Blood Lines

by Angela Marsons

  ‘Hey, guys, why are most of these suggestions adding work for me?’

  Kim smiled as both Bryant and Dawson shrugged.

  She reassessed her team. They were all sitting forward: alert, keen and eager to get started.

  ‘Okay then, seems we all know what we’re doing,’ Kim said, heading out the door in front of Bryant.

  Kim felt that today was make or break for this case. If something didn’t crack open today, she was beginning to wonder if it ever would.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  Alex stood against the vending machine and watched.

  Tanya spoke earnestly to her cousin, who glanced over at Alex a couple of times.

  At first he shook his head definitely but Tanya grabbed at his forearm. He still shook his head, but with less conviction and then he stopped shaking it at all. And just listened.

  The glances towards her were murderous. She didn’t flinch.

  There was little point in Tanya trying to adopt the moral high ground. She and her sister were not strangers to murder. They had killed three men and cut off their penises. In comparison, what she was asking for was a walk in the park.

  As the conversation between the two of them progressed Alex allowed herself to enjoy the warm feeling of triumph that was building inside her. Every strand of her master plan was coming together.

  Her thoughts drifted to Kim. She couldn’t help wondering if she’d visited her mother yet. It was only a matter of time. If she had, would Kim have had the courage to speak to her? How had she reacted to seeing her mother after so many years? How much of her had come undone already? How fresh were the memories of Mikey now they were being dragged to the surface?

  Was she thinking about him every single minute? Was she waking up in the middle of the night, sweating, screaming, crying as she lived again through the torture of those days?

  How was her brain dealing with the fact that in just a few short days her mother, her tormentor, her torturer would probably be walking free; her liberty returned?

  All of these questions swirled around in her mind as she relished the fact that she was the one who held the power to loosen the woman’s grip on sanity again.

  Alex enjoyed the fact that Kim knew that it was she who had discovered Patty’s deception. She who had uncovered the fact that a violent episode always preceded an opportunity for release. It was her who had learned that Patty did this as the only gift she could offer her daughter.

  And Alex had taken that gift away.

  By pretending to be Kim she had offered her mother forgiveness and encouraged her to try for parole, assured her there was no hatred left.

  Oh, the permutations of all these harmful thoughts running around Kim’s head were just too delightful to imagine.

  But her imagination was not enough. She needed to see the detective inspector again. She needed to prod the hurt, massage the anguish.

  ‘What are you doing now, you nasty evil bitch?’

  Alex was disturbed from her happy place by Natalya Kozlov. This poor woman followed her around like a lovesick puppy.

  Alex tipped her head and smiled up into the long, thin horse face before her. ‘Don’t be jealous, sweetheart, just because I’ve found another friend.’

  ‘You have no friends,’ Natalya whispered, moving closer. ‘You destroy everything you touch.’

  Alex met her hate-filled gaze as Natalya placed her hands on the wall either side of Alex’s head. Alex’s eyes were drawn to the surplus skin that hung from the long, gangly arms.

  ‘Look, darling,’ Alex goaded, ‘our time together was very special but I’ve moved on. I’ve found someone else I like more than you.’ She leaned in closer to Natalya. ‘And Tanya takes a wash now and again.’

  She wrinkled her nose in distaste and ducked her head under Natalya’s arm.

  ‘Move on, Natalya. It’s done,’ she said, turning away.

  ‘Hey, Alex. We are both here for a very long time. I will kill you.’

  ‘Get in line, sweetheart,’ Alex said as Katie, the guard, came into view.

  Natalya slunk from the room.

  Some people just didn’t know when to let go. Alex had sought the woman out, befriended her, complimented her and then got her to do exactly what she wanted and then she’d dumped her. Simple.

  Her attention returned to Tanya, who stood and moved away from the table. The woman headed in her direction, her face a mixture of anguish, despair and rage.

  Alex tipped her head waiting for the words she wanted to hear.

  ‘It’s done,’ she said, brushing past her.

  Alex smiled to herself. Of course it was.

  There had never been any doubt.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  Stacey sent the final two emails to the Lancashire and Cheshire forces. She had begun with the closest of West Mercia and Staffordshire then worked her way out to Derbyshire, Gloucestershire and Warwickshire. Later she would spread the catchment further north, south and into parts of Wales. If any other police force had any similar crimes, she’d know about it.

  And now while she waited for a response she laid out the three sets of phone records for both Deanna and the surviving members of the Brightman family. She had twenty-eight days for all of them.

  Someone at Dudley Council was currently trying to track the number from historic records for Deanna’s second phone, but she didn’t hold out much hope seeing as Deanna had transferred the number over to her personal account.

  She had spoken to Mitchell Brightman, who had promised to look through his wife’s belongings to see if he could find an old bill. She was expecting the records for the family of Maxine Wakeman and her family any time soon but for now she would have to focus on the ones she had.

  For Sylvie that was eight pages. For Mitchell it was twelve pages and for Rebecca a whopping twenty-two sheets.

  Stacey began on Deanna’s eleven pages. She ruled out calls to and from work, Sylvie, Mitchell and a couple of friends.

  That left three mystery numbers unaccounted for.

