‘If yer want. Just be quick and leave me in peace.’
Kim was tempted to show him the photos on her phone but just in time remembered a valuable piece of advice offered to her by Woody. If you can’t play nice ... let Bryant do it.
Connop’s skin was a roadmap of burst capillaries and bore the pallor of lifelong drinking. The whites of his eyes had submitted to the colour of jaundice. His facial hair was white and days old. The wrinkles in his forehead did not revert to a resting position and judging by their depth she guessed this guy had been born pissed off.
He used both hands to hold the cob together as he raised it to his mouth, chewing noisily.
Clearly one to multitask, he spoke at the same time. ‘Go on, ask yer questions and fuck off.’
Kim chose to look away as his mouth macerated the food into a mixture of mashed-up cheese and bread.
‘What can you tell us about Teresa Wyatt?’
He took a gulp of beer to wash down the sandwich.
He wrinkled his nose. ‘A bit up herself and hoity-toity but she day really interfere. She never spoke to the likes of me. Any jobs was writ on the board and I just gor on with ‘em.’
‘What was her relationship like with the girls?’
‘She didn't really ‘ave a lot to with ‘em. Day to day she wasn't too involved. To be honest, I think it woulda been the same to her if the place was filled with a load of farm animals. Had a bit of a temper from what I heard but other than that there ain't nothing I can tell yer.’
‘How about Richard Croft?’
‘Fucking wanker,’ he said, taking another bite.
‘Care to elaborate?’
‘Not really. If he’s still alive when yer get to him, you'll see what I mean.’
‘Did he have much involvement with the girls?’
‘You're kiddin ain't yer? He didn't come out of his office long enough to spake to any of ‘em. And they all knew better than to bother him. His job was budgets and stuff. Talked a lot about marking benches and performance intimators or some other shit.’
Kim guessed he meant benchmarking and performance indicators, both of which would have meant nothing to the handy man.
Arthur tapped his nose. ‘Always dressed above his station, that one.’
‘You mean he wore nice clothes?’
‘I mean he wore nice everything. Suits, shirts, shoes, ties. He weren't buying that on the salary of a civil servant.’
‘Is that why you didn't like him?’ Kim asked.
Arthur grunted. ‘I didn't like him for a million reasons but that weren't one of ‘em.’ His face creased in distaste. ‘Slimy, nasty bastard. Superior and secretive and ...’
‘About what?’ Bryant asked.
Arthur shrugged. ‘I don't know. But why a man would need two computers on his desk is beyond me. And he'd always pull down the lid of the small one when I went in. Dunno why. It ain't like I could've understood it.’
‘Did you know Tom Curtis?’
Arthur nodded as the last of the cob was ground up in his mouth. ‘He weren't a bad lad. Young and good looking. He had more to do with them girls than anybody. Do ‘em a sarnie if they’d missed tea, that kinda thing. He put a brave face on it.’
‘A brave face on what?’ Kim asked.
‘Bein’ at Crestwood, of course. That’s the thing, see. Everybody was there for their own reasons. It was a good stepping stone to wherever folks wanted to get. Except Mary. Salt of the earth, that one.’
Kim turned away for a second, thinking about the charges in the care of this group of people who at best, had offered no warmth, guidance or genuine care – and at worst, had done a whole lot more.
‘Did you know William Payne?’ Bryant asked.
Arthur guffawed. ‘Oh, you mean Golden Bollocks?’ he asked and then laughed to himself. It wasn’t a pleasant sound.
Kim turned and peered closely at the man before her. The effects of the alcohol were loosening him up. His focus was slightly off as he took another good gulp of beer, finishing off his pint.
Kim stood and went to the bar. ‘How many has he had?’ she asked Maureen.
‘A double whisky and he’s on his fourth pint.’
‘That his usual?’
Maureen nodded as she filled up a bowl with salted nuts for communal use. Kim wouldn’t have eaten one with an AK47 at her head.
