She knew people laughed behind her back as she tottered around on them, and that was fine because what they didn’t know was that the shoes helped her hide the real problem.
The one that had plagued her for most of her life.
Eleven
Oh, Mummy, I miss you every single day.
I have trudged through the sludge of years since you left me.
How strange that I always phrase it that way in my mind. You left me. You didn’t leave me. You fucking died.
Sorry, Mummy, you don’t like swearing and neither do I. It is a sign of a limited vocabulary, you said.
I always agree with you, Mummy. Eventually.
I remember one time when I didn’t. I woke up and my clothes were laid out at the bottom of the bed.
It was a brown pinafore dress that buttoned up the front. It was dark brown. The colour of mud. It was a rectangle that fell at a no man’s land between my knees and my ankles. A long, shapeless block of dirt with two flaps as mock pockets on the front. Not even real pockets.
I liked pockets.
I hated it. I didn’t want to wear it, and I told you I wouldn’t.
You asked me if I would reconsider.
I said no.
You gave me that sad smile, and I knew I’d made a mistake. But I couldn’t go back.
And neither would you.
Without speaking you marched to my room. You brought down all my favourite clothes. You took the scissors, the sharp ones you used to cut my hair. I knew they were sharp because one time you nicked my neck while giving me a trim.
You sat at the kitchen table, a smile playing across your mouth, and I was happy to see any expression at all.
Cut. Cut. Cut.
I watched as you began to snip them to smithereens – like streamers, slivers of material fell to the ground, intertwining with each other like a pit of snakes.
The pinafore lay folded on the table between us.
You didn’t cut along seams. You cut so they could never be repaired. The damage was done.
A lesson to be learned.
I started to undress and the scissors slowed but they didn’t stop. I looked at you, but you didn’t look at me because you knew.
You had won.
I slipped on the yellow T-shirt and then the slab of brown. It hung like a block of unyielding chocolate.
You placed the scissors on the kitchen table, gently and without speaking, and stood at the sink.
I stood in the middle of the kitchen, staring at your back. The only sound was your hand swishing the warm water as you turned the washing-up liquid into bubbles.
But still you didn’t speak. What else had I done wrong? I had done what you asked but still that wall of silence and a spine bent with displeasure.
‘Mummy…’
You turned. Your face was impenetrable, but somewhere beneath was the promise of a smile.
This was my moment, my opportunity to make our world right again.
If only I said the right thing.
‘Mummy, play with me.’
And, finally, you smiled.
But you’re not here to play with me any more, are you, Mummy? But my other friends are.
I must go now.
My next best friend is waiting.
Twelve
‘Okay, folks, let’s get to it. Stace, what do we know about the team at Westerley?’ Kim asked, eager to get moving on the first full day of investigation.
‘Professor Christopher Wright was born in 1959. His father died when he was two years old and his mother never remarried. He’s a confirmed bachelor and has worked in various medical fields before settling on human biology. He has written countless papers and is listed as a consultant to seven universities that I’ve found so far.’
‘Clever chappie,’ Bryant observed.
‘Oh, there’s more,’ Stacey said, continuing. ‘He is a qualified expert and has testified in at least three murder investigations and two appeals. He’s got a reputation for remaining calm even under robust cross-examination. Also, in addition to his full-time job at Westerley he’s still pretty active on the lecturing circuit.
‘There was a complaint lodged against him in his early teaching days by one of his students, but it was unfounded and later retracted. Oh, and he has a cat named Brian.’
‘Bloody hell, Stace,’ Kev said snidely. ‘What did you do, take him out?’
‘To be honest he’s plastered all over the internet. He wasn’t hard to find,’ Stacey admitted.
Kim opened her mouth to ask a question, but the detective constable beat her to it with the answer.
‘No criminal record, boss. Three parking tickets all paid on time.’
‘Bit of an open book,’ Bryant said. There was nothing there that warranted any kind of note-taking.
‘Catherine Evans, on the other hand, is a completely different story,’ Stacey said, raising her eyebrows. ‘No articles and no published papers. Found her on LinkedIn but no Facebook or Twitter. Really weird.’
Not that strange, Kim thought. LinkedIn, she knew, was a type of Facebook for professionals. She wasn’t on it. Neither was she on Facebook or Twitter. Some people just chose to live their lives away from social media.
‘Next.’
‘Jameel Mohammed is twenty-two, was top of his class for statistical analysis at Loughborough University. You can find him on Facebook, Twitter, Snapchat and Pinterest. There are six video clips of him on YouTube, playing the guitar… badly. Lives at home in Netherton with his mum and dad and two older sisters.’
Okay, Kim mused. Nothing there was screaming ‘I’m a murderer’.
‘Keep digging on Catherine and I think we need to cast the net a bit wider. Get on to Professor Wright and get a list of people involved with setting up Westerley.’
‘Will do, boss.’
Kim rubbed at her chin. ‘Stace, before you start that, can you get me the aerial view of the site?’
Stacey tapped a few keys and Kim moved to stand behind her.
As the camera zoomed in Kim waited until she could make out the whole area. ‘I want a better idea of how he got her in there.’
