by GS Rhodes
They started out of the car park and past The Pheasantry Cafe. There were a few groups of people sat on chairs outside, Hunter Wellies on, pastel woolly bobble hats with matching scarves wrapped tightly around them. Their focus moved from their overpriced coffee and their overexcited children to the two officers as they walked past. Whispers were exchanged, strong looks, a feeling that they should know what was going on. One of them stepped out in front of them, lightly jogging over from her chair, and fixing a smile so fake and bright on her face, Kidd was practically blinded.
“Sorry, excuse me,” she whined. And it really was a whine, the nasality of it cutting through Kidd like a switchblade. “I couldn’t help but notice you pulling up just now.”
Kidd wanted to say that she probably could have, but where would be the fun in that? People like her lived for moments like this, little moments of drama.
“You’re here with the police?”
Kidd cleared his throat, looking down and noticing the lanyard he was wearing, hardly expert detective work on her part. “Perhaps.”
“I thought so,” she smiled again, the corners of her eyes crinkling, the whiteness of her teeth blinding. “I just wanted to know what was going on?”
“Pardon me?” Kidd asked.
“Well, there are a lot of police cars here,” she said, folding her arms. “Is it something we should know about?”
Kidd looked past her to the sea of women craning their necks to hear what they were talking about, to catch a snatch of conversation. Kidd resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He could feel Zoe tensing next to him. She hated this as much as he did.
“Nope, not at all,” Kidd said. “Thank you for your time,” he added before turning to walk away.
“Um, excuse me,” she said again, more forcefully this time. “Ex-CUSE ME.”
Kidd stopped and turned back to her. She clearly wasn’t used to not getting her way. He forced a smile. She’d be asking for his badge number next.
“Do we need to be worried?” she asked. He couldn’t tell if the concern was real or not, or if she was simply trying a different tact to get information. Kidd kept the smile on his face and took a breath.
“Not at all madam,” he said. “Please, go back to enjoying your day.”
He turned and quickly walked away before she could think of another reason to try and talk to them. It was beautiful in Bushy, it really was. It was a little bit overdone, but that was Richmond for you. It was the great outdoors done to the nth degree, outdoorsy enough for the Richmond mums to feel like they’re getting outside when they’re not even ten minutes out of town. There was a bloody road that ran through it for crying out loud.
They headed through a gate and into a more heavily wooded area and once out of the winter sunshine, the cold really set into Kidd’s bones. There was always something about a crime scene that had a habit of creeping up on him, a chill that crawled up his spine and gripped him like nothing else.
There was a frozen-looking PC at the cordon, his face a little pale, his beard a little wispy. Kidd wondered how long he’d been stood out here. Kidd smiled, nodding at him as they approached, marking himself out as friend rather than foe or nosy passerby.
They showed their warrant cards and walked beneath the police tape, stepping further and further into the trees, further away from civilisation. If Kidd listened really hard, he could hear the road not too far away, the sounds of the world beyond these trees, but only if he really tried to listen. This poor woman would have died alone in the quiet.
They reached the place where the body had been, people dressed in white dusting for prints, taking photographs of the blood spatters, more detailed ones than Kidd had seen that morning.
“The body has already been taken to the pathologist,” Zoe said again, zipping up her jacket and tucking her hands into her pockets. The chill of the crime scene was affecting both of them, it seemed. “But you can see the blood spatters,” she added. “What do you think?”
Kidd looked back to the entrance to the wooded area. It wasn’t particularly well-trodden, most of it overgrown, branches encroaching from the sides. If you didn’t know this was here, you likely wouldn’t find it.
He turned back to where the body had been. He could picture it in his mind, see the way it had been laid out, the mutilations that had been inflicted. Had there been a struggle? He couldn’t tell. In the picture, it hadn’t looked like it. So how had it happened?
The route they had taken had been a pretty obvious one, following the paths, but there had to be another way to get to this point in Bushy Park. There were a million pathways in here, they could have taken any one of them. He tried to trace it in his head, getting someone to come through these trees, convincing them to come through here of their own accord? Or carrying a body? Someone would have seen, there had to be witnesses.
