‘What can you tell us about the victims?’
‘Not much. I rarely saw the day staff. Sometimes Mary, the housekeeper, would stay until I arrived to give me the gossip.’
‘What type of gossip?’
‘Mainly about Miss Wyatt and Mr Croft arguing. It was a power thing, Mary said.’
‘Can you think of anyone who would wish to harm any of the girls?’
William visibly paled and then looked to the window. ‘You can’t possibly think that anyone ... you really think that body in the ground is one of the girls from Crestwood?’
‘We haven’t yet ruled it out.’
‘I’m sorry but I really don’t think I can offer anything to help.’
William stood abruptly. His expression had changed. Still softly spoken, he had decided it was time for them to leave.
Bryant persisted. ‘What about the girls? Were they much trouble?’
William began to move away from them. ‘Not really. There were a few rebellious ones but they were generally good kids.’
‘What do you mean by rebellious?’ Bryant asked.
‘Just normal things.’
It was clear that William Payne wanted them to leave and Kim began to understand why.
‘What kind of ...’
‘Bryant, we’re done,’ Kim said, standing.
William looked at her gratefully.
‘But if I could just ask ...’
‘I said, we’re done.’ There was a growl in her voice. Bryant closed his notebook and stood.
Kim walked past William. ‘Thank you for your time, Mr Payne. We won’t keep you any longer.’
Kim passed by Lucy’s chair. She touched the girl’s left hand lightly. ‘Goodbye, Lucy. It was lovely to meet you.’
At the door Kim turned. ‘Mr Payne, if I could trouble you for a minute longer. What did you initially think we were here for?’
‘We had an attempted robbery the night before last. They didn't get away with anything but I called it in anyway.’
Kim smiled her thanks as he closed the door behind them.
Once outside the gate Bryant turned to her. ‘What was all that about? Didn’t you notice how he changed when we started to ask him about the girls? He couldn’t get us out of there quickly enough.’
‘It’s not what you think, Bryant.’
Kim walked across the road and turned, surveying the property. Of the seven houses, it was the only one with an alarm attached prominently to the front of the house. A passive infrared light and sensor was aimed directly at the gate. She had seen an identical sensor covering the rear of the property along with a six foot fence topped with cat spikes.
House breakers did not deliberately challenge themselves with the trickiest home available. And Kim did not believe in coincidences.
Bryant huffed. ‘You don’t know what I think because you didn’t give me chance to find out. He was nervous, Guv.’
Kim shook her head as she walked up the hill.
She passed Daniel Bate walking his dog back towards the car.
‘Hey, Detective, just can't keep away, eh?’
‘Yeah, Doc. I really can,’ she said, without breaking her stride.
‘Guv, what the hell is going on?’ Bryant asked her as they reached the car. ‘You don’t normally walk away from a challenge. That bloke was as nervous as hell and you just left it.’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘He all but physically removed us.’
‘Yes, Bryant, he did.’ She turned and glared at him over the roof of the car. ‘Because he needed to change the nappy on his fifteen-year-old daughter.’
Twenty-Seven
The care home was an exercise in symmetry. Inside the foyer was a glass hatch on either side. To Kim's right was a small empty office and to her left was a room holding a couple of desks and a woman wearing a black T-shirt. The gatekeeper.
‘Can I help?’ Kim was guessing she’d asked through the glass barrier that separated them.
‘Could we speak to one of your patients?’
The female shrugged, not understanding. Kim pointed to the sliding doors but the female shook her head and mouthed ‘emergency only.’
For a moment Kim felt as though they were trapped in some kind of decontamination chamber. She pointed to the inner set of doors.
The woman nodded and pointed to an open book on a ledge to the right of the window. She made a squiggle motion with her right hand. Kim guessed that was the instruction to sign in.
‘Remind me of the progress we’ve made in communications,’ Kim muttered to Bryant.
They signed in and waited for the buzzer.
As they entered Kim could see immediately that there were two communities. To the left were the more able-bodied residents. One or two moved around the area on walkers, other residents leaned across their wing-backed chairs engaging in conversation. Philip Schofield droned on about money management. Residents had turned and were looking in their direction; new faces.
To the right, there was very little sound. A nurse wheeled around a trolley dispensing medication. No one looked in their direction.
The woman from behind the glass stepped out of the office. She had donned a badge just above her left breast that read ‘Cath’.
‘How can I help you?’
‘We’d like to talk to one of your residents; Mary Andrews.’
Cath’s hand went to her throat. ‘Are you family members?’
‘Detectives,’ Bryant answered. He continued talking but the woman’s reaction brought a sick feeling to Kim’s stomach. They were too late.
‘I’m sorry, but Mary Andrews died ten days ago.’
Before any of this started, Kim thought – or perhaps it had been the start of it all.
‘Thank you,’ Bryant said. ‘We’ll contact the medical examiner.’
‘For what?’ Cath asked.
‘Clues to her death,’ Bryant explained but Kim had already turned away. She pushed on the door but it was locked.
‘There was no post mortem carried out on Mary Andrews. She was terminally ill with pancreatic cancer so it was hardly any great surprise when she died. There was no reason to subject her family to the process so she was released to Hickton’s.’
