Only the Brave by Mel Sherratt

getting on to Single Point of Contact and they’re working on the call log now.’
    ‘Thanks. Right, let’s get this over with.’
    Allie could easily see why Kirstie Ryder would fall for the bad-boy looks of either Johnson brother when Ryan opened the door. At thirty-seven, he was very much a version of his younger brother – tall, dark hair and skin, slim and healthy. His clothes looked expensive, as was, she assumed, the cologne she could smell wafting her way. She breathed it in, enjoying its fresh, clean aroma compared to the vile odours she’d smelt coming from some of the flats that morning.
    ‘Mr Johnson, Detective Inspector Carter. This is Detective Sergeant Shenton,’ Nick introduced them both.
    ‘Yes,’ Ryan looked at Allie in particular, ‘we’ve met before.’
    Nick raised his eyebrows.
    ‘I was talking to Joe Tranter not long before he died. Terrible news about him.’ Ryan held the door open and met Allie’s stare. It made her feel uncomfortable but she didn’t let it show.
    Inside, the hall was exactly the same as Allie remembered it from three years ago too. Cream textured wall, a light oak parquet floor and a ridiculously over-the-top chandelier. To her left, a large oak cabinet claimed most of one wall, glass doors protecting a collection of Wedgwood pieces and Royal Doulton figurines. Up above, a lofty ceiling and a galleried landing. Downstairs, double doors to their right.
    ‘We’re sorry for your loss,’ said Nick.
    Allie noticed Ryan’s eyes welling up as he showed them through to the living room.
    ‘So you’ve been staying here too?’ Nick asked.
    Ryan cleared his throat. ‘Yes, I separated from my wife a few months back.’
    It took all of Allie’s will to stop from giggling at the sight of the huge portrait of Kirstie and Jordan on the back wall. They were sitting on a red sofa, wearing jeans and white shirts. Both had bar e feet and cheesy grins, artfully posed but dreadfully tasteless , in her opinion. The image must have been at least six foot by four. She laughed inwardly, thinking how Terry Ryder would have responded if he’d known it was there. Such trash in his oh- so-orderl y house.
    She looked around, anywhere but at that awful picture, and felt a blush rising sharply across her cheeks as she tried not to picture herself sitting on the settee with Terry. The decor in this room was as it had been before, too, which surprised her a little . Kirstie obviously hadn’t felt the need to make her mark in her father’s absence. There were two large black leather settees , a coffee table in the middle of the vast floor area, and violent slashes of red added here and there in stark contrast to the pale cream walls. The room led onto a large dining area and st ate-of-the-a rt kitchen, glazed doors framing a lawn large enough to hold a marquee .
    A young woman with long dark hair walked into the room. She was small and slim. Her eyes were red from crying but they still had the steely, determined look in them that reminded Allie of her father. Allie swallowed.
    ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, anyone but you,’ Kirstie muttered. She pointed to the door. ‘I do not want you in my house!’
    ‘We won’t keep you long, Kirstie,’ Nick spoke matter-of-factly. ‘We’re sorry for your loss but, as you can imagine, we need to get to the bottom of this as quickly as possible.’
    ‘Like you did when you stitched my dad up?’
    Allie straightened up with a frown. Nick ignored Kirstie’s jibe altogether.
    ‘Can you tell me when you last saw Jordan?’ he asked her.
    ‘Why should you care?’ Kirstie looked pointedly at Allie. ‘Especially you. You should leave, before I have you removed.’
    ‘I’ll have you arrested if you don’t stop with the threats,’ Nic k warned.
    Kirstie lowered her eyes for a fraction of a second.
    Allie was shocked to find that the girl was still as immature as ever. Obviously fending for herself for the last three years had done nothing to help her