‘We will survey again tomorrow to be sure, but the grave is now empty.’
‘You been getting any sleep?’ Kim asked, noting the dark circles beneath her eyes.
‘Have you?’ she asked with a tired smile.
Kim opened her mouth to offer well-meaning advice but closed it again. She could only wonder at the woman’s mash-up of the pot and kettle analogy.
‘It is the why that is bothering me,’ Doctor A said suddenly. ‘What did these people do to deserve such disrespect? What was their crime?’
Kim thought about victim one, Jacob James. A hard-working, mild-mannered family man. There was nothing to suggest anything in his past deserving of such horrific treatment. All accounts noted him as a decent hard-working guy.
Doctor A’s phone vibrated on the table.
She checked it then stood. ‘Walk and talk, Marina just arrived.’
Kim knew herself to be a quick walker but there was little chance of keeping up with the tornado that was blazing a trail through visitors, hospital staff and internal post trolleys. Conversation had become impossible.
Kim just about managed to keep an eyeball on her until Doctor A took a left into the staircase that led down to the morgue.
‘Training for something, Doc?’ Kim said, as she just about caught the doctor at the entrance doors.
The woman she had seen earlier in the week at the gravesite offered her a nod as she removed the lid from the plastic box.
Kim glanced again at the collections of bones that grew less detailed as her eye cast across the row of gurneys. It sickened her that only one yet had a name.
From the corner of her eye Kim could see individual plastic evidence bags being removed carefully from the box.
Sadly, Kim knew there were not enough bones to complete the gaps in front of her.
She remembered a documentary on the identification of bodies following the attack on the World Trade Centre. Some families had buried nothing more than a tooth or a bone fragment.
‘Hey, Inspector,’ Doctor A said, turning a bag and holding it up to the bright, white light.
Kim turned.
‘Did you know that the human hand is eerily similar to that of a bear’s front paw?’
‘Problematic if I was looking for Yogi,’ she said.
Doctor A frowned. ‘What?’
‘Never mind,’ Kim said. Some things were just not worth the time.
‘Aha, I was hoping to see you,’ Doctor A exclaimed to the bone in her hand.
All signs of fatigue were gone as the woman began moving frantically around the room.
Kim understood it. Progress fuelled energy. She was exactly the same. Forward motion brought its own shot of adrenaline.
Doctor A moved to the side of body number two and placed the bag at the pelvis area. She nodded to no one in particular.
Kim already knew that the pelvis was the most reliable way to sex a body.
‘I suspected number two was male from the distinct ridges on the skull but this pelvis is a fit and it is definitely male.’
‘Age?’ Kim asked, hopefully.
‘The bone loses calcium and becomes less dense with age. If malnutrition and diseases like osteoporosis are not factors, I would age this male between thirty and forty at the time of death.’
Kim committed the information to memory. Penn could feed that into his database and try for a match.
Doctor A stood at the foot of the gurneys between Jacob James and victim two.
‘These two souls are almost complete so I am hopeful that the rest of the bones will help with our other soul at the end.’
Kim looked towards gurney three and silently applauded Doctor A’s optimism.
Doctor A followed her gaze.
‘Once we are complete with the bones, we shall begin extracting DNA.’
Kim nodded her understanding. The only problem was they would need someone to match it against. She sighed heavily. These victims were not giving up their secrets as quickly as she would have liked.
‘Well, Doc, I’ll…’ Kim stopped speaking and paused as she passed by the counter to the left of the door.
‘What’s that?’ she asked Marina, who was removing an evidence bag the size of a credit card.
Marina pushed it towards her. She held it up to the light.
It was a triangular piece of paper.
SIXTY-FOUR
Bryant waited until the three of them were seated before trying to catch Stacey’s eye. She hadn’t yet looked at him once.
He had expected her to still be pissed off but refusing to look in his direction meant she hadn’t simmered down one little bit. He’d considered flowers, even chocolates and yet he’d known that any grand gesture on his part would not be accepted in the manner it was intended.
