Broken Bones: A gripping serial killer thriller (Detective Kim Stone Crime Thriller Series Book 7)

by Angela Marsons

  Kim had to admit that the kid dressed like no other prostitute she had ever known. Her denim jacket was too thin and her trainers had tell-tale dark patches along the sides where they were taking on water.

  ‘You trying to find punters at this time of day?’

  Gemma looked to the left, to the right and, realising there was no escape, she faced Kim head-on. ‘There’s sometimes packs of biscuits on the counter in there but what’s it to you?’

  ‘Oh, I always take special interest in anyone who tries to kill me,’ Kim snapped. ‘Especially the ones that prove me wrong.’

  ‘Fuck off,’ Gemma said. The right-hand side of her mouth lifted in a puppy snarl.

  ‘What do you know about a girl named Lauren Goddard?’

  ‘Who?’ she asked, wrinkling up her face.

  Kim remembered her nickname. ‘Jazzy.’

  ‘The one that topped herself?’

  Kim nodded.

  Gemma shrugged. ‘Just a kid, really,’ she said. ‘Sixteen, I think.’

  Kim wondered if Gemma realised just how little the two-year age difference between them was.

  ‘Didn’t know her well but she was busy as fuck, if you know what I mean,’ she said.

  ‘Because of her age?’

  Gemma nodded and attempted to step to the side.

  Kim stood in her way. ‘What about this weirdo who works with kids?’

  ‘Rapid Rodge?’ Gemma clarified.

  Kim remembered what Tim had said about being quick. ‘Sounds right. What’s his story?’

  ‘Comes quick, goes quick, easy money. Nobody minds him. Pays well considering…’

  ‘Considering what?’ Kim asked

  Gemma scrunched up her face. ‘You paying me for this time or what?’

  ‘That’ll be “or what” or I could arrest you for attempted murder. That’d give us plenty of time to talk.’

  Gemma changed her expression to bored. ‘You woulda done it by now. I ain’t stupid.’

  Kim left that hanging.

  ‘Considering what?’ she repeated.

  ‘It’s a hand job. Thirty quid for giving him a wank. Not even a blowie, just a—’

  ‘Okay,’ Kim said. She got the picture. ‘Is that why you think he’s weird?’

  Gemma nodded.

  ‘So, what about Kelly Rowe, you know her well?’

  ‘Well enough. She was all right. She had brains.’

  ‘How do you know?’ Kim asked. Gemma wasn’t on the streets full time. Just when she couldn’t con someone into giving her a meal.

  ‘Helped me out with a letter to the council when they tried to take my mum’s house while she was banged up.’

  ‘So, you’re still out here doing this, even though one of your mates…’

  ‘Hey, she wasn’t a fucking mate. There ain’t no mates out here. You know it’s every pro for themselves.’

  ‘Not that I give a shit but can’t you get something to eat…’

  ‘You gonna cook me a meal?’ Gemma asked.

  ‘Yeah, tried that and look where it got me,’ Kim said.

  Silence fell between them.

  Gemma pushed her hands deep into her pockets. ‘That guy… that night… Shane…’

  ‘Don’t you dare,’ Kim thundered. ‘Don’t you bloody dare to pretend you give one shit for that lad.’

  She turned and began to move away, wondering if there would ever be a time when the memory of his blood-soaked body in her lap would not cause her physical pain.

  Shane had been one of Alex’s early victims. A survivor of systematic sexual abuse by his uncle, he had been naively duped by Alex’s promises to rid him of the self-loathing that had shaped his whole life. Instead of keeping her promise, she had broken him completely until his only option had been death. And he’d chosen to do that in her home, in her arms, on her kitchen floor, but not before he had tried to protect her from Gemma.

  She didn’t talk about Shane with anyone and she certainly wouldn’t do it with this vicious kid who had been the catalyst for the whole thing.

  She was almost at the car when she heard Gemma shout behind her.

  ‘Hey, how’d I prove you wrong?’ she asked.

  Kim turned and faced her. ‘By doing someone else’s dirty work, Gemma. I really thought you were made of stronger stuff than that.’