Google continued to rotate the world before her eyes.
‘Stop. There’s the stream running through which marks the boundary of Westerley land so we know that Jemima wasn’t actually dumped on their property.’
Kim couldn’t help wondering if that was significant.
‘Zoom back out… slowly. Is there anything else in the area?’
Both she and Stacey stared as the camera view backed up.
‘Is that a road, Stace?’
Stacey zoomed back in. ‘Kind of.’
It was barely a single-track carriageway that on closer inspection was a dirt track. It was little more than a few tyre tracks driven into the grass.
‘You really think one man carried her up that grass bank alone, guv?’
‘She was delivered somehow, Bryant, and it wasn’t by Royal Mail.’ She turned back to Stacey. ‘Zoom back out. Jesus, there’s nothing around there.’
The choice of the location was becoming a real source of intrigue for her. There had to be a significance, and she wanted to know what it was.
‘Okay, Stace, you know what you’re doing. Kev, I want you focussing on access and CCTV. How the hell did he get her up there?’
Already something here was not making sense.
Thirteen
‘Guv, can you remind me what I did to deserve the pleasure of coming back here with you?’
‘You’re just lucky, I suppose,’ Kim said as they waited for the gate to open.
‘Oh yeah.’
‘Bryant, you know I have a very fair way of choosing who gets the shit jobs. Whoever pisses me off the most. Simple.’
‘Ah, that explains why it’s always me.’
Kim opened her mouth to argue but no, he was right.
And still the gate hadn’t opened.
‘It wasn’t this hard for our bloody m
urderer to get in,’ Kim moaned, giving the button another press.
The gate began to move.
Kim drove through and across the gravel.
She glanced to the line of cars and groaned inwardly when she saw the red pickup truck of Daniel Bate.
‘Not one word,’ she growled at Bryant.
‘Yeah, I appear to be in enough trouble as it is.’
She parked up at the end of the row beside a silver Aston Martin. It was a car she hadn’t seen parked there the previous day.
‘Okay, I’m gonna get Catherine to take me on a bit of a tour and I want you to chat to the others.’
She got out of the car and turned to lock the door.
‘Ah, Kim. I hoped you’d be back,’ Daniel Bate said, approaching his vehicle.
‘Why are you still here?’ she asked.
‘Nothing too urgent back in Dundee so I thought I’d hang around. Annoy people for a while.’
‘Must be nice to have that level of flexibility,’ she observed.
‘I’ve earned it,’ he stated simply.
Annoyingly, she knew it to be true. Their time spent on the Crestwood case had shown her Daniel was not afraid of hard work.
‘Well, just don’t annoy me,’ she said to his back.
‘Believe it or not, I’m not even trying. Yet.’
He swung open the passenger door. Lola, his one-eyed dog, jumped down to the ground, shook her body then wagged her tail. The dog turned, stared for a second and then bounded towards her at the end of the pickup truck. Kim wasn’t sure how the dog’s vision was affected but it didn’t seem to bother her one bit.
Kim instantly held out her hand for the dog to sniff.
‘Pretty pointless doing that,’ Daniel said, walking towards her. A lead dangled from his hand. ‘Dogs’ noses are so powerful she could smell you before you came through the gate.’
Yeah, Kim knew that, but it was still her natural reaction to show the dog she was no threat.
The dog started sniffing madly at her boots and offered a couple of playful barks.
Daniel shook his head, bemused. ‘She likes you. God only knows why.’
Bryant chuckled, knowingly. ‘She can smell Barney.’
Kim threw him a murderous look.
‘Who’s Barney?’ Daniel asked, looking from her to Bryant.
‘My goldfish,’ she answered.
Daniel looked down to where Lola’s attention was still fixed on her boot.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘What did you do, stamp on him?’
‘Yeah, because he pissed me off,’ she said, walking away.
She heard Daniel laugh somewhere behind her.
She opened the Portakabin door and walked into the chest of a navy blue thick-knit jumper. She looked up but then levelled her gaze as the man stepped down onto the dirt patch.
The first thing she noticed was that the sun had disappeared behind either his wrestler’s body or his shaved head.
‘And you are?’ she asked.
‘Darren James, security and going home.’
He plucked at a lanyard around his neck and produced a security licence.
He’d obviously spent the night at the facility guarding the bodies and was under the illusion he could simply finish his shift and leave.
‘Well, you got the first two right but not the third,’ Kim advised. ‘You won’t be going anywhere until Bryant here has had a word with you.’
‘No way, love. Me bed’s calling after a thirteen-hour shift.’ He nodded towards the open door. ‘Me boss is in there, and you can take it up with him.’
She peered at his badge. ‘Instead of “love” try “Detective Inspector” and don’t make me cuff you to the door.’
He looked to Bryant.
She rolled her eyes. ‘I can’t actually do that, Darren, but we do need you to stay.’
He was still looking at her doubtfully. Honestly, could no one take a joke any more?
‘Bryant will speak with you first so you can get off, okay?’
He nodded. ‘All right if I have a smoke first?’
‘Go for it,’ she said, walking around him.
She stepped into the Portakabin.
