Peter Drake had got parole.
Fourteen
As Kim filled the coffee pot two things happened. Neither of which surprised her.
She answered the phone to Keats as she opened her front door to Bryant.
‘Hey,’ she said, serving as a greeting to both. She turned away from Bryant and focussed her attention on the pathologist, while her colleague gave a waiting Barney an apple.
‘You really think this is murder, Stone?’ Keats asked.
She ignored the inflection in his voice that her theory was some kind of slight on his judgement.
‘We both called it, Keats,’ she said, to disabuse him of that thought. She was glad that Woody had been quick to start the process with the coroner for reclassifying Samantha’s death, which would have commenced with a courtesy call to Keats.
From her point of view Woody had asked her to inform the family first thing in the morning. The flat had been sealed off awaiting the arrival of forensics, but Kim wasn’t going to wait for their findings.
A dozen people or more had traipsed in and out of that property with little regard for evidential value. The killer could have left their name and address and it would never see the inside of a courtroom. And Kim wasn’t sure what more Samantha could tell them herself. Yes, she had been in very close contact with her killer but her body had now been moved and cleaned without consideration of it being a crime scene.
Kim explained the results of her experiment with Penn on the desk.
‘Scientific study, then?’ he mocked.
‘Simple but effective,’ she said, about to end the call.
And yet she couldn’t press the button until she’d said one more thing. Keats was as conscientious as she was. He would not be taking the news of their mistake well.
‘Hey, at least we caught it quickly,’ she said, quietly.
‘No, Inspector, at least you caught it quickly,’ he said, ending the call.
Kim was tempted to call him back, although she didn’t know what she’d say if she did. He would beat himself up no matter what she tried to tell him.
She put her phone down and turned to her colleague. She looked pointedly at his empty hands.
‘You know I remember the days you used to bring me food or at the very least coffee.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ he said, taking a stool at the breakfast bar.
‘And now all you bring me is a face like a slapped arse.’
‘Sorry but it’s the only face I’ve got,’ he mumbled.
Kim took down the black with white spots mug which had somehow become Bryant’s mug.
Everyone was entitled to a bad mood now and again, but for Bryant it was so grievously out of character. Okay, forget the pizza or the coffee, but normally when visiting another person’s home, the least you took with you was good humour. She stifled her irritation. Given all that he suffered stuck with her every working day she could at least try and offer a bit of support.
‘Well, either straighten your face or bugger off,’ she said, mustering as much sympathy as she could manage.
He stared at her for a full minute before his lips began to turn up in a smile.
‘Praise the lord,’ she said, pushing his drink towards him, having decided that he could stay.
‘And I bring Barney a treat cos he wags his tail when he sees me and nuzzles my hand.’
‘Well, Bryant, it’s safe to say that I am neither going to wag my…’
‘I need advice, guv,’ he said, forgetting her first name rule when in her home. He immediately held up his hand in acknowledgment.
‘And you came here?’
‘Yeah, go figure.’
She folded her arms and leaned back against the work surface.
‘So, I’m guessing you didn’t do anything fun with your afternoon off?’
He shook his head. ‘Parole hearing for Peter Drake.’
Kim waited for more. The name was vaguely familiar to her, but she immediately knew it wasn’t a case of hers.
Having finished off his apple Barney had come to sit beside her.
Bryant saw the puzzlement on her face.
‘That case I told you about years ago that prompted me to join CID.’
She continued to wait. If she remembered correctly it was twenty-five years ago.
‘You still go to the parole hearings?’
He nodded. ‘Her father asks me to accompany him as his plus one.’
Kim was still confused. ‘So, what advice do you need?’
‘What can I do? He’s going to be released tomorrow and I know it’s going to happen again. He’ll re-offend and another young girl…’
‘Whoa! Easy, Tiger,’ she warned. ‘First of all, you know no such thing. You might suspect it, just like I suspect that Dorothy next door will put her wheelie-bin in front of my garage door again tomorrow, but I can’t kick it over until she actually does it.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘You actually do that?’
She left the question unanswered and continued. ‘Bryant, this is not Minority Report. We can’t assume people are going to commit crimes before they actually do it.’
‘But my gut says…’
‘It doesn’t matter what your gut says. He could send you a signed letter telling you he’s gonna re-offend but you can’t get him back behind bars until he does it.’
Anger sparked in his eyes until he realised that none of this was her fault.
‘He’s served more than twenty-five years. Right?’
Bryant nodded. ‘Almost twenty-six.’
‘We both know that doesn’t compensate for a life but no amount of years will do that. It’s the best the justice system has got and, although you’re not gonna like my opinion, I’m telling you that it’s time to let it go.’ She had tried to soften the last few words. They both knew what it was like with that one case that haunted you. It was as though it left a small scar on your left elbow that you touched for the rest of your life. She knew she was steering him right and she also knew it was the last thing he wanted to hear.
‘And right now, we have another poor girl who needs your attention more.’
‘Yeah, I saw the email,’ he said, pushing his stool away from the counter.
