Copyright

Published by Avon an imprint of

HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street,

London, SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2018

Copyright © Mel Sherratt 2018

Cover photograph: Stoke Canal Scene © Alan Tunnicliffe/Shutterstock

Cover photograph: Running Woman © Henry Steadman

Cover design © 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 e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, 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: 9780008271046

Ebook Edition © October 2018 ISBN: 9780008271053

Version: 2018-10-23

Praise for Mel Sherratt:

‘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

‘Uncompromising, powerful and very real – an important new voice’

David Mark

‘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 Chris and Alison,

for always believing in me.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Praise for Mel Sherratt

Dedication

March 2017

Chapter One: August 2018

Chapter Two: September 2018

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty-One

Chapter Sixty-Two

Chapter Sixty-Three

Chapter Sixty-Four

Chapter Sixty-Five

Chapter Sixty-Six

Chapter Sixty-Seven

Chapter Sixty-Eight

Chapter Sixty-Nine

Chapter Seventy

Chapter Seventy-One

Chapter Seventy-Two

Chapter Seventy-Three

Chapter Seventy-Four

Chapter Seventy-Five

Chapter Seventy-Six

Chapter Seventy-Seven

Chapter Seventy-Eight

Chapter Seventy-Nine

Chapter Eighty

Acknowledgments

Author Note

Read More

About the Author

Also by Mel Sherratt

About the Publisher

March 2017

George Steele came out of The Potter’s, leaving the noise of the rowdy party still going on behind him. Outside, it was fresh, the hint of warmer weather around the corner.

It was nearing midnight as he began to walk home. He had planned on only having one more for the road, but that was two hours ago, and now he was struggling to stand up.

He wondered if Kathleen had left him anything to eat. He could murder something hot inside him. If she hadn’t, he would wake her. She could cook him something. He salivated at the thought of a bacon butty.

It was a short walk down a country lane and along a small path. Sober, it took him half as long as it did when he was legless. He snorted to himself as he stumbled to his right. It would take him all night, zigzagging the road as he was.

His phone beeped and he pulled it out of his pocket. He brought it near to his face, trying to see who was calling him, but he couldn’t read the screen, so he let it ring out. At this time of night, it would only be someone looking to cause trouble. He was sick and tired of people after a piece of him. Always wanting to fight with him, anger him, disrespect him. He couldn’t even rely on his useless sons to sort anything out. They just weren’t up to his standard when it came to what he expected of his family. And as for his silly daughter … He didn’t have the words for how pathetic she was.

He was at the path now, minutes from home. The house stood on four acres of land, the room he’d had so much fun with hidden away at the bottom of the garden. It had been passed down to him by his parents, the only thing they’d given him he’d ever been glad of. How he had hated his father and the time spent with him there, at the hands of a monster. Still, at least it meant he’d known how to get the best out of his own family too.

George didn’t hear a sound as someone crept up behind him. A crack to the head made him stumble forward. Another and he dropped to his knees. He turned around and was greeted with a whack in the face. Unable to see who it was in the dark, he tried to crawl away on all fours, but a kick to the stomach had him coughing. He held up a hand – each hit was followed by a pause.

‘Wait!’ he cried, catching his breath, sitting up on his haunches. ‘Whoever has sent you to do this, I’ll double your money.’ He winced in agony as pain pulsed through his body. ‘Because when I find out, be prepared to get a lot worse than you’re giving me now.’

A hit to the side of his face and colours exploded inside his head. He dropped to the floor again.

It took a few more blows before he realised his attacker wasn’t going to stop.

ONE
August 2018

Grace Allendale climbed the restaurant stairs to the first floor and slipped back to her seat at the table.

‘We’ve just placed our order,’ DC Sam Markham said, beaming at her. ‘Won’t be long now.’

Grace smiled back. It was Friday evening and everyone in Spice World was in high spirits. The clientele were letting off steam, catching up with friends and family. Grace would rather have ordered a takeaway and eaten alone at home, but needs must.

The restaurant was situated in the lower part of Hanley, around the corner from Bethesda Police Station, Grace’s new headquarters. From the outside the Victorian building looked weather-worn and, as they’d walked inside the curry house, she’d wondered what she was letting herself in for.

But it had been a pleasant surprise to find a warm and modern atmosphere. There were tables full of diners spread out over the ground floor, and a grand staircase leading upstairs to many more. The music playing in the background was modern rock, not too intrusive, yet loud enough to be heard over the friendly banter of people out enjoying themselves.

This was the first time Grace had met her work colleagues since she’d got her new job as detective sergeant, a promotion from her former role in Salford. Grace had lived there for the past twenty-three years. She’d joined the police force after leaving university and had worked as a police constable before transferring to Major Crimes as a detective. She’d been quite settled in that role for several years, but when things took a tumble in her private life, she’d decided that she needed a new goal to aim for.

