Kim shook her head. She had barely been raised at all.
‘Parents?’ Helen asked.
‘Dead,’ Kim lied. For all she knew, her father, whoever the hell he was, could have been, but her other parent, unfortunately, was not. Her mother still resided in Grantley Care, a secure psychiatric unit for the criminally insane.
Kim took a sip of coffee, eager to bring the conversation back to the present and away from her.
‘Kids?’ she asked Helen.
Helen shook her head regretfully.
‘I always meant to, I suppose. But I just never got around to it. I loved my job and was damn good at it. I chose promotion at every opportunity. I made DCI, you know?’
Kim hid her surprise.
‘But with the great restructure four years ago I was offered a choice.’ She opened her hands expressively. ‘I still had a mortgage, bills and no one to share them with so it wasn't really much of a choice at all. I took the training required and added the counselling and psychology courses myself. If I was going to help people then I had to understand how they would feel, and more importantly how they would act.’ She smiled apologetically. ‘I’m sorry, I’m taking too much of your—’
‘Please, carry on,’ Kim said. There was a loneliness to the woman who spent her working life soaking up the misery of others.
‘You just don't notice the years slip away. It's easier for the men. Having a family doesn't impede their career progression at all. For us women it does, however much the force talks of equality. Months of maternity leave add up. Not that there was ever anyone I had to make that choice for.’ She shrugged. ‘Never anyone that special. And now …’
‘Do you regret it?’ Kim asked.
Helen thought for a moment and shook her head. ‘No, they were my choices and I stand by them.’ She smiled. ‘This will most likely be my last major case. I’ve been retired under the A19 regulation.’
Kim knew of the contentious regulation which allowed the police to force retirement on officers below chief officer rank after thirty years of service. It was a regulation brought out in times of austerity and had been used ‘in the general interests of efficiency’ since 2010.
After so many years of service, many officers were ready to retire at fifty-five. Others were not.
‘Did you appeal it?’ Kim asked.
Helen shrugged. ‘Unsuccessfully.’ She drained her mug. ‘And on that note I'm going to put my head down for a bit.’
Kim thanked her again for her help before filling a jug for the percolator. Sleep did not appear to be in her immediate future.
Thirty-Nine
Kim headed back to the war room and closed the door. Stacey’s eyes flickered with rapid eye movement and a soft snore coming from the corner indicated Bryant was sound asleep.
Dawson rubbed his eyes and turned another page.
She observed him for a minute and then made her decision.
‘Kev, shut the file a sec?’ she said, reaching to the floor.
A look of resignation passed over his features. He was obviously too tired to search his brain for what he might have done wrong.
She placed the file on the table between them.
‘Relax, Kev. I just want to talk to you about something.’
He visibly deflated and glanced at the file.
‘It’s about the Dewain Wright case,’ Kim said.
His eyes scrunched slightly, showing just the hint of fine lines at the corners. ‘I thought we were done …’
‘So did I, but it looks like I was wrong about something.’
Dawson sat forward. He needed no clarification of the case. It had only ended a few days ago.
It wasn’t the first gang-related death they had dealt with and it wouldn’t be the last.
Birmingham was listed amongst the top four cities for having serious gang problems, alongside London, Manchester and Liverpool. In some areas of London and Manchester the gangs were becoming more of a cultural transmission of America’s Crips and Bloods.
Notable gangs in the area included the Brummagem Boys, the Burger Bar Boys and The Johnsons. Some time ago a TV documentary had witnessed a truce following a bitter feud between the Burger Bar Boys and The Johnsons. Violent crime had fallen significantly in specific postcodes since.
The Hollytree Hoods was not a racial group. It was territorial. And while not in the same league as the Brummagem Boys, The Johnsons or the Burger Bar Boys, it still controlled all the prostitution and drug activity on the sprawling estate that encompassed approximately four thousand inhabitants.
‘That kid got to you, didn’t he?’ Dawson asked.
Kim had finally left his bedside mid-morning on Saturday and by lunchtime he had been dead. Lyron, the gang leader, had been arrested two hours later, once the hospital CCTV showed him removing his mask in the car. The gang had not figured on a camera aimed directly at the parking barrier.
She nodded. ‘Open the file and check the first two reports.’
He took out the two reports and read. The first was a sworn affidavit from Conroy Blunt, editor at the Dudley Star, confirming the time Tracy Frost’s story had been filed, authorised and sent to print. The second was the death certificate of Dewain Wright.
Dawson looked from one to the other and then back at her.
Realisation dawned on his features. ‘It wasn’t her. It wasn’t Tracy Frost. He was already dead by the time it hit the shelves.’
She nodded. ‘Make no mistake, she was breaking the story that he was still alive, but the gang already knew.’
With no mother and three sisters, Dewain had fallen victim to the seduction technique most often used by the Hollytree Gang.
They held regular parties, inviting all the estate kids as young as twelve and thirteen. They made promises of money, sex, excitement. Everything an adolescent could want.