  Stacey immediately rang the first one and got the call menu for a car insurance company. She crossed it out.

  The second call was answered by an automated recording for a restaurant booking service. She crossed it out.

  The third number, the one that had called Deanna on the night of her death, went straight to generic voicemail. Stacey called it again, and the same thing happened.

  She wrote the number on a Post-it and tacked it onto her computer. She wanted to see if that same number turned up anywhere else.

  She turned next to Sylvie’s and began by putting a ruled line through Sylvie’s hairdressers, best friend, daughter and local takeaways. There was little left to analyse.

  She reached for Mitchell’s and ruled out his work place, friends, gym and was left with a slightly longer list than Sylvie. She ruled out the numbers of friends that were shared with Deanna and was left with four numbers that didn’t match up.

  Stacey couldn’t help feeling in her element when interrogating pages of data. She knew that some people thought she was battle shy, too scared to be out in the field, but she wasn’t. That was Dawson’s passion and this was hers.

  Right now, just in these phone records, lay a mountain of data. Any one of these phone numbers could mean something. Any text message could offer her a clue. It was the proverbial haystack but she knew that somewhere in here was a needle and that she would find it.

  Already there was a rogue number tacked to her computer screen. A single number that did not fit in with the rest. It could be nothing, but it could be something. For all she knew it could be everything.

  As she started a task like this there was always a feeling that she was looking at a solid brick wall but her methodical mind addressed the problem one brick at a time. Dawson would run at the wall continually until one of them broke. Bryant would try and talk it into submission, and her boss would most likely try and climb over it. But she would dissect it and enjoy every mi
nute.

  Again, her gaze lifted to the number tacked to her screen. It was the only call received by Deanna on the night of the murder. It had to mean something. She had learned a long time ago from her boss that everything meant something. And for some reason that number was important.

  She returned her attention to the most recent page of Mitchell’s call list. Two of the four outstanding numbers had been called on the night of Deanna’s murder.

  One of the numbers looked familiar.

  She picked up another set of records and frowned.

  Something was glinting from the haystack and it looked very much like a needle.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  ‘Bloody hell, it’s not like we’re trying to murder her or anything,’ Bryant moaned.

  ‘Someone might be,’ Kim said, as they showed their identification for the seventh time. The BBC had spent many years at the Pebble Mill studios but in 2004 had relocated to the brand new site at The Mailbox complex beside the canal in the centre of Birmingham.

  They had called ahead and were still jumping through hoops.

  ‘We’d have been quicker booking to come on the tour,’ Bryant moaned.

  ‘The what?’ Kim asked, as they were asked again to wait at a set of double glass doors.

  ‘You can book to come and have a look behind the scenes at some of the sets and stuff.’

  Kim ignored the useless piece of information and tapped her foot impatiently.

  The show that Geraldine guested on was an hour-long magazine programme that went out around the same time as Jeremy Kyle, twice a week. It had suffered in the ratings for a few years but was now growing a loyal following.

  A young girl came and hurried them through another corridor. They had now been told three times that Geraldine was due on the set in less than fifteen minutes.

  They followed the girl into a windowless room barely bigger than The Bowl back at the station. She mumbled something and then disappeared.

  Two swivel chairs were placed before salon mirrors surrounded by lights.

  Geraldine smiled into the mirror as a thin red-haired man dusted something onto her forehead.

  ‘Come in, come in,’ she said.

  Both she and Bryant edged against the wall, heading towards the empty chair.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt you at work,’ Kim said, sitting in the seat beside her.

  ‘No problem,’ she said. Her eyes reddened; Kim saw reflected on her face how her mind carried out the process of association back to their reason for being here: Maxine, her daughter, was still dead. ‘Anything I can do to help.’

  Kim saw the make-up artist frown at her eyes, and instantly swap to a different brush.

  ‘I wasn’t coming in today, but Mother thought it would take my mind off things.’

  Of course, Kim thought.

  ‘And Belinda?’

  ‘Told me to make my own decision on what was right for me.’

  ‘I just wondered if you’d had any further thoughts on any of Maxine’s friends. Did she ever bring anyone to meet you, a boyfriend?’

  Geraldine shook her head.

  Kim preferred the look of the woman they’d met yesterday. This one had hair curled, tonged and sprayed into submission. The make-up was heavy and dense; Kim was sure it worked for the cameras but not in real life. Yesterday she had looked like a glamorous mother who had lost a child suddenly. Today she looked like a television star: polished, manufactured.

  ‘I didn’t meet her friends. It took a while to get her to open up about relationships but she hadn’t had a boyfriend for more than six months.’

  ‘Was there anyone in particular she bonded with during her time in rehab?’

  This time Geraldine smiled, and the make-up guy tutted again and reached for yet another brush.

  ‘I don’t think so, Inspector. Max thought they were all losers. She was convinced she was different to the druggies and loons, as she used to call them. I don’t think she made any lasting friendships in there.’

  ‘Why did you give her up?’ Kim asked suddenly.

  This woman had so much love for a child she had not raised. Every word, every expression dripped with affection. Kim wouldn’t have been offended if Geraldine had told her to mind her own business but somehow Kim suspected she would not.