  Kim was surprised to see the frisson of hurt that flashed in her eyes.

  Good, now who the hell was Rapid Rodge?

  THIRTY

  Dawson watched as Stacey stole right back under her cloak of familiarity. Sitting in the corner pounding away at the keys. Searching for information was right back in her comfort zone.

  Penn had been heading out just as they’d arrived mumbling something about having a lead on Kelly Rowe’s last customer.

  Stacey glanced up and met his gaze.

  ‘Stop watching me,’ she said.

  ‘Just checking you’re hard at it,’ he joked.

  ‘I’m fine, Kev, now just leave me alone.’

  He sat back in his chair. ‘So, Stace, how do you know when enough therapy is enough?’ he asked. He had refused all offers of help back when he’d been badly beaten but his situation had been nothing compared to Stacey’s.

  She drew her eyes back to the screen. ‘I just know,’ she said, honestly.

  ‘Shouldn’t the professional decide when you’re done?’ he pushed.

  ‘Kev, fuck off. It ay your business, so—’

  ‘All right, I’ll quit bugging you if you just answer this one question.’

  Stacey thought for a moment. ‘Okay, first few weeks I was grateful for the help. I didn’t fight him. I talked and I talked and then I talked some more and then I got to the point where I just didn’t want to talk about it any more. It happened, I lived and it’s over.’

  Dawson understood her words but still wasn’t sure.

  ‘The thing is, Stace, if it was a physical injury the doctor would say you were healed, that your bones had mended and you were fit and well. How is that different with a therapist?’

  ‘For you, Kev, that’s not a bad question. But let me ask you something. What helps events like this become a part of the past?’

  ‘Time,’ he answered.

  Stacey shook her head. ‘Not so much. It’s events, it’s actual things happening. Did you ever go on a day trip as a kid?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And when you got home at night it felt like days since you’d left the house?’

  ‘Yeah, but…’

  ‘It wasn’t because of the time that had passed, it was because of how much you’d done, what you’d managed to fit into that time. Between my sessions, events would occur and push the incident back into my past and then I’d have to go and talk about it all over again.’ She looked at him earnestly. ‘I need it to be over, Kev,’ she said.

  ‘Are you still scared?’ he asked, gently.

  ‘Sometimes, just now and again but more therapy isn’t going to make that go away.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll quit bugging you now.’

  ‘Good, you should worry about your own problems. How is your missus by the way?’

  ‘Pissed off,’ he admitted.

  Stacey pulled a face. ‘What you been doing?’

  ‘You automatically assume I’ve done something wrong.’

  She thought for a minute. ‘Yeah.’

  He shrugged. ‘Just been getting home a bit late, that’s all.’

  She regarded him seriously. ‘Well, maybe you should stop doing whatever it is you’re doing that’s making you late home.’

  For a moment he wondered if Stacey knew exactly what he was doing after work. He dismissed the thought. No, she couldn’t know.

  ‘Hey, Stace, maybe you could give her a call. Tell her I’ve been hanging out with you,’ he said, raising one eyebrow.

  ‘Feck off, Kev. You’re big enough to look after yourself.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ he said, with a half-smile. ‘So, what you got?’
<
br />   She had been digging into the family and the business, and he had been looking for information on the foreman, Nicolae.

  ‘So, Janette Robertson was born in 1967 and raised on Hollytree,’ Stacey said. ‘We’re talking back in the seventies so it wasn’t gang-controlled like it is now. Still not the nicest place to live,’ she said. ‘But our Janette wasn’t going to let that stop her. She did a paper round six days a week, left school with decent grades, went to college for two years and then on to uni to finish her business degree.’

  ‘Is that where she met her husband?’

  Stacey shook her head. ‘A couple of years later. It wasn’t a long courtship and they married in 1993.’

  Dawson tried to quell his boredom. ‘All very interesting but—’

  ‘It gets better. They started their knock-off handbag business from the garden shed. Focussed on car boots. Eventually moved to a tiny unit in Brierley Hill in ’99. Moved to current premises in 2006. Got raided six years ago, as you know. Anyway, hubby ran off with the Russian maid four years ago taking the majority of the joint account with him.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Stace,’ he said, checking his watch. ‘Not bad for an hour’s work.’

