‘Of course.’
‘And you know what the deaths mean?’
‘Obviously. The first one was a copycat of you and Mikey, the second was reliving the death of Keith and Erica, which is why I expected you sooner. How are your memory boxes holding up?’
‘Intact,’ she said, and missed off the word, barely.
‘There was a third incident this evening.’
‘The girl in the park?’
Kim nodded, unaware it had made the news already.
‘There was little detail. Is this one linked to you?’
Kim nodded. ‘Foster family number five.’
He turned, frowning. ‘The one you’ve never talked about and the one I always remember.’
She nodded. ‘Why do you always remember it?’
He placed the cups on the table as Barney lapped greedily at the plastic water bowl he’d put on the floor.
‘When you came to me after foster family five you were different to all the other times. There was a hardness in you that hadn’t been there before. Despite everything that had happened to you it was like family five taught you how to hate.’
‘Go on,’ Kim said.
‘Up until that point I’d always had hope that I could help you; that somehow we’d make a breakthrough and I could help you heal.’
Kim felt pieces of her anger break away in the company of this man whose only aim had been to try and help her.
‘But when you came to see me after that family, I felt that you had stepped beyond my reach. That I couldn’t get to you any more.’
She guessed his assessment was probably right.
‘I almost hit someone at the crime scene,’ she admitted. ‘A constable.’
‘But you didn’t, so surely that?…’
‘Only because Bryant stopped me. I would have hit him, Ted.’
‘I’m tempted to ask what the constable did but it’s not his actions that matter, is it?’
She shook her head. ‘Well, it puts Bryant’s theory to bed,’ she said.
‘Which is?’
‘That I’m repressing my feelings about it all and acting like it’s happening to someone else.’
‘Hmm… not necessarily. Has there ever been a time when you’ve used that technique as a coping mechanism? Pretended that something that’s happening to you is actually happening to someone else?’
She swallowed and nodded.
‘So, if it got you through before there’s no reason why you wouldn’t use that technique again. Disassociation is the correct term and people often use it in childhood in cases of sexual—’
‘Move on, Ted.’
‘But there’s no easy answer for this one, I’m afraid. If you allow your emotions out, your memory boxes will collapse and engulf you. We’re not talking one or even two traumatic memories to deal with; we’re talking all of them at the same time because you can’t pick and choose. You can’t open one memory box and ignore the others. Not when you’re being faced with recreations of the incidents themselves, because it’s kind of in your face.
‘So, the only way for you to behave is to stifle your emotions, block the memories and swallow them down.’
‘So, that’s okay?’ she asked, feeling vindicated.
‘Not really,’ he said, sipping his drink.
‘Oh,’ she said, reaching down to stroke Barney’s head.
‘Because you’re compounding hurt on top of hurt on top of anger. Imagine a cupboard door full of clothes and yet you just keep buying new ones. You open the cupboard door and just throw the garment in without looking and then slam the door closed. Eventually, what’s going to happen?’
‘I buy a bigger cupboard.’
‘Ha, funny. Now answer the question.’
‘Eventually I’m going to open the cupboard door to throw in a garment and the whole lot is going to collapse on top of me.’
‘Exactly that.’
‘So, you’re saying that I’m only delaying the feelings, that they’re going to get me eventually?’
‘Every cupboard has its limits, Kim.’
She took a deep breath. ‘Woody’s taken me off the case.’
Ted didn’t seem surprised. ‘Because of the constable?’
She nodded.
He sipped his drink.
‘You have some kind of madman recreating every traumatic point in your life. They are doing this to make you suffer, to make you hurt. They are going to a great deal of trouble to cause you pain from which, given that level of hate, the only possible end game can be death. Your death. It’s the only final outcome that makes sense.
‘And now I’ll explain the significance of the room. You choose where we sit when you come here. If you want to be alone to reflect or you want me to sit close by silently, you head out into the garden. If you want an in-depth conversation with an equal amount of give and take, where you’re happy to accept my thoughts and opinions, you choose the living room. If, however, you just want me to agree with whatever you’ve got to say, you choose the kitchen.’
‘Really?’
He nodded. ‘That’s why you got instant coffee. Because I very rarely agree with you. And, I’m afraid this time is no exception. Given the circumstances, your emotional state and your actions, not to mention your physical safety, I think Woody was absolutely right to take you off the case.’
Kim felt the pieces of anger reattach themselves to the whole that lay heavy at the base of her stomach.
And whether or not she was acting true to form, she got up and stormed from the house.
Eighty-Two
Alison saw the taxi pull on to the car park and breathed a sigh of relief.
She got out of the car. ‘Stacey, thank you for—’
‘What the hell is going on, Alison?’ she asked, looking around her. ‘Jesus, are you drunk?’
Alison shook her head.
‘Then why are you parked diagonally taking up three spaces? And if it’s a lift home you want, I’m the only one who doesn’t—’
‘I don’t need a lift,’ she said. ‘And I don’t need a breathalyser. What I need is a police officer I can trust.’