Having taken her detective sergeant’s exam last year, when a post had come up in her birthplace of Stoke-on-Trent, she decided to put in for it. She needed a change, somewhere she could start afresh, even though she wasn’t quite sure it was a good decision to come back to the town from which she and her mum had fled all those years ago. But circumstances were different now. The man who had caused them so much pain was no longer around.

After she’d been offered the job, Grace had got an invite to join the team for a night out before her start date on Monday. There was only one officer who hadn’t been able to make it, someone called Alex Challinor, who had a previous engagement he couldn’t get out of, although no one had enlightened her as to what it was.

Around her, her new colleagues were sharing some in-joke. Then suddenly Nick Carter, their DI, stopped laughing and turned to her.

‘Sorry, we’re ignoring you. You say you lived in Stoke when you were younger, Grace?’ he asked.

All eyes fell on her. ‘Yes, until I was twelve,’ she replied. ‘Then my parents divorced and I moved to Salford with my mum.’

‘So, you don’t have many memories?’ DC Perry Wright asked.

‘I have a few,’ Grace nodded. She could remember far more than she would ever share with them. The nights she’d heard her mum screaming as her father laid into her. The times there was no money for food because he’d spent it all in the pub. The days when he would go missing and be brought home by the police after being locked up in a cell. The weeks he spent with other women before fighting his way back into their house again. The double life he led that she knew nothing of until she was old enough to understand … ‘But I expect so much has changed since then, anyway,’ she added.

‘Not much to write home about,’ Sam giggled. ‘But we still love it. And you’ll soon know the place, and its people. Even the undesirables.’

Nick raised his glass in the air. ‘Welcome to the Major Crimes Team.’

Everyone joined Nick in a toast. Only Perry, sitting opposite her, didn’t lift his eyes to hers as well. He hadn’t joined in the conversation much either, she’d noticed.

The door to the restaurant opened and several men came in at once. From her first-floor position, Grace looked down at the newcomers as their laughter filled the room, booming, loud and boisterous. She counted four of them, all casually dressed in shirts and jeans; lean, with biceps and quads looking fit to burst through their clothes. A waiter rushed across to them and they were quickly seated, despite the busyness of the room.

As she turned back to her group, Grace noticed the atmosphere at their table had changed.

‘Seriously?’ Perry sighed. ‘Can’t we have one night out without it being a busman’s holiday?’

‘They might not see us up here,’ Nick said.

‘What’s wrong?’ Grace asked, realising she had a bird’s-eye view from her seat at the end of the table. Nick had his back to the group.

‘Meet part of the Steele family and some of their cronies.’ Sam nodded her head in the direction of the men. ‘They like to think they’re untouchable.’

‘They own Steele’s Gym in Baddeley Green,’ Nick informed her. ‘It’s got a boxing club attached to it as well.’

‘So, it’s a legit establishment?’ Grace questioned, trying to keep her voice calm and professional.

‘Let’s say it isn’t just a place where you can go for a workout,’ Nick explained. ‘The Steeles are one of our local crime families. Their father, George, was murdered last year; his killer’s still at large.’

Grace dropped her eyes momentarily, feeling her cheeks burn at the mention of that name, but none of the others seemed to notice. She’d read that George Steele had last been seen leaving his local pub just before midnight on March fifteenth the previous year. His family had reported him missing the next day, and he’d been found a few hours later on a shortcut through to his home. He’d been beaten to death. A thorough investigation had given the police no leads. Now it had been assigned to Alex Challinor, her absent colleague, to work on if anything new came to light.

‘There are two sons and a daughter.’ Nick looked at Grace. ‘Eddie is the one on the right. He’s the eldest brother.’

Grace looked down through the glass balustrade to see a man of about thirty-seven reading a menu before slapping it on the table and glancing around the room. She dropped her eyes for a moment.

‘The one sitting opposite him is Leon. He’s a couple of years younger.’

Grace focused on Eddie’s brother, an almost identical version of him. If she hadn’t known better, she might have thought they were twins. Both had dark brown hair and were well groomed – attractive in their own rough-around-the-edges way.

‘There’s a sister, too. Jade. She runs a nail bar in the gym with their mother, Kathleen,’ Perry added.

‘Testosterone aplenty.’ Sam let out a long sigh. ‘Maybe they’ll be fine once they get some food.’

Nick sat up straight as three waiters walked towards their table. ‘Speaking of which, here comes our order.’

Grace placed her napkin on her lap. As she dished rice on to her plate, she heard a squeal and looked downstairs. Leon Steele had seized a waitress who was walking past, pulling her onto his knee.

‘Hey,’ the woman protested, trying to get back to her feet, but he held on to her. She squirmed as he whispered something in her ear. As the group burst into loud jeers again, all heads in the restaurant turned towards them. Grace groaned inwardly. She was hoping to have more time to get to know her work colleagues before this happened.