Maureen turned and threw the empty bag in the bin. ‘Once he’s finished that pint, he’ll ask for another, I’ll refuse him. He’ll call me a foul name and then he’ll stagger home to sleep it off before coming back again tonight.’
‘Same routine every day?’
Maureen nodded.
‘Jesus.’
‘Don’t feel too sorry for him, Detective. If you’ve got any pity going spare, offer it to his wife.
‘Arthur’s a miserable old man who’s been a victim for as long as I’ve known him. He’s not a cuddly old granddad and he’s just as obnoxious, drunk or sober.’
Kim smiled at the woman’s honesty. By the time she sat back down the last pint was half gone.
‘Yeah, fucking Billy this, Billy that. Everyone bent over backwards for fucking Billy. Just ‘cos he had a spastic daughter.’
Kim felt the growl rise in her throat. Bryant shook his head at her and so she unclenched her fists. It wouldn’t do any good to floor him. He was never going to change.
‘Yeah, let’s all take care of Billy. Let’s give him all the easy jobs and leave all the shit for Arthur. Let’s let Billy work whatever hours he wants and Arthur can have all the rest. We all had fucking problems and if he’d just shoved her in a home we’d have never ...’
Kim leaned forward. Close enough to see the last ounce of clarity dawn in his eyes.
‘Never what, Mr Connop?’ Bryant prompted.
He shook his head and his eyes rolled but his hand eventually found his glass. He raised it to his mouth and finished it.
He held the glass aloft. ‘Another, Maureen?’ he shouted.
‘You’ve had enough, Arthur.’
‘Fucking slag,’ he slurred, banging the glass onto the table.
He stood and wobbled.
‘Arthur, what were you going to say?’
‘Nothing. Piss off and leave me alone. You’re too fucking late.’
Kim followed him out of the building and grabbed his forearm. Her tolerance for this embittered old man had run out.
She spoke loudly as a car ignited close by.
‘Listen, you know that three former staff members have died in the last two weeks. At least two were murdered and unless you tell us what you know you’re probably going to be next.’
He fixed her with a look that belied the level of alcohol raging around his body.
‘Let ‘em come, for fuck’s sake. It’d be a welcome relief.’
He pulled his arm from her grasp and stumbled down the road. He swayed into a parked car and then into a wall, like a pinball.
‘It’s no good, Guv. He’s not gonna tell us anything in this state. Maybe we should visit him later when he’s had a chance to sleep it off.’
Kim nodded and turned. They headed back to the car parked just around the corner.
As Kim reached to open the car door the air was filled with a sickening thud, followed by a high-pitched scream.
‘What the hell? ...’ Bryant shouted.
Unlike Bryant, Kim didn’t need to ask as she turned and started running back down towards the pub.
In her gut, she already knew.
Thirty-Seven
Kim was beside the prostate form of Arthur Connop within seconds.
‘Move away,’ she barked.
Three people stepped to the side and Bryant stood between them and the figure on the ground.
Before she turned her attention to the victim, Kim nodded to a youth across the road pointing a mobile phone in their direction.
Bryant sprinted across and without his protection the crowd began to converge on her again.
‘Folks, back off right now,’ she shouted, as she assessed the damage.
Connop’s left leg was hanging in the gutter at an unnatural angle. Kim leaned down and put two fingers to his neck which told her exactly what she already suspected. He was dead.
A young woman with a pushchair was already requesting an ambulance.
Bryant returned and looked down at her. ‘Guv, do you want me to ...’
‘Get details,’ she said. She would not expect her team to do anything she wasn’t prepared to do herself. And she was trained. Damn it.
She knelt on the ground as Bryant turned to the witnesses and tried to corral them away from the area.
She rolled him over onto his back, gingerly. His face was mottled with gravel from the road. His eyes stared, unseeing, up to the sky.
She heard the gasp of one of the witnesses but she had no time to worry about the sensitivities of onlookers. It was human nature to peer at things that would later cause nightmares but her priority was Arthur Connop.