Stacey groaned and indicated to the taxi driver to go.
‘I swear, my partner wants your guts for garters. Popcorn, Baileys, Melissa McCarthy film and actually, thinking about it, I could bloody well kill you. Now what the?…’
‘Stacey, I’m sorry,’ Alison said, genuinely. Sometimes she did forget that people she worked with had lives outside the job. ‘Sit in the car and I’ll explain.’
Stacey narrowed her eyes but did as she’d been asked.
Alison got in, took a deep breath and told her the whole story.
She watched as Stacey’s expression and posture went from disinterested to curious to shocked to angry to disbelief.
Alison came to a stop after revealing her conversation earlier with Tom.
‘And you think he did it?’ Stacey asked.
‘I’d bet my next meal on him before Curtis,’ she answered.
‘So why call me?’
‘Because it’s here,’ Alison said. ‘Beverly’s missing earring, the pink flamingo, it’s here.’
Stacey looked around and then looked her way. ‘It’s underneath us, isn’t it? You’re parked over it?’
Alison nodded. ‘I didn’t want it to get even more contaminated. The killer’s DNA could be on it.’
‘Novel idea for preserving the evidence, Alison, but if Beverly was attacked over a week ago that earring could have hundreds of people’s DNA on it,’ she said.
‘So, it’s useless?’ Alison asked.
‘I’m not saying that. I’m saying that from an evidential point of view it’s problematic but still a bloody good find,’ Stacey said, taking an evidence bag from her pocket.
‘Shall I back up so you can?…’
‘No, no, no,’ Stacey said, quickly. ‘We don’t want to risk anything else happening to it. I’ll crawl under and retrieve it.’
&nb
sp; Alison got out of the car and suddenly felt bad as the detective dropped to her knees.
She had pulled this woman away from her partner during some much-needed downtime. She had burdened her with the whole story and now the constable was scrabbling underneath her car for evidence on a case that she had nothing to do with.
Alison briefly wondered how many police forces could be pissed off with her at any one time.
And all because she believed in her profile.
‘Okay, got it,’ Stacey said, crawling away from the car and dusting herself down.
‘Thanks, so much, Stacey. I’m so sorry to have called you out. It’s my problem not yours, so if you hand it over I’ll just have a think and work out what I’m gonna do with it.’
Stacey rolled her eyes. ‘Unfortunately, Alison, I can’t unsee or un-hear everything I’ve learned, so whether we like it or not I’m involved; so the more pertinent question is, what are WE gonna do with it?’
Eighty-Three
It was almost eleven when Kim’s key slid into the lock of her front door.
She’d driven straight from Ted’s to the Clent Hills just as dusk had fallen. Normally, she loved catching that period between sunset and night and used it to walk the events of the day out of her system.
She remembered once when Bryant had tried to explain the difference between civil, nautical and astronomical dusk. Her interest had waned after ten seconds. For her it was when she liked to walk the dog.
Except tonight the negative feelings had not made it through the soles of her boots and had remained firmly in her body.
She refreshed Barney’s water bowl and filled the percolator for herself. A pot of coffee at this time of night was not conducive to a restful night’s sleep but it wasn’t like she’d got work in the morning.
She paused and looked down at the dog slurping greedily and splashing droplets onto the stone floor.
‘Yeah, you’re right, boy, that was pathetic.’
She’d never been one to succumb to self-pity, she mused, as she sat on the sofa.
‘But, just this once, eh?’ she said, as the dog materialised beside her and nudged her hand to the top of his head.
She smiled as he leaned into her side and slid so that his back was against her hip and his head resting on her thigh.
He’d trained her very well, she realised, as her hand stroked the top of his head and down his back.
It was hard not to feel the effects of the day wash over her now that she was sitting still.
It felt like days had passed since she’d stormed out of the post-mortem, unable to bear the sight of the charred, blackened bodies and trying desperately not to let the vision overlay the picture of her foster parents, smiling and joking as they had been the last time she’d seen them. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly as though it would block the snapshot from entering her mind.
She kept her eyes closed and rested her head back against the sofa as she recalled the kindness in the eyes of the man who had written about her life. The anger towards him had dissipated when she had understood his motivation for writing the book and exposing the truth.
Harder to bear had been Bryant questioning her ability to run the case.
Suddenly Barney shifted beside her and rubbed his chin against her leg.
‘Yeah, okay, he didn’t exactly say that,’ she admitted. But that’s what it had felt like even though she knew his concerns were only for her well-being.
And then Alison’s assessment of her mental state outside the police station. Which she had disagreed with vehemently right before assaulting a fellow officer at a crime scene. Go me, she thought, shaking her head.
And yet she struggled not to feel justified in her actions on that score even though it had prompted her removal from the case.
But just seeing that girl, lying there, sexually assaulted, violated in the worst possible way, had brought back feelings she’d spent her whole life fighting away: helplessness, fear, loathing, disgust, rage.
She felt her hand tense on Barney’s head as emotions began to engulf her.
