A different class of rule, surely? And she’d just given that information away for free.
Alex allowed gradual understanding to dawn in her yes. She nodded slowly, in a ‘good for you’ kind of way. A tremulous smile communicated that it would remain their secret.
‘I’m so pleased you’re able to stay in touch. I just feel so sorry for my sister. She’s alone, you see. No husband to help. Our parents died years ago.’ Alex summoned more tears. ‘We only have each other and I can’t even be there to help her.’
Alex saw Katie glance to the door. Not one person had passed by during their conversation.
Drive it home, Alex, she thought to herself.
‘What I wouldn’t give just to know my sister and her poor baby are okay.’
Katie reached into her pocket and produced an older model iPhone.
‘Here,’ she whispered, pushing the phone towards her beneath her hand. ‘Quick, go behind that bookshelf and make the call. One minute.’
‘Are you—?’
‘Just do it,’ Katie said, pressing the phone into her hand.
Alex grabbed the phone and headed to the area suggested as Katie stood and moved towards the door.
Alex smiled as she keyed in the number that she had memorised, followed by the two words that were expected at the other end.
The recipient already knew what the words ‘do it’ meant.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The postcode they’d obtained for Jason Cross’s whereabouts was enough to take them to the twelve properties it covered; spotting his liveried van on the drive had not posed much of a challenge.
‘Not a bad working environment,’ Bryant observed, and Kim had to agree.
The house, like the Brightman residence, was large and in an affluent area.
‘He gets very good clients,’ Bryant said, parking right behind the van.
‘He must be very good at what he does,’ Kim answered, getting out of the car.
‘Must be,’ Bryant agreed.
The front door to the property was wide open in line with the rear of the van for easy access. They walked straight in.
This hallway was even more spacious than the one at the Brightman home. And much more opulent. A theme of gold swathed the entire space. The ornate bannister of the sweeping staircase was gold encrusted. Vases set in recessed wall spaces were decorated with gold. An imposing glass table was edged with gold. The photo frames that lined the wall were formed of gold.
Kim had the feeling of having entered an undiscovered Egyptian tomb.
Bryant’s wrinkled nose said it all. The Brightman residence was tasteful. This one was not.
The sound of the radio drew them towards the back of the house. They arrived at the doorway to a large kitchen area in disarray. Every available space was filled with shiny white cabinets like the ones she’d seen before. A six ring stainless steel oven unit was an abandoned island in the middle of the room.
Kim was about to call out when a soft curse sounded from beneath the double sink unit in the corner.
‘Jason Cross,’ Kim said.
‘Yep, that’s me. Give me a minute.’
The absence of surprise told her he’d known they were coming.
Bryant took a step closer and then realised it was not an easy trip to make and stepped back.
‘Gotcha,’ they heard before the sound of rustling came from the sink.
Jason Cross emerged and smiled in her direction.
Kim was immediately struck by his obvious good looks. His T-shirt was black and bore the company logo. His trousers were also black and appeared to have pockets at every angle. He was an inch short of six feet tall and built like a working man. She could see the muscles of his upper arms stretching the cuff of his short sleeve.
The prettiness of his face was emphasised by the light, bright blue irises that appeared translucent from across the room. His hair was a dirty blonde with natural highlights left over from the summer.
If every person had one imperfection, then Kim surmised that his was hiding somewhere beneath his clothes.
‘Have you brought the mixer tap I didn’t order?’ he asked with a lopsided smile that seemed a natural expression on his face. Kim could understand how that smile would be appealing.
She held up her identification.
‘We’d like to ask a couple of questions about Deanna Brightman.’
His face closed down slightly as he took a cloth from his back pocket and wiped his hands.
‘Of course.’
He leaned back against the sink unit and crossed his arms over his chest.
‘You recently worked at Deanna’s home?’ Kim asked.
‘Yes, I’ve been there on and off for the last couple of months. Deanna didn’t want too much disruption at any one time and had the kitchen done in stages.’
‘Like this one?’ Kim asked, deliberately, as something in his answer struck her.
He shook his head. ‘No. Mrs Richmond has taken herself off to Kenya for a two-week safari and wants it done by the time she returns.’
Aha, as she had thought. She tipped her head, questioningly. ‘Sorry, but I couldn’t help notice the first name reference for Deanna, but a more formal address for this customer. Any particular reason why?’
He shrugged before reaching for the cloth to wipe his hands again. They appeared to be clean.
‘Some clients prefer a more informal approach. And I was there for quite some time.’
‘The two of you became familiar?’
‘We talked,’ he admitted. ‘She was a very sociable lady.’
And from Deanna’s point of view there were worse people to pass the time of day with, Kim suspected.
‘About what?’ she pushed.
Again, the arms folded across the chest. Jason Cross was developing quite a telling pattern.
‘Many things, officer.’
‘So the two of you became quite friendly, Mr Cross?’
He coloured. ‘Is there something you’d like to ask me, Inspector?’ he said, meeting her gaze.
She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t pass up such attractive invitations. ‘Were you sleeping with Deanna Brightman?’