There was only one way to resolve this.
‘Stace, I want to apologise for not giving you the respect you deserve as a police officer and a detective.’
Finally, she looked at him.
‘It won’t happen again,’ he continued. ‘But we really need your help on this case.’
She nodded her acceptance, and then looked to Dawson.
‘Ditto,’ he offered, distractedly.
Bryant shook his head but caught the wink he gave his colleague.
‘Okay, Woody has lined up an expert at Lloyd House for us to go and speak to. His name is Inspector Frederick Windsor bee ess see hons, it says here,’ Bryant offered, reading out the initials that came after his name.
‘Yay, let’s go see the middle-aged white guy and learn all about hate crimes,’ Dawson said, sarcastically.
Stacey chuckled and some of the tension fell from her face. But all too quickly, it was back again.
‘Stace, can you look into the backgrounds of all our victims? Either we have three separate random attacks that just coincidentally happened in the space of a week or there is some kind of link somewhere.’
She nodded.
‘Really dig around with ‘Bubba’ Brandon Jones. He liked to live loud. It might be interesting to see what kind of attention he was attracting on social media…’
‘Ahem,’ she offered.
‘And I’ll now stop telling you how to do your job,’ he said. ‘Once we’ve finished with our expert I want to go back to the families; start at the beginning and interview them all again.’ He handed her a piece of paper. ‘And just do some digging on this young lady.’
‘The acid attack victim?’ she asked.
Bryant nodded. ‘Died of her injuries yesterday. Derby are treating it as an honour killing but see if there’s anyone she upset on social media.’
He turned to Dawson. ‘You’re unusually quiet this morning, what’s up?
‘Still thinking about that scar that Aisha Gupta mentioned. I feel like there’s something there, in the back of my—’
‘What scar?’ Stacey asked, frowning.
‘Aisha said the male who accosted her had a scar, right here,’ he said, pointing to his cheekbone. ‘And there’s something in my—’
‘Justin Reynolds had a scar right there,’ she offered.
‘Who is Justin Reynolds?’ Bryant asked. It wasn’t a name he recognised.
‘That’s it, Stace,’ Dawson said, slapping his hand off the desk as though he was the one that had made the connection.
Dawson turned his way. ‘Teenager that committed suicide a few days ago. Stace and I attended.’
He turned back to Stacey. ‘I can’t see there being any connection but would you?…’
‘I’ll do some digging,’ she said, staring at her computer.
‘Okay, let’s get started,’ he said, reaching for his jacket.
Dawson stood and Bryant tossed him the keys.
‘Start her up and pick a radio station.’
One of the numerous things they’d argued about was Radio One versus Radio WM.
Dawson smirked and Bryant realised just how much managing a team resembled raising a child. Discipline and rew
ard.
‘Hey, Stace, I meant what I said. I was wrong and I’m sorry.’
She offered him a weak smile. ‘And I meant it when I said get over it and move on.’
He stole a quick glance back from the door.
Stacey’s head was resting in her hands.
SIXTY-FIVE
Kim pulled up at the kerb outside Travis’s house and took a deep breath to ready herself for the battle ahead. She had visions of that one breath circulating around the inside of her vehicle and insulating her against her passenger.
Normally he was at the door within seconds of her arrival. She saw the curtain twitch and counted backwards from three.
On one, the door opened but it wasn’t Travis who appeared.
His wife stood in the doorway wearing a cardigan around her shoulders and an anxious expression.
Kim immediately got out of the car as the woman began walking towards her. They met on the drive.
‘Is everything okay, Mrs Travis?’
She shook her head but said nothing as she touched the delicate chain at her neck.
‘No, everything is not okay?’ Kim clarified.
‘No, I’m not Mrs Travis,’ she said as she swallowed deeply and looked around as though she might get caught. ‘Would you step in for a moment? Do you have time?’