Perry removed his napkin from his lap and made to stand up. But Nick held him back.

‘Let’s just see if it calms down,’ Nick said as restaurant staff rushed over. ‘It’s going to get a lot more troublesome and ruin many people’s nights if we wade in.’

Grace watched as Leon released the woman and held up his arms in surrender. ‘Only having a bit of fun,’ he shouted to the room as the waitress scuttled off.

‘I hate how they think they own the place.’ Perry scowled as he looked down at his food. ‘Meanwhile we sit back and let it happen.’

‘This is a night out, not a team briefing,’ Nick chided. ‘And for now they haven’t seen us, so let’s just leave it like that.’

Eddie Steele’s gaze rose up and Grace dropped her eyes immediately. When she looked again seconds later, he was staring her way. Their eyes locked for a moment, as if they were the only two people in the room, before Grace lowered hers once more.

She couldn’t hold her tongue. It wasn’t what she’d intended but she might as well come clean now. Really, was there any other way than to tell her work colleagues the truth?

Grace turned to the group and put her glass down heavily on the table, enough to get everyone’s attention but not to cause too much of a fuss so that everyone else looked their way.

‘You wanted to know all about me?’ She looked at each one of them in turn, knowing that, once she’d said the next few words, everything was going to become a whole lot harder.

‘They already know!’ Nick intervened.

Grace tried to stop a frown forming on her face.

‘I told them about Matt.’ Nick shook his head. ‘I’m sorry; I thought it would make things easier for you. I know how much you need a fresh start.’

‘Yeah, we’re all here for you,’ Sam said. ‘It must be really hard to deal with.’

Grace gave a faint smile. Nick stared at her. She could almost sense his thoughts, telling her to stay silent.

She didn’t want him to lie for her. She wanted to be honest upfront. But it was clear from the look in Nick’s eye that she needed to keep quiet.

She couldn’t tell anyone that Eddie and Leon Steele were her half-brothers. And George Steele, criminal, racketeer and murder victim, had been her father.

TWO
September 2018
TUESDAY – DAY 1

Josh Parker pushed up the weight with a long and loud groan. His shift had finished half an hour ago, the same time Steele’s Gym had closed, but he liked to stay behind to do his own workout.

It was half past ten in the evening and no one else was around. The clank of the hand weights as he put them back into the stand seemed to echo round the large room.

He’d worked at Steele’s Gym since it had opened in 2006. On the outside, it was a standard gym, with a boxing club and a nail bar that was more often than not manned by Clara, the receptionist. The establishment purposely had no airs and graces, which suited most of their clients.

On the inside, behind the scenes, money was the tool. Cash was loaned to anyone who was desperate and couldn’t get it elsewhere, and paid back with crippling percentage rates. Beatings were rife if money wasn’t delivered on time and had to be collected. The monthly parties that they’d recently set up were working a treat to bring in extra too. It was something that Eddie Steele didn’t like, but the money they were raking in each time was not to be sniffed at.

Josh knew the police were keeping an eye on him and the Steeles, as were the family they were rivals with, the Woodmans. They too were watching their enemies. Eddie had asked Josh in particular to pay attention to what was going on, even though Leon thought he was looking after the gym.

He clasped his hands together in front of his body and flexed his biceps. They almost seemed to pop out of his skin and he smiled at himself in the mirror.

‘Looking good,’ he said quietly. ‘Looking good.’

A noise made him turn his head. He thought he’d heard a door open and he listened for a moment. But there was nothing else, so he went back to admiring himself.

Peace and quiet meant that he could pay attention during his workout. Music blaring through the day, the thump of the treadmills, the whining of the rowers, plus the banter from the clients all faded away once he was on his own. There were mirrors all around that he could look at without fear of being called narcissistic. He was vain, he admitted freely, but in this job it paid to look good. Working for Eddie Steele, it was expected.

He pushed the barbell above his head, glancing at a photo beside him on the wall. He and Eddie were fourteen and wearing boxing gloves, arms around each other’s shoulders after fighting in the ring. Eddie had always been victorious in everything he did. He had a vicious streak Josh couldn’t match, no matter how hard he tried.

Josh had known the Steele family since he was at junior school. He and Eddie had been in the same class and had gelled during a PE session when Eddie had legged someone over for tackling the football from him. A fight had ensued and Josh managed to break it up after the teacher had blown his whistle. As he pulled the boy up, a swift thump in the stomach when the teacher wasn’t looking ensured that he and Eddie clicked.

And it wasn’t just he and Eddie who had got close. Eddie’s sister, Jade, had been the local sleep-around for years beyond school. At thirty-two now, she was the youngest of the three Steeles. Josh had spent a year with her himself in his early twenties, before realising his anger and temper would be better served to superior uses. Jade knew exactly how to wind him up. It was as if she goaded him deliberately. And because she was a Steele, the fact that he couldn’t slap her around if she proved a threat to anything he was doing didn’t sit well with him. He and Eddie had their fingers in lots of pies back then, long before the gym opened, and he wasn’t up to losing that.

