Dawson opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again. Bryant was right but it didn’t stop the feelings he had when he thought of her sitting in the same room as that piece of shit.
‘So, I gotta call you boss now or what?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, and I’d like you to use my full title, which is “acting detective inspector for the least amount of time possible or until the real boss comes back”, if you don’t mind.’
In spite of his irritation, Dawson laughed. Added authority did not sit well on Bryant’s shoulders. It wasn’t a rank he’d ever aspired to or sought. It was time to give the guy a break but the odd needle wouldn’t hurt. Just for sport.
Bryant sighed and reached for his phone. ‘Suppose we’d better start trying to track down our favourite local crime—’
Dawson cut him off. ‘She was on the phone to the boss at midnight. You really think we’re gonna have to go running to her,’ he said, just as his phone started to ring.
He looked at the screen and smiled when he saw the contact name ‘Frosty’ flashing at him. ‘Talk of the devil and she is sure to appear,’ he said, pressing the button. ‘Frost, we were just talking about you,’ he said, pleasantly.
‘Taking your bloody time, aren’t you?’ she barked in response.
He opened his mouth to respond.
‘I mean, it was you and Bryant that attended the crime scene of my colleague up on the railway tracks almost ten hours ago now, wasn’t it?’
‘Calm down, Frost, we were just—’
‘If this is the speed you’re working at without your boss no wonder Bubba was—’
‘Bubba was what, Frost?’ Dawson asked.
‘Nothing, never mind,’ she snapped. ‘I’m gonna be at Costa top of Merry Hill for the next twenty minutes. I suggest you get here before I’m done with my coffee and panini, or you guys are gonna regret it.’
The line went dead in his ear and he growled out loud. Dawson couldn’t stomach the woman at the best of times but to him that had sounded like a definite threat.
FORTY-TWO
Stacey breathed a sigh of relief once she was away from Dawson and Bryant. On one hand she was pleased that the boss had checked in with them and had treated her like the police officer she was, instead of the intimidated black woman that Dawson thought she was. The change was refreshing. This wasn’t her first interview, but it was her first time taking the lead. And yet her boss’s faith and support gnawed at Stacey’s guilt that she hadn’t been honest about looking further into Justin Reynolds’s suicide. Especially after her reaction to being left out of the loop on Bubba Jones.
Realistically she hadn’t lied but omission felt just as grubby on her skin right now.
‘All set?’ she asked Sergeant Denny Rudd. Currently deskbound following an ankle injury, he’d been volunteered to assist in the interview.
He was a tall, thin, humourless man with a set expression that never changed.
‘Yep,’ he answered, nodding towards the door of interview room one.
Stacey pushed down the door handle and strode into the room.
God help her, the first thought into her head was that he absolutely did not look like a racist. And she knew better than anyone that racism didn’t carry a badge and had no uniform.
But there was an element of safety in the assumption that hatred and bigotry came from predictable sources. Skinheads sporting swastika tattoos and crude knuckle lettering were one thing, but reasonable, educated people with such foul values was another thing entirely.
She suddenly thought of the films like Borat and Four Lions. It was acceptable to enjoy the humour in these films, as the opinions were always presented from the viewpoint of an ignorant, stupid, uneducated person.
She placed her folder on the desk and caught his wry smile. As though she’d been sent in here just to aggravate him.
‘I am Detective Constable Stacey Wood, and I’d like to ask you a few questions.’
‘About what? I’ve been charged, bailed and should now be free to go.’
‘The details of your bail conditions are just being finalised. My questions are not related specifically to the messages you sent to the Kowalski family. It concerns a comment you made to my colleagues when they placed you under arrest.’
He sat back in his chair, draped his right arm lazily across the back of the vacant chair beside him.
‘Oh yeah, what’s that?’
There was a playfulness in his eyes that stoked the nausea inside her.
