Deadly Cry: An absolutely gripping crime thriller packed with suspense (Detective Kim Stone Crime Thiller Book 13)

by Angela Marsons

‘Okay, you’re legit but I still don’t see why you’re here.’

  ‘May I come in and explain?’

  Lesley sighed and stood aside.

  Stacey entered the ground-floor flat and almost tripped over a box from ‘Jane’s Kitchen’, a local health food supplier.

  ‘Sorry, it’s just come,’ Lesley said, picking it up and taking it through to the kitchen before pointing Stacey to the lounge.

  Stacey immediately noticed there were few hard furnishings in the room. One oversized armchair and a few beanbags strewn around the place. An exercise bike with a laptop attached to the handlebars stood in front of the window.

  ‘Please, take the chair,’ Lesley said, disconnecting the laptop from the bike. ‘Daily Peloton class,’ she explained.

  Stacey had seen the remote exercise workouts advertised on the television; just the thought had made her sweat. She’d considered joining a gym a month ago, during her disastrous attempt to lose weight in time for her wedding, but had decided she wasn’t going to fork out a monthly payment for something that she didn’t enjoy and was unlikely to ever use.

  Lesley sat on a beanbag as Stacey took the seat she’d been offered.

  ‘I’ve been asked to take another look at your case,’ Stacey said, and then took a moment to explain the shuffle process.

  As she spoke, she saw a range of emotions flit across the woman’s face. Not least of which was fear.

  ‘Why did you choose my case?’ Lesley asked, picking at a loose piece of cotton on the bean bag.

  ‘Because I want a conviction. I want the person responsible to pay for what he did to you.’

  Lesley lowered her head for a moment and then lifted it. In that time Stacey could see that the mask had dropped. The Lesley who kept her emotions closely guarded and well hidden had moved aside to reveal the real Lesley hiding behind the screen.

  She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry but I don’t think I can go through that again. You can’t even begin to understand.’

  ‘Talk to me,’ Stacey said, trying to figure out what the officers at Brierley Hill had seen to stop them putting her on the stand. How could putting Lesley before a jury have held the potential to weaken the case against Sean Fellows? Surely two victims presented a stronger case than one.

  Right now, she was looking at a presentable, eloquent young woman who would have been authentic and believable in the courtroom.

  ‘It’s too much,’ Lesley said, shaking her head. ‘The questions, the doubt in people’s eyes when you’re telling them the most horrific thing that’s ever happened to you; the shame that it ever happened at all. I’m sorry but no, I can’t go through it again. The attack was almost two years ago. Please choose another case. I’ve managed to put it behind me. I’ve moved on with my—’

  ‘Well, that’s not totally true, is it?’ Stacey asked gently. ‘You have two dead bolts on your front door, a CCTV camera so you can see who is approaching. You have your meals delivered and just about everything else you buy comes from Amazon. The milkman keeps you topped up with basics, and you exercise via an internet site.’ Stacey paused. ‘So when exactly did you last leave your home?’

  Lesley stared at her for a moment and then burst into tears.

  Stacey wondered if the presentation of just how much her life had changed beyond normal had somehow held a mirror up to what she’d allowed her life to become. Had it been a gradual process as she’d retreated behind the safety of her front door, or had she never addressed the fear of leaving the house directly after the attack?

  Stacey tried to comprehend that basic right of free movement being taken away from her.

  For some reason, a memory played in her head. She remembered when she was thirteen years old and the school netball team had played another local school. Her team had won, and Stacey had netted the winning shot from her position as Goal Attack. Three girls from the other team had followed her home, chanting and calling her names. As she’d turned into her front gate, the lanky, redheaded one had told her they were going to wait until she came back out and beat her up. She remembered running upstairs and looking out the window every few minutes for the next two hours to see if they were still there. Eventually they’d grown bored and left and she’d never seen them again, but for those couple of hours she had felt helpless, scared and trapped, and yet no one had even laid a finger on her.