  ‘I was twenty-six and about to leave medical school. I was going to be working long hours, ridiculous schedules. The father was long gone and I had no one.’

  ‘Your mother?’

  ‘Did not want to relive that part of her life. I had already chosen a career that was not in my mother’s master plan,’ Geraldine said, leaving her in no doubt that she knew just how controlling the woman was.

  She turned from the mirror and faced Kim squarely. ‘But I stand by the decision, Inspector. If I had to, I’d do it again. Maxine had a mother who loved her very much.’

  There was sadness but no regret.

  ‘She had two,’ Kim offered.

  Geraldine smiled. ‘Thank you for that; but I hope I was at the very least a friend.’

  Kim appreciated how open and honest this woman had chosen to be with them.

  ‘And the career?’ Kim asked. ‘Was it everything you thought it would be?’

  Geraldine smiled sadly. ‘It was no replacement, if that’s what you’re asking. I spent a few years working for Sandwell Mental Health division. Spent another few years working in private institutions, consulted for the CPS once or twice and got spotted by a BBC producer who thought I had the right ‘manner’ for a pilot show, and I’ve been doing this ever since.’

  Kim wondered if ‘manner’ was some kind of code for attractiveness and sex appeal. Geraldine certainly had both.

  Kim’s mobile broke the silence that had fallen between them.

  ‘Well, thank you for your time,’ Kim said, pressing the button.

  ‘Stace,’ she said, as she headed out of the door.

  ‘You know, I can’t get that last conversation out of my mind,’ Geraldine said so quietly that Kim wondered to whom she was speaking.

  Kim told Stacey to hang on.

  ‘Why?’ she asked, speaking to the woman’s reflection in the mirror.

  ‘I wasn’t properly listening. It was the last time I was ever going to speak to her and I had to get off the phone. I was distracted, stressed, worried.’

  The make-up artist gave up completely as Geraldine’s head dropped and she stared into her lap.

  ‘I keep playing the conversation over and over in my head. Did I miss something? Was there a clue? Could I have… ?’

  ‘You can’t do this to yourself, Geraldine,’ Kim said from the doorway. ‘It sounds as though you offered Maxine every opportunity. I doubt that there’s anything you could have done to prevent what’s happened.’

  Geraldine nodded at the meaningless words.

  Kim knew that one of the most destructive emotions that came with grief was regret. Other emotions would settle within her over time but regret would always cut like a knife.

  Kim stepped through the door, but then paused and turned back to Geraldine.

  ‘If you don’t mind me asking, what was so fraught around that time?’

  ‘Oh dear lord,’ Geraldine said, quietly. ‘Belinda had just been run over and the doctors didn’t know if she would walk again, and we were in the middle of having a brand new kitchen.’

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  ‘Go on, Stace,’ Kim said, as they were guided back to the outside world. She listened with interest to her colleague before speaking. ‘Thanks for that, Stace. We’ll head over there now.’

  ‘Back to the Brightman house,’ she instructed Bryant as they headed towards the car park. There were a couple of people there who had some explaining to do.

  ‘Slow down a bit, guv,’ Bryant said.

  She paused.

  ‘I meant in your head. I’m still processing what we just learned in there.’

  They arrived at the car and Kim pulled impatiently on the door
handle before she heard the tell-tale beep of the unlocking mechanism.

  Another couple of questions had established that Geraldine’s kitchen had been fitted by none other than Jason Cross. They would have been heading straight there if the Brightman residence wasn’t on the way.

  ‘A bit coincidental that the same kitchen guy is linked to both homes.’

  Oh yeah. She couldn’t wait to see how he reacted to that line of questioning. She might get out one sentence before he was on the phone to his solicitor.

  ‘She’s had a bit of bad luck lately, eh?’ Bryant asked.

  Kim silently agreed. Geraldine’s adopted daughter had been murdered, her mother was straight off Toddlers and Tiaras and seemed as sensitive to the situation as a toothbrush, and her long-term partner had been in a terrible accident.

  And yet there was a quiet grace to the woman that Kim couldn’t help but respect. Despite everything she maintained the integrity that another woman had been a better mother to her child than she could have been.

  Kim wished her own mother had felt the same way. Perhaps Mikey would still be with her now. He might be married with children and—

  ‘So, what are you gonna say to the Brightman family when we get there?’

  Kim closed the lid of the box marked ‘what might have been’ and refocussed her attention on what she’d just learned.

  ‘Right, when we get there this is what we’re going to do… ’

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  The door was answered by Anna, who looked surprised to see them.

  She stepped aside for them to enter.

  ‘Is the family in there?’ Kim asked, nodding towards the lounge. She had already established that all necessary parties were present.

  ‘Mr Brightman is in the garden. Sylvie and Rebecca are in the lounge.’

  Without speaking further Kim headed outside, and Bryant entered the lounge.

  The garden was not as big as Kim had expected. Or she had just become too used to the homes of the wealthy over the last few days. She found herself crying out for a tower block interview.

  The patio area at the top of the space encompassed the same vista as inside the lounge, but the garden sloped down so that, three steps away from the patio, the view was lost.