  She grinned. ‘I’ve showed you mine now you show me yours.’

  ‘Well, I’ve not really got a lot to…’

  Stacey punched the air showing her triumph. This was her arena and she would be victorious.

  ‘Don’t worry, Kev, I’m sure—’

  She stopped speaking as his phone rang.

  He mouthed ‘Keats’ and put it on loudspeaker.

  ‘Sergeant, the copies of the notebook are ready when you’re passing, which I suggest should be reasonably soon.’

  ‘Everything okay?’ Dawson asked, frowning.

  ‘There are some things I would like you to see. Our friend here has much more to say than I thought.’

  THIRTY-ONE

  Ellie folded the last item of clothing neatly on the chair beside the bed. The wardrobe was right in front of her but something stopped her from accepting that level of permanence. Although only a couple of days she felt she had been here with Roxanne for much longer.

  The emotion gathered in her throat when she thought of her own room back at home, her own wardrobe full of her own possessions. Her clothes and trainers strewn around the room, some just inches from the place they were meant to be. And how magically a couple of times each week the items would somehow find their way home.

  Sometimes she felt an overwhelming sense of homesickness and the next moment she felt a burning rage at her mother for not calling to check on her.

  How could her mother be so cold?

  How was her mother simply carrying on life without her? Almost as though she had never existed. One minute she wanted to confront her and ask when she had stopped caring at all. The next she wanted to ring and tell her mother she was never coming home. Sometimes she thought about her mother’s flat refusal to entertain her dreams of becoming a mechanic and reasoned that maybe teaching her a lesson was not such a bad thing.

  And then, just once or twice, when the house had made unfamiliar noises, she had experienced a slow sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. An ache for her own room which had led her right back to visions of her mother, and the cycle would start all over again.

  Ellie really had no wish to leave Roxanne. She could feel a bond forming between them and she knew that whatever happened the two of them would be friends for life.

  But a part of her sought answers from her mother so she could let it go, resolve it in her mind. Perhaps then she could come back.

  Ellie thought about Roxanne. The woman hadn’t bargained on getting lumbered with a teenager for days. She had been wonderful and patient but Ellie felt sure that Roxanne had put her own life on hold, not least because of what had happened as soon as she’d arrived.

  As Ellie headed downstairs she felt relieved. She knew what she had to do. It was time to let Roxanne get on with her life and it was time for her to confront her mother.

  Ellie ventured into the kitchen. The beginnings of a home-made lasagne were littered on the work surface. Two mugs waited by the kettle to be filled.

  She felt an ache in her throat. Somehow in a couple of days a routine had developed between them. Ellie wanted nothing more than to just forget all her problems and stay within the uncomplicated safety of Roxanne’s home. She had to release the rage at her mother and then she would be able to move on with her life.

  She checked the lounge. The carpet was vacuumed and the cushions fluffed but no Roxanne.

  She headed back upstairs and stood beside Roxanne’s bedroom door. She heard a small sob from inside the room.

  ‘Roxanne,’ Ellie called.

  A brief hesitation. ‘Yeah, yeah, I’ll be out in a minute.’

  Ellie heard the thickness in her voice and knew immediately that Roxanne was not okay.

  She opened the door gently. Roxanne sat on the floor at the foot of her double bed beside a drawer that slid from beneath. Her head was down and her shoulders trembled. Ellie crossed the distance between them and sat beside her.

  ‘Roxanne, what is it, what’s wrong?’

  She shook her head, and grabbed for a tissue tucked into her sleeve.

  ‘It’s nothing, honestly, I’m fine.’ She raised her head. The rims of her eyes were raw, her eyes sad. Despite her words Ellie could see that Roxanne’s lower lip still trembled with emotion.

  ‘Roxanne, please tell me what’s wrong.’

  ‘Just memories, sweetie,’ Roxanne said, raising her gaze and staring at the wall.

  Ellie looked down into the drawer.