  Stacey reached out a hand and touched the woman gently on the arm.

  ‘Please, Lesley, I really would like to try and help.’

  Ten

  ‘Hey, guv, you’re not gonna question the little girl yet, are you?’ Bryant asked as he pulled up outside the narrow townhouse at the edge of Merry Hill Shopping Centre.

  She’d been considering it, but the warning note in his voice convinced her otherwise.

  ‘Bloody hell, Bryant, what kind of monster do you think I am?’

  He glanced sideways. ‘You were going to, weren’t you?’

  She huffed in response as she got out the car. Sometimes he just knew her far too well.

  It was almost six thirty, and the sun was setting on what had been a grey and humourless day. In the time since they’d left the squad room, Andrew Nock had called the station, identified his daughter and collected her. Jack, the desk sergeant, had overseen the collection, checked the man’s identification and, more importantly, witnessed the response of the little girl upon seeing her father. Without knowing the full details, Jack had informed the man that an officer would be along to speak with him later.

  The man had left the station with no clue as to what had happened to his wife and was opening the front door before they’d reached it.

  ‘Have you found her?’ he asked hopefully.

  Kim offered no answer to his question as she asked if they could come inside.

  ‘Please, come into the kitchen,’ he said quietly.

  As she followed, she caught a glimpse of the little girl curled up asleep on the sofa, still clutching the teddy bear from the store.

  ‘Mia’s exhausted,’ he explained, pulling the door closed.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ Kim said to the woman, who was using kitchen towel to wipe down the work surface.

  ‘Ella, my sister,’ he explained. ‘I called to ask if she’d seen Kat, and she came straight over.’

  Kim would not have needed the explanation of their relationship had the woman turned to face her a few seconds earlier.

  The siblings had the same straw-blonde hair and square jaw. She guessed Ella to be maybe ten years older than her brother’s twenty-nine years.

  ‘Is Kat okay?’ Ella asked, but Kim could see in her clear blue eyes that she already knew she was not, whereas her brother’s expression was full of nervous hope.

  ‘Mr Nock, please, sit down,’ Kim said. All four of them standing in the cramped kitchen was overpowering.

  ‘Just tell me—’

  ‘Mr Nock, if you’ll just—’

  ‘Sit down, Andy,’ his sister said as though she knew what was coming.

  He sat and Kim did the same. Bryant moved to the doorway to offer a little more space.

  Ella dried her hands on a tartan tea towel.

  ‘Mr Nock, I’m sorry to have to tell you that your wife is not okay. She’s—’

  ‘I knew I should have said no,’ he claimed, running his hand through his hair. ‘I could tell by her mood that she wasn’t quite with it, but we did the usual checks and—’

  ‘What checks?’ Kim asked. She’d been about to tell him his wife was dead, and she knew that anything she could learn at this point may not be accessible after he received the news.

  ‘My wife has problems, officer. She suffers from anxiety and depression. She refuses to take medication and normally she’s fine and handles it well, but this morning I watched her take dirty plates out of the dishwasher for breakfast.’

  ‘And the checks?’ Kim asked, not sure she hadn’t accidentally done the same thing herself on occasion. It didn’t mean that she was depressed or anxi
ous. More likely distracted by some problem she was having with her current motorcycle restoration project or a case she was working.

  ‘She tells me exactly where she’s going, and I call her every couple of hours.’

  As though knowing her next question, Bryant took out his pocket notebook.

  ‘And where exactly was your wife going today?’

  ‘She had a doctor’s appointment at ten, and then she was going to Brierley Hill to pick up some things from Asda and Shop N Save. Then she was taking Mia to the Ball Factory play centre.’

  ‘And you called her?’

  ‘Probably three times during the morning, and then I couldn’t get her after lunch. I called Ella and then I went out looking for her, just in and out of shops, and couldn’t see her anywhere, so made some calls – the hospital and then the station – to see if there had been any accidents.’