Kim tried to hide her confusion. She had seen the man hug this woman every morning. ‘Is Tom inside?’ she asked, following not-Mrs Travis through the tidy box porch.
‘No, he left early. He said there were some things he wanted to prepare for the briefing.’
Kim stifled her irritation that he had not bothered to let her know. Not even a simple text message.
Kim paused on the threshold into the hallway.
‘I’m sorry but what am I?…’
‘I hope you don’t mind, but there is something I think you should see.’
The tremor in the woman’s voice caused Kim to close the door behind her, and follow her into the lounge.
The room was surprisingly stylish, in shades of biscuit and cream. The corner sofa was velour with a couple of scatter cushions. The one-piece sofa ended in a recliner that was occupied by a pleasant-looking woman with brown hair and a striking resemblance to the woman still standing in the doorway.
‘This is Mrs Travis,’ she said quietly. ‘This is Tom’s wife, Melissa. I’m her sister, Carole.’
Melissa smiled at her warmly.
‘You didn’t tell me Frannie was coming today, Carole,’ she said, patting the seat beside her.
‘Sorry, sweetie. I forgot but I just need Frannie to come help me with something in the kitchen first,’ Carole said.
Kim followed her back to the hallway.
‘Frannie is Tom and Melissa’s daughter. Cot death in ’98,’ Carole explained.
Kim felt the sadness growing heavy on her heart as she followed Carole through the house. She hadn’t known. Tom had spoken little of his private life and neither had she.
‘May I ask what?…’
‘Melissa suffers from early onset familial Alzheimer’s Disease. It’s the most aggressive form and can start in the thirties, forties, sometimes even in the twenties. Melissa’s symptoms started when she was forty-three. The normal forgetfulness and difficulty in completing familiar tasks at home.
‘She managed to hide it from Tom for months. Our father had it, you see. He died only two years before Melissa’s symptoms began.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘She knew what was coming.’
Kim had the urge to reach across and touch the woman’s arm. If this condition was hereditary then Carole must be living with the same fear every day.
‘Eventually she could hide it no longer, and Tom returned home one day to find her distraught on the sofa because she couldn’t remember where the kettle lived.’
Kim swallowed the emotion in her throat.
‘He promised her they would get through it. He would be her memory for as long as he could. He devised all kinds of lists, instructions and reminders to help her get through the day.’
Kim said nothing.
‘I wanted you to know,’ she said, gently. ‘I remember when you two worked together before. He respected you. I know you had some kind of falling out, but he’s a good man.’
‘Who hates me,’ Kim observed.
Carole smiled. ‘He doesn’t hate you. He just prefers to pretend he does. He wants to, don’t get me wrong. But there’s a part of him, a part he won’t admit even to himself, that has enjoyed working with you again this week.’
The woman’s eyes were full of emotion.
Kim understood. ‘You love him, don’t you?’
The smile disappeared but the tenderness remained.
She shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t matter if I did. He’s my brother-in-law and Melissa is my sister.’
Kim thought about the awkward embraces she had witnessed at the door each morning.
‘And he loves you too,’ she said.
Her look said that she knew that and it still didn’t make any difference.
‘As I said. He’s a good man.’
Suddenly the leather wallet made sense to her. He wrote everything down. Just in case.
Something else was beginning to make sense to her.
‘Carole, how long ago was Melissa diagnosed?’
‘Four-and-a-half-years,’ she said.
Kim thanked her and headed out before the rage began to show on her face.
She sat in the car for just a minute as that final scene played out in her mind.
Back then she hadn’t had Bryant to rein her back in, calm her down, help her see reason, tell her when she’d acted too hastily.
And it was clear to her now that she had.
Because now it all made sense.
SIXTY-SIX
Stacey rubbed her forehead, trying to ease the tension away.
