This time there would be no mistakes.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The house was double-fronted and lay behind a tall row of trees that separated it from Mucklow Hill traffic and the road leading from Halesowen into Quinton.
White pebble gravel gave way to a red-brick driveway. No unsightly oil stains marred the perfection. Perfectly symmetrical hanging baskets hung from brackets either side of a heavy-looking dark oak door.
A white Range Rover took the first space in a three-car garage. A green sports car sat beside it. A red Vauxhall Corsa that, if judged by its dents, had lost more than one fight, was outside, exposed to the elements.
‘Is that poor knacker playing hide-and-seek?’ Bryant asked as he brought his own Astra Estate to rest beside it.
‘It’s not theirs,’ Kim said, confidently. Even a runaround would not bear so many scars.
‘Best guess?’ Bryant asked.
It was a game they always played when visiting the homes of the wealthy.
‘Between one and a quarter and one and a half,’ she said.
Bryant nodded his agreement before lifting a lion’s head and dropping it, twice.
The door was answered almost immediately by a short, plump woman in her mid-forties. Her hair was a helmet of tight curls that greyed at the temples. Red-rimmed eyes shone from a plain face.
Kim held up her identification as Bryant started the introduction. The door was pulled back for them to enter before he had finished.
The vast space of the hallway was emphasised by oversized stone tiles alternating in contrasting colours of brown and cream.
With so many doors Kim waited for further instruction.
‘They’re in the lounge,’ she said, pointing down the hall.
‘And you are?’ Bryant asked, looking down into a face that fell a good foot lower than his own.
‘Anna, part-time housekeeper.’
Kim headed towards the door she’d indicated as Anna disappeared to the back of the house. The woman appeared to be treading softly so as not to disturb the settling grief.
Three people were present in the room that was darkened by the closed curtains.
‘Mr Brightman?’ Kim said, stepping forward.
He nodded and made to stand, but Kim indicated for him to stay seated.
He looked as though he might topple over at any moment. His complexion was still devoid of all colour. She could imagine that it had simply dropped from his face on hearing the news and couldn’t yet find its way back.
She sat in the seat opposite and only then allowed her gaze to sweep the rest of the room.
The woman that sat beside him looked so similar to the dead woman that Kim had to stop herself from gawping.
‘I’m Sylvie, Deanna’s sister,’ she said, catching Kim’s glance.
‘Forgive me, the resemblance is—’
‘It’s okay, officer,’ she said, with a half-smile. ‘We always have that. Deanna was the younger. Just by one year.’
Kim couldn’t help thinking about the face of the woman in the car. The comparison of the deadened muscles, the dormant skin, the glassy eyes and the slackened mouth. This almost exact replica held the animation that her sister would never have again.
Sylvie’s hair was a couple of shades darker than the chestnut hue of Deanna, and her nose slightly wider.
‘My daughter, Rebecca,’ she offered. Only the name had been required to complete the picture. The woman’s beauty had clearly been passed on to her child. Long black hair hung loose and glossy down the girl’s back. Her green eyes were emphasised by black eyeliner.
At the sound of her name she lifted her head, positioned a smile, and then dropped it again back to her phone.
If there had been tears they’d been shed before the eye make-up had been applied.
‘We are sorry for your loss, Mr Brightman,’ she offered.
He raised his head and acknowledged the words that meant nothing to him. He sat forward in the centre of the sofa. He was dressed in a crumpled white shirt and black trousers. The man had not even attempted bed or getting changed from the previous day.
‘I know this is difficult but we do need to ask you some questions,’ Kim said.
‘Of course,’ he whispered.
‘You’ve already been informed of the circumstances of—’
‘It was a carjacking, wasn’t it?’ Sylvie interrupted.
Kim frowned and shook her head. ‘No, it was not.’
Both Mr Brightman and his niece looked her way with surprise but Kim kept her gaze on the face of the husband. His heavy dark eyebrows lowered. ‘It wasn’t… ?’
