Kim could hear the frustration in his voice. Given that the hint of a partial fingerprint or a rogue fibre had the power to electrify the man, she was not hopeful for anything of forensic value. If he said they had nothing, they had absolutely nothing.
‘Our guy was very careful to leave no clues behind,’ he said miserably.
They all knew about the theory of transference and so knew that his statement wasn’t true. But you had to have a starting point.
Many things helped to find forensic evidence on a body. The duration of time the killer spent with the victim, the amount of physical contact, the passion involved in the crime. All of these things offered a better chance of the killer leaving something of himself at the scene.
Kim looked back to the gate through which they’d come. In her estimation, killer and victim may have been together for less than two minutes. Grab, walk, snap and dead. To Kim, it was like the speed-dating version of murder.
Everything about this case so far was random. A victim chosen God only knew why. The risks involved with choosing a young mother out shopping with her child, yet carefully planned so that the murder was seen by no one.
Parts of this case indicated that Katrina had been chosen as a means to an end, yet Kim knew that statistically that was unlikely.
Studies indicated that approximately eighty per cent of murder victims were killed by someone they knew.
But what had Katrina done? Kim asked herself as her thoughts continued to chase their own tails.
Before she could make a judgement on whether Katrina was the intended victim or not, she needed to know more about the woman herself.
And for an honest opinion, she knew where she wanted to start.
Twenty-Two
Penn had just about managed to grasp Stacey’s hurried instructions before she’d darted out the door, mumbling something about interviewing a second rape victim.
He’d heard the words ‘medical records’ and ‘CCTV’ and ‘chasing the shops’.
He knew that Stacey had already established that Katrina had attended the morning appointment with her GP, as stated by her husband, and that she’d requested Katrina’s medical records. He was guessing she wanted him to do a follow-up, so he quickly tore off an email to the surgery. Both he and Stacey tended to copy each other in on most things in case they needed to jump in and job share.
Next he sent a group email to all the stores on the high street partner scheme, requesting any CCTV footage of Katrina Nock from inside their premises.
Satisfied he’d covered two of Stacey’s three requests, he readied himself for the final instruction. Following Stacey’s email requests and parameters, they’d received relevant footage from both Asda in Brierley Hill and the Ball Factory. The boss had already viewed the footage at Shop N Save, but there was a copy of everything she’d viewed, and he would look at it again, to see if he could spot anyone appearing in more than one place that would indicate that she’d been followed.
It was a long job ahead, so he’d already visited the canteen, wolfed down a plate of chips and gravy and brought a muffin back for energy later. Just a coffee to pour from the machine and he was set for the long haul.
He placed his mug on his desk and took the headphones from his drawer as he did when he wanted to be totally focused.
He glanced over at the spare desk where the post had been deposited. Usually, either he or Stacey had opened it by lunchtime.
He placed the headphones over his ears and loaded the first file of footage.
He was sure there was nothing there that couldn’t wait.
Twenty-Three
One of the first things Kim noticed about the Victorian terrace was its tidiness. The properties either side had hanging baskets still holding onto trailing fuchsias that were bending towards the last rays of sunshine. Most of the small spaces in front of the houses had been decorated in some way to personalise the area. The front of Ella’s house was slabbed with no plant pot in sight or hanging basket in front of the plain front door that opened before they had a chance to knock.
Ella was dressed in jeans, a cream jumper and held two carrier bags in her hand.
‘Oh…’ she said, looking from one to the other.
‘May we have a word?’ Kim asked.
‘I’m just on my way to—’
‘We’ll just take a minute,’ Kim said, standing right in front of her.
She hesitated and placed the bags on the floor. Kim guessed they were emergency supplies en route to her brother’s house, although she could think of nothing she could have in those bags that would tempt him right now.
Ella stepped aside for Kim to enter the small reception room, which gave way to an open-plan diner that brought in the light from the back garden.
Kim took a seat at a small, round dining table that seemed familiar. ‘Doesn’t your brother have this exact same table?’
Ella smiled. ‘Mine is solid oak. His is a knock-off from Argos.’
‘Oh, okay,’ Kim said, receiving more information than she’d needed.
Ella pointedly looked at her watch. The gesture annoyed Kim. Her brother wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was his grief.
‘We’re trying to bother your brother as little as possible and were hoping you could tell us more about Katrina. How would you describe her?’
‘Flaky. She was often distracted, glazed, as though she was only half there. I’m not the slightest bit surprised that she wandered off leaving Mia—’
‘We have no reason to believe that Katrina did anything wrong. Mia was never in any danger,’ Kim said, feeling the need to defend the woman.
Ella shrugged as though it mattered not.
‘She suffered from depression?’
Ella rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, different medicines over the last few years, but she wasn’t on anything at the minute. She’d weaned herself off the last lot of pills because of side effects and was trying to manage without the drugs. I thought it was the right decision: all that muck in her system just making stuff worse. I told her to snap out of it, get herself a hobby.’
Yeah, Kim was sure that a bit of knitting would fight the chemical imbalance in her brain.
‘And what was your brother’s view on her illness?’ Kim asked, using the word pointedly.
