DS Perry Wright and Allie.

‘Hey,’ Grace said. ‘Any update on the victim?’

‘Erin Ellis,’ Allie said gravely. ‘She’s in a critical way. They were struggling to stabilise her enough for the ambulance to move off.’

Grace shook her head. ‘Do we know what happened?’

‘She was with a friend, Molly Redfern. They were walking home and someone came running up at them, grabbing for Erin’s phone. Molly tried to stop him stealing it but he hit out at her, knocking her backward. Then he pulled out a knife and stabbed Erin in the chest. Molly reckoned it could have been either of them who was attacked.’

‘She doesn’t know the suspect?’

‘Apparently not. She’s not saying much more than that at the moment. She’s with her parents. Can you come with me while I speak to her and get a first statement? I think your skills will be an advantage on this one. Molly is sixteen too. Apparently the girls’ mums are good friends – both families live in this street.’

‘Ouch.’

‘Exactly. She could be either witness or suspect, but we’ll be sympathetic until we know more.’

Grace shuddered involuntarily. A female teenager stabbing another wasn’t unheard of, but she hoped it wouldn’t be what had happened here.

DC Frankie Higgins was a few minutes behind Grace in arriving. ‘How’s the victim?’ he asked when he reached them.

‘We’re waiting to hear,’ Grace said. ‘Can you start house-to-house? Take a few uniforms with you until the search team can coordinate things.’

As Frankie moved off, Grace glanced around Sampson Street. She hadn’t yet attended an incident in any of the properties. From first impressions, they all looked to be privately-owned detached houses, about twenty in a row either side of the road. Mostly, cars were parked in double driveways, hedges were neat and tidy, outside lights shining in welcome. Neighbours were beginning to congregate at the end of their gardens in groups of threes or fours.

The cut-through where their victim had been attacked was off the cul-de-sac at the far end, four houses at its head. Grace could see more crime scene tape across the walkway, officers in uniform and CSIs busy going about their work.

She’d bet her life that no one living here would have ever imagined there’d be a stabbing that evening.

But then again, things like this happened all the time, no matter where she policed. Rich or poor, there would always be something that shocked her as she did her job.

Grace moved to join Allie, who was talking to the search team manager. ‘Anything I can do out here?’

Allie shook her head. ‘This is going to be hard to contain so we have to do all we can to get as much information in the dark tonight. I think it’s all under control here with Perry. You and I can head up to the hospital to talk to Erin’s mum after speaking to Molly.’

‘Yes of course.’ Grace moved aside for two uniformed officers as they passed. ‘Nothing come through about our victim?’

Allie shook her head and Grace sighed. Allie was right. In the morning, they’d be able to dig around a lot more.

They also had to think of the residents of Sampson Street. They deserved their sleep and privacy, because nothing was going to be quiet around here for the foreseeable future.

One act of violence had seen to that.

THREE

While Perry stayed outside to coordinate, Grace and Allie made their way in silence towards the Redferns’ home. Grace had thought that Sampson Street was a row of identical properties but looking closer, she could see each house had something slightly different. One had a porch; the next a window above the garage. The property to her right had a double garage; the one next to that a driveway just big enough to park one vehicle as it had an extra room downstairs.

The houses reminded Grace of where she used to live in Manchester – a community of new-builds, only a decade old at a guesstimate. Here in Stoke, her semi-detached house was a modern box and it had taken her a while to give it a character of its own. Everyone liked to feel individual, she mused.

They squeezed past a parked car in the drive in front of the Redfern home to find the front door ajar. As Allie was about to knock, she spotted a young boy sitting inside at the bottom of the stairs. He was wearing pyjamas with a Superman emblem on the top, and thick red socks on his feet.

‘Hello. Who might you be?’

‘Nat.’ The boy looked to the floor for a moment. ‘She’s dead, isn’t she? My sister, she’s dead.’

‘We haven’t heard from the hospital yet.’ Allie exchanged a look with Grace. ‘But we do know she’s in the best hands with the doctors there.’

He nodded. ‘I couldn’t go in the ambulance so Mum let me stay with Lucy and Phil. Our dad doesn’t live with us any more.’

‘And how old are you, Nat?’

‘I’m ten.’

‘So you’re the man about the house then?’ Grace smiled, trying to put him at ease and hoping he understood her statement.

A man and a woman appeared from the living room. They appeared to be in their late thirties. The woman had long dark hair, her eyes red from crying. She wore jeans and a white shirt, slippers on her feet. The man was dark-haired too, but with a receding hairline. He was wearing black jogging bottoms and a red sweatshirt.

Grace’s heart went out to them. They’d had their cosy night in crashed, with a drama unfolding that could end in a fatality. The woman seemed shell-shocked, to say the least, perhaps thinking it could have been her daughter too. The man’s skin was pale, his demeanour one of devastation.

‘Mr and Mrs Redfern?’ Allie held up her warrant card and Grace followed suit.

‘Yes, I’m Lucy. This is Phil.’

‘DI Shenton and DS Allendale. May we come in please?’

‘Of course.’ Phil beckoned the boy to him. ‘Come on, Nat. Let’s get you a drink and watch the TV in the kitchen.’

They were shown into a large room with a seating area at the front and a dining table at the back. Numerous family photos adorned the walls and mantelpiece over the fire. An imitation log burner shed a welcome warmth, the lights in the room on low. Lucy picked up the remote control from a coffee table and switched the TV to mute.

A teenage girl, who Grace assumed to be Molly, was sitting on a cream coloured settee, hugging her knees to her chest. She looked a slight thing, with long brown hair. Her hands were caked in dried blood, her face blotchy and red from crying; eyes raw and swollen. There were signs of purple bruising appearing on one cheek.

Molly burst into tears as soon as she saw them. Lucy went straight to her daughter, sitting down and trying to soothe her.

‘Is it okay if I ask you a couple of questions, Lucy?’ Allie checked. When the woman nodded, Allie pulled up a chair from the table and continued. ‘Are there only the three of you in the family?’

‘Yes.’

‘And have you lived in Sampson Street long?’

‘Nearly twenty years, and there has never been trouble of this magnitude.’

Phil came in with a tray of hot drinks. Grace took one; knew the likelihood was that it would go cold.

‘I’m going to ask you some questions too now, Molly,’ Allie said once it was just the women again. ‘Grace is going to write down what you say. Any detail – no matter how small – you can think of, please tell us. Okay?’

There was a slight nod from Molly.

Grace sat down on a chair next to Allie and pulled out her notebook.

‘What do you remember, Molly?’ Allie encouraged the young girl to speak.

‘We were walking home and this man jumped out in front of us.’

‘What time was this exactly?’

‘About half past nine.’

‘And where had you been?’

‘Hanging around at the shops on Leek Road,’ Molly said, looking down as she picked at the skin around her fingernails. ‘We were just having chips in Potteries Takeaway.’

‘They’re always in that chippie,’ Lucy admonished. ‘I don’t know why as Molly has something to eat before she goes out.’

Allie nodded, but kept her eyes on Molly. ‘Did anyone see you there?’

‘Not really.’

‘Were you with friends?’

‘We went in on our own, but Ethan and Chris came in and sat with us.’

‘Ethan and Chris?’

‘Boys from school. Ethan Farrington and Christian Knight.’

Grace noted down the names, underlining them so she could reference back to them later.