Play Dead: A Gripping Serial Killer Thriller Book 4

by Angela Marsons

  Kim hesitated. ‘The exact location of the body was not actually on Westerley property.’ She held up her hands. ‘That’s all I’ve—’

  ‘Is there any connection between the victims?’ Tracy asked.

  She shook her head. ‘Not yet established.’

  Kim was surprised she had not been asked about the activity at the site. She had hope that this was, as yet, undiscovered. If Tracy knew of it that would definitely have been her first question.

  ‘Is there…?’

  ‘No more, Tracy,’ she said, pushing back her chair for the final time. ‘I’ve offered more than I should have already.’

  ‘I know,’ Tracy said, raising an eyebrow. ‘That’s what’s worrying me.’

  Kim’s phone began to vibrate in her pocket. Tracy caught the subtle noise.

  ‘Your phone is ringing,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ Kim answered.

  ‘Not going to answer it?’

  ‘In front of you? Yeah, right.’ Kim placed her hand on her pocket and shrugged. ‘Run the story or don’t. Your call – but I’m not going to be talking to anyone else.’

  Tracy licked her lips. A body-language expert would explain that as a ‘tell’ that she was excited.

  The article would be at least half a page. Tracy would be able to turn what she’d said into some serious column inches.

  ‘I need a name,’ Tracy said, as her pen hovered above the pad. ‘If the first victim has been identified and next of kin informed, you can give me that.’

  Damn this woman. Kim had been hoping to keep Jemima’s family out of it for a little while yet, but it would look more suspicious if the identity continued to be hidden.

  ‘Okay, Frost, her name was Jemima. Her full name was Jemima Lowe.’

  The pen dropped from Tracy’s hand as Kim rose to her feet. She leaned down and picked it up.

  Tracy took it without speaking, but Kim noted a slight tremble to Tracy’s hand that she hadn’t seen before.

  She stepped outside as her phone stopped ringing. It started again before she had a chance to remove it from her pocket.

  She saw immediately that it was Bryant, who was now back at the site.

  He didn’t wait for her to speak.

  ‘Guv, we need you back here now. It looks like there’s another body.’

  Thirty-Six

  Tracy sat still for a minute and allowed her face to arrange itself into the expression it wanted to form. Confusion.

  Damn it – Jemima Lowe was not a name she wanted to hear. Not ever.

  She tried to tell herself that the vague trembling in her legs was because of exhaustion. She would take just a few moments to rest her legs. It had been a hard day. She’d been chasing a story around the Black Country all day about a vicious assault on an elderly woman in Bilston.

  Right now she wanted to kick off her heels and hurry back to the safety of the car barefoot, but of course she wouldn’t. Her feet had been encased in five-inch stilettos since she was old enough to get a Saturday job and buy a cheap pair from the market. But the minute she had, her life had changed.

  Yes, people still pointed and laughed, thinking she’d chosen heels way too high to master. And that was fine. Because they were no longer calling her a spastic.

  Just the memory of the word brought colour to her cheeks and a rolling anxiety to her stomach.

  No matter how you tried to outrun your past there were memories that refused to go away. And with the memories came the rush of emotions, as though it was yesterday.

  Suddenly her breath seemed unable to get down her throat. The room before her was beginning to spin. The nausea was rising in her stomach. Not now, she silently begged. Please don’t do this to me now.

  Tracy tried to stem the panic and get her breath. She tried to remember the coaching. First she must try to get her breathing under control, but the palpitations were vibrating within her chest cavity. She closed her eyes against the onslaught of dizziness.

  ‘Please no, please no,’ she whispered through dry lips.

  The first episode had happened when she was seven years old. Her mother had thought she was experiencing a heart attack and she’d called for an ambulance. The diagnosis of panic attack did not do justice to the severity of the symptoms.

  In the years since the first one she’d read that it was her body protecting itself following the shot of adrenaline launched through her system, but it sure as hell didn’t feel as though her body was on her side right now.

