Spiked

By Kit Eyre

Stevie Lee is enjoying a coffee at her favourite cafe when a man falls to his death across the road.

 

As a journalist, Stevie feels compelled to investigate when the police struggle to identify the victim. Yet it isn't long before her inquiries bring her right back to where she started and threaten to torpedo the relationship she was edging towards.

 

Stevie enlists the help of her friends in high places to unravel the knots, but is she just tangling herself up in someone else's web?

 

Note: While Spiked features characters from the Valerie Series, it can be read as a standalone novel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kit Eyre
• Release date: May 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9781393389811

Kit Eyre

Kit Eyre is a Yorkshire author with too many ideas and too many cats. Her works include her 2016 debut But By Degrees and the Valerie Series about a mismatched taxi driver and politician. When there isn't a cat between her and the keyboard, Kit writes about complex lesbian and bisexual characters who frequently get things wrong. 

Book preview

Chapter One

Stevie had adopted this window seat as her own for one major reason - it gave her a decent view of the street and she liked people-watching while she tried to knit sentences together. 

The trouble was, having her back towards the counter was both a blessing and a curse these days. She was forever fighting the urge to peer over her shoulder, plus she was constantly aware of people approaching the counter and the cadence of the coffee machine. It’d even got to the point where she knew whether it was Grace or Toby making the drinks. Something in that suggested she wasn’t focusing on her book as much as she should be. 

Since there was a lull in customers, she decided to go grab her refill now. Toby frequently offered her table service, but she liked to stretch her legs a little and check what was going on. 

Today was a typical Tuesday morning. A group of pensioners had tucked themselves into the nook beside the cake fridge and there were a few tourists passing through on their way into the hills. Grace was behind the counter, an eyebrow arched while she looked at her phone. She pocketed it when Stevie ambled over, giving one of her shy smiles that never matched with how she smiled at other customers. 

‘Just checking your friend’s Twitter,’ Grace said. ‘Do you want another coffee?’

‘Please. I’m flagging a bit.’

‘It’s only half-past ten.’

‘Feels like lunchtime already. In fact, can you get me a slab of caramel shortcake as well?’

Grace grinned and turned to make the flat white. As usual, this gave Stevie thirty seconds to shift her weight from one foot to another and think of something to say. When Grace twisted back around with the coffee, only one topic sprang to mind. 

‘So, what’s Valerie going on about this time?’ 

‘She’s picking a fight with a Lib Dem over a new wind farm in his constituency. I mean, she’s in favour and he’s against. She’s calling him a hypocrite.’

Stevie couldn’t help but chuckle. ‘That sounds about right.’

‘Does she write all her own tweets?’

‘Anything like that, yeah. Some of the more prosaic stuff comes from her office staff, but if she’s picking fights, that’s definitely her. I didn’t know you followed her on Twitter.’

What she also meant was that she didn’t know Grace was active on social media. Stevie’s snooping hadn’t turned up any profiles, so she’d assumed she just wasn’t into all that. 

‘Until she came to visit you that time, I wasn’t,’ Grace answered, nudging the coffee cup across the counter. ‘Give me a second. I’ll get the shortbread.’ 

This was as much as they usually managed, a brief conversation that ended abruptly when it got uncomfortable. Stevie was relieved when she returned with the shortbread and gave her the chance to escape back to her window seat. 

Once she’d stirred sugar into her coffee, she opened Twitter on her phone and read through Valerie’s barbed exchange with a Lib Dem Stevie had barely heard of. From there, it was a simple leap to the message Valerie had sent over the weekend that she hadn’t replied to yet: Word count update? And how’s G? Vx

Stevie nibbled on her lip. It wasn’t like she’d been hassling Valerie lately, but it was more that she didn’t want to. Sure, logic might dictate someone in her position - heir to one of the UK’s biggest media groups - would be on the right level to be mates with an MP like Valerie Smythe. That’s how it worked in London, with back-scratching going on all over if you had the right contacts. 

But Stevie wasn’t keen on leveraging her friendship with Valerie if she could help it. Apart from an ill-judged attempt at manipulation right when they first met, she hadn’t asked Valerie for anything, and she wasn’t planning to. Sometimes that stretched in her mind to wondering whether Valerie was just keeping up with her for politeness’s sake. After all, she’d helped her before and she might again in the future - it was good business, surely? That was why she never rushed to reply to her texts when they were conversational, though she’d jump to attention if Valerie needed something. 