“Kidd?” Zoe asked.
“Hmm?”
“Thoughts?”
“There’s no way they could have gotten through here without being seen,” he said. “Someone has to have seen something. Either the victim walking with the murderer or being carried. When we have more information, we need to put out a call for any witnesses.”
“Gotcha,” Zoe said. “Anything else?”
“They’re not a professional,” he said flatly. He was repeating himself. The photographs had told him that, but being here now only confirmed it. It was open here, there was too much risk. Hansen didn’t do risk, that much he knew. “Who found the body?”
Zoe pulled her phone out of her pocket, clicking a few times before she responded. “Lydia Coles and TJ Bell, two students from Kingston University.”
“Can we go and see them?”
“They’ve given statements.”
Kidd smirked. “Not to me they haven’t.”
CHAPTER NINE
As they walked away from the crime scene, Kidd already felt a little easier being out of the trees, able to feel the sun on his skin again. He hated wintertime. It always brought out the worst in him. When he was cold, he was irritable, when he was irritable… Well, anyone could tell you he wasn’t particularly nice to be around.
Kidd thanked the on-duty PCs as he passed them and they nodded in response. It wasn’t much, but chances were they’d been ignored by everybody going in and out of here all day. It was something.
There was a man in a bright orange coat not too far away from where the PCs were stationed. Kidd looked him up and down. He was middle-aged, white, his hair a salt and pepper colour, his skin somewhat withered by the weather. Though his eyes looked youthful, his face had a hundred different stories to tell.
“Find what you were looking for?” he called over.
“Who’s that?” Kidd said out the side of his mouth.
DS Sanchez shrugged. “Park ranger. Not met him.”
“DI Kidd,” Kidd said, reaching out a hand the gentleman gladly took and shook firmly.
“James Doherty,” the man replied, putting his hand back into the pocket of his orange jacket. “Terrible business all that, isn’t it?”
Kidd eyed him carefully. “Yes,” he said. “We’re looking into it. I don’t suppose you could take us to the Ranger’s office perhaps? Would be nice to discuss this further.”
“W-w-with me?” James said, his eyes widening, his face suddenly looking all the more youthful, scared almost. Kidd couldn’t help but smile.
“Not just you, Mr Doherty. I’d quite like to talk to anyone who would have worked here in the past few days. Shift patterns would be helpful, a sense as to who might have been around,” Kidd said. “It’s nothing serious.” He didn’t add the, “Yet” despite it being tempting.
Mr Doherty seemed to calm down at that, taking Kidd and Zoe away from the crime scene and back towards The Pheasantry Cafe. Kidd avoided the gaze of that same group of parents and followed James to a back room where a couple of other orange coats were having lunch. A black woman was wearing a fleece as well as a coat, headphones in, her hands wrapped
tightly around a cardboard cup, not paying attention to the two white men sat across the table from each other nursing sandwiches. The men looked up as Kidd and Zoe walked in after Mr Doherty.
“DI Kidd and DS Sanchez are here to look into the… the death in the woods,” James said, trailing off a little at the end. “Wants to know who was working at the time.”
“And what was the time?” one of the men grunted, having returned to nursing his sandwich.
“We’re not sure as yet,” DS Sanchez said.
“Course not,” the man grumbled.
“But evening seems the most likely,” she continued, her teeth gritting a little. “So anyone working nights—?”
“That was likely me then,” the man said. Turning around Kidd finally managing to get a good look at his face. He was clearly older than James Doherty, the wrinkles on his face more deep-set, his eyes sunken, bags dragging heavily beneath his eyes. “Anything particular you want to know?”
“Do you mind me asking your name, sir?”
“Petersen,” he said. “Evan Petersen.”
“And did you see anything happening on the night you were working?” Kidd asked. He wasn’t making this easy. “Anything out of the ordinary?”