‘You want me to run through…’
‘Nah,’ he said, shaking his head ‘I’ll catch up at the briefing in the morning.’ He tapped the counter twice. ‘I’ll see you then.’
She watched him leave with a distracted pat on the head for Barney.
A strange feeling washed over her as the door closed behind him. It reminded her of walking away from a crime scene with an instinct there was something she’d missed.
Bryant was her friend, he had come to her for advice and she had given it. There was nothing she could have possibly missed. Case closed.
And yet when she glanced at his untouched coffee she got the sense he hadn’t heard a word she’d said.
Fifteen
Bryant had left the house early to be at the Crossley residence by six, to enable him to make the morning briefing at the station by seven.
Despite the boss’s words the night before he’d known he had to do this, and a quick call last night had sought permission to visit at such an ungodly hour. The permission had been given begrudgingly and he’d expected nothing less.
The door to the ground floor flat in Lutley Mill was opened by a man who had not aged well.
Damon Crossley had never been a handsome man. His deep-set eyes and high forehead had given him a hawkish appearance. The sallow jowls were heavier with the additional weight gained over the years. But that scowl on his face hadn’t changed a bit.
‘Yer wanna come in?’
No, he’d got up at 5 a.m. to stand on the bloody doorstep, he almost said, ignoring the hostile tone. It wasn’t Damon he’d come to see.
‘How is she?’ he asked, stepping into the hall.
‘How the fuck you think she is?’
Yes, it was a stupid question. He was guessing T
ina Crossley was angry, disappointed, shocked and most likely scared.
‘Straight ahead,’ Damon said, pointing to the small lounge.
Bryant took a breath before entering the room, steeling himself for what he was about to see.
‘Hello, Tina,’ he said, to the back of her head. There was a bald spot where some of her hair had never grown back.
She half turned so that her left side was facing him, but her right side remained closest to the window by which she sat.
She pointed to a single chair which would mean he couldn’t see her right side, but he knew how it looked already. He could just about see the smaller scar that reached from her cheekbone to her ear, and he knew there were two longer, thicker scars on the other side of her face where the skin had been slashed open in a cross that had cost her one eye.
Bryant felt sick just thinking about it, not because of her appearance: that brought him only sadness. His nausea came from the fact that this attack should never have been allowed to happen. Peter Drake had attacked Tina Crossley two weeks after he’d murdered Wendy Harrison.
Other injuries had dictated that she would never bear children or walk again. She’d been found, barely breathing, by a jogger trying out a new path only half a mile away from where Wendy’s body had been discovered.
Damon had been her boyfriend back then and had remained by her side. Despite his unpleasant nature, Bryant reminded himself of that fact.
‘So, you fuckers have let him out?’ Damon asked, before Bryant had chance to speak to Tina.
‘It’s not the police who are releasing him,’ Bryant said, although the man knew full well how it worked.
‘All the bloody same,’ he said, sitting opposite Tina and resting his elbows on his knees. ‘If you lot had caught him before…’
‘Stop, Damon,’ Tina said, quietly. Bryant saw him swallow his rage. He guessed that Tina had spent enough time over the years considering what might have been.
‘I just wanted to let you know that we did everything to keep him in there. Every parole hearing, every…’
‘Who’s we?’ Damon asked, knowingly.
‘People involved in the case, Richard Harrison. We all did our best to keep the bastard locked up.’
‘Well, it day do any…’
‘I still have nightmares, you know,’ Tina said, quietly. ‘I still dream about him coming to finish me off. I’d wake up screaming but then remember he was behind bars. I can’t tell myself that any more, can I?’
Bryant wished with all his heart he could say something that would take her fear away.
From what he understood Tina rarely left the house and was reliant on Damon for pretty much everything.
‘We gonna get protection?’ Damon asked.
‘It’ll be part of his conditions that he’s not allowed within…’
‘A piece of bloody paper?’ he asked, incredulously. ‘Oh yeah, I’m sure that’ll keep him away from the door. I mean police protection; physical presence.’
Bryant had known what he meant. And he could not give them the answer they wanted.
‘Any calls from this number will be treated with the utmost…’
‘Oh, fucking bollocks,’ Damon said, as Tina’s shoulders sagged slightly. ‘You do know the only time she felt safe was after her breakdown fifteen years ago? When she was behind lock and key. She hasn’t had a full night’s sleep since then.’
Bryant knew that Tina had suffered a mental breakdown and had been institutionalised for seven months. He prayed the same would not happen again. ‘I’m sorry. I wish we could have done more but…’
‘I don’t even know why you’re here,’ Damon said, shaking his head. ‘We already knew he was being let out so what exactly do you want?’
Bryant had no answer to give. He only knew that he had felt he needed to come.
Damon appeared to look at Tina for some kind of communication.
A slight nod.
‘Tina’s tired, it’s time for you to go.’
Bryant stood and followed Damon to the door. The man waited for him to cross the threshold before speaking again.