‘Urghh, he coddled her too much in my opinion. Taking time off work on her worst days, phoning her countless times a day to check on her.’
Sounded perfectly reasonable for a loving husband living with a person suffering from depression.
‘Sounds like a happy marriage?’ Kim stated as a question.
‘To them, perhaps.’
‘Sorry?’
‘I think happy and healthy are two totally separate things. So yes, they were probably happy despite it being a totally unequal and dysfunctional relationship.’
Kim was quickly realising that Ella viewed her own opinion as a gift she was happy to give over and over again.
She needed no prompt to continue.
‘Andrew showed her unqualified levels of patience. They had few friends, as Katrina struggled to maintain relationships outside of her marriage. They didn’t mix socially with many people at all.’
‘They preferred each other’s company?’ Kim clarified, not finding the picture dysfunctional if it worked for them.
‘I suppose that’s one way of putting it,’ she said with the slightest hint of huff in her voice. Clearly, once shared her opinion was to be accepted by all.
‘He didn’t get frustrated with her?’ Kim asked. Andrew Nock was beginning to sound like a saint.
‘Of course. Who wouldn’t? The constant care-taking was getting him down, wearing away at him: always worrying about her and then about Mia. He never showed her though.’
‘Did he confide in you?’
She frowned. ‘Of course. I’m his sister. He told me everything. I told him to put her away for a bit. Give her and him a rest, but he wouldn’t hear of it.’
She was grow
ing to like Andrew Nock more and Ella Nock less every time this woman opened her mouth.
‘You wanted him to have her sectioned?’ Kim clarified.
‘Yes, but he was convinced they could get through it. Things seemed to improve a little after Mia came along, although I still think she was hugely irresponsible in getting pregnant. The child wasn’t planned. I mean, who needs a child to look after when you can barely get dressed in a morning?’
Kim wondered if there was anything for which Katrina didn’t get the blame because, of course, Andrew hadn’t contributed to the pregnancy one little bit.
‘But like I said, she improved after Mia came along, which only proved my point that she’d needed more to do.’
Kim swallowed down her irritation. She was pretty sure that wasn’t how it worked. It was her understanding that busy people suffered from depression too.
‘When Mia turned two, it started up again: new medication, days spent in bed. I don’t know how Andy kept his patience.’
‘And yesterday he called you when he couldn’t find her?’
‘Of course. He was beside himself. He was terrified she’d done something stupid and—’
‘Done something stupid? Had she ever tried to harm herself before?’
Ella hesitated before nodding. ‘Not what I’d call serious attempts. More like cries for attention, but still Andy wouldn’t put her away.’
That phrase was starting to grate on Kim’s nerves. The woman had not been an embarrassing inconvenience to be shoved out of sight while she came to her senses.
‘So she was never hospitalised?’
Ella shook her head. ‘I’ve told you—’
‘Andrew wouldn’t hear of it,’ Kim finished as Ella once again held up her left arm for an obvious look at her watch.
‘You must have been quite frustrated on your brother’s behalf?’ Kim asked, ignoring the gesture. It was clear to Kim the siblings were close.
‘Obviously, but he wouldn’t listen, so I had no choice but to just put up with it.’
‘Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt your sister-in-law?’
Ella shook her head. ‘Officer, I have no idea and I don’t really care.’
Kim allowed her surprise to show. ‘Excuse me?’
Ella shrugged, unconcerned.
‘My priority is and always will be my brother and my niece, with whom I must now visit,’ she said, moving towards the door.
‘Well, thank you for your time,’ Kim said sarcastically, although Ella didn’t seem to notice as she picked up the bags and locked the door behind them.
‘What’re your thoughts?’ Bryant asked as they watched the woman drive away.
Kim didn’t have an answer, but she knew that Ella had not asked about the murderer or murder once.
Twenty-Four
Stacey knocked hard on the door of the narrow townhouse on a small development in Wordsley. She was unsure whether the sound would be heard above the deep bass music coming from the other side.
She was about to knock again when the door was opened by a woman in her mid-twenties with a mane of deep red hair, wearing a crop top and jeans.
In her left hand was a tumbler of gold liquid and a cigarette. As the smile died on her face, it became clear she had been expecting someone else.
‘Gemma Hornley?’
‘I am she, her, I mean, yes that’s me,’ she said, and then laughed out loud. ‘No, honestly, I’m Gemma.’
Stacey held up her ID. ‘Can I have a word?’
Gemma leaned across her, poking her head out the door.
‘Bertram Jennings you’re a fucking wanker,’ she shouted to the rest of the street. ‘Always fucking complaining. I swear they’re deader than… well dead folks. Can’t stand a bit of fun, but we’ll turn it down as soon—’
‘I don’t know who Bertram Jennings is,’ Stacey clarified. ‘And this isn’t about your music.’
‘Oh, okay,’ she said, sobering slightly.
‘I’m here to talk about Sean Fellows.’
‘He getting out?’ she asked, frowning.
‘Not yet, but if I could just…’
‘Come in, come in,’ she said, opening the door wider. She held up her tumbler. ‘Can I get you something to drink?’
‘Err, no, thanks,’ Stacey said. It was barely two o’clock.