If it weren’t for Josh Parker, Leon would be second-in-command. Josh knew that Leon hated this and there was no love lost between them. Much to Josh’s annoyance, Eddie had always bailed Leon out of trouble, and since they were teens, Leon had wanted in with everything they did. Josh hadn’t liked it, yet he’d put up with it, biding his time over the years before Leon could be taken out of the equation altogether. But now, Leon was stronger than ever, even though he was still only the younger brother.

Josh had tried on many occasions to land Leon in trouble with the law so that he’d be booted off to prison for a few years, allowing Josh to get his claws into the family business. There was so much up for grabs, and he wanted it. He’d earned it. And it was time he got what he was owed.

After a post-workout shower, Josh switched off the lights and locked up the building. Walking around to the back of the car park, he clicked off the alarm as he drew level with his car. The lights flashed yellow and he opened the boot and put in his gym bag. But as he closed it, he jumped as a figure appeared at the side of the car.

‘What do you want?’ he asked, rolling his eyes.

Out of nowhere, something was sprayed in his face. He squeezed his eyes shut as they began to burn.

‘What the …?’

Josh put his hands to his face and staggered. More liquid was thrown on him. Then the smell of burning flesh was all around him as he dropped to his knees.

Crying out, he writhed on the ground. Some bastard had thrown acid at him. It was going to ruin his face! Fear coursed through him, tears were too painful to form. In desperation, he rolled over, trying to dampen his hands on the tarmac, wet from a recent thunderstorm.

He could hear nothing but his own screams as his skin fell from the backs of his hands. Breathing heavily, he tried to listen, to see if his attacker was still there. Was there anyone near him now? He pulled a hand away from his face, but pain ripped through him again and he cried out. It was as if his skin had shrunk, stretching like torn cling film.

Time seemed to slow as the burns went deeper. Then, he felt a hand on his shoulder and he was pulled over onto his back. Someone straddled him.

He couldn’t open his eyes. He couldn’t even hold out a hand in defence. All he could do was shout.

In silence, his attacker raised a knife high in the air.

THREE
WEDNESDAY – DAY 2

Grace slowed down to catch her breath, and her run became a jog.

The house she was renting was around five miles from Bethesda Police Station, depending on which road you took, in a part of the city called Weston Coyney. Caverswall Avenue was just through a set of busy traffic lights and near to Park Hall Country Park.

The house was a pre-war semi, tucked away at the top of a cul-de-sac. Phil and Becky Armstrong, who lived next door, had been relieved to see her moving in, telling her in much detail about the rowdy family who had been evicted. It explained why it was clean and recently decorated, with a newly fitted kitchen and bathroom. Everything had been trashed before the last tenants had left.

Making sure the sound of the machine couldn’t be heard through the walls of the adjoining house was the first thing Grace had checked with her neighbours. There was nothing worse than the drone and pounding of a treadmill, especially in the early hours of the morning. Luckily, she had space for it at the back of the house in the small conservatory, and the couple told her they couldn’t hear anything. They said they didn’t mind a bit of noise here and there after what they’d had to live with for the past six months.

She glanced at her watch: 5.35 a.m. Today’s date had played heavily on her mind for the past few days. It was surprising she’d got any sleep really. But she had forced herself to read on her Kindle until she’d drifted off.

It was in the early hours that she’d woken up covered in a layer of sweat and sat up in bed. She could feel tears on her face; she hadn’t cried in her sleep for a long time. She’d reached for the pillow on the empty side of the bed and let her tears continue.

The day had hardly begun and yet she was already dreading seeing the date on any paperwork she’d have to complete. September twelfth. Five years to the day that her life had changed forever.

In early 2013 she’d had a healthy husband who loved running with her and playing football every weekend. But shortly after his birthday in July, his weight began to drop a little, and it became difficult for him to shake off any minor bugs. His energy levels plummeted and, after a blood test at the doctor’s, he’d been fast-tracked to the hospital as a matter of urgency.

Five years ago to the day, they had found out he had acute myeloid leukaemia. The consultant had spent an hour with them going through what could be done. It was curable and correctable with chemotherapy, but there was no possible way of knowing whether, even if they cleared it this time, it wouldn’t come back. It had – three times in total – and he’d lost his fight in 2016.

Grace ran faster to stop images pushing themselves to the forefront of her mind. Matt had been thirty-two when he was diagnosed; she had recently turned thirty; and they were both in the prime of their lives. It had been heartbreaking to see her soulmate waste away.

She recalled the night he’d frightened them when he’d started to throw up and all this black stuff had come up, making Grace retch too. She could clearly remember the time he’d punched the wall in anger and then wept in her arms at the injustice of having to leave her behind. The times she’d administered his drugs because he’d been too tired to get out of bed. And that one moment when he had begged her to kill him, to put him out of his misery, would be forever etched on her heart.