  It will pass, it will pass, she told herself. The symptoms would peak in a few minutes. But as a fresh wave of perspiration broke out on her forehead and the nausea rolled in her stomach, she realised how long those ten minutes could last.

  Her hands had wound themselves into the shoulder strap of her handbag. Her fingertips were turning white but she couldn’t unclench them.

  ‘Yow all right, love?’ asked the woman who had thrown filthy looks her way earlier.

  Tracy tried to smile and nod her head, but she could feel that the expression on her face was a lopsided grimace.

  Tracy sensed the woman slip into the chair beside her, but the stars in her eyes were threatening to consume her.

  ‘Here yow am, love,’ said the woman, unclenching her hands from the strap. ‘Hang on to me and squeeze as ’ard as yow con.’

  Tracy did as she was told, as she was in no position to argue.

  She squeezed her palms around the woman’s fingers and told herself over and over that she wasn’t going to die. That her breath would continue to come and that her heart would not explode right out of her body.

  ‘Goo on, love,’ the woman said. ‘I can teck it.’

  Another good squeeze and Tracy could feel the tension starting to fall from her fingers. The uncontrollable trembling in her legs was beginning to subside. The stars were receding to the back of her head. Her body felt battered and exhausted.

  ‘All right now, love?’ the woman asked.

  Tracy nodded gratefully. A few people were looking their way but nothing Tracy couldn’t cope with.

  ‘Thank you,’ Tracy said, giving her hand one last squeeze.

  The woman stood and reached for her shopping bag. ‘You’re welcome, now teck care, eh?’

  Tracy nodded and thanked her again.

  Only when she’d gone did Tracy allow the tears to pierce her eyes. An episode was always followed by fatigue and emotion.

  She probably had about twenty minutes to get home before the exhaustion claimed her completely.

  The shame of her condition was as humiliating today as it had been back then. If she turned she was sure she would see the group of girls and boys who had screamed it as she’d passed.

  There had been many other names throughout her school days but spastic had been their favourite.

  Unequal leg length was the common term for it these days, or leg-length inequality. All very nice names but not ones you can get kids to shout while they’re pointing and laughing.

  The discrepancy in her own legs was due to the femur in her left thigh being shorter than the one in the right. The frequent back pain was the result of a now tilted pelvis.

  She had tried the heel lifts and the ugly shoes that had been available and none had worked.

  They’d just made her feel even more clunky and ugly.

  And that was why she wore the shoes.

  Tracy took a deep breath and reached for her handbag. Her legs faltered for a moment as she pushed herself to a standing position, but a couple of breaths and she was ready to walk.

  The fatigue pulling at her eyelids told her she was already on borrowed time, but she would have to fight it for a little bit longer.

  She had to get her jumbled thoughts in order. Her legs were not responsible for the panic attack.

  It was due to the mention of Jemima Lowe.

  Thirty-Seven

  As Kim pulled up at the gate that separated Westerley from civilisation, she wondered how long it would be until thi
s entrance was besieged by reporters and the placard brigade.

  The press knew that a body had been found on ‘farmland bordering Wall Heath’, but as yet the exact details had been hidden. With the arrival of equipment and specialists, they were on borrowed time before the secret was out.

  The gate began its slow journey. The CCTV camera had alerted her arrival.

  The gravel parking area held three vehicles Kim didn’t recognise.

  Bryant stood beside the Portakabin as she parked.

  Kim felt the full force of the evening sun when she stepped off the bike and switched it off. The passing breeze had kept her cool, but the fact that the temperature had prised the suit jacket from Bryant’s back and rolled his sleeves up to the elbow told her they were mid to high twenties.

  ‘They’ve checked it twice,’ he said as she removed her helmet. ‘But I’ll let the guys explain when you get down there.’

  ‘Where are they?’ she asked.

  ‘Furthest point away, opposite side to where Jemima was found,’ he said, matching her stride as she headed down the hill.