Finally, she jotted off a response: Chap three deadline next week so staring into space. Nothing else new. 

The reaction came through in less than a minute: Hmm!! Vx

Stevie rested back on her stool and allowed herself a small smile. It was nice that Valerie had replied straight away, even though she was probably running between meetings in Westminster or sat in the House of Commons. 

Toby suddenly appeared at her elbow, a tray of dirty plates and cups balanced on one arm. 

‘Good news?’ he asked. 

‘Just a push to finish the book.’

‘How’s it going?’

‘Slow,’ she admitted. ‘But the coffee’s helping.’

‘And you haven’t fallen asleep again, so that’s positive.’

Stevie rolled her eyes. ‘That was once.’

‘I’ll take your word for it.’

As he made to return to the counter, Stevie remembered something. 

‘Hey, Toby? Could you deliver a black Americano at exactly half-past two? No milk on the side, otherwise he’ll blow his top. If he’s asked for no milk, he means no milk.’

Toby nodded. ‘Sure. Who are you meeting? Your publisher?’

‘Worse - my dad.’

‘The famous Richard Lee,’ Toby said with a grimace. ‘Yeah, I’ll make sure there’s no milk around.’

‘Thanks, I really appreciate it.’

Stevie risked a glance over her shoulder as Toby walked away, noticing that Grace’s attention quickly shifted to the till. That she’d been watching sparked a tingle in Stevie’s chest, one that drifted into the pit of her stomach and settled like a weight. Maybe she’d feel better once Richard was safely on his way back to London.

Chapter Two

Richard arrived two minutes after Toby delivered his coffee. 

As usual, he didn’t make a quiet entrance, crashing the door back on its hinges and ensuring that everyone having a languid late lunch was aware he’d walked in. Stevie could tell some of them recognised him, and knowing that regulars she’d been friendly with might now treat her differently rankled a little. Richard’s sneer as he sat on the stool beside her didn’t dampen that feeling. 

‘Never gets any brighter, this place. The town, I mean. Same old tourist shops, the same delicatessen that’s a decade out of date.’

‘Hi, Dad,’ Stevie said. ‘Nice to see you too.’

‘All I’m saying is that nothing changes. It’s exactly the same as it was when I was your age, except I couldn’t wait to get away and you’re set on staying here.’

‘Most people aren’t looking for Harrods on a day out. Sometimes they just want to explore the hills and have a cuppa somewhere warm afterwards. I know that’s hard for you to believe.’

Richard tugged his sleeves up and reached for his coffee. He deliberately sniffed it before taking a sip, then he leaned back in his seat. 

‘They can make a decent coffee, that’s something. Right, how have you been? How’s the damn book coming along?’

Stevie grabbed her notepad out of his hands, pushing it and her laptop into the corner. Richard tutted, though she was sure she saw amusement ripple across his face. Maybe having people refuse him was a novelty he’d allow when you were his daughter - she wouldn’t get away with it if she was anybody else, she knew that. 

‘The book’s fine,’ she said. ‘I’m hitting my deadlines.’

‘What, so you’re almost ready to come home?’

‘I figured that’s why you were here.’

‘Perhaps I just wanted to see you.’

‘Whenever you track me down, you’re always after something.’

Richard drummed on his thigh. ‘No secret that I want you in London, Stevie. I agreed to this deal because I hoped it’d make you happy, but you can’t stay here indefinitely. You do know that.’

‘Dad -’

‘No, listen to me. People would kill to have a life like yours. You don’t even need talent when it’s handed to you on a plate like this. Just so happens -’

‘I know, I know. I get it.’

‘Then you’ll come home once the book’s finished.’

It was a statement, not a suggestion. Stevie looked away from him, focusing instead on the dull railings outside the hotel across the road. A loud rustling brought her attention back to Richard, and she groaned when she saw what he pulled out of his bag. 

‘Oh, Dad, come on.’

‘Just humour me,’ he said, spreading the three newspapers in front of them. ‘I want your opinion on how these have been put together today. Strengths and weaknesses, no holds barred. What would you say to the editors in my shoes?’

‘To concentrate on the online editions,’ Stevie retorted. 

‘We’ll do that in a minute. For now, pick your poison.’

She sighed and gestured to the broadsheet. Richard handed it over for her to go through page by page while he took notes on his iPad. Whenever he did this, Stevie couldn’t work out whether he was simply trying to nudge her into taking an interest or whether he genuinely thought she had something to offer. In the end, it didn’t matter. If she wanted to be left in peace for now, this was the trade-off. 

