Suddenly a female voice answered.
Stacey was unsure why she was relieved. Maybe sisterhood and all that.
She took a quick second to introduce herself and then went straight in for the kill.
‘We’re working a couple of murders that we think are linked to your current investigation of Lester Jackson at Redland Hall and—’
‘I’m sorry,’ the woman said, quickly. ‘But you know that I can’t—’
‘I completely understand,’ Stacey said, unwilling to lose her so soon. ‘And I’m not looking for any detail in your case whatsoever. But is there any way I could ask you a question and just get a yes or a no? I think it could help you in the long run too.’
Silence.
Stacey didn’t hear a no so she ploughed on.
‘I’ve gor a telephone number here and I’d just like to know if it’s come up anywhere in your investigation.’
Silence again, which Stacey took as agreement.
She read off the phone number.
Silence except for the tapping of keys and then just one quiet word.
‘Yes.’
Stacey thanked her and put down the phone.
Now she knew for a fact that she was looking at the phone number of the killer.
Chapter Eighty-Six
By the time Bryant pulled up at the address they’d been given by Keats, two things had happened.
The small, narrow street had been cordoned off and she was now hopping mad.
She all but rammed her ID in the face of a PC as she ducked under the cordon tape. She grabbed the protective slippers from another without speaking.
She could hear Bryant mumbling apologies behind her. He really was going to have to stop doing that. She wasn’t sorry at all but getting pretty pissed off with being summoned left and right across the Black Country.
She headed into the house at speed and reached the living room area at the back.
‘Keats, you are gonna have to start offering some explanation for—’
‘Is this explanation enough, Inspector?’ he asked, standing aside.
‘Bloody hell,’ she said as both the sight and smell hit her immediately.
In all her years she had never come across a stench like that of a rotting corpse. Some described it as decaying meat with a hint of sickly sweetness but she had never heard a description that represented the foulness completely. And this particular corpse had released its bowels. She covered her nose with her hand and tried to take a deep breath using her fingers as a filter mask.
The sight that met her gaze was of a grey sweatshirt, bloodstained from a single stab wound to the chest. A line of blood had seeped from his upper torso to join up with the carnage that appeared to have been wrought on his genitals.
Keats obliged by lifting the lower roll of flesh so she could take a better look.
She heard Bryant’s sharp intake of breath.
The penis and testicles had been stabbed multiple times. The shaft of the penis had been chopped and the testicles held on by a thread.
Her gaze returned to his face where a tie had been doubled and used as a gag. To prevent alerting the neighbours to the noise, she suspected.
His dead gaze stared straight ahead and fleshy jowls hung limply either side of flaccid lips.
Kim tore her gaze away and looked around the room.
There were few people present but the heat was stifling.
‘Fire was left on full,’ Keats explained. ‘But I’m thinking he was murdered some time last night.’
Kim was surprised by his words so soon into his examination.
‘That a guess, Keats?’ she asked. ‘Surely he wouldn’t smell this bad after twelve or so hours?’
‘As you well know decomposition begins the second the heart stops beating. There are some thirty trillion cells on the average human body not to mention more than double that in the intestinal tract and they all get very busy very quickly…’
‘But still,’ she said, wrinkling her nose.
‘The constant full heat of the fire added to the man’s body mass added to the fact that his sphincter loosened accounts for—’
‘Got it,’ she said, needing no further explanation of the aroma that was getting into the back of her throat.
She started looking around the sparsely furnished room for any letters or paperwork.
‘I can help you with that too, if you’d like,’ Keats offered, as though tuned right into her brain. Not a prospect she relished.
‘Go on,’ Kim said, testing his psychic powers.
‘I’m surprised you don’t recognise him,’ he teased.
‘Why would I?’ Kim asked, taking another look.
‘His name is Charles Lockwood, whose life as he knew it ended around eighteen months ago.’
Kim frowned, vaguely recognising the name but still not recognising the person.
‘He didn’t look like this then. He was much slimmer and while not exactly a stick he was not obese.’
Kim tried to imagine him with less weight. There was something pricking at her memory.
‘He had a short segment on a Friday evening magazine show, mainly reporting on entertainment around the local areas, restaurants, clubs, offering opinions and recommendations. Until it came out that he was accepting backhanders for favourable reviews.’
‘Aah, I think I remember. He disappeared from our screens very quickly.’
Keats nodded. ‘And that’s not all that happened. He lost everything. House, cars. His wife moved out, had no choice really. He was prosecuted and went to prison and looking around I’m guessing he’s not long been out.’
Kim frowned. There was nothing there that matched their victim profile.
‘Again, I know what you’re thinking and the answer is yes.’
‘Abuse scandal?’
Keats nodded. ‘A rumour. Hinted at in some online article and then retracted. His eldest daughter was around seven at the time.’
Kim’s concern about his direct line to her thoughts was pushed down by the disgust that rose within her. If he was guilty of what Keats said, she could find little sympathy inside herself for his death or the gruesome manner in which it had occurred. Her personal feelings for the murderer did not in any way diminish her need to find the killer. She believed in justice and the system.
