‘That’s not the point,’ Stacey protested. Jeez, if she ever expected an easy ride with this woman, she could think again.
‘Dee, can you just be on my side?’
Devon chuckled. ‘Of course, if you’re in the right or I’ve had my full frontal lobotomy. Was your boss right? Were you sulking because she’s holding something back from you?’
Stacey sighed. ‘Not what you’d call sulking really…’
‘So, you were sulking but thought you were hiding it?’
‘Oh, come on, Dee, now you’re just—’
‘Three weeks ago, when I booked a meal out for your birthday and took you to The Chateau with romantic lighting, soft music and the best table in the place, it was clear to me that I’d messed up.’
Stacey was surprised. ‘It was a lovely restaurant with—’
‘And you’d have been happier at the Brewers Wharf at the Waterfront because you love their food.’
‘But I didn’t say—’
‘You didn’t need to, babe,’ Devon said, turning to face her in the kitchen. ‘You get a thin line right here,’ she said, touching the corner of her mouth. ‘Gives you away every time.’
Stacey tipped her head. ‘Am I turning into a spoilt bitch?’
Devon smiled and kissed her lightly on the nose.
‘No, my love, you thought you were hiding your feelings to protect mine. It was me that messed up and made a mistake. Maybe your boss is thinking the same thing. Maybe she wants to apologise,’ Devon said, tapping her on the behind. ‘So, you’d best head off and see what she’s got to say.’
Forty-Seven
‘Right,’ Kim said, facing her team. ‘I make no apologies for what I’m about to tell you.’
She avoided looking directly at Stacey for whom the comment was intended.
‘It appears our killer might be making his kills personal to me,’ she said.
Stacey and Penn sat forward, and she felt the shared glance behind her back between Alison and Bryant.
‘It would seem that he is trying to recreate traumatic events from my past. I’m not giving you the gory details but it’s safe to say that significant points like handcuffs, radiator, location and the cracker packet are all relevant.’
She paused but no one spoke.
‘Penn, Stace, there was another incident a couple of hours ago. A middle-aged couple in a burnt-out car parked outside the old speedway site in Cradley. All relevant,’ she said.
They were getting no more detail than that. The vision of her foster parents burnt and blackened following the motorway crash was something she wouldn’t, couldn’t, dwell on.
‘So, this person is trying to hurt you?’ Stacey asked, wide-eyed.
‘It appears so,’ Kim answered.
‘It’s about pain not death,’ Penn said. ‘They want you to suffer.’
Kim nodded.
‘Hang on, we don’t know that for certain,’ Alison said. ‘This could all be a warm-up to something. The end game could be death.’
Kim turned. ‘Thanks for talking about my potential murder without one ounce of emotion.’
‘You’re welcome,’ she said. ‘But if he hates you enough to do all this then it’s pretty safe to assume he wants you dead.’
‘Guys,’ she said, turning back, ‘I’ve decided it’s okay for everyone to ignore what Alison has to say.’
No one laughed.
‘That was a joke,’ she explained. ‘Although you should also know that Alison is here to watch me,’ Kim said. ‘She’s here to observe my behaviour, monitor my performance and report back on any noticeable changes in my personality as a result of working this case.’
Alison didn’t argue.
‘She’s gonna be a bit bored then?’ Stacey observed.
Kim smiled at the vote of confidence.
‘Well, let’s make sure she’s busy enough that she leaves me alone,’ Kim answered.
‘Sitting here,’ Alison said, waving her hand.
Kim ignored her. ‘But tomorrow she’ll be looking at some potential suspects we’ve highlighted from previous cases and—’
‘Symes on the list?’ Stacey asked, demonstrating her eagerness to get cracking straight away. Her analytical brain relished any new information.
‘Oh, yeah, he’s on the list,’ Bryant said. ‘Along with Nina Croft, Dale Preece and—’
‘It’s not him,’ Kim said, definitely.
