She had felt the decision brewing inside her during the car ride with Bryant earlier, which was why she hadn’t dared reveal to him what she’d been thinking, but the journey had been fraught with indecision; each motorway exit had beckoned her back to the safety of home and ignorance.
To enter the arena with Alex again was risking much more than she was willing to lose. But she knew Alex was behind this sudden change in her mother, and the thought that her mother could ever be free again was beyond her tolerance.
She was not as surprised as she should have been that Alex had come crashing back into her life. A small part of her had always known that she had not seen the last of the devious, emotionless woman. During their last encounter Kim had known that Alex was obsessed with her. She had found out everything about her. Perversely, Alex probably knew more than anyone about the horror, terror and pain that had been her childhood: she had researched every incident of cruelty, abuse and neglect, and she had tried to use every single fact she’d learned to drive her towards insanity.
Alex had said she felt there was some kind of bond between them and that Kim’s own unwillingness to get close to anyone further linked them somehow. But Kim saw no similarities between the two of them, saw no twisted bond. None at all.
She could have turned back, ignored the taunts from Alex and trusted in the system, trusted that the parole board would see the truth and refuse the woman’s freedom. But then there’s Lily, said a small voice inside her head. The one woman Kim saw as an ally had been fooled and deceived. She couldn’t take the chance that the parole board would feel the same way.
What if all they saw was a pleasant woman in her early sixties – contrite and remorseful for what she’d done to Mikey and her? What if her demonstration of sanity earned her a place back in the free world? In her world. Could she learn to live with the thought that the bitch was free?
No, she couldn’t take that chance. If Alex had something that would help keep her mother safely locked away, then she had no choice but to find out what it was. And of course there would be a price to pay.
She just hoped it was a price she could afford.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Alex enjoyed the frisson of excitement that passed through her whole body. She followed Katie to the visitors’ room, forcing the smile away from her mouth. Triumph so early was not graceful.
She had known the detective inspector would come. Kim Stone had very few weaknesses, but her mother was the biggest and the most easily exploited. A little more challenge in getting her to come would have entertained her briefly, but they were not yet into the game.
Alex paused in the doorway and quickly assessed the figure that stood at the window. Her black canvas jeans were snug against her bottom and legs without being tight. The biker boots lifted her five feet nine height by an inch. The black leather jacket hugged her upper body.
As though sensing her presence, Kim turned, and Alex felt a slight jump in her stomach as their eyes met and locked for the first time since they had fought violently on the canal side. Alex offered a conciliatory smile that hit the brick wall of Kim’s impenetrable expression. It was a look she remembered well. And how she had missed it.
Rarely did anyone get to see the emotion behind the mask, but Alex had been lucky enough to glimpse it once or twice. And she hoped to see it again.
They headed for the same table in the middle of the room.
‘You’re looking well, Kimmy,’ Alex said and meant it. Her short, black hair was thick and glossy. Her skin was clear and healthy and still bore some summer colour.
‘Don’t call me that,’ Kim growled, sitting forward in the chair.
Alex sat forward and smiled. It was a cheap shot, using her mother’s name for her, but it was a shot all the same.
‘What the hell have you been doing?’
Alex shrugged. ‘A bit of reading, a bit of cooking. You know, anything to fill the time.’
‘You know what I mean,’ Kim snapped, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.
Alex did the same.
‘Why are you copying everything I do?’ Kim asked.
Oh, how I’ve missed you, Alex thought. Not many people were a match for her intelligence, but Kim Stone was definitely one of the few. Which was why their time together had been so entertaining. And much too short.
But as with everything about Kim Stone, every action gave her some kind of information. Yes, she was using the mirroring and matching technique to establish rapport. People were instantly drawn to familiar things, like breathing patterns, matched speech patterns, body posture and language; it was a technique that appealed to the subconscious.
And the fact that Kim had spotted it so quickly was a testament to just how closely the woman was watching Alex’s every move. This told her she was cautious, guarded, anxious.
Alex smiled. ‘I’m sorry. I thought you were being polite and well-mannered; enquiring about my health and well-being before you got down to business.’
‘Like I give a shit about that. What have you been doing with my… mother?’
Alex could hardly fail to notice that Kim could barely force the word past her lips. Oh yes, she’d chosen the correct weakness to exploit. The woman had not moved on at all.
‘I missed you, Kim. After all that quality time we spent together bonding, I was hurt when you didn’t come to visit and—’
‘Alex, cut the bullshit. I honestly cannot stomach it. I can’t even imagine how you’ve managed to do it and I don’t care. I do care about why you’ve been writing to her.’
The how had been easy. The return address was a PO box, and the letters brought in by one of her trusted visitors. The mail was barely glanced at. Staff offered cursory glances for key words and then passed them on. Another remnant of the facility’s days as an open prison. Little had changed except the classification.
‘We got on famously when we met,’ Alex said, choosing to forget the moment the woman had launched an attack and pulled out a chunk of her hair.
‘If I remember correctly, the scratch on your face said otherwise,’ Kim stated. ‘So, try again to convince me.’