She’d never had herself down as a nurse, but that’s what she’d become during his last few months, until he was unable to be cared for at home and was admitted to a local hospice. She hadn’t told anyone, but it had made it better for her. She had someone to watch over him all the time she wasn’t there. She didn’t want to be his carer – she wanted to be his wife.

Now, she hated not having to think for two people any more. Holidays, get-togethers, even the food shopping – when she did any – was all for her. It still took a lot of getting used to. Losing her mum as well, less than twelve months after, had almost taken her over the edge.

After a few more seconds, she switched the speed up on the machine. She pushed herself further and further, faster and faster, until eventually she had no choice but to stop.

In the kitchen, Matt’s smile stared back at her as she grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. She closed the door and ran a finger over his image. The photo had been taken before the disease had made him into a skeleton with no hair. Here he was healthy, eyes shining with no bags underneath them, glowing skin and a ferocious appetite for life. After two years, the memories of him at the height of his debilitation had faded and this was how she remembered him now.

She moved to the kitchen window. It looked like another nice day ahead, clear blue skies and warmer-than-average temperatures. How she wished there weren’t dark clouds hanging over her. You shouldn’t dwell on the past, her mum used to say to her, but it was far easier said than done when the past had taken away a planned future.

Two hours later, showered and energised but still feeling emotional, she closed the door to the side of her that she didn’t want people to see and headed to work.

FOUR

Bethesda Police Station was situated in the street of the same name, at the bottom of the city centre. Before 1910, Stoke-on-Trent was made up of six towns. It became a federated city with a merger in that year, Hanley then becoming the main shopping centre of the Potteries.

Grace had already been told by several disgruntled members of the public that Hanley was not, and never would be, Stoke-on-Trent’s city centre as it was known on signposts. Stoke was the centre, it was where the railway station was situated and where the civic centre had been until recently. But to her, Stoke was a drive-through town with a few roads. It seemed that most of the money and resources were focused on Hanley, which was great for where she was based. Some areas had been pedestrianised, making them feel safer and a pleasure to walk around, perhaps sit in to have a sandwich during a work break. At night, like most cities of its size, it had its problems with the homeless and drunk and disorderly. Violence was often rife at kicking-out times, but for the most part it boasted a good vibe.

Coming back had been quite an eye-opener for her. Of course, she didn’t remember much of the city at the age of twelve, but after working for such a large force as Greater Manchester, policing areas in Stoke was a far easier way to learn of the local goings-on. Even after just a few weeks, Grace already had the lay of the land. And she had the previous detective sergeant, Allie Shenton, at her disposal. The woman was a fount of all knowledge, having already helped her out quite a few times with intel.

Filling her shoes was a big ask. She’d met with Allie the week after starting her position. Allie had recently taken up a new role as Community Inspector, heading up six community neighbourhood teams, one in each region of the city. During the meeting, Allie had told Grace about her work colleagues, some of the people she’d meet on her patch and some of the ones she’d want to avoid.

It had been an easy meet, lots of polite chat, but Grace had been thankful for an insight into what she had let herself in for. She had thought long and hard about returning to Stoke and Allie had made it a little better for her. Secretly, Grace realised that Allie was keeping an eye on what was going on at the station. It must be hard to let go after so long working in the same place. But equally, Grace had begun to look at her as a mentor. Allie hadn’t minded when she’d questioned her further about a number of subjects and people.

Grace’s first month in the role had been a quiet one spent with her team of three detective constables, getting to know the community and feel of the areas and also some of its inhabitants. The team were on the first of three floors of the station, along with several soft interview suites and also an area where civvy staff worked. Back in Manchester, Grace had been in a building that was in desperate need of refurbishment, both inside and out. Its layout had meant that she’d been in a room not even big enough to call a cupboard, with a team of four other officers. Here it was open-plan, with about thirty desks, all new, swanky even – although the kitchen was still a health risk with all the leftover food and dirty dishes lying around.

She smiled her thanks when a mug of coffee was plonked down on her desk, her ‘Wonder Woman’ mug a joke present from Matt just before he’d died. Across from her on the opposite desk, Sam Markham sat down with her own drink and clicked her mouse to wake up her computer. Grace now knew she was thirty-seven, living with her partner, Craig, and her six-year-old daughter, Emily, from a previous marriage. Sam was small in build with dimples in her cheeks and wore her long blonde hair mostly tied up in a ponytail, making her look even more baby-faced. But Allie had told her, ‘Don’t let Sam fool you. She’s more than capable of holding her own when necessary.’

