‘Does that happen often?’ the professor asked. ‘People enter the system, as you call it, and simply disappear?’
More often than he’d like to admit, Bryant thought. And certainly more often than it should.
‘There are so many different agencies involved with the care of a minor nowadays,’ he explained. ‘Borough councils merge or separate. Services are contracted out, medical records move amongst neighbouring health authorities. There isn’t one body that oversees all aspects of a child’s care.’
Bryant observed his own use of the word ‘body’ in a place like this.
‘Ah, I see,’ the professor said in a tone that indicated he wasn’t really listening.
Bryant continued speaking but as they neared their designated area he sensed the distraction of the man beside him. He no longer offered any response at all to acknowledge that he was even listening.
Bryant closed his mouth and stopped speaking.
He knew the storm was coming. Could feel the threat of it in the air.
For some reason, he had the feeling that the threat of something more existed all around him.
Eighty-Five
‘So do you think we’ll see any action tonight?’ Jameel asked as they headed across the gravel patch. ‘I mean do you think he’ll dump another one here?’ he continued, giving Dawson no time to answer.
He shook his head as they entered the wall of darkness.
Only a kid who had experienced little contact with a crime scene would exhibit so much excitement at the prospect of freshly murdered bodies while normally surrounded by old, decaying corpses. It was ironic that those same words could have come from his own mouth ten years ago.
He watched as Bryant disappeared from view with Professor Wright, heading west in the direction of the area where Louise Hickman had been excavated just a couple of days earlier.
His boss was keeping pace with Catherine as they headed far east to the site where Jemima and Isobel had been left.
And here he was, travelling into no man’s land between them, with a kid who could barely contain his delight at the prospect of a fresh body.
‘Mate, keep the torch steady,’ Dawson snapped. The lamplight on which they were now reliant was darting all over the place.
Jameel chortled. ‘Oh yeah, I get ya,’ he said, realising that the area of greatest importance was the ground on which they walked. At Westerley any danger to their well-being and safety originated from the graves underfoot.
‘So what drew you to this place?’ Dawson asked. The kid’s effervescent nature and popularity on YouTube seemed at odds with the studious geek necessary for the number crunching he did in the middle of nowhere with just the professor, Catherine and a bunch of dead bodies for company.
‘The data, man,’ he said as though that explained everything. ‘Give me a handful of numbers and I can give you data, facts, projections. Tell me your last three gas bills and I’ll give you ten pages of results – history, patterns, projections. Here I get hundreds of numbers every day, and I turn them into fact. I can produce past, present and future. It’s cool shit, man.’
‘How’d you get here?’ Dawson asked. The torchlight remained more stable when the kid was focussed on speaking.
‘We were all hand-picked by Professor Wright,’ he explained. ‘I attended a seminar about stomach bacteria. There are one hundred trillion microorganisms in the intestines. That’s more than ten times the total number of human cells in the—’
‘Carry on,’ Dawson advised. He didn’t really want to dwell on that many living things making a home in his stomach.
‘I waited until after the class and approached him about two calculations within his presentation that were incorrect by a decimal place of one hundredth of a—’
‘How did you know that?’ Dawson asked, following the zigzag pattern of the light source. There was no denying the kid’s intelligence.
‘A flaw in that particular software meant that once it reached any calculations using over one trillion it began to round the percentage up from point four of a whole instead of point five.’
Dawson was happy to take his word for it.
‘I offered him a repair patch for the program, and he offered me a job.’
‘Jameel, I’m not kidding about that torch,’ Dawson snapped. The darkness was disorientating, but his senses told him they had to be getting close to where he’d placed the ‘wet floor’ signs to prevent any unsuspecting feet from falling into the shallow grave that held the delightfully rotting corpse of Cher.
‘Sorry, I’m just looking for any clues.’
Dawson got the feeling he’d been landed with the booby prize. Give this guy a grocery bill and he could probably analyse your finances for the next ten years. But had the security guard turned in for work Dawson would have felt just a touch more secure in his partner’s suitability for purpose.
‘So what did Darren say when he called in sick?’ Dawson asked. He had not yet seen Curtis Grant to question him.
‘Said he’d got some kind of stomach bug. Went into a bit of detail, which was gross so I kinda stopped listening. The boss wasn’t very happy and mentioned the contract renewal for the security provision being imminent.’
‘What, he’s going to change provider?’ Dawson asked.
Jameel raised the torch so Dawson could see him shrug. ‘Maybe, but the guy isn’t that bad. He said he’s arranged for the shift to be covered so somebody’s coming, but then you guys arrived, so I just got off the phone.’
‘Mate, shine the torch down,’ Dawson instructed, slowing down. The light seemed to be aiming everywhere except at the ground on which they walked.
He took out his phone to call Stacey and inform her that a replacement security guard was due.
‘You know, you could have bloody mentioned this earlier,’ he said, scrolling to his colleague’s number.
‘Yeah, sorry about that,’ Jameel said, as a fork of lightning lit up the dark sky, illuminating a face that didn’t look sorry at all.