‘Post-mortem will be at 9 a.m. It’s already been a long day,’ Keats said.
She thanked him and headed for the door.
‘Bryant, clearly this has to be connected to our case. The genital mutilation is the same as two of our victims, but how exactly?…’
‘His wife, guv,’ Bryant interrupted. ‘She was a woman who lost everything. She had to have had somewhere to go.’
Kim followed his train of thought and began to smile.
‘Good work, Bryant. Bloody good work.’
Chapter Eighty-Seven
‘Hey, Jay, it’s DI Stone. I need your help. I need to know if anyone by the name of Lockwood spent any time at any of the refuges in the last eighteen months.’
‘You mean Wendy?’
Kim cast a triumphant look in Bryant’s direction.
‘Wife of Charles Lockwood?’ she asked, to confirm.
‘Yeah, yeah. She stayed at this one for about four months I’d say. I can check exactly if you’d like.’
‘No, Jay, it’s okay. I don’t suppose you’d have any idea where she moved out to?’ she asked, crossing her fingers.
‘Sorry, Marianne’s gone out and her office is locked. But if I remember rightly she was getting a place in Gornal. Her and her two kiddies.’
Kim felt an excitement building in her stomach. They were getting somewhere. She could feel it.
‘Okay, Jay, you’re a star and I just need one more favour.’
‘Of course.’
There was one key member of staff at the refuge she hadn’t yet interviewed.
‘You have control of the gates. Don’t let Carl Wickes leave until I get there.’
/>
Chapter Eighty-Eight
It hadn’t taken long for Stacey to search the electoral roll and find a Wendy Lockwood living in Gornal Wood.
The area of Gornal was located on the western edge of the Dudley borough and historically comprised three villages: Lower Gornal, Upper Gornal and Gornal Wood. The last being famous for the landmark the Crooked House pub and for being at the epicentre of the 2002 Dudley earthquake that measured 4.8 on the Richter scale, felt as far away as North Yorkshire.
‘Ha, Pig on the Wall,’ Bryant said, passing a McDonald’s.
‘Huh?’ Kim said, looking back to see what she’d missed. She’d seen no pig anywhere.
‘There was a hotel there once called Pig on the Wall,’ he said.
‘What a bloody ridiculous name for a place.’
He smiled. ‘Local legend has it that once a military band marched through the area and caused such excitement that not only did all the locals flock to see it but one guy even put his pig on the wall to give it a better view.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Bryant, please tell me we’re almost there.’
‘Yep, this is the road and that’s the one we want,’ he said nodding to the other side of the street.
The house itself was a mid-terrace in a street that had cars crammed end to end along the pavement. Outside number 23 was a battered Fiat Yugo that looked older than her and Bryant put together.
The door was answered by a striking woman in her mid-thirties with straw blonde hair and a light complexion. Immediately, Kim heard children’s voices in the background.
‘Wendy Lockwood?’ Kim asked, showing her identification.
She nodded. Alarm instantly registered on her face and then faded as she appeared to remember that her children were safely behind her.
‘We’re here about your husband,’ Kim said, quietly.
She folded her arms. ‘I have no interest in anything you have to say about that man.’
‘Mrs Lockwood, you’re going to want to hear us out, but you won’t want your children present.’
Her irritation turned to a frown as she invited them in.
Kim followed her to a small kitchen at the rear of the house, where two girls, still in uniform, squabbled over a purple crayon.
The aroma told her the youngsters were waiting for their tea.
All activity stopped as she and Bryant stepped into the small space and, although both looked at them suspiciously, there was a touch of fear in the eyes of the eldest. Kim offered what she hoped was a reassuring smile, but the girl’s expression didn’t change a bit as she looked to her mother.
‘Girls, go and get changed for tea,’ Wendy instructed.
‘Don’t wanna,’ said the older one who had snaffled the crayon.
‘Who are they?’ asked the younger one, narrowing her eyes.
‘I said go upstairs,’ Wendy repeated.
Neither moved.
‘No iPad after tea unless you—’
The woman didn’t need to finish the sentence as the scraping of chair legs filled the room.
‘The threat of no telly used to get the same response from me,’ Bryant said, offering the woman a smile.
She didn’t return it and only when she heard that the continued squabbling was a safe distance away did she speak.
‘What about him?’ she asked.
‘He’s dead,’ Kim answered, not bothering to dress it up.
Wendy’s eyes widened and her hand shot to her mouth.
‘Oh, my G… God… how… when… I mean…’ Her words trailed away as she felt her way to the chair previously occupied by her eldest daughter. ‘I can’t…’
Kim said nothing as she waited for the woman to wrap her head around the news.
‘Please tell me what happened.’
Shock, horror, but no tears, Kim noted. After what she’d learned from Keats she was not surprised. Confident that the woman could handle the truth she continued.
‘I’m sorry to say your husband was murdered, Mrs Lockwood.’
Her face creased into disbelief. ‘No… you’re… that’s not… no,’ she said, shaking her head.
‘I’m sorry but there’s no easy way to say it,’ Kim offered. ‘It was brutal and I wouldn’t want you to hear that from anyone else.’