Kim didn’t need to ask. Everyone knew the funeral directors in Cradley Heath. They’d been burying the locals since 1909.
‘Did Mary Andrews have any visitors that day?’
‘We have fifty-six residents in this facility, you’ll pardon me if I don’t recall.’
Kim heard the hostility and ignored it.
‘Do you mind if we check the visitor’s book?’
Cath considered for a second and then nodded. She pressed a green button that released the doors and Kim stepped back into the foyer.
Kim started turning back the pages while Bryant held open the door with his foot.
‘Sir, you’ll have to let the door close behind you or an alarm will sound.’
Suitably chastised, Bryant stepped back into the foyer.
‘What’s wrong with you anyway, got something against old folks?’ Kim asked, noting the set expression on Bryant’s face.
‘Nah, it’s just depressing.’
‘What?’ Kim asked, turning back another couple of pages.
‘Knowing this is the last stop. When you’re out in the big wide world anything is still possible but once you move into a place like this you know there’s only one way you’re gonna move out.’
‘Hmmm ... cheery thought. Here it is,’ she said, stabbing the page. ‘Twelve fifteen on the tenth. Visitor signed themselves in to see Mary Andrews with a name that is completely illegible.’
Bryant pointed to the top right corner of the foyer.
Kim turned and knocked on the glass window. Cath scowled at her. Kim pointed to the entry doors. The buzzer sounded.
‘We need to view your CCTV.’
Cath looked as though she was about to object then just humphed loudly. ‘This way.’
They followed her through the general office and into a space behind.
‘Here it is,’ she said, leaving them to it.
The space hardly qualified to be called a room. There was a small desk with an old television monitor and playback controls. A single VHS machine chuntered to the side.
‘I suppose digital was too much to hope for,’ Bryant groaned.
‘Yep, good old video tape. Please tell me they’re labelled.’
Kim took the only chair as Bryant inspected the shelves of video tapes.
‘There are only two for that date. One for day and one for night. Tapes are only changed every twelve hours.’
‘So, now we’re talking time lapse?’
‘Afraid so,’ he said, grabbing the tape. From an evidence point of view real time video was acceptable, as it captured everything in full. Time lapse recording grabbed an image every few seconds which gave a mechanical motion to the video, almost like a collection of screen shots.
Kim put the video into the machine. The screen came to life. She forwarded the tape to the rough time of day.
Kim stared at the screen. ‘Are you seeing what I’m seeing?’
‘Tape degradation. Shit, you can’t make out a damn thing.’
Kim sat back in the chair. ‘How many times have these tapes been used?’
‘Looking at that, we’re talking hundreds.’
CCTV tapes were normally destroyed after twelve cycles to prevent what was showing on the screen now.
Kim continued to watch the shadows of figures entering and leaving the foyer.
‘Jesus, it could even be me.’
Bryant looked at her seriously. ‘Is it you, Guv?’
Kim leaned back and opened the door.
‘Cath,’ she shouted. ‘Got a minute?’
Cath appeared at the door. ‘Really, Detective, there’s no need to ...’
‘We’re taking this tape.’
Cath shrugged. ‘Okay.’
‘Do you have a release form for us to sign?’
‘A what?’
Kim rolled her eyes. ‘Bryant.’
He ripped a page from his pocket notebook and wrote down the tape rotation number, their names and the police station.
Cath took it, although she was clearly unsure why.
‘Cath, you do realise that this system is pretty much useless?’
The woman looked at her as though she was stupid. ‘It’s a care home, Detective, hardly crime central.’
The woman appeared triumphant.
Kim nodded her agreement as Bryant chose to inspect his nails.
‘You’re right ... but with better tapes we might now be in a position to identify someone responsible for two, perhaps three, murders and we would certainly be closer to ensuring they did not get the opportunity to murder again.’
Kim smiled pleasantly at the woman’s horror-stricken face. ‘But thank you for your time and helpful co-operation.’
Kim strode past the woman and let herself out of the building.
‘You know, Guv, I always knew there was more cause to fear you when you’re smiling.’
‘Get that tape to Stacey. She may know a miracle worker who can offer us a clue.’
‘Will do. Where to now, Guv?’
Kim took the keys from his hand.
‘We’re gonna take the ride of your worst nightmare, Bryant,’ she said, opening her eyes wide. ‘We’re going from the care home to the funeral home.’
Bryant shuddered. ‘Fine. But if you’re driving, just make sure it’s not my last ride, eh?’
Twenty-Eight
‘Seriously, Guv, I’ve heard of ambulance chasing but speeding after a bloody corpse?’
Kim closed the road distance between themselves and the car in front. ‘You heard the undertaker. She only left two hours ago. If we can get there in time we can stop the ceremony and order a post mortem.’
‘The family will be thrilled.’
‘Stop whining.’
‘You realise we’re headed back to the crematorium right next to the site? Ever feel like you’re getting nowhere?’
‘You have no idea,’ she said, sounding the horn at the car in front that was hesitating at a small traffic island. The car turned right.
Kim motored up the Garrett Lane hill and over the canal bridge. Bryant bounced in his seat. She took the fourth exit off the island straight into the crematorium grounds and stopped outside the entrance.