‘Absolutely not,’ he replied, swiftly. There was no shock at the question. No defensiveness at being asked such a thing. No anger at questioning his professionalism. Just a flat out denial that he had been waiting to offer.
‘Have you ever been in Deanna Brightman’s car?’ she asked.
‘Absolutely not, never,’ he answered, shaking his head. ‘I would have no reason to.’ Again, with the ‘absolutely’ not. And the additional ‘never’.
‘Would you be prepared to give us a DNA sample?’ she asked.
‘As soon as I see the warrant, Inspector,’ he answered shortly. His initial open smile appeared to have deserted him.
‘It would be helpful to us if we didn’t have to,’ she said, watching, as he reached again for the cloth, realised what he was doing, and thrust his hands into two of his many front pockets.
‘It would be helpful if you could nail someone for her murder within forty-eight hours too, but it’s not going to be me.’
Kim knew the issue of a warrant on what she had was a shot in the dark. If Woody wasn’t on holiday, perhaps, but without him she didn’t have a chance.
‘Mr Cross, are you married?’
He nodded. ‘Happily,’ he qualified, unnecessarily.
‘Children?’
‘Yes. A boy, he’s seven.’
Kim nodded. ‘That’s a lot to lose.’
He reached for the cloth for the third time.
‘I have no intention of losing them, Inspector, so if there’s nothing further—’
‘Where were you on Sunday night, Mr Cross?’ she asked, pointedly.
‘At home, watching television.’
‘And your wife can verify that?’
‘I was alone. She and Donnie were at her mother’s.’
‘Hmmm… ’ Kim said.<
br />
He threw the cloth on the side. ‘Inspector, I don’t like the direction of this conversation, and I think you should leave.’
‘Do you know anyone by the name of Maxine Wakeman?’
His eyebrows drew together and he began to shake his head before he realised he was answering the question.
‘Please leave,’ he repeated.
‘I’m finished, Mr Cross, for now, but please don’t go too far away. I have the feeling we may need to talk again.’
‘I won’t be going anywhere,’ he said, turning away from her.
Bryant sighed heavily as they stepped back into the watery afternoon sun.
‘Bloody hell, guv. That got wintry pretty quick. Do you think you could have gone a bit—’
‘He’s lying,’ she said, flatly. ‘About how much I’m not sure but I’m willing to bet your pension that the hair found in the car belongs to him.’
‘Doesn’t exactly look like the murdering type, guv.’
‘Who the hell does?’ she asked, seriously.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
‘Seeing as you asked pretty boy about Maxine, I’m assuming we are treating it as one case?’ Bryant asked when they were back in the car.
Kim thought for a moment. This was a first for her. Every other multiple murder case she’d worked had shared a commonality amongst the victims. At the minute she had only the manner of death to link them together.
Deanna Brightman was a wealthy middle-aged woman with a responsible job and a loving family. Maxine Wakeman was twenty-two years old, a drug addict, who was known to the neighbourhood team for prolific shoplifting to feed her habit.
‘Bryant, I’m honestly not sure.’
She allowed the question to circulate in her subconscious as a vision of Alex came into her mind. Or rather became clearer in her mind. The woman had been lurking in there all day.
The contents of the letter were still running around causing havoc in her memory. She had tried to find a box to put them in but it wasn’t working yet. Too many emotions were being prodded by the woman’s intrusion. Normally she was able to keep everything packaged away until she decided to think about it. Where Alex was concerned there appeared to be a bleed. A blurring of the edges.
‘What’re you thinking?’ Bryant asked to fill the silence.
She offered no response. He really wouldn’t like her response. The course of action that she knew she had to take would prompt him to fill out the forms to have her sectioned. No, the less Bryant knew at the moment the better it was for her.
The rest of the journey passed in easy silence until Bryant brought the car to a stop in front of an end terrace in a street that was bursting with cars.
‘Are you sure this is the right address?’
She wasn’t sure what prompted the question. Perhaps it was the fact that every property they’d visited so far had been affluent.
Plant Street lay behind Cradley Heath Library that was situated on the Reddal Hill Road. At the top of the street was a small park and an open field used often as a shortcut for the many estates that had a primary school close by.
‘This is the place,’ Bryant confirmed.
The door was opened by a woman in her mid-forties. Her hair was dark and showed tell-tale evidence around the temples of being recently dyed.
Her green uniform was that of a hospital auxiliary.
‘Mrs Wakeman?’ Kim asked.
The smile was open and unsuspecting. She nodded cheerfully. Kim hated that she was about to wipe that smile from the woman’s pleasant face.
‘We’re here about Maxine… ’
‘My daughter?’ she asked.
Kim nodded as the woman stood back.
‘Please, come in.’
Kim stepped into a small room that held two armchairs, a gas fire and a sideboard covered in Capo di Monte. Mrs Wakeman continued past a poky passageway that led up a narrow flight of stairs.
Quickly they had reached a small, brightly decorated kitchen at the end of the house. Kim realised if she were to measure it in steps it would have been no more than thirteen paces long.
‘How is she?’ the woman asked, eagerly.
Kim looked to Bryant for a clue. Who the hell did this woman think they were?