  ‘Have you called Keats?’ she asked.

  Bryant nodded.

  And she had called Woody, so between the two of them key personnel should already be on their way.

  She glanced down in the general direction Bryant had indicated and was dismayed at what she saw.

  ‘Jesus, it’s a circus already?’

  Although the commotion was in the distance Kim counted at least nine or ten people around the area, including Professor Wright and Daniel Bate.

  ‘Watch out for Cher,’ Bryant said, guiding her to the left.

  In her haste she had almost missed the cut in the grass and the metal grid that lay across the grave. Kim took a quick glance as she passed. The similarity to the real Cher ended with the long black hair. This version was bloated and waxy and writhing with worms.

  ‘Bloody hell… this place… ’

  She shook her head and charged straight into the middle of the group.

  ‘Okay, guys, what have we got?’ she asked, stepping towards the machine. She sensed Bryant’s despair, but there was little point in introductions. Whoever had the information would shout up.

  A man dressed in dark blue coveralls stepped forwards, holding out his hand.

  ‘Harry Atkins, I’m the archaeologist from Aston University.’

  ‘Nice to meet you, Harry,’ Kim said, offering a quick smile. ‘What can you tell me?’

  If he was surprised by her brusqueness, he didn’t show it.

  ‘If you look here,’ he said, moving back to the machine. She’d seen ground-penetrating radar equipment before, but this one looked like a lawnmower.

  ‘What the machine does—’

  ‘Harry, I’m fine with the explanation.’

  Realising how churlish that sounded, and with Woody’s warning ringing in her ears, she offered a smile. ‘But thanks anyway.’

  She knew that the machine employed radio waves to emit a pulse to the ground and then recorded echoes.

  The picture he wanted to show her was an image built from those echoes.

  ‘The apex of the hyperbolas indicates that there is a mass right there,’ he said, pointing at Professor Wright’s feet. ‘And it’s between two to four foot down.’

  Kim had the sudden urge to tell the professor to move but stopped herself. If there was anyone down there they wouldn’t be hurting now.

  She waited for more but Harry shrugged. She’d asked for the condensed version and that’s what she’d got.

  She took two steps towards the professor. ‘Eventually there will be reporters and news crews. Now we will set up a cordon at the end of the lane to keep the vans and vehicles away from the entrance but the quarter-mile walk isn’t going to deter them.’

  She made a quick appraisal of the people milling around and frowned.

  ‘Security consultant still here?’ she asked.

  ‘Needs to update his risk assessment for Darren. A body and an almost-dead body tends to change things for your staff members,’ Bryant said.

  ‘Okay, but he doesn’t need to be down here. In fact…’ She took a couple of steps away. ‘Folks, may I have your attention,’ she shouted out. ‘We need to clear this area and restrict it to necessary personnel only. That means police officers… and Harry. Can you remain with the equipment?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Can everyone else please make their way back up to the office…’

  ‘Am I necessary, Inspector?’ Daniel Bate asked.

  She thought for a moment. ‘I’d go as far as potentially useful… Daniel,’ she responded. ‘Kev, go and find something to place around Cher. I don’t want anyone falling in that hole.’

  ‘Got it, boss,’ he answered, heading off.

  A soft chuckle sounded from Bryant to her left. ‘Jesus, guv, it’s a good job you sent people away ’cos this field ain’t big enough for everyone.’

  She turned and followed the direction of his gaze.

  Oh yeah, she could certainly see what he meant.

  Thirty-Eight

  The first group was led by a woman whose five-foot-four height did nothing to diminish her authority. The four taller males behind struggled to keep pace as she barrelled in Kim’s direction.

  ‘Oh hell no,’ Bryant said from behind her.

  ‘Hell, yes,’ Kim said, walking towards the forensic archaeologist.

  The woman was clad in grey jeans, plain black T-shirt and Doc Marten boots.