‘Damn, no cars or mourners,’ she observed.
‘Maybe we’re early. Perhaps the funeral party is still at the house.’
Kim said nothing as she got out of the car and headed into the building. A young girl sat on the wall, her head bowed.
Kim continued forward. There was a funeral to crash.
Kim shuddered as she entered the building. Wooden benches lined the space on each side of the walkway. The centre aisle led to a curtained area. Red velvet drapes were pulled back to their resting positions.
To the right was an elevated pulpit. A board behind held three hymn numbers.
Kim felt the soullessness of the place. She didn’t care much for churches but at least they provided balance. There were weddings, christenings; celebrations of a beginning, to equal out loss. This place existed for death alone.
‘May I help you?’ asked a voice without a body.
She and Bryant looked at each other.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Bryant whispered.
‘Not quite,’ said a figure appearing from behind the pulpit.
Although not fat, the black ministerial robe was not flattering to the man that wore it. His face was not as round as his body shape indicated. His salt and pepper hair was heavy at the sides but thinned in a wide arc over the top of his head like a well-trodden path over a field. Kim guessed he was mid- to late-fifties.
‘But may I help in His absence?’
The voice was low and even with a gentle rhythm. Kim's foster mother number five had possessed a telephone voice which bore no resemblance to how she spoke normally. Kim wondered if the minister had a special voice for services.
‘We’re looking for the funeral party of Mary Andrews,’ Bryant said.
‘Are you family members?’
Bryant produced his warrant card.
‘In that case, you’re too late.’
‘Damn. Is there any way the process can be stopped?’
The minister looked at his watch. ‘She’s been in there at eleven hundred degrees for about an hour. I suspect there won’t be a lot left.’
‘Bugger ... Sorry, Father.’
‘I’m a minister, not a priest, dear, but I’ll pass your apology on.’
‘Thank you for your help,’ Bryant said, nudging Kim towards the door.
‘Dammit, dammit, dammit,’ Kim said, heading back to the car.
Her peripheral vision registered the young girl still sitting on the wall, alone. She reached the car and glanced back. It was obvious that the girl was shivering but it wasn’t her problem.
She opened the car door and paused. It really was not her problem.
‘Back in a minute,’ she said, slamming the door shut.
Kim trotted over to the girl and stood to her side. ‘Hey, you okay?’
The young girl looked surprised. She tried to manage a polite smile while nodding. Her eyes were raw recesses in a pale face.
Her feet were encased in flat, patent shoes with black and white bows. She wore thick black tights and a knee-length skirt. A grey shirt was smothered by a double-breasted suit jacket that was both outdated by two decades and oversized. An outfit cobbled together for a funeral but offering no protection against the temperature that had not crept above two degrees.
Kim shrugged and turned away. She’d asked the question. The girl was in no distress other than grieving. She could walk away with a clear conscience. It was not her bloody problem.
‘Someone close?’ she asked, sitting on the wall.
The girl nodded again. ‘My n
an.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Kim offered. ‘But sitting here is not going to do you any good.’
‘I know but she was more like my mum.’
‘But why are you still here?’ Kim asked, gently.
The girl looked up at the chimney of the crematorium. Thick smoke funnelled out and dispersed. ‘I don’t want to leave her until ... I don’t want her to be alone.’
The girl’s voice broke and the tears rolled over her cheeks. Kim swallowed as she realised who she was talking to.
‘Your nan was Mary Andrews?’
The girl’s tears stopped as she nodded. ‘I’m Paula ... but how did you know that?’
Kim didn’t feel the need to give the grieving child any details.
‘I’m a detective. Her name has come up in connection with that over there.’
‘Oh yes, she used to work at Crestwood. She was the housekeeper for about twenty years.’ The girl suddenly smiled. ‘She used to take me with her sometimes if she worked at weekends. I’d help with changing the beds or some washing. I’m not sure how much help I was.
‘All the girls loved her even though she took no nonsense from them. They seemed to respect her. They didn’t cheek her and she got lots of hugs.’
‘I bet the rest of the staff loved her as well.’
Paula shrugged and then smiled. ‘Uncle Billy did.’ She nodded to the bottom of the hill. ‘He used to live down there.’
Kim was intrigued. ‘How did you know Billy?’
‘Sometimes my nan would watch his daughter for a bit so he could go shopping.’ The girl smiled and looked up at the chimney. ‘She was only supposed to sit and watch Lucy but my nan couldn’t do that. She’d always find a couple of jobs to do before he got back, just a bit of ironing or vacuuming. And I’d play with Lucy. When he came back she wouldn’t mention anything she’d done. She didn’t want thanks, she just wanted to help.’
‘It sounds like your nan was a very special lady,’ Kim said and meant it.
‘We never went back after the fire and my nan said they’d moved away.’ Paula thought for a moment. ‘You know, a lot changed for my nan after that fire. She’d never been an old nan, if you know what I mean, but after the fire it’s like something went out of her.’
Silent Scream: An edge of your seat serial killer thriller (Detective Kim Stone crime thriller series Book 1) Page 11