Kim gently tilted back his head using two fingers beneath the chin.
His zip-up cardigan had not been fastened so she ripped open his shirt
She placed the heel of her right hand at the centre of his chest and placed her left hand over the top, interlocking her fingers. She pressed down sharply approximately six centimetres. She counted to thirty and stopped.
She moved to Arthur’s head and with her left hand pinched his nose shut. She sealed her lips over his mouth and blew steadily.
She watched as his chest rose; the result of artificial respiration. She repeated the process and then returned to compressions.
She knew that CPR was used primarily to preserve intact brain function until further measures could be taken to restore spontaneous blood circulation and breathing. The irony was not lost on her that she was trying to preserve a brain that the owner had spent years trying to destroy.
The squeal of police sirens stopped somewhere behind her. Their first priority would be to close off the road to preserve evidence. Others would take over questioning the witnesses.
Above and around her she was conscious of the activity but her focus remained on the lifeless figure beneath her hands.
A cacophony of voices surrounded her but one broke through her concentration.
‘Guv, shall I take over?’
Kim shook her head without looking up. She paused compressions, sure she’d just seen the chest move of its own volition.
She stared hard. It rose again. The light was returning to his eyes and a low guttural groan escaped his lips.
Kim sat back in the road, her arms dead with fatigue.
Arthur Connop looked right at her. She saw an instant of recognition and the glint of understanding as the pain throughout his body travelled along the nerves to his brain. He groaned again and a grimace contorted his features.
Kim laid a hand on his chest. ‘Stay still, the ambulance will be here soon.’
His rolling eyes found her as she heard another siren in the distance.
‘Ended,’ he gasped.
Kim bent her head. ‘What’s ended, Arthur?’
He swallowed and shook his head from side to side. The effort brought another groan.
She heard the approaching footsteps of the paramedics.
‘What did you say?’
‘End it,’ he managed.
She looked into his eyes and saw the light once again receding.
Her aching arms instinctively moved towards his chest but she felt herself being moved aside.
Two green uniforms blocked her view. The male felt for a pulse and shook his head. The female began compressions as the male began taking equipment from his bag.
Bryant took her arm and guided her away.
‘He’s in good hands, Guv.’
She looked back as the male paramedic placed the defibrillator pads on Arthur Connop’s chest.
She shook her head. ‘No, he’s gone.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He asked me to end it.’
She leaned against the wall, fatigue taking the place of adrenaline. ‘Whatever the hell went on at Crestwood tormented these people for the rest of their lives.’
Bryant nodded. ‘Witnesses saw a white car speeding away. No one actually saw the impact but one swears it was an Audi, the other says a BMW. Could be unrelated, Guv.’
She turned and looked at him. ‘Bryant, he stumbles the hundred yards home every day without incident.’
‘So, you’re not thinking genuine hit-and-run.’
‘No, Bryant, I think our killer was out here waiting and the bastard had the gall to do it right in front of us.’
He touched her arm gently. ‘Come on, let’s get you cleaned up before we ...’
She pulled her arm free. ‘What time is it?’
‘Just after twelve.’
‘Time to pay our local councillor a friendly visit.’
‘But, Guv, a couple of hours ...’
‘May well make us too late,’ she said, heading back towards the car. ‘Other than William Payne, our councillor is the only one left.’
Thirty-Eight
‘Got any of those mints, Bryant?’ Kim asked. She’d used and balled up three wet wipes to clean her face, neck and hands but, psychological or not, the lingering aroma of beer and onion would not go away.
He reached into the side compartment of the driver’s door and offered her a fresh packet. She took one and popped it in her mouth.
The menthol aroma blazed a trail right down to her lungs.
‘Jesus, do you need a licence for these?’ she asked, once her right eye had finished watering.
‘Consider the alternative, Guv.’
She took a good hit of the sweet and looked out of the window as they approached Bromsgrove town centre. Bryant took a right past the old union workhouse which had operated until 1948.