‘Oh no, oh no, oh no,’ she said, moving the dog aside and standing. She headed over to the coffee machine and poured a tall mug of Colombian Gold.
She would never allow those emotions to torment her again. She wasn’t thirteen any more. But just for a few minutes…
And the final insult had come from Ted; the man who knew more about her than anyone and still thought Woody had been right to take her off the case. She could have understood the others being unable to see the truth but not Ted. She’d felt sure he’d understand.
But none of them could comprehend that the memories had to stay in their boxes. She couldn’t take them out, examine them and then blow the cobwebs away into the wind. Everyone around her insisted that the emotions that were attached to the memories were being pushed down, somewhere deep inside, where they would ferment, bubble and explode, but they were wrong.
It was like a magic trick, an illusion, maybe sleight of hand. Look over there while I do this over here. She could just about manage to disassociate herself from the events unfolding before her eyes as long as she could distract her mind with solving the case, sifting the clues, following leads and searching for evidence.
What Woody, Bryant, Alison and even Ted seemed unable to understand was that it was the focus of catching the bastard that was keeping the demons away.
Eighty-Four
Bryant took a deep breath as he mounted the stairs to the squad room. How the hell was he supposed to explain this to the team? How was he supposed to even begin to move this investigation forward without the guv? His mind didn’t work in the same way hers did.
He viewed her brain like a cyborg with tentacles, reaching out in all directions and bringing back minute pieces of data, inputting them and coming up with answers. There were times he kept quiet because he couldn’t actually keep up with her. So, how was he supposed to lead this investigation never mind manage a team?
‘Hey, Bryant, was it you?’ Sergeant Devlin asked with a smirk as they passed on the stairs.
‘What?’ he asked.
‘Err… nothing,’ Devlin said, without stopping, although his shoulder movement told Bryant he was still chuckling.
What the hell was all that about? Whatever it was he wasn’t responsible. He’d only just got here, but thinking about it, Jack on the desk had given him a knowing smile when he’d entered the building. He reached the top of the stairs and gave himself the once-over. No, his shirt was definitely tucked into his trousers, he wasn’t wearing odd shoes and there was no sign on his back.
The cut from the night before was obscured by his eyebrow and these folks were used to his occasional war wounds from the pitch. They were becoming more frequent with time.
‘Idiots,’ he whispered to himself as he wandered through the general office to the squad room.
A few chuckles followed him and then he saw why.
The door to the squad room was closed and hazard tape had been pulled across in the shape of an X.
‘What the?…’ he said, reading the sign.
NO ENTRY DO NOT OPEN
Great, just what he needed. Some idiot playing practical jokes was not going to start this day well.
‘Who did this?’ he asked, as everyone looked away and returned to their business.
He shook his head and ripped at the hazard tape.
‘Can’t read, Bryant?’ said a deep voice from behind.
He turned to find Woody frowning at him.
‘Sir, some dickhead’s been putting stupid signs on—’
‘I’m the dickhead that put the sign on the door, Bryant, and with very good reason.’
Great, he’d just called the boss a dickhead.
‘Sir?’
‘Fleas, Sergeant. The office appears to be infested. Went in last night for a copy statement and got bit to death around the ankles.’
Bryant was confused. They’d all been in there yesterday with
no issue.
‘But?…’
‘You can’t work in there until the fumigators have been out.’
‘So where the hell?…’
‘You’re a big boy, Bryant. You’re in charge for now, so providing you follow procedure and maintain efficiency, where you choose to run the investigation is your concern not mine,’ he said, before turning away.
Bryant hid his smile. He knew he wasn’t the fastest car in the race but he always managed to get there in the end.
Eighty-Five
Kim tipped the fourth cup of coffee down the sink and switched off the pot. Each sip was now sending a jolt of electricity through her veins and wiring her emotions.
Jesus, she was angry at so many things, and even offering herself balanced rational answers was not helping.
She was pissed at Woody for taking her off the case but could understand his position. She was mad at Bryant for taking over her role, but unsure what else she expected him to do. She was raging at Ted for not agreeing with her but accepted she went to him for an honest point of view.
And yet the one thing she couldn’t resolve in her head was that not one member of her team had called or texted to see if she was okay.
Obviously there had been the twenty text messages from Bryant the night before, but they didn’t count, and what about the rest of the team this morning? They’d arrived at work to be told she was off the case yet not one message.
She hopped off the bar stool and wandered towards the door that led into the garage, for the third time. Barney was right beside her, looking up questioningly.
‘Yeah, I know, boy,’ she said. ‘I’m doing my own head in too.’
Normally, with any spare time she was straight into the garage, iPod on full, being soothed by Brahms or Beethoven as she worked on her current restoration project, but not today. This wasn’t spare time. Today she’d been displaced. She wasn’t supposed to be on a day off. Her brain was in work mode and she couldn’t switch it off.
She sighed and took out her phone as Barney headed back to the sofa.
Dead Memories: An addictive and gripping crime thriller Page 20