Jameel and his companion turned. Jameel nodded briefly and turned back to the screen. The gaze of the man next to him lingered.
Kim met the look squarely. The expensive grey suit told her she was looking at the owner of the Aston Martin outside. He was a man that wore a pricey suit well. Not too tight and not too loose. His shirt was a crisp white with a burgundy silk tie. His chestnut hair was cut stylishly and professionally short but he had the blackest eyelashes she had ever seen on a man.
He stood and offered his hand. She reached out and shook it.
‘Curtis Grant, Managing Director of Elite Systems Security.’
Kim recognised the name. It was embroidered into Darren’s jumper.
From the corner of her eye she could see the quad grid on Jameel’s screen. ‘You set up the CCTV here?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘We offer a complete security service to meet all your needs.’
He began to reach into his suit pocket and Kim held up her hand. He may have been in the habit of offering a business card to everyone he met but she wasn’t in the market for his services.
He took another step forwards. ‘Professor Wright asked me to come in. We’re looking at an upgrade.’
The words horse and bolted sprang to mind but this was not her business.
She turned away and took two steps further into the Portakabin.
‘Morning, Professor,’ she offered. Now that was progress. She had learned to offer a morning greeting. Woody would be so proud.
‘Please, Inspector, call me Chris.’
She nodded the acknowledgement. She very rarely allowed people to drop her title. The use of her first name was an intimacy that she did not invite. It was good for people involved in a case to remember they were dealing with police officers and not friends. Although the title dropping could be used to her own advantage sometimes.
His voice dropped to a whisper as he turned his back towards the others. ‘Have there been any developments on the case – anything you can share with us?’
Kim could understand why he was asking. He was in charge of the facility and he’d been right there with them when the body had been found. However, he was a civilian and she could no more share details of the case with him than she could with anyone else.
‘I’m sorry, Professor, but I can’t really discuss our lines of enquiry.’
She had been unable to force his first name out of her mouth.
She ignored the surprise on his face and continued with her reason for being here. ‘I’d like to take a walk around with…’
‘Catherine is just about to start her morning checks. Perhaps you could tag along.’
Perfect.
She nodded her agreement and headed towards the woman whose concentration was fixed on the clipboard.
‘The Professor said I could—’
‘I heard, Inspector. I’m not deaf,’ Catherine said without raising her head.
Clearly not a morning person, Kim surmised. She didn’t hold it against her. She herself had yet to find any time of day that enhanced her mood.
However, she was not a patient person. She offered a small cough.
Catherine finally turned and looked at her. There was neither a smile nor a frown.
‘Subtle,’ she said, standing and towering over Kim. The loose jeans and plain black vest top enhanced the woman’s androgynous shape. ‘I am now ready to make a start.’
Kim transferred her mobile to the back pocket of her black canvas jeans and removed her jacket. The temperature was around nineteen and humid.
She followed Catherine out the door and turned left. The discovery of Jemima’s body had curtailed their guided tour and Kim could see they were now taking the other route.
‘So you’re an entomologist?’ Kim asked as they left the gravel and
stepped onto grass.
‘Yes,’ Catherine answered.
‘And you’ve worked here for—’
‘I’m thinking, Inspector. I work as I walk.’
So do I, Kim thought. Or at least I try to.
Catherine’s words were not unpleasant or rude. Merely cool and detached. Not unlike herself, Kim conceded.
‘Am I a suspect?’ she asked and Kim saw the first evidence of an expression. It was the hint of a smile.
‘Everyone is a suspect,’ Kim answered honestly. ‘So…’
‘I have worked at Westerley since it opened, having been asked by Professor Wright to leave my old job.’
‘And you two met…?’
‘I was a student of his at Aston University.’
‘So what appealed to you about… oh my God!’ Kim exclaimed.
‘I’d like you to meet Elvis,’ Catherine said.
A body had been placed half sitting, half lying against the trunk of the tree. Kim was glad Catherine pointed out the name as she honestly could not have fixed a gender.
It wasn’t the sight of the body that had startled her. It was the volume of wasps.
One buzzed close to her ear and she instantly swatted it away. Two hovered close to Catherine’s right eye, but she made no move to displace them.
Nerves of steel, Kim noted.
‘Elvis is helping us learn about wasp activity on the body.’
‘How?’ Kim asked.
Catherine leaned down closer to the body. Kim did not. She had seen many dead bodies that were combed for clues to help her do her job. Somehow the sight of corpses deliberately abandoned to the insect and wildlife community for feasting and housing was a new experience for her.
‘We all know that clumps of fly eggs hatch into thousands of maggots in as little as four to six hours. But yellow jackets and wasps show up within the first few hours too. Some feed on the body itself. Others snag flies in their wing, carry them off and decapitate them with one swift bite of their jaws. Others feast on the masses of fly eggs or the young maggots hatching in the body’s openings.’
‘So what are you hoping to learn about the wasps?’ Kim asked, taking a step back. Catherine’s movement around the body had caused a clump of them to emerge from the left eye of the corpse.
Play Dead: A Gripping Serial Killer Thriller Book 4 Page 6