‘For amusement?’ Alex said.
Kim rolled her eyes. ‘More accurate, but still not truthful as that would not include involvement from me at all. So, what the hell were you hoping to achieve by writing to her and pretending to be me?’
‘I wanted to offer her some comfort. She hasn’t heard from you, and I felt a connection—’
‘Oh, Alex, try again,’ Kim said, yawning.
‘I care about you, Kim. We learned a lot about each other last year. I think it’s time you forgave her.’
Kim pushed back the chair and stood.
‘I’ve heard enough. How dare you presume to know—’
‘I know more than anyone, Kim, and you’re well aware of it. That’s why you’re here. You know I understand the dynamic between the two of you. We should really talk about it some time.’
‘Of course we should. Over coffee and cake. Oh, hang on, I forgot: you’re a despicable sociopath who is locked up for causing countless deaths and misery. So, I’ll pass. Maybe another time.’
‘I think you should at least go and see her.’
‘I don’t give a fuck what you think; now, tell me why you wanted me to come. Where are the letters she sent you?’
‘Safe,’ Alex answered. ‘And I’ll give them to you… once you’ve been to see her.’
Alex enjoyed the horror that crept over Kim’s face.
‘Obviously the experts were wrong about sociopathy not being a form of mental illness because you’ve clearly lost your mind.’
Alex ignored the insult. They had reached the business end of the meeting. ‘I mean it, Kim. Go and see her and I’ll hand them over.’
‘Keep them,’ Kim said as she began to walk away.
‘She has something that you want,’ Alex called.
Kim turned. Alex was pleased to see that her eyes were dark with h
atred. Good.
‘That woman has nothing that I want.’
Alex stood. ‘Oh yes she does. She has something you will want very much.’
Kim’s eyes narrowed. ‘How do you know?’
‘Because I’m the one who told her how to get it.’
Kim offered a look of unadulterated loathing. It seeped from every pore.
‘Fuck you, Alex,’ she shouted as she marched from the room.
Alex laughed out loud. There was a warmth spreading inside her. It was as close to affection as a person without empathy could achieve. Kim Stone was back in her life and it felt good.
In their first meeting, Kim had already allowed her back in. Had she been able to maintain the cool, unruffled exterior with which she’d entered then Alex would have been concerned. The anger and hatred was just simmering below the surface and had already made an appearance.
Alex had spent many hours planning how this game of theirs would play out. There would be serves and deuces and an occasional ace for good measure.
This time she would not make the same mistakes. She would not underestimate the woman’s strength or resolve and certainly not her intelligence.
But this time she would win.
Detective Inspector Kim Stone made few mistakes, but she had made a big one. She had not listened when Alex had told her it wasn’t over.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Dawson watched as the last car drove away from Saltwells Pub.
Right now the car park should have been filling up with the evening trade. The place was best known for reasonably priced meals. It was a pleasant evening and popping out for a quick bite and a cold pint would be an easy choice to make. But not tonight. The pub would remain closed until the techies confirmed they were done. The owners had accepted the news without argument. No one liked to lose a night’s trade but Dawson got the impression they needed time to process the events of the day anyway.
The nature reserve was not an easy place to keep sterile but officers were stationed at the main entrances and trails.
He sat on the bench and loosened his tie. He looked at his watch. It was almost seven. He whipped it off completely.
He wished he had left it to the uniforms to carry on collating the information after he’d questioned the witness, like the boss had told him. But he’d hoped someone here had seen something, and it wasn’t like he was getting anywhere with the patrons of the pub and the takeaway.
He glanced at the closed doors of the pub regretfully. A couple of pints would have really sweetened his mood right now.
For some reason he felt on the outside of this investigation. There was a voice that said he was being given busy work and yet he knew that wasn’t the case. Things within the team were how they always were. Stacey stayed home and looked after the house. Mum and Dad were out doing all the interesting work, and he was told to go out and amuse himself.
He sighed and shook his head. Realistically, he knew this wasn’t the case, but it just felt that way sometimes.
Deep down he knew what he wanted and his irritation and restlessness were stemming from that. He wanted to make decisions. He wanted the thrill of a good call or even the blame of a bad one. He had no problem with accountability. He would take it any day instead of what was now beginning to feel like mindless drudgery.
There were times when he disagreed with the boss but he always trusted her instinct and her experience. Sometimes he tried to argue his point – it rarely got him anywhere.
He sighed and stood. Time to go home, take a hot shower and nurse a couple of cold beers in the garden. Tomorrow was another day.
A rustle sounded to the right of him. He stilled and listened. There was nothing. He shook his head and took a step towards his car. Again he heard a rustle parallel with his own steps.
He shook his head and cursed himself. It was broad daylight and he was in a nature reserve. In his experience that meant he probably wasn’t the only living thing in the area.
Two more steps. He heard a sharp intake of breath.
He stopped walking. He wasn’t sure what insects, rodents or small animals cursed under their breath.
He took a leaf from the boss’s playbook.
‘All right, you may as well come out now. I know you’re there,’ he called, confidently.