Oh, how she wished he had been held in custody, but the bastard had calmly and rationally admitted his guilt to the judge and had been remanded on bail until his trial. Stacey guessed that no trial would take place. There was barely enough room in the prisons for people who committed violence, never mind the sickos that just threatened it.
‘It’s a pity you have to find somewhere else to live,’ Stacey said, trying not to respond to his arrogance. One of his bail conditions was to stay at least 500 feet from the Kowalski family.
He shrugged and Stacey knew even this wasn’t a major inconvenience to him. The house was rented, and he’d soon find another.
‘The street had gone downhill anyway,’ he said, meaningfully.
‘Excuse me?’ she said.
‘Too many new families, foreign families,’ he said, pointedly. ‘Where are you from?’ he goaded.
‘Dudley,’ she replied.
‘No, I mean, where are you really from?’
‘Now just a—’
‘It’s okay,’ Stacey said, silencing the sergeant’s protests beside her.
‘As I said, Dudley,’ she repeated, pointedly. For the first thirty seconds of entering the room even she had wondered if this was a good idea but the more she looked at this man the more he diminished before her eyes.
She was not sitting in this room as a cowed black woman.
She suddenly remembered her first day at infant school. She had been one of the first in the classroom to take a seat. Other kids had filed in and seated themselves at the tables furthest away. As more children entered the room she could see them being guided towards the table she occupied alone. She had felt the heat in her cheeks as her excitement at school had ebbed away.
As kids had struggled to fit two to a chair before being instructed by the teacher on where to sit, Stacey had found herself smiling apologetically that they’d been forced to move.
It wasn’t the only time she had found herself apologising for being black.
She was not apologising any more.
She was a police officer and a detective. And a good one at that.
‘Mr Flint, much as your views appear to be very important to you, they are of no consequence to me and have no bearing on our discussion today.’
She was surprised at the strength in her own voice.
‘What really interests me is the comment you made to my colleagues about something bigger. What did you mean?’
Again the shrug.
‘Nothing in particular,’ he said.
‘I doubt that, Mr Flint. You don’t seem too big on idle chat.’
‘Let’s just say that some people don’t stop at text messages to get their point across.’
‘You’re talking more violence?’
He leaned across the table. ‘I’m not talking about anything, except the fact there’s a lot of hate out there to be exploited.’
Stacey felt her insides recoil at his proximity but she didn’t move a muscle.
‘And that’s all I’ve got, constable,’ he said, sitting back. ‘Except to say, you should probably be careful.’
‘Are you threatening me, Mr Flint?’ Stacey asked, as a chill worked through her.
‘Not at all. I’m giving you a piece of advice.’
Stacey noted his exact words on her pad.
That’s not what it had sounded like to her.
FORTY-THREE
Kim took her place at the front of the room. She didn’t mind Travis’s silent
objection by sitting in his office. From the corner of her eye she could see that he was staring at his computer screen but his hand on the mouse was still.
He was listening.
‘Okay,’ she said, claiming their attention. ‘We learned yesterday that the Preeces have not inspected the Cowley property for years. That much is obvious. The place is a shit tip, and the chance of the techies finding anything to link the family to the bodies is hopeful, at best.
‘We did, however, find this,’ she said, handing out copies of the half note.
Five pairs of eyes frowned at it much the same way as she and Travis had the previous day.
‘I don’t know if we can gain anything from it but if anyone wants a stab…’
‘Me,’ said Penn at the back.
She noted his headpiece was a black and white polkadot design today.
‘I’d like to give it a go.’
‘Crack on, then,’ she said. ‘We visited Mr Cowley junior in hospital yesterday but were blocked at every turn by his sister. Now, she is currently trying to be everywhere at once so she can’t stay by his side indefinitely. I’m wondering if we should…’
‘How about I visit him?’ asked Lynda.
Lynda was a young attractive woman, and the best chance they had of teasing some information out of the young man.
‘Aren’t you working on CCTV for the attempted abduction, and the RTA yesterday?’ Kim asked.
