‘She was drunk, off her meds in a squat in West Bromwich.’
‘You spoke to her?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘Asked her if she had any idea what she’d done to you and Mikey.’
‘And?’ Kim asked, wanting a drink of Bryant’s water more than ever. The revelation that this man had actually spoken to her mother had dried every drop of saliva in her mouth. She had no doubt about what she was going to hear about her mother’s reaction to news about her and Mikey but she felt compelled to hear it anyway, however hard it was to be reminded of her mother’s disregard for the life of herself and her brother.
‘You don’t want to—’
‘What did she say?’ Kim asked, as her teeth clenched together.
‘She asked me who you were.’
Bryant looked down into his glass.
‘I called the police and waited until they got there. The whole conversation is recounted word for word in the book if you’d—’
‘No, thank you,’ she said, trying to keep her mind on the case. ‘But in the book, did you mention about the cream crackers?’
He frowned and nodded. ‘Of course.’
‘Where did you learn of that?’ Bryant asked.
‘Police officer, I think, or may have been a paramedic but definitely someone who was there at the scene. They saw the packet.’
So, Stacey might have been right.
‘Have you sold any books recently?’ Kim asked.
He shook his head and stood.
‘Please follow me,’ he said.
Bryant finished the water and followed the man along the hall.
He opened a door into a small study which looked out onto a small but busy garden with low fences that showed the countryside beyond.
Her gaze immediately went to a box in the corner. She guessed there were about ten copies or so. The cover was the silhouette of a little girl beneath the words The Lost Child. She looked away as Henry Reed leafed through a folder.
‘When you say recently, I sold one about four months ago. As he read his notes he began to nod his head. ‘Yes, I remember now. The money came in a Jiffy bag with a stamped addressed envelope enclosed.’
Kim’s heart quickened. ‘So, you know where you sent it?’
‘Oh yes, I remember it well. I sent it to Winson Green prison. I mean, I thought it was a bit strange but even prisoners like to read, I suppose.’
Kim glanced at Bryant to see if he was feeling the same level of surprise.
He was.
Kim realised she had gained far more from this visit than she’d expected.
‘Thank you, Inspector,’ he said, as though sensing the visit was coming to an end.
‘For what?’
‘Coming here. I feel that I can finally let go of the vision of that frightened little girl now that I’ve seen the strong, successful woman she’s become.’ He looked away as his eyes reddened. ‘And how you’ve achieved that is a testament to your strength and determination, I’m sure.’
She had anticipated confronting this man and shaming him for trying to profit from her misery. Instead she had found a man who had done no such thing. In his own way, he’d been the only one fighting her corner while she had been fighting for her life. The thought comforted her somehow. She hadn’t been quite as alone as she’d thought.
‘Henry, I’d like just two more things from you before I go,’ she said.
‘Of course,’ he replied, closing the folder.
‘Destroy those remaining books.’
He hesitated, glanced at the box and nodded.
‘And?’
‘I’d kill for a glass of water.’
Sixty-Six
Penn prided himself on being a reasonable and patient kind of guy. But even he had his limits.
He parked the Fiesta well away from the entrance to the scrapyard for fear it would be mistaken and towed directly to the crusher.
He was pleased to see the site had been reopened for business.
‘Hey, Dobbie,’ he said, pleasantly, glancing around the office. Despite the down time of the guys on site, it hadn’t been spent cleaning up.
‘What the f… hell you want? Last van rolled out of here not ten minutes ago.’
And Penn could already hear the crusher going in the distance.
‘Yeah, still waiting on that name, mate,’ he said, leaning on the reception desk and then wishing he hadn’t. The man had not taken an opportunity to refresh those armpits.
‘Been busy, mate,’ he said, without interest. As far as Dobbie was concerned he’d got his business back and could return to making money. ‘And anyway, when do I get my metal back?’
Penn raised an eyebrow. ‘You want it back, covered in skin, bone, blood and—’
‘I paid for it, day I?’
‘Yeah, I’ll see what I can do,’ he said. ‘But I wouldn’t hold your breath. It’s all being logged as evidence. But yeah, you did pay for it, but to who is the question. Now, I’d like to think that you’d be as helpful as possible seeing as some poor sod got mangled in your crusher. And I’d hate to think you were withholding important information, like the owner of the car, because of your illegal way of doing business.’
‘Hey now, just wait a fucking—’
‘Every single transaction in this place should be logged with a registration number, purchase price and whether the seller was VAT registered. In another ledger you are required to record all sales, profits, VAT and tax so the Inland Revenue and VAT man can happen along and inspect at any time. Isn’t that correct?’
Penn left no time for an answer.
‘Now quite frankly, I don’t give a shit how you operate your business, but I do care who sold you that car. I could be persuaded to care more about your bookwork, say, to call the VAT man with my concerns about—’
‘Jesus, you coppers don’t mind a bit of threatening behaviour yourselves, do yer?’ he said, moving papers around on the desk.
Penn would swear there was a half-eaten burger under there somewhere even though he couldn’t imagine this guy leaving half of anything.