Down the room, she could just about see Nick squashed into his tiny partitioned office. An active man in his mid-fifties, he’d mentioned in small talk as he’d got to know her that his wife, Sharon, was begging him to take early retirement. But he enjoyed his job as detective inspector and wanted to stay working for the force because it kept his mind active. He was six foot three and ran several times a week to keep his middle-age spread at bay.

On her first day, as he’d shown her around the building, Nick had mentioned that the DCI thought it best Grace kept quiet about her connection to the Steele family for now. She had asked why but they had been interrupted when a man had walked past who he wanted to introduce her to. Nick hadn’t picked up the conversation again afterwards. She’d wondered why, reasoned perhaps he had his own motives, which she would find out in time.

Nick’s phone rang, and a rush of adrenaline flowed through Grace as she watched him stand up, beckoning her over quickly before putting it down with a bang.

‘I thought you might want a heads-up. Call’s just come in about a body found at Steele’s Gym,’ Nick told her.

Grace groaned inwardly.

‘Someone’s been attacked with acid and then stabbed in the car park. Josh Parker’s car is there.’

‘Josh Parker?’

‘He’s Eddie Steele’s right-hand man.’

‘Ah.’ Grace watched him leave the room.

When she stayed where she was, Nick turned back to her. ‘Are you coming?’

‘Is that wise, sir?’

‘I don’t know but I can’t see another sergeant spare at the moment.’

Grace tried not to let her expression give away her alarm as she followed behind him. Surely her first possible murder investigation wasn’t going to be on family soil?

FIVE

Grace wiped her sweaty palms discreetly on her trousers as Nick nudged the car up onto the pavement to park outside the crime scene. Situated on Leek Road, two miles from the city centre, Steele’s Gym stood back from the road in a prime position. Once housing a preschool nursery, it was a single-storey building spread on an acre of land, with a car park to its right. According to Sam, the local authority register for business rates stated that Eddie Steele had been renting it since 2006. A large canvas banner hung on the wrought-iron railings at her side. ‘No pain, no gain. All-in monthly passes only £40.’ She doubted that would tempt anyone in today. They’d be more interested in what was going on outside in the car park.

‘Good to go?’ Nick asked her.

Grace looked back, unaware he had been watching her as she stared out of the window. ‘I’m not sure I will ever be ready for this.’

‘Just keep your calm. If they say anything, I’ll handle it accordingly.’

She released her seat belt and got out of the car, joining DC Perry Wright who had parked in front of them. Grace had warmed to Sam but not so much to Perry. He had turned forty the year before; she’d learned he had been married to his wife, Lisa, for thirteen years and recently become a father to Alfie, who was three months old. Just like Nick, his blond hair was shaven close to his head to hide his receding hairline. Allie Shenton said he’d either be nice from the get-go as he was that type of person, or be aloof – not only because he’d known and worked with Allie for such a long time, but because he’d put in for the job of detective sergeant and Grace had beaten him to it.

Even though it was still early in the morning, sweat clung to her back. Despite her anxieties, it was too warm to be wearing the jacket to her trouser suit, but she didn’t feel dressed without it, especially meeting new people. First appearances still counted in her eyes.

Across the main road, a crowd was already gathering in front of a row of terraced properties. As traffic zoomed by, three dogs sat patiently at their owners’ feet, their morning outings either interrupted or lengthened. Two residents stood in their doorways holding mugs, chatting to themselves. Grace could almost hear them saying, ‘Things like this don’t happen on our doorstep.’ It was the one thing she heard all the time, as if no one was allowed to bring ill repute to their part of the neighbourhood.

Her heels clicked on the pavement as she walked in silence with Nick and Perry towards the entrance gates. The crime scene had been cordoned off with police tape; all around them people worked. A police constable stood guarding the scene, writing down the names of people entering, checking IDs and pointing out where to go. There were several uniformed officers taking notes, and she saw one directing the traffic as it struggled to get past the row of police vehicles parked half on and off the kerb.

Ahead of them, she could see a small car with the logo of the local newspaper splashed across its side and wondered what their staff were like to work with. She’d prided herself in getting on well with the local newspaper’s press team in Salford.

She, Nick and Perry each flashed their warrant cards. The crime scene tape was lifted and they dipped underneath it. They popped on white paper suits, latex gloves and covers over their footwear. Even though she was slim and toned, with a six-pack hidden underneath her shirt, the suit always made Grace feel as shapely as a hastily rolled snowman.

She tied back her long dark hair with a covered elastic band and placed a mask around her neck in readiness. Once she had it on, it would hide lips that had almost forgotten how to smile widely, but her eyes would still be seen. Grace knew you could tell so much by looking in people’s eyes. Her own were brown and large, with long lashes that she accentuated with mascara and sculptured eyebrows. They were her best feature – when she was happy. For now, they were skittish, glancing around, trying to take everything in.

As Nick went off to speak to a uniformed officer, Grace took a deep breath, held her head high and walked forward. A white tent had been erected around the spot where the body lay. Forensic officers already in situ were suited and booted too.