‘I’ll carry on with that while she’s gone,’ said Lewis, shooting up his hand.
‘Okay, thanks Lewis. Great idea, Lynda. His sister still insists it was an accident and that he can’t speak.’
She raised her eyebrows to indicate her feelings on both scores.
‘I’ll check on Mr Dhinsa while I’m there as well,’ Lynda offered. ‘Still unconscious at eleven last night. Oh, and breath test on the supermarket driver was negative. Witness statements still being taken,’ she added. ‘And the post mortem on the female will take place later today.’
‘Lynda, would you?…’
‘I’ll get right back on it once I’ve been to the hospital,’ she said, brightly.
Kim smiled in her direction. Jeez, this girl was keen.
Johnson leaned forward, frowning.
‘If Lynda’s at the hospital, should we maintain a presence back at the Cowley house while the techies are still searching? Pile on the pressure to see if anything gives?’
‘You volunteering?’ Kim asked.
He nodded his shiny bald head.
Kim felt the excitement in her stomach.
‘Okay, field trips sorted. This Cowley family is hiding something and we need to know what it is. They haven’t paid rent to the Preeces in years, and I think we should dig as far as we can with this family. Do they have any other land? Why are the Preece family so accommodating to the Cowleys?
‘And someone needs to chase ballistics and see what we have on that bullet.’
Gibbs held his hand up, taking responsibility for that task. ‘And I’ll work with Penn on matching the description of our male to the mispers reports.’
Kim nodded, satisfied. It was a two-way exchange, feeding off each other’s energy. She felt good, energised, hopeful.
And then she spied Travis standing in the doorway.
She just hoped she could maintain it.
FORTY-FOUR
‘Why the hell is she sitting outside?’ Bryant asked, as his colleague pulled on to the car park.
‘A break from the fiery furnaces,’ Dawson quipped.
His question was answered as she lit a cigarette.
‘Didn’t know you smoked,’ Bryant said to Frost, getting out of the car.
‘Near-death experiences and dead colleagues can cure a ten-year abstention,’ she said.
Only two shiny silver chairs were placed around the table, and Tracy’s designer handbag was occupying the second.
Bryant pulled two chairs from the next table when it became clear her handbag was staying seated on the chair beside her.
‘Spare me the details, but did he suffer?’ she asked, spearing Bryant with her eyes.
He would swear he saw some evidence of tears having escaped those slightly swollen lids.
‘No details,’ he said, kindly. The true horror of what they’d found would be withheld from the press. She didn’t need the picture in her head. No one did.
‘Any leads?’ she asked, shortly, as Dawson scraped the metal chair across the slab as he sat.
‘We’re working on it, Frost,’ he answered.
‘Well, do it quicker, will you?’ she snarled. ‘He was a good kid.’
Bryant was surprised to see the emotion that she hid with a cough.
‘Did you know him well?’ he asked.
‘Been working with him for a few months now. Keen as mustard and not bad at reading people,’ she said, glancing at Dawson.
‘For his own ends,’ Bryant responded. He felt slightly defensive of the way the lad had manipulated his colleague, through vanity, into going against the boss’s wishes. ‘Any enemies you know of?’
Tracy shook her head and blew out a stream of smoke before pounding the cigarette into the ashtray.
‘Surprisingly, despite our charm and wit, us reporters are not the most popular people in the world. But I can’t think of anyone who would want to decapitate him.’
So she knew that much about Bubba’s death. Bryant decided not to pursue how she’d found out.
‘Have you spoken to his boyfriend yet?’ she asked, testily.
‘Boyfriend?’ Dawson asked, looking his way. Bryant shrugged. He’d never even met the young reporter.
Frost looked incredulous. ‘Really, Dawson? The shirts didn’t give it away?’
‘Truthfully, Frost, I’ve never judged a man’s sexuality on the colour of his shirts.’