‘No. This wasn’t a random act of violence, Mr Brightman. In fact, we believe your wife knew her attacker.’
Sylvie gasped with horror and moved an inch closer to Mr Brightman. Rebecca swallowed deeply and slowly returned her gaze to the phone, although Kim could see from the corner of her eye that the girl was pressing no buttons.
Kim continued. ‘Can you think of anyone who had any issues with your wife, Mr Brightman?’
Confusion and horror went to war on his face.
Sylvie’s chin jutted out. ‘Now, wait a minute, officer. Deanna—’
Sylvie stopped talking as Anna entered the room.
‘Err… family business, Anna,’ she said, nodding towards the door.
Anna ignored her. ‘Would anyone like a drink: coffee, tea?’
Everyone in the room shook their heads, and Mitchell Brightman offered Sylvie a look for her rudeness as the housekeeper left the room.
‘Mr Brightman,’ Kim said, looking only at him. ‘I need you to really think about it. Anything at all that might help us. It might just be something small.’
‘I honestly can’t think of anything. Deanna was not a confrontational person. She wouldn’t upset… ’
‘What about that scandal at work?’ Rebecca asked, looking at her uncle.
Kim sensed a bristle of irritation as the girl spoke. He didn’t look at her.
Kim did.
‘What scandal?’ Bryant asked.
‘That little girl who died on that estate?’ she said, scrunching her perfectly plucked eyebrows.
‘Hollytree?’ Kim asked.
Rebecca nodded.
Kim looked back at Mitchell Brightman.
‘Was she involved in that case?’
Kim had seen the news reports. Trudy Parsons was a three-year-old girl who had been on the ‘watch’ list of Child Services for most of her short life. Her mother had a drink problem and was quite receptive to giving Trudy up when she was unable to care for her. Except, she’d got herself a boyfriend who didn’t like to hear a child cry.
In a fit of rage, while Shirley Parsons was at the off-licence, he punched the child so hard in the head that she never regained consciousness.
The court case had been heard the previous week, provoking an outpouring of anger that social services were totally to blame on this one.
Mitchell Brightman nodded. ‘It wasn’t her case, but Deanna was in charge of the whole department.’
Sylvie shook her head. ‘You can’t think someone would blame Deanna for what that evil bastard did?’
Kim shrugged. It was something to consider. How involved in the case had she been? Was there someone from the family that she would recognise? Allow into her car?
‘Mr Brightman, can you tell me why Deanna was out driving late last night?’
Again Sylvie edged forward. ‘She was—’
‘Sylvie, please… ’ Mr Brightman said and then turned to Kim. ‘Deanna went for an Italian last night with a couple of colleagues. It was a birthday treat arranged for one of the girls as a surprise. She phoned at around six and said she didn’t really feel like it. I told her it would do her good,’ he said. Kim could hear the irony in his voice.
‘Why?’ Kim asked. ‘Why did you say it would do her good?’
He paused and gave it some thought. ‘I don’t know really. It’s just what you s
ay, isn’t it? She’d been a bit quiet since the court case.’ He shook his head. ‘That poor little girl. But there’s never any fanfare for the ones they save.’
Kim understood that all right. It was no different for the police. People were only interested in the ones that got away.
‘And she was due home?’
‘Eleven, half past,’ he said.
Kim wasn’t sure what else she was going to get from Mr Brightman while Sylvie was around. She seemed determined to answer most questions for him.
She stood. ‘My colleague will just ask a few more questions while I get a glass of water, if that’s okay?’
She nodded towards Bryant. He knew what to ask.
She headed out of the room and followed the direction Anna had taken after letting them in. She passed a sauna room on her left and a utility room on her right before finding herself in the spacious kitchen.
The white cabinets were stark and sterile. The ultra-modern kitchen seemed at odds with the warm personality of the house. Kim saw everything reflected in the cupboard doors. An extractor fan hovered above the hob encased in a central island.