  ‘Doctor A, good to see you,’ Kim said. Everyone referred to the woman as Doctor A. Originally from Macedonia, her first name was long and complicated. She had termed the name herself.

  ‘Dobra vecher, Inspector.’

  The curt nod and brief smile told Kim that was a greeting of some kind.

  ‘What are we having here?’ she asked, looking around the group.

  Harry stepped forwards to explain his findings as Doctor A took an elastic band from her pocket and tied her ombré hair into a tight ponytail.

  ‘Guv, permission to be moved to another case,’ Bryant said from beside her. ‘Few of us mortals can deal with both you and her together.’

  ‘Denied,’ Kim said in response.

  Many people had an issue with the direct approach of the forensic specialist. Kim did not.

  She had met Doctor A once outside of a crime scene and had found her to be both charming and effervescent with a wicked sense of humour.

  Doctor A nodded knowingly at the screen Harry was showing her.

  The second group arrived, headed by Keats. She recognised two of the techies who had been removed from site earlier in the week and transferred to Digbeth. She’d heard that their findings had led to the apprehension of two suspects, and they had gathered intelligence on a third.

  Nods and acknowledgements travelled between the two groups and within a few minutes Kim no longer knew who belonged with whom. Her own team she could account for.

  Dawson had found some yellow ‘wet floor’ signs that he was placing around Cher and Bryant was sharing a joke with Daniel Bate.

  ‘No, not like that,’ Doctor A cried as one of her team began to spray white paint onto the grass. She stepped towards him. ‘I shall show you.’

  She spoke to him in hushed tones and began to spray in a gentle motion to and fro, lengthening the line with each stroke. She handed back the can. He followed her example.

  ‘Perfect,’ she said, patting him on the back.

  The male positively beamed from the compliment.

  ‘Doctor A, good to see you again,’ Keats said, offering his hand.

  She accepted it and smiled. ‘You too, Keatings,’ she said, before turning and instructing a second assistant on the equipment she required.

  Kim noted the cheek muscle that jumped along the jaw of the pathologist.

  Doctor A looked around at her audience as she took possession of a shovel. ‘Stepping away from the area please,’ she said.

 
Keats moved forwards. ‘Doctor A, it is sunset in two hours’ time. You will not have time to recover the—’

  ‘Thank you, Keatings, for the reminder that, surprisingly, it will eventually go dark.’

  Keats shook his head and walked away.

  Kim leaned in and whispered, ‘Doctor A, his name is Keats.’

  Doctor A turned to face her. A smile tugged at the woman’s lips.

  ‘Yes, of course, I know this.’

  Kim coughed and turned away.

  ‘Doctor A,’ Keats insisted. ‘You will not be able to complete in normal daylight.’

  She tipped her head and nodded. ‘Then get me the generatings to power the lighting. Chip chip. If there is a lady down here she will be leaving the ground this night.’

  And that was why Kim liked her.

  Thirty-Nine

  Kim leaned into the back of the car and unclicked Barney from his seatbelt. He remained seated while she attached the lead to his collar. Only when she said ‘out’ did he bounce past her legs.

  He turned, sat and waited for her to close the car door.

  Bryant had questioned whether Keats and Doctor A could be left alone. But Kim had every faith in their professionalism. And if that failed, Dawson was there and would soon let her know if anything began to brew.

  Right now what she needed was a little space to think, the opportunity to get a little clarity. Very little about the Westerley case was making sense to her. She couldn’t help being torn between wishing for the forensic team to uncover something or someone who would help her solve the case and praying that no one else had suffered the same fate as Jemima Lowe. If she received word that there was a body in the ground she would be right back and would not leave until it had been removed.

  And then there was Bob. By making a deal with the devil she had removed her own freedom of choice to investigate his murder. Both mysteries were swimming around her head.

  The Clent Hills were the perfect place to help her clear her mind. Referred to as Klinter in the Domesday book, the hills rose over a thousand feet and offered 360-degree views.