If the parties didn’t work, there were other methods. A common one was to convince kids it was a club or group of friends protecting themselves against the enemy. They identified latchkey kids and told them they weren’t loved.
Other kids had been initiated through obligation. The gang would do them a favour, pay a bill, beat somebody up and then demand loyalty as payback.
And, of course, there was the physical beatings or threatening members of the family to get what they wanted.
Getting into a gang was the easy part. Getting out, not so much.
Dawson ran his hand through his hair. ‘Shit.’
‘So, Kev, what does that mean?’
‘That the person who told the gang is out there, somewhere. Jesus, Guv, we need to find out who it is. That kid died.’
Kim smiled. Exactly the response she’d hoped for in the young sergeant. That need to know, to solve it, to finish it.
‘Get to it then, Kev. Find out who it was.’
He snorted. ‘You’re joking? You’re passing this to me?’
Kim nodded. ‘Take the file. You’re out and about. On your travels see what you can find. I won’t interfere but just keep me updated.’
He sat up straight. ‘I won’t let you down, Guv.’
She nodded towards the door. ‘There’s a sofa going spare in the lounge. Go get some rest.’
Dawson did as he was told but he took the folder with him.
Kim’s gaze travelled up to the picture of Charlie and Amy. Her tired eyes appeared to deceive her as two different faces superimposed themselves onto the photo. Two other children; a girl and a boy; much younger than Charlie and Amy.
Her vision blurred and she blinked the image away.
She had to bring those girls home.
Both of them.
Forty
‘Okay, guys, I know that wasn’t the best night’s sleep but let's do a quick catch-up before Alison offers us some insight. I'll go first,’ Kim said, casting her eyes around the room.
They were all freshened up, ready and wide awake. Almost. But it was the second full day of the investigation and new energy was requir
ed.
‘Had a visitor late last night, a woman called Eloise Hunter. Claims to be a psychic or medium or something. Stace, I want you to do some digging because she turned up last time.’
‘Did you have a nice chat?’ Bryant asked.
‘Not exactly,’ Kim said.
He grunted. ‘If she was any good she should have seen that coming.’
Kim ignored him. ‘Stace, anything from you?’
‘Nothing obvious in the backgrounds of the families, boss. Karen was off grid for a couple of years but no police record. Still working on it but the Hansons’ finances are wrapped up tighter than Kev’s wallet.’
‘Keep at it,’ Kim instructed. ‘Anything else?’
‘Still nothing from the phone companies but I've got the address of the girl that didn't come back. The other is proving a bit more difficult.’
‘Probably moved house and changed their name but keep on it. Kev, you know what you’re doing.’
‘Got it, Guv,’ he said.
‘Excuse me, Marm,’ Helen said from the doorway. ‘There's a Matt Ward at the door. Says you're expecting him.’
‘Show him through, Helen. Thanks.’
She waited for the door to close. ‘Oh, fabulous, our second expert is here to assist us.’ She glanced at Alison. ‘No offence.’
That brought the total number of occupants to four parents, four detectives, two experts, one door guard and a liaison officer. Kim was grateful for the size of the house and its distance from the neighbours. The activity that was resembling rush hour at New Street station would have been difficult to hide in a three-bed semi.
The man who appeared at the door was dour and unsmiling.
He wore plain black trousers and a light blue shirt. His top button was open, she noticed, as he unravelled a grey scarf from around his neck. A heavy black overcoat had already been removed.
Kim guessed him to be late thirties, although the frown added a further ten miserable years to him.
She waved him in, stood and introduced herself and her team. ‘And this is Consulting Behaviourist Alison Lowe.’
Matt offered curt nods at no one in particular as he edged into the room.
Kim sat and pointed to the chair on the opposite side of the dining table.
He traversed the piles of paperwork scattered on the floor, moving with the ease of an athlete at rest. His hair was dark but showed a hint of grey at the temples. The skin that was visible was tanned to a warm golden brown.
‘Matt Ward, trained negotiator, just got off a fourteen-hour flight. What do we have?’
Kim raised one eyebrow at his rudeness. She opened her mouth, unsure what was about to escape, but Stacey stood quickly.
‘Coffee, Matt?’
He offered a change in expression as he turned towards Stacey. Kim wouldn't have characterised it as a smile but perhaps a lower grade frown.
‘Short of a double whisky, coffee will do.’
Bryant coughed as Matt turned back towards Kim.
She appreciated the direct approach but a modicum of manners would have gone a long way.
She outlined the events in short factual form and ended at the receipt of the third text message and her request for proof of life.
Matt stood to read the printout of the message that had been placed beneath the two shorter ones on the wipe board.
‘Hmmm …’ he said, re-taking his seat.
He had not once glanced at the photo of the girls.
‘Ever come across anything like this before?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘When I have something useful to say, I will. Until then I would request you make no further contact with the kidnappers. That's now my call.’
Kim opened her mouth to argue but changed her mind. An argument was not going to get these girls back.
The old adage of having only one chance to make a first impression had never been truer. This man was obviously rude, arrogant and obnoxious and she doubted very much that she would ever change her mind.