Evan shrugged. “Nothing out of the ordinary, no,” he said. “There were kids around, there always is, university students who don’t know they’re born. Messing about in the park, the gates don’t shut until 10:30 you see, so they were out here, making a nuisance of themselves, leaving a mess that the deer would likely end up picking up. They’re terrible.”
“But nothing out of the ordinary?” Kidd asked, a little more firmly.
“Nothing,” Petersen said. “Same old kids making a nuisance of themselves.”
Kidd nodded and eyed Petersen carefully as he returned to his sandwich. He turned to James who gave Kidd an apologetic look.
“Thank you for your time,” Kidd said, turning to DS Sanchez. “Shall we?”
They walked out of The Pheasantry Cafe and back towards the car park.
“Right,” Kidd said as they made it outside. “That was… odd.”
“I’ll say,” Zoe replied. “He didn’t seem keen on telling us anything.”
“No,” Kidd said. “But that doesn’t mean he’s guilty.”
“No, just a grumpy bastard,” Zoe said, looking back towards the cafe. “What now?”
“Off to see our only witnesses,” Kidd said.
“I’ve pretty sure they’ve told us everything they know, Kidd,” Zoe said, somewhat half-heartedly. She knew his mind was made up at this point.
“I’m sure they have,” Kidd said. “But it’s one thing reading somebody’s statement and another hearing it straight from them. I’m not saying whoever wrote it up is bad at their job, I just want to hear it direct. You can’t get context from a statement.”
“Okay.”
“Besides, you said you weren’t totally buying what they were selling,” Kidd asked as they approached the car park.
“Not a hundred percent,” Zoe said. “But, like you already said, reading a statement is one thing, hearing it from the horse’s mouth is—” Zoe stopped as they rounded the corner. There was someone sitting on the hood of Zoe’s car. He was a young lad, wearing a pair of jeans and a beanie hat, his dark curls sticking out from underneath it, desperate to be free.
“Christ, what on earth is this?” Kidd grumbled.
The lad must have heard him because he looked up sharply, a pair of hazel eyes wide with panic, hopping off the bonnet with such speed that he was nearly eating gravel. Without missing a beat, he pulled out his phone, and a few quick swipes had him recording Kidd’s face as he advanced on the boy.
“Joe Warrington, Warrington’s Wonderings,” he announced. Kidd’s expression didn’t shift. He had no idea what he was talking about. Joe noticed. “I’m an online news and entertainment blogger. Heard you were down here to take a look. Didn’t you deal with The Grinning Murders case last time around, DI Kidd?”
Kidd blinked and opened his mouth to respond before he registered what the boy had said. How on earth did he already know this was to do with The Grinning Murders case? And how did he know who Kidd was?
“Listen, I don’t know what you think you—”
“My name is Joe Warrington,” the boy said, slower this time. He was already getting on Kidd’s last nerve. “I’m a serious news reporter—”
“You’re a prick with a camera who is in my way,” Kidd grumbled. “Do you mind?”
“It’s just a few simple questions, DI Kidd.”
“Then, I impolitely decline.” Kidd barged past Joe and towards the car. Joe stumbled in an exaggerated fashion almost dropping his phone. He was recording every second of this, and he was determined to make Kidd look like an asshole. “Zoe? You coming?”
Zoe walked past Joe and climbed into the driver’s seat, her face thunderous.
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Done what?”
“Barged him,” she said. “Or spoken to him.”
Kidd shrugged, pulling on his seatbelt. “Why the hell not? He was in my way. He provoked me.”
“He can edit that video to make you look like a bully, Kidd.”
Kidd looked at her, incredulous. “Just because I wouldn’t talk to him?”
Zoe sighed. “He was filming the whole time. He can do whatever the heck he likes with that footage, edit it, cut it, splice it, you need to be more careful.”
Kidd groaned. “It’s not my first rodeo, Zoe.”
“Really?” she turned in her seat to stare him directly in the face. “Well, maybe you should stop acting like it.”