The housekeeper had her back to Kim as she stepped in to the kitchen. There was no movement as she stared out of the window.
Kim coughed.
Anna turned and wiped at a tear on her cheek.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, quickly. ‘Is there something you need?’
Kim stepped further into the room. ‘Just a glass of water.’
Anna reached into one of the top cupboards and took a glass. She filled it from a water filter and held it towards her.
‘Thank you,’ Kim said and glanced over her shoulder.
The sink was filled with soapy suds and crockery was draining on the stainless steel unit.
‘Isn’t that a dishwasher?’ Kim asked, glancing to the left.
Anna nodded. ‘Never use them. You have to clean off the stuff first and there’s no machine I’ve seen yet that comes with elbow grease.’
Kim had to agree. She had one and never used it for the same reason.
‘So, you’ve worked for the family for… ?’
‘Almost a year.’
‘Are you here every day?’
Anna shook her head. ‘Three mornings.’
Kim paused. ‘Mr Brightman seems very nice.’
‘He is.’
‘Any children?’ Kim asked, realising she’d seen no photos that weren’t just the two of them.
Anna shook her head. ‘She would have made a great mother. She was a wonderful aunt to Rebecca.’
Kim was surprised. The girl didn’t look particularly grief-stricken.
‘Did they spend a lot of time together?’
Anna suddenly turned towards her. ‘Inspector, when are you going to ask me the questions you really came in here to ask?’
Kim smiled at the bluntness of the statement. Good, she liked it when cards were on the table.
‘How was the marriage?’ she asked.
‘Strong,’ she answered immediately. ‘I can tell you now they loved each other very much.’
‘No issues?’
‘I wouldn’t say that. Every marriage has their ups and downs but they seemed to have worked through some stuff and were coming out the other side.’
‘What about Sylvie?’
‘What about her?’ Anna asked.
‘How was their relationship?’
‘Complicated.’
‘Go on,’ Kim urged.
Anna seemed uncomfortable. ‘It’s strange because they were close as anything. It’s been just the two of them since they lost both parents as teenagers. They only had each other. And yet there was a weird kind of rivalry between them too. Neither seemed to want the other to have the upper hand; when Sylvie’s husband died Deanna practically moved into Sylvie’s house. Made all the funeral arrangements, everything. Got quite upset when Mitchell asked when she was coming home.’
Kim stored the information away.
‘And Rebecca?’
‘Not a bad kid from what I’ve seen. Not that she comes here all that often but she tends to keep shtum around her mother. You’ll have noticed that Sylvie controls every conversation.’
‘Tries to,’ Kim corrected.
The woman’s mouth twitched slightly.
‘Well, thank you, Anna, you’ve been very helpful and if I could just ask—’
‘Here’s my full address. And my phone number, and if you want to know I was at a Sally Morgan event at the Wolverhampton Grand. Just to save you some time.’
Kim took the paper and put it in her pocket. ‘I like efficiency,’ Kim said, smiling. ‘And I didn’t even have to ask.’
‘I watch the telly, officer,’ Anna said, seriously.
Kim thought about commenting on real police work being nothing like the television shows, but changed her mind. Such revelations always prompted disappointment.
The meeting had been fruitful, Kim thought. Anna knew a lot about the family unit and the nuances within it, and Kim was not surprised. It was why she had opted to talk to the woman. Domestic help often became invisible to the occupants of a large home. And so learned a lot. The good ones didn’t gossip.
‘And, Inspector, if there’s anything else you want to know, just ask. I’ll tell you anything that will help you catch the bastard. Deanna was a lovely woman. She didn’t deserve this.’
Kim nodded her agreement and filed away the offer of help.
With the weird undercurrents in this family she had a feeling she was going to need it.
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘What do you think?’ she asked Bryant as they left the property.