‘Do you get a lot of acid attacks in Stoke?’ Grace asked Perry as they walked.

‘Not many at all. I think the last one was some time last year.’

‘And someone from the gym called this in, you say?’

Perry nodded his head in the direction of a man in his early twenties wearing a red tracksuit at the far end of the car park. He was giving details to a police constable, talking energetically and waving his hands.

‘Trent Gibson. He was the first on shift. The gym opens at seven and he found the body in the car park about ten minutes before.’ Perry pointed to a black BMW where another forensic officer was going over it. ‘That’s Parker’s car. Not sure why that wasn’t burnt out to hide evidence. Doesn’t make sense.’

‘Well, it all seems to have been done for show, rather than someone trying to cover it up.’ Grace turned back from checking out Gibson. ‘I know we can’t confirm the body until we have positive ID, but maybe our suspect thought it would prove who our victim was a little quicker?’

They reached the entrance to the tent and, after flicking the mask on, Grace stepped inside. She still put a hand to her mouth, trying to stop her instant gag reflex as her eyes fell on the seared face and hands of their victim. He was wearing gym wear, shorts and a short-sleeved T-shirt due to the weather being unseasonably warm. Splashes of accelerant had burnt holes in the material.

There were several people dotted around the crime scene. A forensic photographer was clicking away next to a man hunched over the body. His stooped position meant Grace couldn’t see his frame, but she guessed him to be tall, perhaps early forties. He pushed up his glasses and smiled at her.

‘Dave Barnett. Senior CSI, as I’m known as now since a nifty title change.’

‘Grace Allendale.’ She smiled back, even though he wouldn’t be able to see it behind her mask. ‘DS.’

‘Yes, I know. Big boots to fill, but nice to meet you.’

‘Do you have an approximate time of death yet?’ Grace stooped down, repulsed but fascinated by the body at the same time. Even in her line of work, it never failed to amaze her what one human being was capable of doing to another.

‘I’d say he died between ten p.m. and midnight last night. His face is a mess, but he has some quite distinctive tattoos on his biceps. He has recent dates and names of two people. Caleb and Mia.’ Dave pointed at the body.

Perry gagged behind his mask and Grace hid a smirk. She already liked Dave Barnett.

‘I’m not certain of cause of death yet, although it won’t be because of the obvious.’ Dave pointed to the body. ‘But with the single stab wound to the chest as well, it looks like someone wanted to make sure he was dead.’

Having left the CSIs to do their job, Grace removed her mask and suit outside the tent. As she did so, she spotted a man waving for their attention. A leather satchel large enough to hold files or a laptop hung over his shoulder.

‘Ah, come and meet Simon. Local press.’ Perry placed the last of his protective gear into an evidence bag. ‘What are you loitering round for?’ he asked once he and Grace drew level with him.

‘I wanted to know if you have anything for me?’ the man responded, running his hand through blond, short, choppy hair as he caught Grace’s eye. Close up, he reminded her of Callum Best, the celebrity. A cheeky-chappy sort who wouldn’t look out of place if he came out with rhyming cockney slang or did a jig around a chimney up on a roof. He was dressed in a short-sleeved shirt with a navy tie that matched the colour of his trousers.

Perry shook his head. ‘Nothing yet.’ He looked at Grace. ‘This is the legendary Simon Cole, senior crime reporter for the Stoke News.’

Simon laughed as he offered his hand to her and she shook it. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

‘Likewise.’

‘Can you confirm it’s Josh Parker?’ he asked, looking at them both in turn.

‘Where did you get that name from?’ Perry narrowed his eyes.

‘It’s the word on da street.’ Simon put on a voice and grinned. ‘Is it true? Can you tell me?’

Grace shook her head.

‘Can you confirm it’s murder then?’ Simon looked at her with pleading eyes.

‘We’re looking into all possibilities at the moment,’ Grace replied.

Perry smirked.

‘So you have nothing for me?’ Simon glanced at Perry.

‘No,’ Perry said. ‘You’ll be the first to know when we do, though.’

Simon sighed. ‘I suppose I’ll go and talk to the public while I wait.’

Grace could see he was reluctant to leave. She guessed his reporter’s nose was twitching, but his manner was warm, in contrast to that of a few of the journalists she’d dealt with over the years.

‘How’s everything going with Natalie?’ Perry asked Simon. ‘Things still bitter?’

‘She’s taking me for every penny.’ Simon rolled his eyes. ‘Which would be annoying if either of us had any decent money.’

‘He got shafted for a younger model,’ Perry explained to Grace.

‘You make me sound like a car,’ Simon protested.

‘She walked all over him,’ Perry added.

‘I know, I know.’ Simon nodded. ‘I can’t help being so nice.’

Grace saw how blue his eyes were as they crinkled up. Sincere too, which she didn’t see very often.