  ‘Is she in trouble, officer?’ Andrew asked, linking his hands together. ‘Has she done something wrong?’

  In a minute, you’re going to wish she had, Kim thought, taking a deep breath.

  ‘Mr Nock, I am so sorry to tell you that your wife is dead.’

  No matter what words she used to lead up to it, that last word still had to come out of her mouth and there was no way of softening it up.

  The only movement in the room was the tartan tea towel falling from Ella’s hands to the ground.

  Andrew Nock simply stared at her and began to shake his head involuntarily. His gaze moved to the door across the hallway where his daughter lay sleeping.

  She watched as a range of emotions crossed his face.

  The truth of the news registered with his sister first.

  ‘How?… I mean…’

  Kim guessed Ella was thinking that Katrina had harmed herself in some way. Kim hated the fact that it was all going to get worse when she delivered the rest of the news. She’d seen many methods of suicide but breaking one’s own neck wasn’t one of them.

  ‘I’m afraid I have to inform you that Katrina was murdered.’

  ‘No… no… no…’ Andrew cried out.

  Kim understood his pain. The first bombshell had barely landed before she’d ripped the pin out of a second grenade.

  Disbelief shaped his features as he continued to shake his head. As yet there were no tears. She knew they would come with acceptance.

  ‘This is some kind of mistake. I’m in a nightmare. There’s something wrong. It makes no sense. Why would anyone want to kill Kat?’

  He looked to her as though she had the answer when, in fact, she was hoping to learn that from him.

  ‘That’s exactly what we intend to find out,’ she said, looking from one to the other. ‘Is there anyone you can think of who had any kind of grudge against Katrina, or anything strange that might have happened to her recently?’

  Both shook their heads as though they were humouring her until she told them the truth.

  A light cough from Bryant told her what she was already thinking: they both needed space and time for the news to sink in.

  ‘We’re going to leave you alone for now, but a family liaison officer is on the way. They’ll answer any questions you have, and we’ll be back to talk again.’

  Kim stood.

  Andrew Nock continued to stare forward as though she hadn’t spoken. Kim wished she had words of comfort to ease his suffering, but there was nothing. As the hours grew, he would understand that the nightmare was real. There would be tears and heartache and more tears as he considered how to tell his little girl that her mummy wasn’t coming home.

  ‘I’ll see you out,’ Ella said.

  Kim passed the door to the lounge where the little girl slept. Kim’s heart ached. When she woke, Mia’s life would never be the same again.

  ‘Does the body need to be identified, officer?’ Ella asked, taking a deep breath.

  Kim could sense that the woman before her was a coper: one of those people that came into their own in the face of tragedy. The sort of person one needed in times like this.

  ‘Yes, when your brother is—’

  ‘I can take care of it,’ she stated.

  Kim hesitated. ‘It may be something your brother needs to do for acceptance,’ she said, looking back into the house and noting that the man still hadn’t moved an inch.

  ‘I’ll decide later if he’s up to it,’ Ella said in a parental tone.

  Kim didn’t show her surprise at the woman’s take-charge attitude. Sometimes it was what people needed at times like this.

  ‘Oh, and Inspector,’ she said with her hand on the door handle, ‘please cancel that liaison officer. My brother has me. He doesn’t need anyone else.’

  Eleven

  ‘It was around one thirty in the morning,’ Lesley began with a faraway look in her eyes.

  Stacey guessed that was the last memory she had of being carefree and unafraid.

  ‘The last act had finished a while before and security were ushering us out the gates. Taxis and parents’ cars lined the road, even at that time. I lived less than a mile away, so hadn’t asked anyone to pick me up. I said good night to my friends, and they piled into different cars and carried on up the road. I could still hear the beat of the band in my ears, which is probably why I didn’t hear anyone behind me.’

  Lesley paused as a dozen ‘if onlys’ appeared to surge through her mind.

  ‘I was about halfway home when I felt a searing pain to the back of my head,’ she said as her right hand touched the spot. ‘I didn’t know I’d been hit. I didn’t know anything until I regained consciousness and, even then, the blinding pain came second to the smell.’