‘Here,’ he said, thrusting a Post-it note towards him.
‘And for your information I put the details into my purchase ledger this morning.’
Sure enough, the Post-it contained the date, the purchase price, the registration number and the name of the seller.
And it was a name he already knew.
Sixty-Seven
‘Are we on lunch break yet, guv?’ Bryant asked, half an hour after leaving the home of the journalist.
She checked her watch. ‘It’s almost three and you grabbed a sandwich from—’
‘Yeah, but I’m still entitled to a lunch break,’ he said, stubbornly, as they approached Redditch.
‘Bryant, what the hell is wrong with you? We never take a proper lunch—’
Her words were cut off as he hit the brakes suddenly and pulled in to a service station. He brought the car to a stop in the area reserved for grocery shoppers.
‘Guv, may I have my lunch break, please?’ he asked, sharply.
‘Of course, if you really want to.’
She expected him to rush out of the car to get something urgent or take out his phone to make some important call. Instead he unclipped his seat belt and turned towards her.
‘I don’t think you should be working this case.’
‘Excuse me,’ she said, sharply.
‘I don’t think it’s healthy.’
Kim wondered where the hell this had come from.
‘Is this because of what happened back at the morgue?’
‘It’s not one single thing,’ he said, chewing his lip. ‘I just don’t think you ought to be putting yourself through this.’
For the life of her she couldn’t understand his problem.
‘I’ve not been overly emotional. I’ve not dwelled on the events of the past. I’ve not become hysterical or started crying while we’ve been questioning someone.’
&nb
sp; ‘Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about,’ he said, quietly.
‘Bryant, you’re making no bloody sense.’
‘There is no emotion. Even when Henry was recounting the meeting with your mother. I saw what you did, again. This was new information and yet your emotional reaction was stifled, suffocated and pushed down. This bastard is forcing you to face some of the most painful times of your life, dredge up the most horrific memories you have and there is no emotion. You’re acting like it’s happening to someone else. You’re pushing your feelings so far down into yourself that—’
‘That what, Bryant?’ she asked.
‘That you might never find them again. It’s not normal and it’s not healthy. Even your own body betrayed you earlier, at the morgue, but you just won’t listen.’
‘That was just a bug or something,’ she lied. ‘You gotta remember that I was there. These incidents are no surprise to me. I’ve experienced them already and I’ve lived with it all my life.’
‘It’s not like you’re reliving a trip to the zoo or a good holiday that you remember fondly. These are traumatic events that you’ve chosen to box up in cold bloody storage. It’s not even reaching you.’
‘So, let me get this straight. You want me off this case because I’m handling it?’ she asked to make sure she’d understood his warped logic.
‘I want you off the case because you’re handling it well. Too well for it to be normal. You’re cutting off your emotions at the knees, crippling them and who knows if you’ll ever—’
‘Bryant, start the car,’ she instructed. The long-term well-being of her emotions was not her greatest concern right now, and she would do whatever was needed to catch this bastard before he hurt anyone else.
‘Guv, just listen to—’
‘Start the car, Bryant, and take us back to the station. Cos lunch break is well and truly over.’
Sixty-Eight
Stacey couldn’t help feeling bad for saying no to Alison. But interrogating HOLMES2 for incidents similar to those on her previous case was no simple task.
She had listened to Alison, who had thought it was a matter of entering a few key details, and it might have been had she been looking for cases of brutal rape and murder; but if Alison was right that the killing of Jennifer Townes was the result of escalation, they were looking at incidents of unsolved rape which numbered in the thousands and would take weeks of interrogation and analysis.
And if she was honest she really did think Alison was wasting time on a case where the West Mercia team had their man, and the behaviourist was just having trouble coming to terms with her own mistake.
She wasn’t insensitive enough to say that but the air seemed to have cooled between them, and Stacey couldn’t help her relief as familiar footsteps sounded in the general office.
‘Hey, Stace,’ Penn said, rushing into the office and casting off his man-bag.
He turned and nodded in Alison’s direction as an afterthought, as though he’d forgotten she was there.
‘Where’s the boss?’ he asked.
‘Checking out a lead in the Cotswolds. Detail in the first crime scene our killer couldn’t have got from the news. Haven’t heard back from her yet,’ Stacey said, thinking it strange. Boss normally checked in every couple of hours.
‘Back up, what’s in the Cotswolds?’
Stacey had almost forgotten how long he’d been gone.
‘Guy who wrote a book about the boss’s childhood, a journalist or something.’
‘Bloody hell, there’s a book?’
Stacey nodded. ‘It’s the cracker wrapper. Doesn’t appear anywhere in the press so I got thinking…’
‘Ahem,’ Alison said, without looking up.
‘With a little help from over there,’ she acknowledged. ‘That he had to have got it from somewhere. Boss has gone to see if he’s sold any copies recently.’
‘And she couldn’t have phoned?’ he asked, taking the last cake from the Tupperware box.
Alison offered him a hateful glance as he took a bite. Stacey didn’t even want to try and count the daily calorie intake of the woman.
‘Well, I’ve been…’ Penn said.