She slowly took out her identification and introduced them both.
The woman looked confused. ‘I’m sorry; I thought you were from the clinic.’
Kim was unsure why she’d thought that but alarm bells were going off in her head.
‘Mrs Wakeman, may I ask when you last saw your daughter?’
‘Well, it’s been a while but she’s still my child. Well… my daughter… you know what I mean.’
Kim had no idea what she meant and was beginning to doubt the woman’s ability to answer questions.
‘Mrs Wakeman, I think you should sit down and tell us when you last saw Maxine.’
The woman did as she was told as she looked from one to the other. Her expression was still open and obliging.
‘It’s been a few months since I’ve actually seen her. She used to phone a lot, even wrote to me a few times when she was in the clinic, but I’ve not heard anything for a while now.’ Finally, doubt and concern rested on her face. ‘She’s still off the drugs, isn’t she?’
‘Mrs Wakeman, can you tell me why you haven’t seen your daughter in so long?’ Kim asked, gently. She knew she needed a better understanding before she ruined this poor woman’s life.
‘Well the grass is always greener, isn’t it?’ she answered.
‘What grass?’ Kim asked, feeling bewildered by the riddles this woman seemed to be using to communicate.
‘I told her the truth years ago, you see. As soon as she was old enough to understand. Completely uninterested she was. Didn’t care. Not until she turned sixteen and we started having all sorts of problems. By then she thought the world had been invented just for her. Her mouth had the answer to every question and we were arguing like cat and dog,’ she said, as though that answered everything.
‘Please, go on,’ Kim encouraged, realising it was the best course of action. She could allow Mrs Wakeman a few more moments of normality before her world crashed down around her.
‘She’d already dabbled in drugs by then. Not the hard stuff, I don’t think, but enough to change her from the Maxine I knew. Well, the more I tried to keep her away from the bad stuff the more she rebelled against me and the more we fought. That’s when she began to show an interest in what I’d told her.’
‘Which was?’ Kim said, patiently. They still had the terrible news to break to the woman.
‘The identity of her real mother. We adopted Maxine when she was seven months old.’
‘And Maxine left to be with her?’ Kim asked.
Mrs Wakeman nodded. ‘I didn’t really mind at the time. I thought a rest would do us both good. Since her father died when she was eight it had always been just the two of us. Just trying to muddle through.
‘And I hoped her real mother would be able to help with the drug problem. She could afford to send her to a private rehab and get her cured once and for all.’
Kim did not comment on the naiveté of that statement. If only that was all it took.
‘Of course, I never thought for a minute she’d be gone this long. I thought she’d be back within a few weeks and we could just start again.’ The sadness in her expression was unmistakeable, and Kim’s stomach dropped another couple of inches as the news she was here to share stayed inside her for a few minutes longer.
Mrs Wakeman continued. ‘I called her birth mother a couple of times but just got bog standard responses and a promise that she’d call soon.’
‘So you know the birth mother?’ Kim asked, nonplussed.
Mrs Wakeman rolled her eyes. ‘Oh yeah, I know her and you probably know of her too. She’s on the television almost every day.’
Kim was satisfied that they would be able to take the next step in talking to Maxine’s birth mother but, befor
e they did, Kim had no choice but to break this woman’s heart.
She looked to Bryant seeing her own regret mirrored in his eyes.
She reached for the woman’s hand. ‘Mrs Wakeman, I’m afraid we’re here to bring you some very bad news…’
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Kim kicked the speed of the Kawasaki Ninja up to 65 mph and gunned the middle lane to overtake two tankers and a motorhome. She slipped back into the slow lane a hundred metres before she took the slip road and left the M6.
The ride had helped blow away some of the cobwebs spun by the outpouring of grief both she and Bryant had witnessed from Mrs Wakeman, who had blamed every bad thing on herself. Surprisingly, there was no rage towards the birth mother. That may come later, Kim reasoned.
Kim couldn’t help but feel sad that Maxine Wakeman had seen fit to go searching for something more than she already had. What did an adoption certificate really mean? In an ideal world it should have meant that the mother and daughter bond was forged for ever. But it didn’t. It had turned Mrs Wakeman into a caretaker until a better option had come along.
And what of the birth mother? Did she deserve a second chance with the child she had given away? Kim was not blinkered enough to think that there were not genuine reasons for surrendering a child to the state. Hell, she wished her own mother had done it – but surely there had to be a finality. Once it was done it was done. No going back.
These thoughts had been buzzing around her mind since she and Bryant had driven away from the residence, solemn, still under the cloud of the woman’s grief. She had called an end to the day; they would pick up with the Maxine Wakeman case in the morning.
Her evening walk with Barney had been interrupted by other thoughts. She had felt as though her brain was being divided in half. One side was as clear as a summer day. It was focussed and driven and determined to put together the pieces of the puzzle to find out who had killed Deanna Brightman and possibly Maxine Wakeman. The other side was grey and dark and crowded with thoughts and feelings that she didn’t want.
And those thoughts had brought her here, she thought, as she parked the bike outside Drake Hall Prison.
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