She shook her head as she took a pad and pen from her handbag on the seat beside her. She scribbled for a few seconds and then ripped off the piece of paper.
‘His name is Nigel, and you’ll find him here,’ she said.
‘Nexus?’ Dawson asked, raising one eyebrow.
‘New club opening next week off the Stourbridge ring road. He’s the Manager.’
‘Serious boyfriend?’ Bryant asked.
‘About a month; so, practically married,’ she said.
Bryant held her attention. ‘Was he working on anything likely to get him hurt?’
Frost coloured and shook her head.
‘Do you want to elaborate?’ Bryant asked.
‘No,’ she answered, reaching for her handbag.
‘Come on, Frost,’ Dawson said, leaning forward. ‘You hinted at something on the phone. Sounded like he was working on something. What was he investigating?’
‘You guys,’ she answered.
Bryant looked to his colleague. ‘Us?’ he asked.
‘Don’t flatter yourself, boys. Not you two in particular but changing police attitudes in general. He was exploring the notion that many less serious incidents are not getting the attention they deserve.’
‘I don’t get you,’ Bryant said.
‘Well, let’s be honest, there are sexy cases and ugly cases for you guys. Anything with the word murder, assault and violence shoots to the top of your in trays. Lesser incidents are constantly pushed down the list.’
Bryant began to shake his head but Tracy held up her hand.
‘We’re never gonna agree, but that’s not the angle he was going for. He felt that some reports aren’t even making it to your desks and are being blocked at the door, especially the ones not target driven.’
‘Oh come on, Frost,’ Bryant said. ‘You and I both know that national targets were abolished five or more years ago.’
‘Ha,’ she said, derisively. ‘Check the recent report that says burglary, vehicle crime and robbery are still target driven, and just because the targets have been removed at the top doesn’t mean individual forces aren’t still working to them.’
Bryan
t began to shake his head in denial.
‘I covered a shoplifting case recently. Twenty-eight-year-old male arrested for two joints of lamb from Asda. Caught on CCTV and bang to rights. When searched, he had a bag full of goodies pilfered from seven other shops. How many offences do you think he was charged with?’
Bryant could already guess the answer.
‘One, Bryant. Just the stolen meat, so it wouldn’t increase the number of offences. His crime counts as one statistic even though he’d nicked from eight different shops.’ She paused. ‘So, yeah, I think the kid was on to something.’
‘And you encouraged it?’ Dawson asked. ‘And here’s me thinking you might have grown some scruples following your recent near-death experience ‒ which, incidentally, would have been an actual death experience had it not been for us.’
Bryant shivered as he remembered how close Tracy Frost had come to losing her life to a twisted individual hell-bent on childhood revenge. Had Kim not been so doggedly determined that the woman had been abducted, in the face of everyone else’s doubt, Tracy Frost would not be sitting here right now.
‘Don’t you dare throw that at me, Dawson. Your boss saved my life and for that she gets a bit of latitude and a lot of respect. If you think that encompasses the entire West Midlands police force, you can think again.’
Bryant stepped in. ‘So, the story he was covering?…’
She turned away from Dawson and nodded in his direction. ‘To be honest, it looked like it could go somewhere. He got the idea after speaking to Aisha Gupta and I think…’
‘Who the hell is Aisha Gupta?’ Dawson raged.
Tracy shook her head. ‘Jesus, guys, you’re kinda proving Bubba’s point here.’
They waited for her to continue.
She rolled her eyes and lit another cigarette. ‘Aisha Gupta is a seventeen-year-old Indian girl from Hollytree. Last week she was accosted by some weirdo, and she reported it to the police. She didn’t get a great response.’
‘Was she hurt?’ Dawson asked.
Tracy shook her head and blew out a plume of smoke.
‘Was she touched inappropriately?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Tracy said.
Dead Souls: A gripping serial killer thriller with a shocking twist (Detective Kim Stone Crime Thriller Series Book 6) Page 16