  ‘The smell?’ Stacey queried.

  Lesley nodded. ‘I was face down in someone’s front garden. My head was being held against the dirt amongst a bed of geraniums; it’s a smell I’ll never forget. I can’t smell it now without wanting to burst into tears.’

  Stacey knew that some victims retained triggers from their attacks that brought the memories flooding back, even if the attack was not at the forefront of the mind. It could be the sound of traffic, a car horn, certain words or phrases used by the attacker. For Lesley, it would be the cloying scent of geraniums.

  ‘I felt the suffocation of the smell before the thundering pain in my head or the realisation of what was happening. His hand was holding me down exactly where I’d been struck, and he was assaulting me from behind. Any movement and the pain brought nausea up to my throat. I thought I was going to choke on my own vomit. I thought I was going to die,’ she whispered, blinking back the tears.

  Stacey nodded but said nothing. She didn’t want to rush her along. The story had to be told at her own pace, in her own way.

  ‘It was only then that I became aware of what was being done to me. I could feel something cold and hard being pushed in and out of my vagina. My shorts and underwear were around my ankles, and he was positioned on my left side, one hand on my head and one… well…’

  Stacey nodded, trying to keep her face expressionless in spite of her growing rage. She didn’t need the girl to keep repeating it. The ordeal was horrific enough the first time.

  ‘I tried to scream, but my mouth was face down in the dirt. I tried to struggle, but my body was beyond exhausted, as though every limb was being held down by lead weights. It carried on for a few more minutes and then it was over. I could still smell the flowers, but the weight disappeared from my head. I still couldn’t lift it. I didn’t even know I’d been crying; the tears had mixed with the dirt. Suddenly, the silence was overwhelming.’

  Stacey waited.

  ‘Eventually, I managed to crawl to the front door of the house and hit the front door. At first, the elderly man who lived there thought I was drunk and threatened to call the police. I just croaked out that I’d been raped. He called the police, and then sat beside me, careful not to touch me but just telling me he wasn’t leaving me and that the police were coming. Ten minutes later they did.’

  She opened her hands e
xpressively as if to say, ‘that’s it’.

  Stacey had been forming a list of questions in her mind as Lesley had been speaking. Right now, she was at a loss to understand why this woman had been denied the opportunity to testify on the stand. She was clear, concise, had a good memory of events which she recited calmly.

  Stacey knew her questions had already been asked at the time of the attack, but maybe the retelling of the event had brought up some forgotten detail.

  ‘Did he say anything to you at all?’

  Lesley shook her head. ‘Not one word.’

  ‘Was there any obvious smell, other than the flowers?’

  Lesley sighed heavily, as though she wished she had more to offer. ‘None.’

  ‘And you saw nothing at all?’

  Again, she shook her head. ‘Once he was gone, I didn’t move for ages in case he came back to kill me. I thought I was going to die, so I was too frightened to look.’

  ‘Do you have any idea what he used to assault you?’

  ‘I’m sorry but I don’t. It was hard and smooth, but not cold like glass.’

  Stacey knew nothing had been found at the scene.

  ‘It said in the report that there was minimal damage and bruising to the vagina.’ A fact that had thrown doubt over her story at the beginning of the investigation.

  ‘He wasn’t rough.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Stacey said, taken aback. The attack had sounded horrific.

  ‘He wasn’t brutal. Don’t get me wrong, I was humiliated, angry, hurt, shamed and undeniably changed for the rest of my life because of what that bastard did to me. I’ll likely never trust a man again, but you haven’t asked me if there was anything I sensed.’

  ‘Was there?’

  She nodded.

  ‘I got the impression that he wasn’t in control, that he didn’t really want to do what he was doing.’

  Stacey sat back, careful to keep the surprise from her face. But, finally, she understood why Lesley Skipton could never have been put on the stand.

  Twelve