She got out of the car and headed into The Jolly Crispin pub in Upper Gornal, chosen by her as the small establishment formed of brick and black beams sold exceptional beer. He liked good beer.
She spotted Derek Hodge sitting as far away from the bar as he could at a small table behind the fruit machine, as though hiding.
She smiled as she saw two drinks already on the table.
‘Dry white wine still?’ he asked, as she approached.
‘Of course,’ she said, taking a seat.
She’d seen photos of him in the press, normally when he opened a new food packaging plant and the photographer had been kind to him. Twenty years had added roughly that number of pounds to his stomach and more than a smattering of silver strands to his head. Despite that there were still traces of the attractive man she had known.
They’d had a thing in their early twenties, before he’d met Patricia and she’d found her purpose. It hadn’t ended so much as fizzled as they’d shared less and less in common. But the sex had been great.
‘So, why the call after all this time?’ he asked, getting straight to the point.
‘Money,’ she said, matching his directness but with a softening smile.
He threw back his head and laughed. ‘You never did beat about the bush, did you?’
She shrugged. ‘If you want something you have to go get it,’ she said. ‘Take you, for example, opening your third packing plant in the Midlands in the last five years. That’s a lot of plastic containers…’
‘Hey, we’re as environmentally friendly as we can…’
‘Of course,’ she said, waving away his protestations. Marianne didn’t care for the planet as much as she should do. Her priorities lay elsewhere. ‘I meant that’s a lot of food being packaged. Your rate of expansion is pretty impressive.’
The laughter left his eyes. ‘Don’t be fooled. My mortgage and loan payments would make you weep.’
She didn’t doubt it but his last set of filed accounts available to view at Companies House showed a healthy net profit despite the outgoings.
‘We are a charity, you know,’ she said, taking a sip of her wine. She allowed his business brain to analyse the tax implications of that fact.
He hesitated but shook his head. ‘I can’t right now, Marianne. I’d love to help out but I just can’t.’
‘Come on, Derek. It’s Christmas. Surely you can spare something. You know it’s for a good cause and the women in my care have suffered—’
‘Honestly, I can’t,’ he said, cutting her off. No one ever wanted to hear the details.
‘Maybe just a small personal donation?’ she pushed. She didn’t have a reputation for extracting money from stones for nothing.
His expression remained firm. ‘The kids’ school fees are coming up, and Patricia’s got her heart set on a new Lotus.’
Marianne worked hard to keep the smile on her face. He spoke of private school fees for his three girls and a six-figure car for his wife. She was talking of trying to raise funds for roof repairs and damp proofing not to mention new bedding and towels needed throughout the centres.
She opened her mouth to try again.
‘Honestly, Marianne, I can’t,’ he said holding up his hands. ‘Please don’t ask me again.’
She forced the tension from her face and smiled in defeat. ‘Oh well, you can’t win them all.’
‘Thank you for understanding,’ he said, taking a sip of his drink.
‘So, how are Patricia and the kids?’ she asked.
‘At a Christmas ice show in town this evening,’ he replied.
She’d asked how they were not where they were.
She lifted her gaze slowly to meet the question. And gave him her answer.
Five minutes later she was back in her car.
Oh well, you couldn’t win them all, Marianne reasoned with herself. The man had refused her request for financial assistance but he was now following her to a hotel room she’d already booked. She thought of all the women who relied on her for help. Nothing trumped their safety and security.
She glanced again into her rear-view mirror to see his Mercedes was parked behind her, waiting. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to ensure the safety of her women.
She started up the car. No, you couldn’t win them all but you could certainly try.
Chapter Forty-Eight
‘Okay, folks, we’re not getting the Lester Jackson case from Warwickshire. DCI Wood… Woody has made that perfectly clear,’ she said, walking back into the squad room.
‘But—’
Kim cut Dawson off by raising her hand. ‘There isn’t a but you can come up with that I haven’t already tried and it’s not happening. He’s encouraging us to be creative on that score, which we’ll think about tomorrow, but for now let’s just recap before we call it a day.’
Her gaze remained on Dawson signalling for him to go first, as she reached for the mug of coffee that had magically appeared on the spare desk.
‘Still trying to find this woman and child who lived with Luke Fenton. I have a first name and a vague description, but that’s about it.’
‘And the nail?’ Kim said, referring to it for the first time.
‘My source didn’t come good on that one, boss, but I’m still working on it.’
She folded her arms and waited.
Everyone waited and he at least had the good grace to look mildly uncomfortable.
‘Nothing from his workplace, either,’ he added and she was unsure if he was trying to fill the silence or fill his day. The morgue visit had taken no more than an hour from his schedule.
There was nothing further to report.
‘Okay, moving on, Stacey?’