‘I hated the man but not enough to…’
‘I understand,’ Kim said, meeting her gaze to indicate that they knew about the abuse. ‘But someone hated him enough to make him suffer; but there are other things we need to speak to you about.’
‘Please go ahead. Anything that will help.’
‘You lost everything because of your husband’s actions with taking secret payments to publicise certain venues around the area?’
‘His actions left me with nothing, Inspector. Because of his work we were somebodies. We had a good life, had minor celebrity status. Our girls had everything they could wish for. We were liked, we had friends and were treated well wherever we went. Little did I know that the money he was taking was going straight onto a Blackjack table along with the mortgage payments. By the time he was found out he had accrued almost seventy thousand pounds of debt and his face was splashed all over the news.
‘We lost everything, me and the girls. Suddenly we were social pariahs. The girls lost their friends and so did I, to be honest. We were treated like lepers because of what he’d done.’
Kim held up her hand. ‘We understand that you were left with nothing, Mrs Lockwood, which as big a problem as that was must have paled against your daughter…’
‘It did,’ she said, as every muscle in her face tensed and hardened. ‘I’d left him already, you see. I was maxing out our credit card at a hotel while we got ourselves sorted and I decided where to go next. The girls didn’t really understand what was going on and then one night as I was putting her to bed Sasha asked me if it was all her fault. She asked if it was because she’d considered telling her schoolteacher her secret.’ Wendy lowered her head, and Kim didn’t push.
After a moment she took a breath and continued. ‘Three hours later I had the whole story that her father had been abusing her for around ten months. He’d told her that if she ever spoke of it to anyone that I would die or that she would die and the child was terrified.’
‘Mrs Lockwood, I can’t even imagine what…’
‘You’re right, Inspector. You can’t. Unless you’ve been in that position you’ll never understand the guilt and self-hatred. I won’t share my nightmares with you, but suffice to say I will never be able to make it up to her or forgive myself for not seeing what was right in front of me.’
And so you shouldn’t, Kim thought, just managing to keep the words to herself. In her opinion the little girl could not have been suffering with no visible signs; reduced appetite, unwillingness to go to bed, withdrawn into herself. Kim knew the signs well enough.
‘Did you go to the police?’ she asked.
Mrs Lockwood shook her head. ‘Sasha begged me not to. She was terrified at the prospect of having to recount the events to a stranger. I tried to talk her into it and bought myself a whole new bag of guilt by trying to force her to do something she didn’t want to. In that way I felt no better than her father and eventually I gave in.’ She shrugged and opened her hands. ‘I just pray it was the right thing to do.’
‘And what did you do?’ Kim asked, steering her towards the subject she wanted to explore. She had no words to bring the woman comfort. That would come only with time and Sasha’s continued well-being.
‘Called him and made all kinds of threats. I called him every foul name I could get my mouth around and told him he would never see his daughters again. The next day he’d put a stop on the one remaining credit card with any money. I managed to pay the bill by cobbling together a few favours from people who would have anything to do with me. Few and far between after the scandal broke.’
‘And then you had nowhere to go?’ Kim prompted.
She nodded. ‘I’d read about Marianne F
orbes and her shelters and I turned up in Dudley with little more than three suitcases and two girls. She took me in and made room somehow, thank goodness. She pretty much saved my life.’
Which was more than she’d done for Hayley Smart two days ago, Kim thought.
‘Go on,’ she said.
‘It gave us a chance to regroup as a family, the girls and I. We were taken care of while we adjusted to being a threesome instead of a foursome. Our stay there gave me time to build the strength and confidence to take care of my girls alone.’
Kim heard the note of pride in her voice.
‘I realised I could make it on my own and that I would do whatever I needed to do to keep my girls safe. Louella gave me that confidence and Sasha responded well to counselling there too.’ She smiled. ‘Became quite good friends, the two of them.’
‘And you?’ Kim asked. ‘Did you make any friendships?’
The faint blush that coloured her cheeks belied the shake of the head. Kim understood the dynamics of places like shelters. Hospitals were similar. They were unfamiliar surroundings and people bonded. Hayley had been the exception. Hayley had always fended for herself and remained closed to those around her, but Wendy Lockwood was another story. Wendy had needed to be told she could cope alone. Wendy had needed support, handholding, friends.
Kim thought about the photos she’d seen of the Lockwoods before the scandal. They had made a very attractive couple out and about being wined, dined and treated like local celebrities to garner favour and positive reviews and recommendations on the television. Advertising that could not be bought.
Alone Wendy Lockwood was no less attractive and probably stood out amongst the women at the shelter. Some of the rules set out by Marianne may have been harder to follow for some residents than others.
‘There’s nothing to feel guilty about, Wendy,’ Kim said, taking a gamble. ‘These things happen and especially when you’re lonely and vulnerable it can…’
‘Oh no, nothing happened. It wasn’t even like that,’ she protested.
The word ‘it’ indicated that there had been something with someone.
First Blood: A completely gripping mystery thriller (A Detective Kim Stone Novel) Page 20