The worst that could happen was he was chatting to the wildlife.
A figure appeared from the bushes wearing combat style shorts, a Hawaiian shirt and a stupid grin.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Dawson asked, as his eyes fell on the young reporter. The name Bubba just would not pass his lips.
The lad leaned down and scratched furiously at a red mark on his calf that was spreading by the second. Dawson could see white lumps already sprouting up from the skin.
‘Just seeing what’s going on,’ he answered.
Dawson folded his arms. ‘You know the entire area is out of bounds. It’s a bloody crime scene.’
‘All of it?’ he asked, feigning innocence.
Dawson offered him a look. Some people may believe the kid’s naiveté. He did not. The kid was clearly a trainee reporter but he was a clever little shit who was obviously learning well from his mentor, Tracy Frost.
‘How did you get in?’ he asked. Any weaknesses in the perimeter would need to be communicated and efforts made to tighten the boundary.
‘A short cut my nan told me about just off Coppice Lane,’ he said, having another scratch.
Dawson found himself amazed at the colourful motifs on the kid’s shirt. He had to admit that wearing a shirt like that outside the house took some courage.
‘Well, it’s time to get off home,’ Dawson said, turning towards the dirt path that led back to the road.
‘Same killer as the Brightman woman?’ he asked.
Dawson shook his head with wonder. That the kid thought he was going to actually answer these questions was nothing short of ridiculous.
‘Mate, get on your—’
‘What I don’t understand is why there hasn’t been an appeal for witnesses to come forward,’ he said, licking his fingers and scratching again.
Dawson was struggling to hold a conversation with a guy who looked like he was drowning in parrots. He reached over and ripped a leaf from a tree. ‘Rub that against the nettle sting,’ he said.
Bubba looked at it. ‘It’s not a dock leaf.’
‘Doesn’t need to be. It’s the motion of rubbing vigorously that releases the moist sap from the leaves which soothes the skin.’
The kid frowned. ‘They teach you that at police school?’
Dawson couldn’t help but smile. ‘No, I have a nan too.’
Bubba’s smirk turned to a genuine smile.
‘Okay, off the record,’ he paused. ‘Do people actually say “off the record”?’
Dawson nodded.
‘Why hasn’t there been an appeal for witnesses on the Brightman case? The car was parked on a main road in front of a row of shops.’
‘There are reasons, which are none of your business,’ Dawson said, stiffening.
‘I hope they’re good ones,’ Bubba said, shrugging.
‘Why do you say that?’
He inclined his head towards the woods. ‘Because if the same guy killed her in there then he’s not stopping, is he?’
‘It’s not as simple as that,’ Dawson bristled.
‘Probably not, and you’re right, it’s none of my business. But it’s yours.’
Dawson hoped his expression didn’t reflect the fact he agreed with every word the kid was saying. Or that he had tried to argue this point with his boss.
‘The thing is,’ Bubba said, throwing the wrinkled, spent leaf to the side. ‘It’s the one time the press can actually help an investigation. We can reach more people with a single article than you spending the next two years trawling pubs for witnesses.’
‘Yeah, well, thanks for the advice,’ Dawson said, as Bubba stepped past him.
‘You’re
welcome, and here’s a bit more. Another couple of days and folks are going to have forgotten where they even were on Sunday night.’
Bubba shrugged and began walking down the dirt road.
Dawson hesitated and then took a deep breath.
‘Hey, kid, wait up. Jump in and I’ll give you a lift.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Kim had barely removed her helmet when she heard a knock at the door.
She shook her head and smiled at the same time.
‘It’s open,’ she called, as she unzipped her boots and kicked them off. Barney was still jumping excitedly around her feet.
‘What have you bought me?’ she asked Bryant as he stepped into her living room.
‘Nothing,’ he said, handing Barney a juicy green apple.
Kim sighed as he took it to his favourite spot on the rug, turned three times and lay down.
‘I remember the days you brought me food, coffee… ’
‘Hey, you chose to have kids,’ he said, nodding towards the dog. ‘And that’s what happens. Everyone buys for the kids and forget the parents.’
‘Well, if you’re gonna stay long enough to ask me what’s wrong and for me to tell you to piss off, you can pour the coffee.’
‘Any point, seeing as you’ve just conducted our entire conversation on your own?’
‘Please yourself,’ she said, heading upstairs.
Once in the house, her work clothes had to be discarded. It was ritualistic and symbolic for throwing off the day. Well, most of it, she admitted to herself. She was unsure a fresh pair of jeans and a T-shirt would erase her trip to Stafford.
A quick wash of her face would do until a shower before bedtime.
She found her colleague and friend outside, staring down in amazement.
‘You bought a patio set?’
‘It’s hardly that,’ she said. ‘It’s a bistro table with two chairs. If they’d sold it with just the one chair I’d have bought that,’ she said, honestly.
‘But it’s garden furniture,’ he said, putting the drinks down.
She looked at the table and chairs aghast. ‘Damn it, they never told me that in the shop,’ she said, sarcastically.
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