Once they’d finished with the broadsheet, Richard drained his cup and turned around. He didn’t call out, just raised his hand and clicked his fingers. 

‘Dad,’ Stevie hissed. 

‘They’re hardly run off their feet.’

Stevie cringed, twisting in her seat to watch Toby put an arm out in front of Grace. He walked the length of the cafe, then smiled politely at Richard. 

‘What can I do for you, sir?’

‘Another Americano for me and another flat white for my daughter here. I’ll pay before I leave.’

‘Toby,’ Stevie said, ‘just put it on my tab.’

After glancing between them, he nodded and fled back to the counter. Richard barely acknowledged the drinks when Toby brought them over, instead pushing her for a more comprehensive analysis of one of the tabloid online editions. As far as Stevie was concerned, it was like stuffing bubblegum into her brain and letting it harden. 

‘You’ll be good at this if you give it a chance,’ Richard said finally, cramming the crumpled newspapers into his bag. ‘When this is over - when the book is over, I mean - I want you in the office. You need to get a little respect brewing with the team. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ she murmured. 

That seemed good enough for now. He took a long gulp of his cold coffee, then rested a hand on her shoulder as he stood up. 

‘I’ve been reading the articles you’ve written for the local rag.’

Stevie blinked. ‘Really?’

‘I saw the first one online and now I get them shipped to me. I’m probably the only out-of-town subscriber The Chronicle has, but it’s worth it to read your work. And I’m looking forward to the book, you know. Even if I don’t agree with your arguments, I enjoy reading them.’

‘Thanks, Dad,’ she said with difficulty.

He kissed her head. ‘I love you, remember that.’

‘Love you too.’

Richard smiled and lifted a hand to Toby as he stepped towards the door. On the pavement, he stopped to straighten his lapels, then suddenly patted his pocket. Stevie watched as he took a call, seamlessly morphing into the media mogul hated by millions, before wandering out of sight. 

For the first time in an hour, Stevie’s stomach muscles relaxed. She tilted her chin up and savoured the silence until a cup appeared at her elbow. 

‘It’s decaf,’ Grace said, tucking her hands behind her back. ‘I know you’re past your limit.’

Stevie licked her lips. ‘And the last one was decaf.’

‘I told Toby I’d make it.’

‘Cheers for that. It never occurs to my dad that anyone could want anything done differently. I swear, he drinks coffee until 10pm then collapses in a heap. I couldn’t do it.’

‘Three cups a day,’ Grace said. ‘Then you switch to decaf or tea.’

‘Exactly.’ Stevie cleared her throat. ‘Anyway, thanks for this. Put it on my tab?’

Grace shook her head and turned away. ‘This one’s on me.’

Since there was no opportunity to argue, Stevie accepted the gift without a word. She couldn’t resist peering over her shoulder as Grace retreated, even though she was aware of how idiotic she probably looked to anyone watching. Fortunately, Toby was busy cleaning another table at the far end of the cafe, so her secret was safe. 

To get her mind back on a practical track, she retrieved her notes and laptop from the corner and read through everything she’d written this morning. Academically, it was fine, but the prose was more stilted than she liked. Her editor said her previous chapter was too colloquial, though she suspected she might’ve gone too far the other way now. 

She exhaled and gazed across the street to the hotel. A few men stood on the shabby steps, smoking and flicking ash into the decorative plant pots flanking the doorway. The sun had moved around a bit, giving the railings a sheen that would dissolve rapidly as daylight receded. It was pretty while it lasted, though, and Stevie kept her eyes fixed on the shimmer, waiting for the inevitable gloom to descend. 

Suddenly, something dropped into her eyeline, accompanied by the spongy shriek of chopped meat. Someone outside began screaming. 

A man was impaled on the railings. His head pitched backwards towards the cafe, glasses teetering on the tip of his nose while lifeless eyes stared out across the street. The sunlight had been extinguished and fresh blood was glistening on the tips of the spikes.

Chapter Three

Stevie stumbled out of the cafe, unable to drag her gaze away from the figure draining his blood down the railings and onto the pavement. Death had shaken most of the life from him, though an essence remained - for now, at least. 

She sidestepped some gawpers and approached the body, halting a couple of feet away to ensure she didn’t compromise the scene. The men who’d been smoking on the steps had scuttled into the road and were keeping their distance. Out of the corner of her eye, Stevie spotted a group of teenagers edging closer to the railings and pivoted towards them. 