‘Yer know, I wish you could have known her before. Training to be a nurse she was when the bastard got her. Didn’t have fancy-pants ambitions, didn’t want to take over the world. Just wanted to take care of folks. She was full of life, hope. Loved laughing, loved dancing. Loved everything till that fucker took it away from her.’ The disgust crept back into his eyes. ‘If you’d known the person she was back then you’d feel even fucking worse than you do already. Now piss off and don’t come back,’ he said, closing the door.
Bryant walked away from the flat haunted by the face of a woman who had not looked his way once.
Sixteen
‘Okay, guys, as you know the death of Samantha Brown has been re-categorised as murder. Keats is performing the post-mortem right now, but I think it’s best to assume we’re not going to get much forensically either from the body or from her home. So, what do we know so far?’
Stacey leaned forward. ‘Samantha was twenty-one years old and appeared perfectly normal until all social media activity stopped three years ago. Wide circle of friends at the time, one sister who is two years younger. She had the odd boyfriend by the looks of it and was attending Dudley College. On the face of it outgoing and social. Not sure about the social media absence but no criminal record and no record of her being admitted to any local mental health facility.’
Stacey ended with a shrug, indicating that was all she had.
‘Penn, your observations?’ Kim asked.
‘The picture Stacey paints bears no resemblance to the current home of Samantha Brown. Although she’s been there a few months there’s no evidence of her outgoing personality or any personality at all…’
‘One candle,’ Kim remarked, more convinced than ever that the candle was how the visitor got themselves into the flat. She’d sent Mitch a message asking him to pay particular attention to that item. His terse response had mentioned something about sucking eggs.
‘Which tells us it was someone she knew…’
‘Or a pissed off neighbour,’ Stacey interrupted.
‘No radio, music centre or speakers in the property,’ Penn noted. ‘So, I don’t think it was due to the noise.’
‘Could she have been off travelling for a few years?’ Bryant asked.
Kim shook her head. ‘Doubtful. People normally return with keepsakes, souvenirs from travels abroad. There was nothing. And that wouldn’t have stopped her posting on social media.’
Although Bryant had been with her on her first visit they had only entered the bedroom, and so he would not have seen just how stark the rest of the property was. Had he been there he would have made some kind of joke about the place still being more homely than her house.
‘Okay, folks, we’re all out of here this morning. Stacey, I want you talking to Samantha’s friends. Find out as much as you can. What contact have they had with her over the last few years and why did she disappear from social media. And, Penn, I want you talking to her neighbours. We need to know more about this girl now. What were her habits? Who did she see? We need to paint a picture of the girl and her life.’
Who was Samantha Brown?
And she was hoping her parents could help her out with that.
Seventeen
‘You’ve been to see her, haven’t you?’ Kim asked, as Bryant drove them towards the home of Myles and Kate Brown.
He hesitated and nodded. ‘First thing before shift.’ He glanced her way. ‘How did you know?’
She shrugged in response. She knew because she knew Bryant. There was a core of decency in him as hard as steel. She would be willing to bet he’d offered himself as the official police scapegoat upon which they could vent their anger. He would never hear the words that it was not his fault, that he was not responsible for the second attack. He had been a constable, not a detective but he had carried the guilt for years.
‘Bryant,
you’re not doing yourself—’
‘I think we already had this conversation,’ he said, cutting her off.
Okay, she got it. Because she hadn’t given him the answer he wanted, he’d switched her off altogether. Fine by her. Maybe they could now focus on the case at hand.
‘So, how do you think they’re going to react to the news?’ he asked, as though reading her thoughts.
‘Not sure,’ she said, honestly. She understood in a perverse way that wrapped up inside the horror might be a sense of relief.
Any death scarred a family. The death of a child, a death outside the natural order of things, took an even greater toll, but a suicide left behind trails of guilt, felt by everyone close to the person. What clues did I miss? Should I have done more? Could I have prevented it? How did I not see my child was in pain? Why didn’t she come to me for help? And for the parents those questions would never go away. Friends and acquaintances would eventually move on to other worries and concerns, but not the parents. Murder brought a whole new set of questions but it somehow removed a layer of guilt.
‘But, we’re about to find out,’ she said, as Bryant pulled the car to a stop in front of the house.
The door was opened by Myles, dressed in plain black trousers and an open-neck white shirt.
He didn’t move back as he stared at them questioningly.
‘May we come in, Mr Brown?’ she asked.
He jumped back as though remembering his manners.
‘Of course. I’m sorry, but…’
‘In here?’ Kim asked, heading for the office they’d used the previous day.
‘Yes, yes. I’m afraid my wife isn’t up yet. She hasn’t left the bedroom since we returned from the morgue yesterday.’
Kim nodded her understanding. ‘And is your other daughter at home, Mr Brown?’
He appeared surprised at the question.
‘No, she’s not here right now.’
Kim idly wondered where she was in the country that she hadn’t come home to be with her parents following the death of her sibling.
Killing Mind: An addictive and nail-biting crime thriller (Detective Kim Stone Crime Thriller Book 12) Page 4