‘Okay, Alison, you're up,’ she said, glancing across the table.
The behaviourist stood and manoeuvred the easel into position.
Kim stole a glance at their most recent addition, who stared over the top of her head.
She really must remember to ring Woody and thank him for sending such a cold, emotionless present.
Bryant leaned towards her. ‘Like looking in a mirror, eh?’ he whispered.
‘Bryant, I suggest you close your damn mouth before I—’
‘You can't hurt me. There are witnesses,’ he smirked, moving out of earshot.
For that remark, she'd happily kill him and do the time.
Forty-One
Alison stood to the side of the flip chart with a marker pen in her hand. ‘May I have your attention?’ she asked, using her projective speaking voice more suited to an auditorium or classroom. Kim looked around. No, it was definitely still a dining room.
‘Okay, a few basic facts first. I'm not going to tell you anyone's hair colour or shoe size and, although I know there are sceptics amongst us, past behaviour is still our best indicator of future actions.’
Kim could swear that Alison had looked right at her as she’d said the word ‘sceptics’.
‘So, by identifying personality traits we can build that into a type which can then offer us a profile. I'm going to refer to our texter as Subject One and I'll deal with him first.’
‘Ahem,’ Kim said, consulting her notes. ‘Could we touch on Inga first? She is our known participant so an insight might be beneficial.’
She caught the mild irritation that passed behind Alison’s eyes. But Inga was their only identified lead.
Alison thought for a moment and then began tapping the pen into her palm as she spoke. Clearly her ‘thinking on the spot’ tell.
‘Caregivers involved with children, especially a single child, normally develop a surrogate mother–child relationship. They are present for many of the child’s “firsts”, so to speak. It builds a pseudo-maternal bond.
‘Inga wasn’t terminated by the Hanson family, she left of her own accord just two months ago, so we can deduce that she treated Amy well and took good care of her. She was persuaded into doing something against this bond by one of our kidnappers.’
‘Money?’ Dawson asked.
Alison shook her head. ‘It’s unlikely that she was motivated by payment. There are other ways to make money without endangering a child.’
‘Love?’ Kim asked.
Alison nodded. ‘More than likely. Love is a difficult thing to compete with and money can’t buy it …’
‘But another kind of love can trump it?’ Kim queried.
‘Yes,’ Alison replied. ‘There’s a possibility that Inga was seduced by one of our kidnappers and showered with love and affection, made to feel special, adored. That is a difficult love to compete with. Amy was always someone else’s child. It’s a step removed.’
Kim made a note on her pad. The theory of love trumping love made sense to her but she just wasn’t sure which one of their kidnappers would have possessed the warmth to do it.
‘Carry on, Alison,’ Kim instructed. Interestingly the behaviourist had given her something to think about.
Alison threw back the cover of the oversized sketch pad. It was headed ‘Subject One’ and held bullet points. Alison used the marker pen to point to them individually.
‘We are clearly dealing with two kidnappers. Subject One, the texter, has already demonstrated his intelligence. He is likely to be cold and meticulous. He exercises extreme control as evidenced by his adherence to a plan. His text messages arrive on the hour, as though pre-planned. He has two young girls captive but is still able to follow a strategy and not rush. Others might wish to hurry things along. The texter does not. His communications are timed to get the most dramatic effect.
‘He is reasonably well educated and makes no effort to hide that fact. Even by text message he uses correct grammar and p
unctuation.
‘He enjoys the game. As he sends the message he will picture it being received. He will enjoy the thrill of being in control.
‘He has limited capacity for variables and may well act out of character when stressed.’
‘How will he have reacted to Inga's failure to follow the plan?’ Kim asked.
Alison offered her a frown for interrupting but Kim held her gaze.
‘He will want her killed, silenced, removed from his view so that he doesn't have to think about the failure, but he certainly won't do it himself.’
Kim nodded her understanding and permission to continue.
‘If he's known to police it's likely to be for money crimes: embezzlement or white collar theft; a crime that would have tested his intelligence but with an end goal; a reward.
‘He is primarily non-violent, which brings me to Subject Two.’
‘Hang on,’ Kim interrupted. ‘Why non-violent? You’ve already said that he could act out of character if the plan changes?’
Alison took in a deep breath before responding. ‘I said, primarily: meaning it is not his first course of action.’
Kim pushed the point. ‘But he is capable, yes? I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea about what we’re dealing with here.’
Alison’s gaze did not sweep the room and was directed only at her. ‘Okay, let me rephrase and say he is less likely to be violent than Subject Two.’
Kim nodded her satisfaction.
Alison flicked the page over and pointed.
‘From the limited information we have on the accomplice he is the polar opposite of his colleague. The level of damage inflicted on Bradley Evans’s head and the photos of Inga's home point to a man who enjoys gratuitous violence. If death was the only motive for Bradley Evans—’
‘Brad,’ Kim interrupted. ‘Please call him Brad.’ His name badge indicated that had been his preference.
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