Kidd’s mouth dropped open. If it had been anybody else, another DS, a DC, anybody, probably even DCI Weaver, he would have bitten their head off. But this was Zoe. She was only looking out for him.
“Sorry,” he grumbled. “I’ll do better next time, shall I?”
Zoe rolled her eyes. “Just ignore the prick,” she said, turning the key in the ignition and pulling out of the car park.
◆◆◆
Zoe pulled up outside the student house and Kidd couldn’t help but turn up his nose. His house wasn’t exactly Buckingham Palace but this place was borderline slum. With a cursory glance, Kidd could see that the porch door looked like it could be kicked in with pretty minimal effort—more a tap than a kick, most likely—and the front door behind that didn’t look like it was in much better shape. The whole house looked like it was falling apart, peeling paintwork on the outside of the garage, what looked like black mould around the single-glazed windows, and plants encroaching on the path leading to the front door. Student houses didn’t get much grimmer than this. The landlord was taking these poor kids for a ride, that much was certain.
“Go easy on them, eh?” Zoe said as they walked up the weed-covered pathway to the front door. “They’ve been through a traumatic experience.”
“Living here seems traumatic enough, they should be able to handle a dead body.”
“Kidd!”
“I’m joking… sort of,” he said, winking at her. “I mean, look at this place, Zoe, it’s disgusting.”
She shrugged. “Student life.”
“Wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.”
Zoe knocked on the door, some flakes of paint falling with each hit. Kidd stifled a laugh. Zoe dug him in the ribs.
The door was opened by a lanky boy with a clean-shaven face. He was pale, ghostly even, with heavy, dark shadows hanging underneath his eyes, a giant hoodie absolutely swallowing him up. It was practically down to his knees, which was no mean feat considering he could barely fit in the doorframe.
He opened the porch door. It practically fell off its hinges.
“Hello?” he murmured.
“Are you TJ Bell?” Kidd asked.
The boy suddenly looking nervous. Never a good sign. “Yeah, why? Has something happened?”
“You’re not in trouble, TJ,” Zoe said, tho
ugh, given his reaction Kidd wasn’t so sure about that. She took out her warrant card and showed it to him, Kidd followed suit. “I’m DS Sanchez, this is DI Kidd, he just had a few questions for you and Lydia. Is she home?”
TJ nodded and headed back into the house. Kidd assumed that they were to follow. Manners of kids these days weren’t what they used to be.
They stepped into the hallway and Kidd had to stifle a retch. It smelled of damp, the whole place old and falling apart from the inside out. He tried not to look at the corners of the ceiling where black mould was growing at a rate that you could practically see.
“Lydia!” TJ called up the stairs.
“What?” she shouted back.
“The police are here,” he called, the slightest quake running through his voice. A silence seemed to rush through the house like a wave, stopping Lydia from responding like maybe she usually would have. The whole mood in the house seemed to shift, Kidd could practically feel the ground moving beneath his feet.
There were footsteps on the stairs, Lydia coming down in a grey Kingston University hoodie. Her red hair hung loosely around her face, her hands tucked into the sleeves of her hoodie, chipped nail varnish on her fingernails only just visible.
“Is everything okay?” she asked, her voice suddenly soft, so much softer than it had been a few seconds ago. “We gave statements at the police station, I didn’t think—”
“Everything’s fine,” Kidd cut in with a grunt. “Nothing to worry about at all. I just wanted to come and speak to you myself. I was only put on the case this morning and there’s only so much you can get from a written statement. I thought it might be nice to chat.” Kidd looked about himself. “Do you have a living room we could sit in?”
“No,” Lydia said. “There are some chairs in the kitchen.” She nodded towards a doorframe at the end of the corridor, no door to be seen. This place just kept getting better and better.
They headed into the kitchen, a pile of washing up in the sink, a mismatched collection of chairs sat around a dining room table. TJ and Lydia sat on one side, Kidd and Zoe took their cue and sat opposite. It all felt a little too much like an interview. Kidd didn’t want them to clam up and start getting nervous, but he could see that Lydia was already shaking.