‘To be fair, boss, he does have reason, although Symes really does hate—’
‘Thanks, Stace,’ Kim said. She was fully aware of the level of that man’s hatred.
‘But surely there are more people than that who hate—’
‘Cheers, Penn,’ Kim said, folding her arms.
‘Sorry, what I meant was, you’ve worked some pretty big cases and over time you’ve destroyed a lot of lives.’
‘And are we even sure it’s from a case you’ve worked?’ Stacey asked. ‘I mean there’s your whole past to look at. I’m sure over the years we could come up with dozens of…’ Stacey’s words trailed away as she realised what she was saying.
The room was silent for a few seconds before Kim surprised them all by laughing out loud. She’d expected many things from her team but their ability to release some of the tension from her body had not been one of them.
‘Well, thanks guys for being so enthusiastic and honest about the volume of people that could hate me,’ she said, putting her hands in her pockets.
‘And work colleagues,’ Bryant piped up with a grin.
‘Consultants,’ Alison added.
‘Neighbours,’ Penn said.
‘School kids,’ Stacey said.
‘Old friends… nah,’ Bryant said, getting a chuckle from them all.
Kim rolled her eyes. ‘Nice roasting, guys,’ she said. ‘Now bugger off home and we’ll start fresh tomorrow.’
Stacey caught her eye and a silent conversation took place.
I’m sorry, I should have trusted you.
Forget it and move on.
Stacey grabbed her bag and headed out of the door behind Penn.
Alison clicked her briefcase shut. ‘That was the right thing to do,’ she said.
‘Oh yeah, and your approval was tantamount in my decision-making process.’
Alison shook her head wearily.
‘Hey, you okay?’ Kim asked.
‘Of course, why?’
‘Cos, I swear to God you tried to make a joke just then when we—’
‘Good night, Inspector,’ she said, following the others out the door.
‘Can’t help it, can you?’ Bryant asked, smiling.
She shrugged. ‘She needs to loosen up a bit.’
‘As all my responses to that are way too obvious I’ll ask instead if you’re okay?’
‘It went well,’ she said, moving towards The Bowl to get her jacket.
‘Back to the future,’ he said, suddenly.
‘Huh?’
‘This case is like the film. We have to go back to the past to find our killer and to predict the future.’
Kim understood and agreed with having to go backwards. ‘But the future isn’t important in this…’
‘Yes it is. We have to think forward to what might happen if we don’t catch him soon. Like, which traumatic event in your life is he gonna target next?’
Forty-Eight
Alison immediately felt out of place as she entered the club, feeling overdressed in a pair of ripped jeans and a shirt. A quick assessment told her that many of the other patrons were dressed similarly except their ripped jeans weren’t smart designer and their shirts weren’t freshly washed and ironed.
Great, she had chosen the outfit to blend in, to look comfortable in her surroundings. Big fail.
Her decision to come here had been partly inspired by the detective inspector who had called them back to the station. Some of the woman’s courage had rubbed off on her. She had watched as the police officer had admitted something to her team that she had real
ly hoped to avoid. She’d appeared fearless even though the hands being thrust into the pockets had told her otherwise. So far she had realised that the woman tucked her short hair behind her ear when preparing for battle and hid her hands when she was feeling unsure. And yet her face gave nothing away.
Alison hoped she could do the same right now. One false move and her life could be in danger, especially if her suspicions were correct.
As she approached the bar she was struck by how the rules changed when you weren’t looking.
She remembered being twenty-three years old and touring these pubs and clubs with her friends feeling totally at home and relevant.
Three years, just three short years she’d been absent with a boyfriend and when she’d returned after a disastrous break-up, she and her friends had spent the night with a glass of white wine and reminiscing about the ‘remember whens’.
She checked herself as she found herself wondering if the majority of kids were carrying ID. They all looked so damn young.
