Definitely Dead by Kate Bendelow (howl and other poems TXT) 📕

Finally, just as she was about to leave the garage, she received a text. It wasn’t from Ewan, but Spence. She frowned as she read the message.

Need to meet. Urgent.

Maya was concerned, what was so urgent? What could possibly have happened now? She quickly typed a reply.

What’s wrong? Come around after I’ve finished work.

His reply was instant.

No. Now. I’m at a mate’s, 11a Bentcliffe Street, Wardley. I need your help.

Maya felt her stomach churn with unease. Whatever Spence needed to see her about so urgently surely wouldn’t be good news. As much as she wanted to get back to Beech Field and speak to Ewan, she couldn’t just ignore Spence. Despite her reservations, she cared about him and perhaps he had answers for her that would prove he was completely innocent of the McCluskey stabbing and all other wrongdoing. She was determined that today would be a day for answers.

She knew Bentcliffe Street. It wasn’t too far from Ryan Johnson’s flat and she would pretty much be driving past it on her way back to the police station. Maya replied to let him know she was on her way. Surely whatever it was wouldn’t take too long. Perhaps it was even good news for a change. Either way, she was looking forward to seeing him again even though she knew she probably shouldn’t.

73

Bentcliffe Street was rough. Even the summer sun, which always made the dourest of places look brighter, did nothing but accentuate the grubbiness of the street. Shards of broken glass glistened menacingly in the gutter and even the weeds looked spiky and intimidating. Most of the terraces were tinned up with council curtains – huge metal shutters which were covered in graffiti-sprayed phalluses and bad spelling.

The few remaining houses that weren’t unoccupied appeared run-down and unloved. Broken gates swung forlornly from hinges. Number 11 Bentcliffe Street looked equally shabby with newspaper glued to the inside of the front window instead of curtains to afford the occupants some privacy. The number 11a and an arrow had been crudely spray-painted in white along the side of the house, indicating the rear of the property.

Maya wondered what on earth Spence was doing in a dump like this. She could only conclude that his sister had kicked him out and he had no choice but to sofa surf. Surely, he could do better than this? She carefully stepped over a pile of dog muck and dodged a piece of corrugated iron that was propped along the wall of the house. She made her way to the rear of the property. 11a had been sprayed with the same paint across the front door which swung open, revealing a cheap linoleum-covered stairway. Music was playing loudly inside. The throbbing of the bass line frayed her nerves and made her feel disorientated.

‘Spence? It’s Maya, are you in?’ she shouted above the music.

She paused hesitantly at the door. Her senses were heightened, and she felt decidedly uncomfortable. She heard a shout of acknowledgement and shook her head. Of course, he was in. He’d asked her to come, hadn’t he? She was being a snob. The only reason she felt uncomfortable was because the place was a dump. She knew better than anyone how down on his luck Spence was right now. Whatever was going on must be important for him to drag her round here. He had asked for her help after all.

She headed up the stairs, avoiding the mould-coated walls, and followed the sound of the raucous music. She stepped into the lounge. Despite the glorious weather outside, the room appeared dim, thick brown curtains pulled against the window to block out the light. The room was filled with a giant corner sofa, a TV and a dated hi-fi unit in the corner which was blaring out the music.

The air in the room was thick with cigarette smoke. It added to the Stygian gloom. In the few seconds it took her eyes to adjust to the darkness, she heard the lounge door bang shut. She jumped and turned towards the noise. Her eyes widened with sheer terror; her mouth dropped open with shock. Lurch was blocking the door, grinning at her.

74

‘Is Maya back from the garage yet?’ Chris had the office phone tucked under his chin.

‘No,’ Amanda glanced at the clock, ‘she didn’t leave until late so I’m not expecting her back just yet.’

‘Ewan? She’s still out doing jobs. Can I take a message? Oh, okay mate, she’ll be pleased about that. Ta-ra then.’ Chris put the phone down and turned to Amanda. ‘It was only Ewan letting her know about a fingerprint ident. He’s going to try her on her work mobile.’

Chris sat back in his chair, rubbing his stubble as he gazed across the room, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

‘What are you daydreaming about?’ Amanda threw a pen at him to get his attention.

He shook his head. ‘Nothing. I’m hungry, that’s all.’ He stretched noisily, scratching at his stomach. ‘Fancy nipping out for lunch while Cruella isn’t here?’ He nodded towards Kym’s office door. ‘My treat,’ he added.

Amanda raised an eyebrow suspiciously. ‘You’re actually offering to release the moths from your wallet. What’s got into you?’

Chris pulled a mock-surprised face. ‘Nothing! Can’t I treat me old mate to lunch without having an ulterior motive? Come on, get yer coat, you’ve pulled!’

He scrawled a note announcing they’d gone for lunch and stuck it on the office door before locking it. Jovially, he linked Amanda’s arm and the two of them strolled down the corridor laughing like a couple of school kids. Not a care in the world.

75

Aiden Donnelly’s fear had been replaced by a renewed anger. The last time he had succumbed to the pain in his bursting bladder and once again felt the snaking warmth of his own piss creep down his trouser leg, had been the moment his trepidation had turned into a white-hot rage. His humiliation masked the pain and