Home-made tattoos, fashioned with a pen and a biro, decorated her fingers near to the scarred knuckles. The right hand spelt ‘fuck’ and the left spelt ‘off’ with an exclamation mark on the final finger. Because punctuation mattered, Alex mused.
Tanya grabbed one of her own breasts and fondled it. ‘You after some of dis, bitch?’
Alex was unsure why this woman in her mid-thirties reverted to gangster slang every time she opened her mouth. She almost laughed out loud, but she checked herself. Now was not the time. The entire room had stilled and was watching a possible drama unfold. Alex could feel the tension as women turned in their chairs hoping for the distraction of a fight. The fight would last only minutes but would entertain them for days.
All background chatter had stopped. A guard watched from the corner of the room. Any altercation between the two of them would be logged for the intelligence officers. It didn’t suit Alex’s purpose to have anything between the two of them reported.
‘Maybe later, sweetheart,’ Alex responded. ‘We’ll just have to wait and see.’
Alex walked around the woman and away from the vending machine.
Thankfully, Tanya let it drop and returned to the party. As she sat she said something and the group laughed. A couple glanced back in her direction. The background chatter resumed. Something else would now be needed as the topic of conversation for later.
From the corner of her eye she saw the exchange had been witnessed by Natalya Kozlov. Alex turned to face her. Natalya would like nothing more than to see Alex get beaten to a pulp. Not today, Natalya, Alex’s eyes communicated. Natalya offered her a hateful stare and turned away.
Cassie, her cellmate, placed two coffees on the table. ‘I still can’t believe she killed three men?’ she said, glancing towards Tanya.
Alex nodded and sipped the coffee. She could, and she knew the reason why. The private investigator recommended by her lawyer had compiled a dossier of all the inmates on her wing. She knew who was doing time for what, their family status and their record since being in the prison.
No one in this place held any challenge for her. Within minutes she had analysed Cassie and treated her accordingly.
The woman was a visual introvert prone to agreeableness. She was a typical Type B personality, living her life with a low-level of stress. Working at a steady pace, creative in nature, reflective.
It had been easy to read Cassie. The picture of herself and her two girls that she sobbed over every night. The sketch pad and monthly art magazines brought in by her mother.
Offering friendship had established an instant connection. Manipulators always understood the weakness of their targets. Cassie’s had easily been her oversentimentality, resulting in a loneliness that cried out for a special friend.
To gain her trust Alex had used a technique called mirroring. It began with matching mannerisms: a scratch of the nose, crossing the legs. It communicated to the subconscious that you were alike and promoted instant trust.
Next she had initiated small talk to see which personality type she was. It was a technique used by marketers to define motivators. Cassie had instantly fallen into the Yellow category, which dictated she was driven by pity. Green was for the details people. Blue for familiarity, and Red for competitive.
Alex had listened for hours to Cassie talking about her girls and their perfect life together. And never once had she reminded Cassie of the fact she was in prison.
Slowly Alex had teased details of the prisoners that her outside contact could not get for her. But it had been slow. Cassie had sometimes been overcome with guilt for telling tales.
Eventually, Alex had begun to withdraw that friendship leaving Cassie confused and bereft. Intermittent Positive Reinforcement caused an unpredictability that prompted a subconscious craving for positive attention: Cassie had begun chasing her for a positive reaction.
And she had given it.
And then Cassie had told her everything.
Many things she’d been told had helped her refine the methods of attack, and Tanya Neale was no exception. She knew what she liked, what she didn’t like and, more pertinently, what was important to her.
Cassie was still watching the woman. ‘You know, I’ve been here twenty-seven months and I’ve never even spoken to her once. I’m way too scared.’
Of course you are, Alex thought. Cassie was a gentle soul who had made bad choices after getting hooked on meth. She was a poster girl for the system. She’d used her time in prison to get clean and had joined every club and work group she could manage. Her parole hearing was due in a week.
Cassie fidgeted as she watched the silly little party. ‘I can’t wait until that’s me. Just a few more days and then I’ll be back with them.’
Hmmm, probably not, Alex thought, while nodding her agreement. Unfortunately for Cassie, she was an integral part of the next stage of Alex’s master plan. A subject of which the spineless little fool was unaware.
Melanie Jackson was Tanya Neale’s cellmate and would be leaving the prison any day now, meaning that Tanya, the most feared inmate in the prison, would have a cell to herself.
Alex tightened her palm around the sachets of salt in her pocket. It was time to start the game.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Kim led Bryant into the office of Children’s Services in St James’s Road, Dudley.
They stepped into a wall of sombre shock.
The office was open-plan with desks sectioned into cubicles by chest-high barriers that appeared to serve as cubicles on the outside and pin-boards on the inside.
A few heads raised in their direction as they headed towards a glass office in the top left. Kim caught a few sniffles as she passed.
The office still held the nameplate and title of Deanna Brightman.
A woman in her mid-thirties with short red hair rose to greet them. ‘Lorna Fisher, Deanna’s Personal Assistant,’ she said, offering her hand.
Kim took it and introduced them both.