Eighty-Six
The lightning lit up the Portakabin and temporarily blinded her like a brief explosion.
For a second the space fell into silence before Stacey realised the lightning strike had caused a surge in the electrics.
She counted to five before the whirring started as the backup generator kicked in. So it was more than a surge. The electrics had been temporarily disabled. The system was instructed to revert to backup only if a delay of five seconds elapsed. A surge was a split second or less.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Stacey whispered to herself and waited for her heart to return to its normal rhythm.
She didn’t mind storms, quite liked to watch them – from the safety of a brick building with all electrical appliances switched off.
One by one the systems began to switch themselves back on. If it resembled any programming she’d ever seen it would be done in order of importance. Lighting, heating, communication equipment, security and then, finally, appliances.
Surprisingly the lighting hadn’t failed, but Stacey knew that lighting was often worked from a separate circuit to everything else.
The heating wasn’t switched on so there was no delay there.
The handheld phone in the charging cradle offered a single beep. The phone was back.
Next, the green light on the side of her radio base station flickered twice and then held. Great, she had radio communication from the base station. The handheld radios carried by the three teams would have continued to work amongst each other with the batteries attached but her own ability to communicate with them and vice versa would have been severed.
That only left the cameras. The screen to her right remained blank.
‘Come on,’ she urged.
It was not the most important of the systems but Stacey liked to know she had every tool at her disposal. Seeing the activity outside the gate and just inside the property was unlikely to assist her colleagues, as they were all at the furthest point
s away, but having eyes around the building and immediate area offered her comfort.
It suddenly dawned on Stacey that she was the only member of the team who had been left alone. But not for long, she realised, as the intercom beside her sounded. That would be the replacement security guard Kev had just called her about.
She smiled as the screen beside her flickered into life. It had reverted to split-screen display, showing the two camera views. Even before the voice sounded through the tinny speaker she could see the shape of the Aston Martin waiting at the gate.
Curtis Grant announced his arrival, and Stacey buzzed him through the gate.
The camera pointing over the fence to the lane beyond looked exactly as it had before the power failure. Along that lane sat a van with a team of backup officers.
A sound on the gravel outside the door met her ears.
‘Hey Stacey, how’s things?’ Curtis Grant asked as he entered the Portakabin. ‘I’m here to cover Darren’s shift. Tried everyone I could think of but no takers because it was too short notice, and this isn’t the easiest gig to sell, especially at the moment.’
‘But you’re the boss,’ she said.
‘Yeah, and sometimes the boss has to come out late at night and get his hands dirty so we don’t lose a valuable contract.’
He stood with his behind resting against the sink, close to the door. ‘Just tried Darren again to see if he was feeling better, but his phone’s off.’
‘Surely you didn’t need to cover the shift yourself?’ Stacey asked doubtfully.
He shrugged. ‘Probably not, but I would feel even more responsible if the failure to meet the contract is because of Darren… but that’s what you get when you employ family, I suppose.’
Stacey was confused. Throughout her investigation she had not uncovered any familial relationships.
‘You and Darren are related?’
He rolled his eyes upwards. ‘Oh yeah, the irritating little shit is my cousin.’
Stacey wondered how the hell she could have missed such a connection.
Curtis Grant smiled widely and headed towards the kitchen.
‘Now, how about I put the kettle on?’ he asked. ‘It looks like it’s going to be a long night.’
Eighty-Seven
Kim tried to ignore the eerie feeling that was stealing over her.
The sudden lightning fork that had split the sky right in front of them had startled her and Catherine, appearing within minutes of them leaving the safety of the light circle at the top of the site.
She suspected the sensation in her stomach was not helped by the darkness and the knowledge that she was walking amongst dead bodies.
Singly, Kim could deal with either one quite happily, but perhaps it was the combination of both. Yet there was something inside her that wanted to take these bodies home. Not to her home but to Keats, where they would be treated with respect and then buried properly.
‘So how are you doing?’ Kim finally asked of the woman walking beside her.
Catherine held the torch, shining a path of light before them.
It was impossible not to notice the change in the woman since the last time they’d met. Bryant had done a double take and Dawson had looked more than once.
But it was more than the blonde hair hanging loose around her shoulders instead of the functional ponytail tagged to the back of her head. It was more than the subtle pink veneer that coloured her nails. Or the faint touch of lipstick and blusher that emphasised her cheekbones.
The most striking change in the woman came from within. Kim had watched as she’d offered refreshments to everyone present. Catherine had moved and spoken with a confidence that added presence to her form. The spine was straighter and the shoulders pulled back.
Kim wondered if the woman had any idea just how far into the background she had allowed herself to fade.
Kim had the feeling that if the professor introduced her as ‘maggot lady’ again he might expect a suitable response.
‘Couldn’t be better, Inspector,’ Catherine answered. ‘The press have gone and I don’t have to hide… or leave. And that is primarily because of you.’