  Photographs were scattered face down. One was face up. Ellie reached for it. A young girl in her early teens with long silky blonde hair bobbed her tongue out at the camera. Her eyes were alight with mischievousness.

  ‘Who is this?’ Ellie asked.

  ‘My sister,’ Roxanne said as she dabbed at her eyes.

  ‘I remember that day; we were at Stourport. Just a few miles down the road but we were so excited. It felt like holiday to us. There was a fun fair; the sun was shining. It could have been a hundred miles away.’

  Roxanne reached across and took the photo. She touched the face of the child. ‘We were so close. I loved her so much.’

  Ellie watched as Roxanne’s tears fell onto the polaroid.

  Ellie didn’t want to ask the next question and she was saved the trouble.

  ‘She died,’ Roxanne said, quietly.

  Ellie felt her throat thicken. She had never had siblings but the deep hurt she felt in Roxanne touched her. She reached across and took Roxanne’s hand.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, hearing her own emotion.

  Roxanne lifted her head. Her cheeks were wet with tears. She squeezed Ellie’s hand and smiled. ‘You remind me of her so much. I think that’s why we bonded so quickly. I feel like I’ve known you for ever.’

  Ellie felt the tears stinging her eyes as she squeezed Roxanne’s hand in response. She felt the same way.

  Roxanne swallowed bravely. ‘Look, I know you have to leave but I’ve just enjoyed having you here.’

  Ellie nodded and leaned across and hugged Roxanne’s slim frame. She blinked away the tears.

  ‘How about I go and make us a nice cup of tea?’

  Roxanne nodded and took a deep breath.

  As she headed down the stairs, Ellie knew she could not leave Roxanne quite yet. Her friend needed her.

  So, for now, her mother would just have to wait.

  THIRTY-TWO

  ‘Got a minute, sir?’ Kim asked, popping her head around the door.

  Woody looked up from his desk and peered at her over his glasses.

  ‘Come in, Stone.’

  She sat on the opposite side of the desk and pulled her chair forward. Most people would have pulled back from the desk a little. Woody did not.

  Kim reached for the stress ball he always kept nearby and handed it to
him.

  ‘Here, sir, you might need this.’

  He took it from her and placed it back. ‘Already been used today, thanks, Stone. Now what do you want?’

  ‘An exhumation, sir.’

  ‘Connected to this current case?’

  ‘I honestly have no idea.’

  He frowned and glanced towards the stress ball but stopped himself from reaching for it.

  ‘Then I’d like an explanation for your request.’

  ‘Sir, Kelly Rowe was murdered by multiple stab wounds. She was working as a prostitute secretly while living with her mother and her young child. Kelly was under the protection of Kai Lord, if you can call it that, but there’s a rumour she was planning to bounce.’

  He needed no explanation. He knew the term just as well as she did.

  ‘All very interesting and so far nothing that would not be contained in your daily briefing to me.’

  ‘I’m still troubled by the link from Kai Lord to Kelly in the first place but I’ll keep working on that.’

  ‘Do you think Lord would kill one of his own girls?’

  Kim shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He’s not a stupid man and, whichever way you look at it, Kelly’s death means a loss of income for the scumbag but if he heard about her intention, I’m not sure how much his pride is worth.’

  Woody nodded his understanding. Kai Lord was one man they would both like to put behind bars but all past efforts had failed miserably.

  ‘Stone, will your reason for an exhumation request arrive any time before my retirement?’

  ‘Sir, an anonymous note was put through my letterbox late last night. It simply stated a name: Lauren Goddard, also known as Jazzy, a young prostitute who committed suicide by throwing herself from the top of a tower block two weeks ago, on Christmas Day.’

  He waited for more. ‘And?’

  Kim shrugged. ‘That’s all I have, sir. At this point I can see no connection between the two women but the one thing I can’t get away from is that someone wants me to find out more about either the life or death of this kid. I’m working on the former and I know that finding out more about her death was a bit of a long shot, but…’

  ‘Look, Stone, you know the process involved for exhuming a body. You’ve not really come close to justifying probable cause.’