There was no live music, instead a DJ blasted out trance music to an empty dance floor. She wasn’t sure how long he’d been playing but even she could tell he had a grunge audience tonight. Although, he appeared to be in a world of his own bouncing up and down with one earphone clamped to his head.
She approached the bar and slipped in to a space left by a young couple who threw a filthy glance at the DJ before heading to the door.
She looked at the selection of drinks, unsure what most of them were.
‘Hi, there, what can I get you?’ asked the guy on the other side of the bar. He made no effort to hide his bemusement.
She fell silent for a second as she realised exactly what she was doing. She was sitting right in front of Tom Drury, her main suspect in the case of one murder and one attempted murder.
Every inch of her wanted to turn and run out the door.
‘You lost?’ he asked, raising one eyebrow.
Alison felt herself responding to the laughter in his eyes and smiled before she had time to check herself.
‘Dry white wine,’ she said, as he bent in closer to hear her.
She got a waft of pine coming from his smooth skin.
She watched as he moved along the bar almost colliding with a young female bartender. They both laughed and moved around each other with ease.
Alison took a moment to observe the athletic body clothed in dark jeans and a khaki rugby shirt sporting the name of the club. His arms were tanned and muscly, his only jewellery a sports watch.
He moved with the ease and confidence of someone who knew exactly what they were doing. His dark hair was cut tidily and smart at the back and just reached towards his collar line.
He turned and offered her a smile and for a second she almost forgot why she was here.
He placed the drink before her.
She took out her purse.
He shook his head. ‘On the house.’
‘No, no, I couldn’t,’ she protested.
‘I’m the owner and I say you can,’ he said, offering his hand. ‘Tom Drury.’
Unsure what to do, she took his hand.
‘Pleased to meet you, Tom. My name is—’
‘Ali,’ said a male voice from behind her. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ said Jamie Hart, taking a seat beside her.
Tom smiled at them both and moved back along the bar.
‘Jamie, what the hell are you?…’
‘I could ask you the same thing,’ he hissed through gritted teeth. He grabbed his pint and her arm. ‘Come with me.’
She followed him to a table in the corner.
The DJ seemed to have realised his market and was playing Nirvana but he’d lost his audience, who were slipping out one by one.
The last person she would have expected to bump into, or wished to, was Jamie Hart, the psychologist who had been assigned to the case before she’d been brought on board. He had spent more time than was necessary lecturing her about the junk food she ate while he nibbled on health bars and drank green tea. His health kick hadn’t stopped there. The man was twenty-nine and had never owned a car, choosing to commute everywhere by public transport or bicycle. After one particular lecture on the joys of antioxidants she’d noticed he’d forgotten to remove his cycle clip from his trousers and had delighted in watching him walk around with one scrunched trouser leg all day.
‘What the hell are you playing at?’ he asked, once they were sitting.
‘Just curious,’ she said.
‘About what?’ he asked, shaking his head so that his fair hair fell over his blue eyes.
He pushed it away and took a sip of his drink. ‘You know we got our guy and that you were wrong. Accept it and move on.’
They had clashed numerous times on the case but he’d never been quite so direct before.
‘Look, I care about you,’ he said, glancing away. ‘I get it. You’re young, ambitious. Believe me, I understand, but part of learning is knowing when you’re wrong.’
He took a drink of his beer and then wiped at his mouth. ‘You’ve got to let it go, Ali,’ he said, touching her hand gently. ‘I know it’s hit you hard and you’re probably bored but…’
She pulled away. She’d hated the shortening of her name when they’d worked together and she hated it even more now.
‘It’s Alison,’ she growled. ‘And what are you doing here anyway?’ she challenged. ‘Clearly you have some doubts too.’
He shook his head. ‘I believe we got the right guy. There’s no doubt in my mind that Curtis did it. But unlike you I’m here trying to strengthen the police case, not weaken it. Someone here must have seen him leave with Beverly.’