Kim said nothing but Catherine continued.
‘I don’t know how you kept my name out of the newspapers, but I am incredibly grateful that you did. My life has changed so much in the last few days. I feel like I can breathe again, even live again.’ She offered a soft chuckle and the sound was attractive and light. ‘Yes, I know how corny that sounds, but for the first time in years I actually feel free, as though I can now be myself. Do you understand?’
Kim thought she did. Although the difference in the woman was incredible, following their one brief conversation, Kim couldn’t help but think there was more to it after the horrific ordeal Catherine had suffered as a child. The terror of her captors returning had shaped every decision she had made throughout her life. The fear had been so great she had preferred life within a closed psychiatric unit than with parents who loved her. No, these things were not erased with one short conversation, but it was not something Kim had the time to explore right now. Maybe once their killer was safely behind bars.
‘How much further?’ Kim asked, following the direction of the torchlight.
‘Only seventy or eighty feet and we’ll be back with Jack and Vera,’ Catherine said.
Kim wondered how the hell she knew.
The radio on Catherine’s belt cackled into life.
‘Professor and Bryant to Stacey.’
While using the police radio the appropriate call signs from the phonetic alphabet would need to be adopted, but they had agreed that for use with the on-site radio system names would suffice.
‘Go ahead,’ Stacey answered.
‘We are at location one. Nothing to report.’
‘Understood.’
Three steps later and the familiar shape of the oak tree loomed ahead. The torchlight fell on the roses at its base. It felt as though weeks had passed since Kim had first noted the courtesy of the grave marker from the staff at Westerley.
‘Almost there,’ Catherine said.
Again the static sounded on the radio.
‘Jameel and Dawson at location two. Nothing to report. Over and out.’
They both heard as Stacey acknowledged the transmission before the radio once more plunged them into silence.
Suddenly an unfamiliar sound met Kim’s ears. She stopped walking and placed a hand on Catherine’s arm.
Catherine came to a halt beside her.
The sound was faint but unmistakeable. To her it was the sound of tyres.
‘Do you hear that?’ she whispered.
She felt, rather than saw, Catherine’s nod beside her.
They both stood, rooted to the spot, listening through the darkness.
‘It’s coming from down there,’ Kim said, pointing to the dirt track at the bottom of the hill.
She strained her eyes towards the direction she felt was the road. It was the sound of tyres moving along slowly.
The dirt track was on a slight decline. It had to be their killer.
She realised that the driver must have cut the engine and was rolling slowly down the hill.
Kim moved forwards, safe in the knowledge that she was hidden by darkness.
‘Look – look there,’ she said to Catherine. About 300 feet back was the unmistakeable sight of dipped headlights crawling slowly towards them.
Kim felt a mixture of excitement and relief. Mostly relief. She had called it right. Tracy had a chance.
‘Quick, Catherine. Call it through. Let the others know we have him.’
Catherine took the radio from her belt and spoke.
‘Catherine to Stacey. We have reached location three… ’ her eyes met Kim’s above the torchlight ‘… and there is nothing here to report.’
Eighty-Eight
‘What the hell are you doing?’ Kim cried, reaching for the radio.
Realisation hit her a few seconds too l
ate and at the exact second the first raindrop landed on her arm.
For a moment everything else was forgotten. Her colleagues, the operation, even the victims, as her brain rearranged the facts that had been fragmented around her mind.
‘Jesus, you’re in it together. That’s why he brings them here. You help him get rid of the bodies but why…’
Kim’s words trailed away as more pieces moved into place. The magnet in her mind was sucking all the pieces together, and a clear picture began to form. How could she have missed the connection between the two of them?
‘You met Graham at Bromley, didn’t you?’ Kim asked, doing the sums in her head. They would have been there at the same time, and Kim knew full well that damaged souls managed to find each other.
Two more drops landed on her arm and the first thunderbolt sounded in the distance.
‘Yes and I’ll never forget it. Stupid group discussion where we were supposed to talk about our feelings and heal. Repeating our fear was supposed to help us forget it? That was supposed to make us whole?’ Catherine spat.
Kim was unable to move. A lightning strike revealed the twisted, bitter face of the woman before her. Catherine Evans had perfected the art of wearing the mask that suited the occasion, but right here was the real woman. The real Catherine, who had been unable to move on from her childhood ordeal.
‘There was one person there who had the courage to speak the truth. His truth… our truth. He spoke openly about wanting to hurt the people that had hurt him. He made no secret of the fact that he wasn’t interested in forgiveness or therapy. He wanted revenge, and that was the only thing that would help.
‘Yes, we had one thing in common that bound us together. Our need for revenge. We both knew that we would never live full lives until our tormentors were punished.’
‘But how could you help him, Catherine?’ Kim asked, stunned. ‘You know the fear of being abducted, of being taken from the safety of your life. Look what it’s done to you –and yet you’ve helped someone else do exactly the same thing.’
Play Dead: A Gripping Serial Killer Thriller Book 4 Page 28