‘Strange dynamic, if you want the truth,’ he answered.
‘So, where were they last night?’
‘Husband was home in the study, working late. He’s currently prosecuting a kid from Hollytree for armed robbery of a Pensnett petrol station. His star witness is now only “pretty sure” it was him that did it.’
‘He’s a Crown prosecutor?’
‘Yeah, they didn’t get that house on the back of his job.’
And Deanna had been a civil servant too, Kim noted.
‘Where were Sylvie and her daughter?’
‘Both at home: Sylvie watching television and Rebecca in her room.’
‘Hmmm… ’
‘That’s how it is now, guv. You’re lucky to get a grunt out of your kids at the dinner table. And if you insist on no phones it’s like you’ve just shared her baby photos on her Facebook page.’
Kim looked at him questioningly. A lot of detail.
He smiled. ‘Just saying.’
Bryant’s daughter, Laura, was now safely ensconced at Loughborough University studying a few ’ologies that Kim couldn’t quite remember. But she was a good kid.
‘What about the housekeeper?’
‘Sally Morgan show in Wolverhampton.’
He nodded. ‘The missus wanted to go to that but it was sold out. Or so I told her,’ he smirked.
‘You’re kidding?’
He shook his head. ‘The weekly dance class is all she’s getting from me.’
‘Bloody hell,’ she said.
‘You’re surprised I told her a harmless little lie?’
‘No, I’m more surprised you keep giving me this kind of ammunition to use against you.’
He thought for a minute. ‘You’re right. So, what next?’ he asked, changing the subject.
‘I’m going to call the others to see how they’re getting on with the folks from the pub and the takeaway. You take us towards Deanna’s office in Dudley.’
She took out her phone and paused. ‘Bryan… ’
‘Yeah, guv?’
She continued to stare at the phone and then shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
For a moment she’d been tempted to tell him about the letter she’d received from Alex, but then changed her mind.
To tell him would be to attach a much higher imp
ortance to it than the letter deserved.
She wiped it out of her mind and put her thoughts to work and Deanna. And what exactly might have happened at the Italian restaurant last night.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Alex watched as the juvenile party took place. Melanie Jackson was being released after serving two and a half years for dealing heroin. Alice Tromans had been allowed to make a celebratory jelly. Alice Tromans, who was four years into a ten year stretch for a string of armed robberies, had been allowed to make a jelly.
How bloody fabulous.
Unlike these pathetic creatures Alex had no intention of spending the full term of her sentence in this hell hole. With good behaviour her twelve-year sentence would be reduced to seven or eight. Still not happening, she mused, as her gaze rested on the person integral to the next part of her plan.
The guards had agreed that the small house kitchen was too small and had allowed them a party in the visitors’ room. There were no streamers decorating the barred windows that ran the length of the wall. There were no balloons hanging from the stained tiled ceiling and no party favours on the fixed round metal tables that filled the room.
Although the party was for Melanie, Tanya Neale took centre stage as the pathetic little gifts were unwrapped and exclaimed over. A packet of Haribo, a used hairgrip and a crossword puzzle book.
As though sensing her attention Tanya turned and stared right at her. Alex held the hard gaze without fear. Nothing inside these walls frightened her.
‘What you lookin’ at, bitch?’ Tanya called, in a sing-song voice.
Every pair of eyes in the room fell upon Alex. Alex smiled.
Tanya looked around at her posse and stood. She sauntered towards Alex with a menacing stare. Despite her diminutive stature the woman was solid muscle and commanded the respect of every person around her.
Alex remained leaning against the vending machine, her arms crossed casually across her breasts. Tanya stopped one foot away from her. Alex towered over her by a good ten inches.
‘I said, what you lookin’ at, bitch?’
Alex shrugged and said nothing as she looked down onto the woman’s greasy blonde hair. A thin scar ran from the edge of her right eye, down her cheek and ended at the tip of her mouth.
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