She tried to keep the frown from her face. ‘Why are you still on it and I’m not?’ she asked, taking a sip of her drink. She didn’t really want it and pushed it away causing some of the liquid to splosh over the side. Jamie took out a tissue and wiped away the spillage.
‘Because I didn’t put my neck on the line. I listened to what was being said about the case, mixed that knowledge with my own experience of the human psyche and then offered my opinion.’
‘But you said it was someone who had intimate knowledge of Jennifer and yet there’s nothing to suggest Curtis had any intimate knowledge of Beverly who—’
‘Is a known prostitute and has been intimate with hundreds if not thousands of men. I mean, given what she does…’
‘Don’t even think about saying she bears any blame because she’s a sex worker,’ Alison raged. ‘Only one person is responsible and that’s the bastard—’
‘I wasn’t saying that, now calm down. My point is that Beverly was putting her life on the line every time she got into the car of a stranger and you know that’s true.’
Yes, she had to admit he was right.
Silence fell between them. ‘And when I asked you to go out for a drink with me before you left this wasn’t quite what I had in mind.’
Alison forced herself to calm down. He’d asked her a few times but she’d always been wrapped up in the case.
‘Maybe another time we could meet and not argue about work,’ he said, finishing his drink and standing.
‘Maybe,’ she answered.
‘Well, at least I stopped you from whatever it was you were about to do that wouldn’t have ended well.’
‘Yeah, thanks,’ she said as he brushed past her and headed towards the door.
In truth, she had no clue what she’d been hoping to achieve. This was not her world. She didn’t meet witnesses or even interview suspects. Ironic that her work was based on people yet she met so few of them. Her subjects were abstract, not flesh and bone. She spent her days making composites like an identity artist only hers were psychological.
Like Jamie had said, she’d come here blindly, unprepared and ill-equipped, she thought, as she watched Tom Drury moving from one end of the bar, making drinks and chatting amiably.
Did she think that after a five-minute conversation he was going to confess
all and prove her right, thereby reinstating the respect of her peers and an immediate thaw? Well she was surely disappointed because she’d barely exchanged two sentences with the man.
She kept her head down and left the bar quietly, relieved to be back out in the fresh air.
Having consumed no more than a half-hearted sip of white wine she felt confident to drive herself home.
It was only as she pulled out of the car park that a sudden thought occurred to her.
If West Mercia were so sure they’d got the right man, why was Jamie here trying to strengthen their case?
Forty-Nine
Kim opened the single window and switched on the desk fan next to the printer. Despite a thunderstorm at 3 a.m. that had brought a terrified, shivering Barney onto her bed, the heat was still building towards the twenties and it wasn’t even eight yet.
‘Yay, chocolate muffins are my faves,’ Stacey said from the general office. Clearly, she and Penn had met up on the way in and were discussing the contents of Penn’s Tupperware box. Penn’s brother had taken a shine to Stacey. Every day there was a specially decorated cake just for her and the detective constable was always eager to see what it was.
‘Morning, boss,’ they said, together, as they took their seats. Both had obviously seen the weather forecast and had not bothered with jackets.
Unlike the man who followed closely behind the pair in a navy suit, white shirt and sky blue tie.
‘Guv,’ he said, nodding in her direction.
‘And that just leaves…’
‘Am I late?’ asked Alison, slipping into the chair at the spare desk.
Kim shook her head with the suspicion that the woman had never been late for anything in her life.
‘Right guys, short briefing this morning as Bryant and I never got to meet with John Duggar, the ex-cellmate of Symes due to the car fire. So, here’s what I want,’ she said.
The whole team was poised for instruction, except for Alison who was slowly removing things from her briefcase.
‘Penn, I want you following up on Jenks at the community centre. We know he’s a sleaze and that Mark punched him. I want to know exactly what happened and I want to know everyone they came into contact with. I want to know who they were meeting on Sunday, cos if they were splurging what little money they had on flowers, it was to say thank you for something. So, who was giving them what?’
Dead Memories: An addictive and gripping crime thriller Page 11