‘I’d best be off to do my job.’ Simon pointed to the residents across the street.

Grace noticed him blushing and gave him a shy smile. She turned to Perry once he’d gone. ‘So, tattoos and the car make me feel confident Josh Parker is our victim, but we won’t be allowed to release this information until we have a confirmed ID. Nick has gone to inform his wife, even though she can’t see the body yet. For now, let’s look at the CCTV footage and …’ Grace stopped talking when she saw he wasn’t listening. His eyes were trained over her shoulder.

A shiver of dread passed through her as she turned her head in the direction Perry was looking. Marching towards them were two men and a woman. The two men she recognised from Spice World the month before.

The woman shared the same hair and skin colouring as Grace. And, like Grace, she had long legs with a slim build.

‘Well, well, well.’ Eddie Steele was the first to speak, removing his sunglasses.

Grace swallowed as she brought herself tall to face her half-brothers and half-sister.

SIX

The situation was surreal. This was never how Grace had intended to meet her family. But then again, she hadn’t expected the first murder case she worked on here in Stoke-on-Trent to be so close to home.

It was hard to speak in such close proximity to them. Although they had never met, Grace wondered if they knew as much about her as she knew about them. Her mum, Martha, had certainly suggested that. She had also told Grace that Eddie was two years older than her, that she was two months younger than Leon and had a half-sister three years younger. Their father, George, had been sleeping with both her mother and theirs at the same time, for a number of years, leading a double life.

Aware they were all looking at her, Grace stepped forward, but still she said nothing.

Eddie turned to Perry. ‘I suppose you’ll be wanting to speak to us?’

Perry nodded. ‘We need to find out your whereabouts last night. General questions for now. This is DS Allendale.’

‘Hello.’ Grace held out her hand to Eddie. His grip was as firm as her own.

‘Leon’ – Eddie pointed to his brother – ‘and Jade’s our sister.’

Grace shook both their hands in quick succession, worrying in case any of them revealed they already knew of each other. The resemblance between her and Jade was so significant that she hoped Perry didn’t notice. She could almost see her own eyes staring back at her.

But more than that, it was the way Jade stood: on her right foot to the detriment of her left, similar to something Grace always did. And the way she smiled, the full shape of her lips. She wondered what their mother looked like; was she similar to Grace’s own? Martha Steele, née Benson, had been olive-skinned with dark brown hair and not an ounce of fat on her.

Grace took a deep breath and asserted herself once more. ‘I believe DC Wright knows you all, so if I can get on with the questioning, we can do the formal things later.’ She turned to Perry. ‘Can you go and talk to Trent Gibson?’

Perry frowned, but she waved him away politely. She wasn’t sure if the Steeles would blow her cover. On the one hand, it might be a good thing because then she wouldn’t feel so deceitful. But then again, she could be removed from the case and she didn’t want that either. ‘Tread carefully’ would have to be her motto for today.

She followed the siblings into a small and dimly lit hallway, its red carpeted flooring having seen better days. Walls were painted cream with the odd scuff mark. To the right was a door with a sign for toilets and changing rooms. Paint was peeling off the corner of the ceiling and the smell of artificial air-freshener lingered unpleasantly.

Grace looked around. She could see no security barriers, the kind accessed by a swipe card like the gym she used to be a member of in Salford, so there must be something else.

‘Is there a signing-in book?’ she asked.

‘Inside the main building,’ Eddie told her. ‘We have lockers too. Things have a habit of going walkabout unless we put them away, if you catch my drift.’ He pointed to a set of double swing doors. ‘Be careful, the swing might come back and hit you,’ he warned. ‘Don’t want to knock you out on your first visit.’

Grace forced a smile as he held the door open for her to walk through.

‘We’ll be saving that for the second time,’ he muttered.

She turned to him, seeing no friendliness in his features. Up so close, her resemblance to him was uncanny. More noticeably, Grace could see how much he looked like George Steele as she remembered him from around the time she and her mother had left. Eddie must be about the same age as her father had been back then. It unnerved her: this was going to be harder than she had imagined.

Once through the doors, the room opened out into a large area. To one side was an array of gym equipment around the outer wall. On the other was a boxing ring with several punchbags and weight benches around the side. Grace wondered why they weren’t separated. If she was working out, she wouldn’t want to see anyone punched to the floor, friendly or not. It would put her off completely.

‘And you say you only have the one establishment in the city?’ she asked Eddie.

‘That’s right.’

Walking inside Steele’s Gym made Grace realise why they hadn’t branched out across Stoke-on-Trent. Not everyone would like this set-up. It was intimidating, to say the least. Nick had mentioned that this wasn’t its only selling point. She hoped she could find out more about what was going on behind the scenes.

Eddie showed her into a smaller room on the right of the building. It had three doors leading off it. He pointed to the first on the left.

‘Come through into the office and we can discuss things further.’