The woman glanced down at the desk. ‘I’ve been asked to clear up,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘But I just… ’ She tried to blink the threatening tears away. ‘Please excuse me, officer. I’m still trying to process what’s happened.’ She nodded beyond the glass. ‘We all are.’
Kim understood. It wasn’t the news you expected to be met with when you rolled into work. Changing deadlines, increased workload, impromptu meetings – yes. Murder of your manager – not so much.
‘I don’t even want to be here,’ she said, honestly.
For a moment Kim wondered whether she meant at work, or here, in the office of the dead manager – amongst her personal effects. Kim could see a framed photograph of Deanna and Mitchell dressed for some kind of black tie event. There was a stress ball, not unlike the one Woody kept on his desk, except this one had an emoticon face. A square coaster with a cartoon of Shrek and Donkey sat to the right of a meerkat decorated mouse mat.
‘There’s an interim manager due later today,’ she said.
‘You can’t step in?’ Kim asked. As Deanna’s assistant this woman probably knew more about the job than anyone.
Lorna shook her head. ‘Not my bag, Inspector. Some people were born to make all the tough decisions and others were born to support the people that make the tough decisions. Deanna was the former and I am most definitely the latter.’
‘I hear you,’ Bryant mumbled.
‘Did she make all the decisions on the Trudy Parsons case?’ Kim asked, gently.
Lorna swallowed. ‘Believe me, we all still have nightmares about that little girl.’ She shuddered. ‘It doesn’t matter whose desk it was on. As a department we failed,’ she said, truthfully.
Kim couldn’t help but like this woman. She appreciated people that didn’t try and duck responsibility or point fingers around the compass. By the same token Kim didn’t agree with individuals being held out to dry for such tragedies. She understood better than anyone how children could fall off the radar. Her o
wn mother, whilst mentally unstable, had been adept at subterfuge and misdirection when it came to hiding the truth from an overworked social worker.
‘And Deanna’s involvement?’
‘Minimal. We have meetings, of course, and individual cases are discussed and assessed but Deanna was front and centre when it all hit the press. And she didn’t shirk the responsibility or try and shift the blame on to—’ Her words trailed away as she looked from her to Bryant and back again.
‘Wait a minute. You don’t think Deanna’s death is linked to that?’
Kim noticed how the second ‘d’ word stuck in her throat. She shrugged. ‘We have to explore all avenues of enquiry. A lot of people were very angry at your boss.’
‘I suppose,’ she said, doubtfully. ‘I think we all assumed it was some kind of carjacking gone wrong.’
Kim wondered if the whole world had been listening to Bullock, Keats’s trainee, last night. Every single person had assumed that someone was after Deanna’s car.
‘Another avenue we’ll be exploring,’ Kim stated. She continued, ‘can you tell me a little about Deanna?’
The work persona often differed greatly to the home persona and she preferred a fully rounded view.
Lorna smiled and tears gathered in her eyes. This time she made no effort to blink them away. ‘You probably hear this a lot but she was a lovely person. She expected people to work hard but was quick to spot if someone was working too hard. We’ve all had the training, of course. Work-related stress is rife in this career choice but she didn’t need a training course to be told how to spot the signs. She just kept her eyes open.
‘She would find ways to help and support the team whether it be a quick coffee away from the office, a night out to bond or a new initiative for addressing the work–life balance. Not necessarily the methods listed in the Managing a Team handbook but she understood people and worked with individual personalities. I suppose I’m saying she didn’t manage by numbers like a lot of people here.’
Kim was beginning to get a clearer idea of the woman. The more Lorna spoke the less idea of motivation for her murder there seemed to be.
‘I mean, she wouldn’t even give up that old phone, in case people wanted to get in touch with her,’ Lorna said with a sad smile.
‘What old phone?’ Kim asked. Deanna’s smartphone had been in the car.
‘A really, really old Nokia that the network couldn’t transfer the number from when she upgraded. It was the phone she’d used as a case worker years ago and had given it out to parents and relatives. She wouldn’t get rid of it. She was worried that someone might call for help and the phone would be dead. She transferred it to a pay and go and kept it with her at all times.’
‘Did she still get calls?’ Bryant asked.
‘Sometimes,’ Lorna said, looking thoughtful. ‘Although she did mention two days ago that she appeared to have lost it somewhere. She thought it may have slipped out of her pocket at the salon.’
This additional phone was something they would need to follow up on immediately.
‘Do you have the number?’ Kim asked.
Lorna shook her head. ‘That phone was long gone from the system by the time I started working for her. I only ever used her new number. It wasn’t a number she gave out anymore.’
Bryant took out his notebook and scribbled something down.
‘There was a celebration last night?’ Kim asked.
Lorna nodded.
‘Did they happen often, these nights out?’ Kim continued.
Lorna thought for a minute. ‘We probably found a reason once a month to go and have a bite to eat. Someone’s birthday, someone leaving, someone starting,’ she said, wryly.
‘And last night?’
‘Oh that was Amanda’s birthday. The big four oh.’
‘And was there anything there that happened out of the ordinary?’
Lorna frowned. ‘You mean to do with Deanna?’