Although only ten miles from Stourbridge, it was like entering another world.
The area was first documented in the early ninth century as Bremesgraf and had grown up around farming and nail making. Staunchly Conservative, the affluent, rural population was primarily white British, with four per cent ethnic minority.
‘Are you kidding me?’ Kim asked as they turned off Littleheath Lane. Houses along this stretch of Lickey End started at seven-figure prices. Tall hedges and long driveways protected the houses from view. Known as 'the banking belt', the area accommodated the corporate professionals with easy access to the M5 and M40. Not the natural habitat of a local MP.
The car stopped at a walled garden separated by a wrought-iron gate.
Bryant wound down the window and pressed the intercom button. A distorted voice answered and Kim couldn’t be sure if it was male or female.
‘West Midlands police,’ Bryant said.
There was no reply but a low thunk signalled the electronic gate sliding behind the left hand wall.
Bryant drove through as soon as the gap was wide enough.
The gravel drive led them to a redbrick courtyard and a two-storey farm house.
The property was L-shaped and Kim could see a detached garage block behind that would have eaten her house for lunch. Despite the mansion space for the vehicles, two cars were parked on a gravel patch to the right of the property.
An open canopy porch trimmed the building and planters holding bay trees were set at regular intervals.
‘You wouldn’t want to give all this up without a fight, eh?’ Kim asked.
Bryant pulled up outside the front door. ‘He’s a witness, not a suspect, Guv.’
‘Of course,’ she said, getting out of the car. ‘And I’ll be sure to remember that when I question him.’
The door was opened before they reached it. Before them stood a male Kim guessed to be Richard Croft.
He wore cream chinos and a navy blue T-shirt. His greying hair was damp and a towel rested around his shoulders.
‘Forgive me, I’ve just jumped out of the p
ool.’
Of course. She had that very same inconvenience all the time.
‘Nice cars,’ Kim observed pleasantly nodding towards an Aston Martin DB9 and a Porsche 911. There was a space in between.
Kim saw two CCTV cameras perched on top of the building.
‘Security overload for an MP?’ she asked, following Richard Croft into the hallway.
He turned. ‘Oh, the security is for my wife.’
He turned left and they followed through double glass doors into what Kim assumed was one of the lounge rooms. The ceiling was low and supported with thick beams that had been expertly restored. Caramel leather sofas and mauve walls lightened the space. French doors led to an orangery that appeared to run the entire length of the house.
‘Please, take a seat while I arrange for some tea.’
‘Oh, how civilised,’ Bryant said as Richard Croft left the room. ‘He’s going to make us tea.’
‘I think he said he would arrange for some tea. I’m pretty sure that means he isn’t making it.’
‘Marta will be along in a moment,’ Richard Croft said, re-entering the room. The towel had gone and the hair had been combed revealing more grey hair around his temples.
‘Your wife?’
He smiled, revealing teeth that were just a little too white. ‘Heavens, no. Marta is our live-in. She helps Nina with the boys and the house.’
‘And a very lovely house it is too, Councillor.’
‘Richard, please,’ he offered, magnanimously. ‘The house is the love child of my wife. She works hard and expects to relax in a comfortable home.’
‘And she does what exactly?’
‘She is a human rights barrister. She defends the rights of people you may not particularly wish to spend time with.’
Kim got it immediately. ‘Terrorists.’
‘Individuals accused of terrorist activity would be a more politically correct term.’
Kim tried not to let her emotions show but the distaste must have been obvious.
‘Everyone is entitled to make full use of the law, wouldn’t you agree, Detective?’
Kim said nothing. She didn’t trust her mouth to open. She firmly believed that the law was applicable to everyone and so she had to concede that the defence of that same law should be made available to everyone. So, she agreed with him. She just hated the fact that she agreed with him.
Silent Scream: An edge of your seat serial killer thriller (Detective Kim Stone crime thriller series Book 1) Page 15