‘Got the phone records in for our victim and was just about to start.’
‘Okay, get on with those first thing tomorrow and liaise with the lab about the computer to see if there’s anything else there.’
‘Will do, boss,’ she answered.
‘And great work on finding the Lester Jackson case.’
‘Thanks, boss.’
Kim saw the shadow that passed over Dawson’s face and she didn’t mind it one little bit.
‘Okay, folks, that’s enough for tonight. Briefing in the morning at seven.’
Stacey and Bryant reached for their belongings, and Dawson glanced her way.
She shook her head and he remained where he was.
She waited until the others had left the room before meeting his gaze.
‘I think we need to have a little chat.’
‘I know it doesn’t look like I’ve done much but…’
‘Yeah. It’s not that kind of chat. It’s the type where you listen and I talk.’
He closed his mouth.
‘I don’t know what kind of team you’ve come from and I don’t care. There are things I’ll tolerate and things I won’t. I like flashes of brilliance and I like initiative. I don’t mind confidence that stops short of arrogance but here are the things I won’t accept: disinterest and laziness. No one is going to do your job for you and I don’t expect you to pick up anyone else’s slack if they’re not performing, but I do expect you to earn your pay rate.’
She paused and nodded towards the door.
‘That will remain open at all times. No one is holding you hostage and if you miss your last team so badly, go back or request a transfer elsewhere. Your choice. But if you stay, put your back into it and do your job. End of chat. If you’re here tomorrow I’ll assume you’ve listened, if not good luck in your next job.’
Kim retrieved her belongings from the bowl and left without another word.
Good chat, she decided as she headed down the stairs.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Dawson stared hard at the computer for just a minute trying to work out how he felt.
Well, at least he’d learned how a chat worked with the boss.
He was honest enough to accept that she was right about his levels of enthusiasm an
d that he wasn’t feeling this team dynamic.
What she didn’t know was that the option of returning to his previous team was no longer on the table.
The events from earlier had played over in his mind a few times and as far as he could see there was only one logical explanation. They were jealous. They knew he was a gifted detective and that he was going places. They wanted him out of the way so they could shine more brightly in his absence. Well, let them have their moment in the sunshine. Karma would be a bitch once he was their boss.
Now, he felt better.
So, for now, he was stuck here, literally. He had no bed for the night and asking to transfer to another team after just a couple of days was not going to do his long-term career plans any good.
The boss had made it clear that she expected something from him on the nail front and he could kind of understand why. It was a job he’d gone looking for to prove a point and now he had to prove another one. That he could use the information once he got it.
He turned to the computer and began to search for nail manufacturers. With no database to hand he was going to have to do this the long way.
He began copying and pasting email addresses into his address bar and formulated a standard email including the composition.
An hour later he found himself feeling strangely pleased with himself. He sat back in his chair as though he’d just finished a hearty meal.
In the silence, some of the things the boss had said started to come back to him.
Be creative. Show initiative.
He had an idea how he could manage to do both.
Chapter Fifty
‘So, how was day two?’ Jenny asked him as he speared a piece of chicken.
‘Much like day one,’ Bryant answered.
‘And you didn’t say a lot about that either,’ she noted, raising an eyebrow.
He shrugged.
‘Do you even like her?’
‘She’s not the easiest person to like.’
‘Bloody hell, husband, speak to me.’
‘Yeah, I like her,’ he answered, sensing his wife’s impatience. ‘She’s driven, passionate, intelligent…’
‘So, just the kind of person you like to work with?’
‘I suppose so. It’s just…’
‘What, spit it out.’
‘She researched us all.’
Jenny put down her knife and fork, folded her arms and waited.
‘And?’
‘Seems a bit sneaky to me,’ he said, choosing not to reveal that she had fought his battles for him.
‘What? Trying to get some background on the people who form her brand-new team. I suppose she could always have taken you away on a weekend team-building course if that pesky dead body hadn’t got in the way.’
Bryant chuckled as he cleared his plate. That was one of the things he loved about his wife: if she didn’t agree with him she didn’t sugar-coat it.
‘And you know something else,’ she continued, ‘it’s not even that that’s bothering you. It’s all this promotion stuff going around in your head. You should talk to her about it.’
He shook his head. ‘No point. Team might be disbanded at the end of this case.’
Jenny shrugged as she collected up the plates. ‘Well, if you’re not going to help yourself…’ her words trailed away. She stopped at the doorway. ‘But bear in mind, that knowing more about the people you work with is never a bad thing and it can work both ways.’
He looked after her for just a second.
There was something in him that didn’t want to learn anything about his boss that she wasn’t willing to share herself. And yet, a more realistic part of him already knew she wasn’t the sharing type.
He grabbed the laptop and fired it up at the dining table.