‘Okay, give me a sec,’ she said, ducking into the lounge.
‘Keep it down, you noisy fuckers,’ she shouted.
In response to her request, the music increased a few decibels.
‘Dicks,’ she said, closing the door on the noise.
She nodded towards the kitchen. Stacey stepped in. The work surface was littered with cans of cheap cider and a couple of bottles of spirits.
Gemma closed the door, but even with the double barrier the music was thudding through loud and clear.
‘Celebrating something?’ Stacey asked.
‘Nah, got a big night out later, so just getting warmed up. A few of us are off into town and the booze is bloody expensive.’
Stacey guessed town meant Birmingham, and she wondered just how warmed up this lot needed to be. She was grateful she wasn’t sharing a train or bus with them later.
Stacey couldn’t help but draw comparisons between the woman she’d visited the previous day and the woman in front of her. Same attacker, same type of sexual assault. But different outcomes. One who was frightened to leave the house and one who didn’t want to stay in. One who seemingly had few friends and one who appeared to have a houseful. Someone lacking in confidence and someone with more than enough. She wondered if that was the difference in justice: that day in court, closure and the ability to move on. Maybe if she could somehow get justice for Lesley, she could also move on with her life like Gemma.
‘Do you mind if I ask you a few questions about your attack?’
‘Why?’ Gemma asked, meeting her gaze. Any evidence she’d been drinking appeared to have gone.
‘There’s just something to do with another victim that I’m trying to understand.’
‘But he’s not getting out?’
Stacey shook her head. ‘There are no early release plans. It’s the attack itself I’d like to discuss, if that’s not going to be too painful.’
Gemma dropped the cigarette, which had appeared to burn itself out, in the overflowing ashtray. She reached for the pack on the table and lit another one.
Any hint of the inebriated girl was long gone as her trembling hand put the lighter back down. Gone was the confident young woman drinking herself into a party mood. Now Stacey was seeing the victim of a sexual assault.
‘Where do you want me to start?’
‘At the beginning. From the minute you were grabbed,’ Stacey prompted. She wanted the girl’s own words.
‘Okay, I’d just left the club heading for home. Not here, I moved from that place. I didn’t want to live there any more. Anyway, I’d done the walk loads of times. Never any bugger about. It’s through an estate, no fields, alleys or dark corners. Just rows of houses. I was about halfway when I just felt this fucking pain from behind. That’s all I remember. I passed out and when I came to he was lying against me. I was face down with the taste of soil in my mouth. I tried to cough it out before it went down my throat. His hand was pressing hard on the huge fucking lump on my head. I blacked out again. When I came to for the second time he was—’
The kitchen door opened, surprising them both. ‘Hey, Gem, got any?…’
‘Fuck off,’ Gemma shouted to the girl who had put her head round the door.
The girl slid away quickly.
Gemma took a long draw on the cigarette and blew out the smoke slowly.
As though sensing the seriousness of the situation in the kitchen, the music miraculously dropped to a reasonable level. Stacey felt sure that Bertram Jennings, whoever he was, was relieved.
‘Please continue when you’re ready,’ Stacey urged.
Gemma took a deep breath.
‘He was ramming something up and down inside me. It was thick and hard, cold. I felt like it was gonna come out my mouth. The pain blinded me. It was worse than the bang to the head. My mind was screaming for it to stop. I thought it was gonna split me open.’
With Gemma he’d been rough.
With Lesley he had not been.
Yet the crimes had been too similar not to have been committed by the same person.
‘And what happened next?’
‘I wasn’t sure if I’d died cos the pain stopped. I could still feel my insides pulsing and throbbing and the soreness of the cuts, but the blinding pain had gone.’
Gemma’s genitals had been injured.
Lesley’s had not.
‘Then I felt something on my bare arse cheek. Something sharp, but nothing compared to the other pain. I didn’t even realise I’d been cut. Bastard decided to carve me up into the bargain. Couldn’t sit down right for fucking weeks.’
Gemma had been cut.
Lesley had not.
It was the thing that had bothered Stacey most when she’d first read the file: so many similarities but discrepancies too.
‘And then?’
‘He was gone. I was lying in some fucker’s flowerbed trying to find the strength to move.’
The second cigarette, barely smoked, was ground into the ashtray.
Stacey hated prolonging the woman’s pain, but she had to be sure.
‘Was he tender with you at any time?’ Stacey asked, hating the words as they came out her mouth, but needing to say them anyway.
Gemma’s eyes widened. ‘You are fucking joking?’
Stacey shook her head.
‘Did anything I just say sound as though he was being tender? Five stitches down there and a game of noughts and crosses on my arse?’
Stacey could feel the woman’s rage rising, and she was sorry she was the cause of it, but she didn’t want to leave with questions still in her mind.
‘I’m really sorry to push you, Gemma, but was there anything at all that he did to suggest that he didn’t want to do what he was doing?’
Gemma stood. ‘Bitch; I don’t care who you are, you can get the fuck—’
Deadly Cry: An absolutely gripping crime thriller packed with suspense (Detective Kim Stone Crime Thiller Book 13) Page 7