‘Hey, stay away from there.’ 

The smallest one sniggered. ‘You a copper or something?’

‘Worse, I’m a journalist. Do you want me turning up on your doorsteps harassing your parents? Get out of here before the police arrive.’

Although they pulled faces, all of them walked away. The skirmish had snapped Stevie back to reality, and she surveyed the scene with her reporter’s brain engaged this time. There were too many people around to risk taking photographs on her mobile phone, plus she didn’t want to encourage anyone else to do the same thing. Experience told her the general public couldn’t resist sticking pictures on social media, whether it was ethical or not. Even so, she managed to get a good understanding of the gruesome exhibition before Marc appeared beside her without warning. 

‘Stevie, what the hell happened? I heard it from my desk. By the time I got to the window, all I could see was . . .’

His voice juddered as he looked at the body. 

‘I don’t suppose you called the police?’ Stevie asked. 

‘I did,’ Toby said from behind them. ‘Here any minute.’

She nodded and glanced around at the crowd. Most people were still gawping and gossiping among themselves, although a couple had brought out their phones and some seemed to be on the verge of leaving. Stevie turned to Toby. 

‘Can you round everyone up in the cafe? Promise them a free coffee. Put it on my tab. The police’ll need the details of everyone who was here, but I think we’re in danger of losing some of them. Anyone who refuses, try to remember what they look like so we can point them out on the CCTV. Okay?’

It took Toby a minute to absorb what she was saying, then he followed the instructions. Stevie listened as he talked to the nearest clump of people and dangled the free coffee idea in front of them. It was only after he mentioned the cafe had a clear view of the hotel that they relented. 

‘That’s going to cost you a fortune,’ Marc pointed out. 

‘I can afford it. So, what do you reckon happened?’

Marc looked up at the building. ‘The windows in this place only open far enough to get a bit of air through. None of them open properly.’

‘Then that means he came off the roof.’

‘Poor sod. How desperate must he have been?’

Stevie glanced sideways. ‘You’re assuming suicide?’

‘Good a way to do it as any.’

‘You think?’

‘Well, you obviously don’t.’ Marc chafed his hands together. ‘Tell me what you’re thinking.’

‘I don’t know. He fell backwards. Maybe it’s expectation more than reality, but don’t people normally jump forward? It’s a sign of intent, isn’t it? Saying this is how they choose to end it.’

Marc shrugged. ‘Could be that he was uncertain. Decided to step backwards to get it over with.’

‘Could be,’ she said evenly. 

‘But you don’t think so.’

‘Again, it’s just an assumption. I mean, these railings are pretty close to the building. If the intention was to fall on them, you’re not giving yourself much leeway, are you? And I’d take my glasses off.’

‘Planning doesn’t always come into it. If someone’s that desperate or that determined, they might not do a recce. Likely as anything, he’s a guest at the hotel and something just tipped him.’ 

Stevie tucked her hair behind her ear. ‘Don’t you have a mate on the staff?’

‘Barty, yeah. I’ll go have a word in - Hold on to your hairnets. What’s your dad doing here?’

The street was almost empty when she spun around. Many had taken Toby up on the offer of a free drink; there were just a few stragglers alternating their attention between the body and the road where the police would hopefully arrive any minute. 

Richard was walking slowly over to them, eyes fixed on the railings. His cheeks were pallid, something Stevie couldn’t blame him for. Despite completing his training, he’d studiously avoided direct contact with victims during his career. Instead of looking at corpses themselves, he looked at photographs of corpses and critiqued the photographer’s skills. 

‘I had coffee with him earlier,’ Stevie said to Marc. ‘Could you give us a minute? Maybe check on the police or something.’

He seemed happy to be given an escape route. She watched as he strode towards the cafe, then she headed over to Richard. It wasn’t their usual thing, but she wrapped her arms around him in a brief hug. After a moment, he squeezed her tightly. 

‘What are you still doing here?’ Stevie questioned. 

‘Pilot’s mandatory break. I was catching up on some paperwork while we waited. Did you - did you see what happened?’

‘Not exactly. Listen, Dad, I appreciate you coming to check on me, but I don’t think you should be here when the police arrive, do you?’

Richard ran his hand through his hair. ‘You’re right. Police forces are the leakiest of the lot. But I’m not going back