He was no data miner. He knew that. His idea of police work was following clues and reading people. He’d been brought through the force the old-fashioned way. His best learning had come from walking the beat and getting to know people; how they walked, talked, acted out their guilt or innocence without really knowing it.
He’d been in his mid-twenties when he’d decided he wanted to join CID, and their meeting with Sergeant Greene earlier had resonated with him, and reminded him of a fifteen-year-old girl raped and murdered in Pelsall. His own daughter no more than two years old then.
He had been first on the scene following an anonymous phone call and had been rendered speechless, numbed by the sight before him. Out of that numbness had grown an anger, a rage unlike anything he’d known before. He wanted to find the bastard who had done this, who had brutally raped, murdered and discarded this young girl in a state of undress.
He had worked through every emotion that her parents would feel upon hearing the news, of both her murder and the manner of her death. Their lives would be destroyed for ever because of one man. And he’d wanted to be the officer to cuff and caution that bastard.
Forty minutes later CID arrived and dismissed him from the scene pending his statement. After watching over her body and silently assuring her that her murderer would be found, he’d been told to walk away. As he’d trudged back to the squad car he had felt as though he was abandoning her; already breaking the promise he’d made. That he was somehow letting her down.
The following day he’d begun the process to become a detective. The face of Wendy Harrison had driven him all the way.
He shook away the memory and wondered if his boss had any such defining cases, victims who had never left her.
He typed her title into the search bar and got results. He scrolled down to see a collection of news videos and quotes for press statements. There were not as many as he’d thought he’d find. He could have guessed that she was not the type of DI to court either the press or the limelight. He saw a couple of commendations and yet no photos of her receiving them. He smiled. She probably never bothered to turn up to the events.
Two pages of Google results were pretty much the same and told him what he already knew.
He was about to log off, satisfied he could tell Jenny that DI Stone was exactly the kind of officer he’d thought she was.
Then he saw a note at the top of the screen which asked him a question.
Did you mean Kimberly Stone?
He paused. He wasn’t sure. Did he?
His hand hovered over the mouse button. To his knowledge the guv had only researched his work achievements and not his personal history or private life. He should offer her the same respect.
He pressed on the link and was immediately presented with a photo of a dozen police officers surrounding a stretcher being carried to an ambulance.
The headline screamed:
Surviving twin critically ill
Bryant tore his eyes away from the narrative while he still could. No way was he going to intrude on her private life to this degree. No way in hell.
But he couldn’t help glancing back at the photo where he saw something that he really wished he hadn’t.
Chapter Fifty-One
Kim wasn’t one to let the issue of opening hours stop her from going where she wanted to go, and under the cover of darkness she climbed over the metal entrance gate to Powke Lane Cemetery.
Didn’t everyone visit dead relatives at 9 p.m.? Well, after a long day at work she certainly did.
It wasn’t something she did all the time. Now and again she came to Mikey’s grave when the gates were open. The only problem there was that other people were around and sometimes she wanted a private conversation with her brother.
She followed the road as it wound its way to the top of the cemetery, the graves on either side overflowing with wreaths, flowers, reindeers and snowmen. Many of them guilt gifts, already apologising to the dead for the merriment of Christmas they were about to enjoy. Mikey’s grave was empty of adornments. There was nothing of the festive season she intended to enjoy.
She came to a stop right beside the bench. She needed no lamplight to guide her to his headsto
ne. A tall black marble headstone that she had saved for from her sixteenth birthday to replace the temporary marker that had been there for ten years.
It was simple in its inscription. His name and the years in between. Six short years represented by a short dash that mirrored barely any life at all.
Even now she could not hold down the rage at the woman who had done this to them. Their own mother, Patricia Stone, who now resided at Grantley Care, a secure facility for the criminally insane. She tried not to think of the woman, but a visit to Mikey was inextricably linked to the rage button in her soul.
Kim’s earliest memory was of her mother advancing towards the two of them with a bread knife in her hand.
Paranoid schizophrenia had been responsible for the woman’s conviction that Mikey, her own son, was the devil.
Kim recalled little else from those first six years, other than her numerous attempts to kill him and her own efforts to protect him. Kim had always sensed she was the oldest twin and her innate need to protect him had confirmed it.
But her mother had finally got her way when she’d chained the two of them to a radiator, in the scorching heat of the summer, in the flat from where no one had heard their cries.
A few cream crackers and a half bottle of Coke that she’d fished from under the bed with her foot had been rationed for the first few days, but eventually, soiled, ill and dehydrated her twin brother had died in her arms.
She had lain next to his body barely conscious for two days before help had finally come and the door had been broken down by police officers.
First Blood: A completely gripping mystery thriller (A Detective Kim Stone Novel) Page 12