Kim nodded, feeling that was pretty obvious.
Lorna began to slowly shake her head.
‘Absolutely nothing at all, Inspector, because Deanna wasn’t even there.’
Kim sat back in the chair and looked at Bryant and knew he was wondering the same thing as her.
Where the hell had Deanna Brightman been?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
‘So, where the hell was she?’ Bryant asked for both of them as they got in the car.
Kim didn’t bother answering. It was something they would have to find out.
She took out her phone and dialled Stacey.
‘Stace, see if you can find out anything about a second mobile phone. Apparently Deanna had a Nokia for old contacts.’
‘Okey dokey.’
‘And do a quick check on Sylvie Drummond, her daughter, and the part-time housekeeper, Anna Mills. Lastly, check for anything obvious on the Trudy Parsons case that was recently in the news. Although the little girl died last year the court case might have stirred up something, and Deanna was front and centre shouldering most of the responsibility.’
‘Got it, boss,’ Stacey confirmed.
‘Any news from Kev?’
‘Nowt yet. He’s tracked down a couple of witnesses who live within spitting distance of the pub. He’s on his way to Keats and will goo back to the pub once he’s done.’ Stacey paused. ‘He’s pissed off, boss.’
Kim was not surprised. It was a mammoth task to track down every person who had been in the pub and the Chinese takeaway. And that was his job.
The second she ended the call, her phone rang.
‘Detective Inspector,’ said a familiar voice.
‘Keats, are you actually ringing me by choice?’ she asked. ‘Much as I know you might be missing me, Dawson is attending the post mortem of—’
‘You might want to pop along. I may have something to show you.’
‘Keats, I wish I could say I’ve had a better offer but I haven’t so we’re on our way.’
An invitation from Keats had to mean something, surely.
She bloody well hoped so.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Ruth Willis had spent most of the day trying to outrun the feeling of anxiety that had woken her up an hour before the 7.30 unlock time. It had accompanied her every move along with the gnawing ache to understand it. If she understood the cause perhaps the rolling in her stomach would go away.
Normally she was not overly attentive to the mood amongst her fellow prisoners at Eastwood Park. Intensified emotions hit troughs and peaks throughout the year like a tide, swelling around bank holidays, Christmas, family time. Abating once they’d passed. A sense of relief that another ‘occasion’ had come and gone. It travelled the air like an invisible current. Pent-up frustration passing from person to person, a recipe for trouble.
Presently there seemed to be a restlessness amongst many of the inmates, a nervous energy that vibrated from their bodies against the restricting walls, floors, ceilings and back again. Not so with her.
Unlike most of the inmates she didn’t have a calendar on the wall marking the days until her release. She didn’t torture herself at her loss of liberty as each day passed.
She had taken a life, and she was paying the price.
Ruth had been careful to keep her head down since her incarceration the year before. She had five years to do, and she hoped to do them without incident. She would leave prison three weeks before her twenty-seventh birthday.
She had gratefully accepted the decision of the court when reducing her sentence once the manipulations of Alexandra Thorne had been uncovered.
As usual any thoughts of Alex brought a mixture of emotions. She hated that she had been nothing more than a pawn in Alex’s game. She hated that Alex had managed to manipulate her darkest fantasies about murdering her rapist. She despised her own weakness in carrying out the murder and taking the man’s life. She could not bring herself to feel sorry that the man was dead. He had changed her life for ever. But he’d had a mother who now
missed him – who’d done nothing wrong.
She felt proud that she had faced the pure evil of the woman across a courtroom and told her story. Every bit of it and left it to a jury to decide.
And yet, pathetically, there was a part of her that missed the bond she’d thought they’d had.
Alex had a way of reeling you in. Her beauty and charm when directed your way were both gratifying and overwhelming.
Ruth had begun to study psychology and manipulation in an effort to learn more about her own weakness and vulnerabilities. Many times she had shaken her head in wonder as she’d read perfect examples of a dozen techniques Alex had employed to gain control of her mind. Ruth likened her own consciousness to an empty car that had been parked and ready to drive. And Alex had switched on the ignition and done exactly that.
Ruth now knew one of the first and most important tactical principles of undetected mind control was finding a victim with a goal over which to exert a subliminal influence.
Oh, and there’d been no shortage of that in Alex’s world. All of her victims and patients had wanted only one thing: to heal.
Their relationship had become like an abusive marriage. Alex had showered her with praise and affection when she had performed and then withheld it when Ruth hadn’t quite measured up.
She had engineered their sessions so that Ruth had been constantly trying to please her. She hadn’t always agreed with everything Alex said but had nodded accordingly, not wishing for the nice Alex to depart.
And yet, even though she knew just how evil the woman was, Ruth still longed for those days back.
She had felt that Alex was the only person in the world that had understood her. It had been the two of them against the world. She had shared more with Alex than she had with her parents.
It reminded her of the film, The Matrix. What was wrong with total ignorance if you were blissfully happy? So what if I’m not really eating steak? I’m enjoying it anyway. She sent up a silent prayer that Alex was at Drake Hall and not here at Eastwood Park.
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