Why the hell had she not just come clean about Justin Reynolds when she’d had the chance? She had been so surprised by Dawson’s reference to the scar she had blurted out his name in case Dawson had made the connection himself and then asked her why she’d never realised.
This situation was becoming far too complicated to continue.
She understood that her colleagues were investigating hate crimes, and Justin Reynolds had obviously been racist ‒ but there were thousands of kids like Justin Reynolds floating around social media. He would not have any connection to their case. And the reference to the scar was nothing more than coincidence. It had nothing to do with Justin. It couldn’t have.
But she was now more convinced than ever that she had to let the Justin Reynolds thing go. After posting a particularly offensive message over breakfast from her dummy account, the gravity of what she’d done had almost brought the Weetabix to the back of her throat.
Her instinct had been wrong, born of being not busy enough. Her senses had been given the opportunity to run riot on their own. And that had resulted in disastrous consequences. She had learned nothing.
And she’d managed to lose property that didn’t belong to her in the process. Good job, Stace, she silently congratulated herself.
She had already decided that she would come clean with the boss once she was back with them. She would just be honest, explain what she had done, her reasons why and then take the consequences.
With the decision made, and a plan of action formed she pushed aside her mobile phone and focussed on the four names on her notepad.
HENRYK KOWALSKI
BRANDON BUBBA JONES
AISHA GUPTA
SHAY CHAKMA
Time to do what she always did: work methodically and pragmatically. She would start with the first victim and work her way through.
She entered a search for Henryk Kowalski into Google as her phone vibrated on the desk.
Damn it, she observed, she was still logged into her dummy account after that last article she’d posted over breakfast.
She swiped and clicked on the notification.
&n
bsp; Floda had sent her a friend request.
SIXTY-SEVEN
Kim slid into the briefing and sat at the back of the room. Despite the drive, she did not yet trust herself to speak to Travis.
He stood at the top of the room, his jacket draped over a spare chair. He was pacing back and forth in front of the wipe boards.
Five bodies were leaning forward, waiting, engaged.
‘So, we desperately need a reason to keep Jeff Cowley in custody. He knows more about this than he’s letting on.’
‘Should we question him again, guv?’ Johnson asked.
Kim was thinking yes as Travis nodded. An overnight stay in custody may have loosened his tongue.
‘It’s worth a shot to see if he’ll crack. Ask him about his daughter. That seems a particularly sensitive point for him.’
Johnson nodded and made a note.
‘Gibbs, track down Fiona Cowley. Find out where she is and let us know. I think we need to speak to her again. She’s covering for someone in her family, and we need to know who.’
‘Okay, guv,’ he answered.
‘Gibbs, I want you to work with Lewis on trying to identify the second male at the morgue I’ve just given you the details of.’
Kim had texted the basic vital information she’d gleaned from Doctor A regarding their second male victim to Travis as soon as she’d left the morgue the previous night. As usual he had not replied, and this was the first confirmation she’d had that the information had been received.
Travis’s glance in her direction drew the attention of the team to her presence.
She nodded in response.
‘Lynda, can you phone the hospital and see if Billy Cowley has rediscovered his voice yet,’ he said. ‘And I want you working with Johnson on trying to identify a blue transit van in the area of our road traffic incident. The victim claims two males tried to abduct him.’
Lynda frowned. ‘Boss, Mrs Umgabe, the lady you sent me to see the other day, said the exact same thing. No closer with tracing the van, though.’
‘Stay on it, Lynda. That’s two attempts in one week. Whatever they’re doing, they’re gonna get lucky soon. And put it out again to the uniforms, refresh their memories. We can forget the delivery van driver, traffic officers have ruled out speeding so it appears he’s off the hook but I want the witnesses interviewed again to find out exactly how that poor woman ended up in front of the van. This incident escalated from a road accident to potential kidnapping and manslaughter.’
Dead Souls: A gripping serial killer thriller with a shocking twist Book 6 Page 22