‘So, I’ve been…’ Stacey said at the same time.
They both laughed.
‘Yeah, well, you two can share your homework in a minute but first I’d like some information,’ Alison said, peering over her rimless glasses.
Both she and Penn looked in her direction.
‘I’ve been looking at the names you’ve given me and have been working up some character profiles. I’ve ruled a few out based on motivation. The loss they’ve suffered when weighed against the level of planning, energy, knowledge, tenacity rules. Many of them almost impossible.’
‘’Most?’ Stacey questioned. ‘So, do we rule them out, or not?’
‘There will always be exceptions to the rule but in behaviourism and profiling we have to follow the rules and not the exceptions.’
Stacey wasn’t sure that made her feel any better. She didn’t feel comfortable with this woman ruling out people and dismissing them because they didn’t fit neatly into her equation.
‘I can see the doubt in your face, Stacey, but stay with me for now.’
Penn offered her a look as though they were two children being scolded by the teacher.
‘Okay, look at it this way. In an investigation you look for motive, means and opportunity. You make links between the three prerequisites and a bit of forensic evidence doesn’t hurt. It’s no different for profiling but including personality traits. For example, is he angry but lazy? If so he’s not going to be our killer. Is he energetic but not resourceful? Again, not going to be our killer if certain personality traits are present and in some cases dominant. Does someone suffer from severe rage but it’s short-lived? If so, it’s unlikely their anger will carry them through this level of planning and execution. Are they creative but not disciplined? Again, only someone disciplined could do this without confiding in someone else. There are all kinds of factors and considerations to—’
‘What if there’s more than one?’ Stacey asked. ‘Can’t their strengths and weaknesses complement each other?’
‘And destroy each other,’ Alison answered.
‘But with the kidnapping?…’
‘It worked well, for a while, because both parties wanted something different out of it. One wanted money, the other wanted personal gratification. It’s different with revenge. It’s more personal and is unlikely to be shared.’
Okay, Stacey could see that for once the woman made sense.
‘So, you got something?’ Stacey asked.
Alison leafed back through pages of notes.
‘I’ve looked at all the characteristics needed for these crimes and have definitely ruled many of them out, but there is still one name that I’m having trouble putting to bed at the minute.’
‘So, what do you need?’ Stacey asked.
Alison removed her glasses before speaking.
‘I’d like you to tell me a little more about Nina Croft.’
Sixty-Nine
‘Okay, recap,’ Kim said, perching beside the printer at the top of the room. The slight breeze that had developed over the course of the day was blowing in through the open window, offering everyone some well-needed relief.
‘So, we spoke with John Duggar first thing. He lied about hating me. We’ve never met and he joined the hate club for protection. Difficult to believe looking at him but, hey ho,’ she said, catching a glance between Stacey and Penn.
‘Post-mortem on Mr and Mrs Phelps has offered no obvious cause of death but tests are—’
‘And how did that go?’ Alison asked. But the woman wasn’t looking at her. She was asking her colleague.
Kim too awaited the response with interest. And after their conversation in the car she had no clue what his answer would be. It was up to him now. She had given him no brief, had not asked him to lie on her behalf. He knew one wrong
word would travel up the food chain quicker than a pat on the back and he would get his wish. She would be removed from the case.
Right now it was a matter of did he, or did he not trust her.
‘The guv acted exactly as I would have expected,’ he said, meeting her gaze. ‘With professionalism and integrity.’
Okay, the last bit was a tad overboard but Alison seemed satisfied.
‘We also established that our guy in the cube was most likely locked in the boot, and finally we learned that a copy of the book was posted to Winson Green prison about four months ago.’
‘Jeez,’ Stacey said. ‘Don’t suppose he?…’
‘Couldn’t remember the name of the guy that requested it,’ Kim said, shaking her head.
‘Rules out Nina Croft then?’ Stacey asked, glancing at Alison.
‘Huh, what am I missing?’ Kim asked.
Alison flicked back a couple of pages in her notebook. ‘I feel she’s a likely candidate and after Stacey explained how she was aware of her husband’s actions regarding the murder of those young girls, I’m even more suspicious. And is it true that she paid the nanny to sleep with her own husband?’
Kim nodded. ‘Oh yeah, didn’t want to sleep with him herself but also wanted control on the germs he was bringing around their boys.’
Alison made a note. ‘I really think—’
‘It’s not her,’ Stacey argued, but Kim caught her eye and shook her head. Kim’s gut wasn’t feeling it either, but while Alison was focussed in that direction she wasn’t looking elsewhere, specifically, at her.
‘So, what you got Stace?’ Kim asked.
‘Been looking at past cases with Alison, as instructed, and doing some digging. Mr and Mrs Phelps have a son.’
Kim frowned. ‘Well, where the hell is he?’
Stacey shook her head. ‘Not a clue. Travelling abroad say the neighbours of the Phelpses. That’s what they were told when he disappeared about a year ago. Not a popular chap to be honest, and no one particularly missed him.’
Dead Memories: An addictive and gripping crime thriller Page 16