Bryant opened his book at the next blank page.
‘She left yesterday morning. Said she was going to Caitlin’s house and she’d be back for tea. That normally means around six so I left it a couple of hours thinking she’d just met up with more friends. I tried her mobile at about nine and it kept going straight to voicemail.’
‘What did Caitlin say?’
‘That they’d had no plans to do anything together and she’d spent the day at her grandmother’s in Enville.’
‘Does Ellie have a boyfriend?’
Mrs Greaves shook her head. ‘Not that I know of. She hasn’t mentioned any particular boy to me and I hadn’t noticed any change in her behaviour. No extra effort in her appearance or coyness, although Caitlin did say she thought Ellie had been talking to someone new on Facebook, but she checked Ellie’s list of friends and there’s no one on there that Caitlin doesn’t know.’
‘Is there anything missing from her room?’
She shook her head. ‘Nothing that I can see. All her clothes are still here and her make-up case. Only her purse, phone and backpack are gone. That’s why I couldn’t understand why the officer was so unhelpful. I knew she hadn’t run away.’
Kim nodded sympathetically. And now she had to ask the most painful question of all. The one that would have kept this woman awake for every hour since.
‘Had you recently argued?’
‘Officer, she’s sixteen. It was almost an hourly occurrence.’
And wouldn’t this woman just give everything she had to be arguing with her child right now?
‘About anything in particular?’
‘Pretty much everything but the biggest issue between us is college.’
Mrs Greaves stared off into the distance, reliving every one of those arguments.
‘Was there anything she said, anything at all that seemed strange or out of character?’ Kim asked. People often gave themselves away during arguments when they were not censoring every thought before it came out of their mouth.
‘She’d started saying she was beginning to see the bigger picture. When I asked her what she meant she just huffed and walked away as if I was proving her point for her.’
Kim knew there was little she could do here to help. There was no evidence of foul play. The girl was a resourceful sixteen-year-old. She had taken whatever money she had, her phone and she’d made a new friend that she’d kept secret.
Kim knew that her presence on Tavistock Road had simply been a mother trying to track down her child and, although unwittingly, they had raised the woman’s hopes that her daughter had returned and then made her think her daughter was dead.
‘Do you have a recent photo?’ Kim asked.
Bryant coughed and Kim ignored him. She knew the procedure. She could offer this woman no false hope that a team could be dedicated to her runaway daughter but she clearly had no one to turn to.
She reached for her handbag and took out a picture. It showed a blonde girl with pale skin and no make-up smiling into the camera. She looked younger than her sixteen years.
‘That was taken at Christmas when I gave her a new phone. I left it until last. She was so excited.’
Kim took the photo. ‘Look, Mrs Greaves, I can’t make any promises but I’ll hand this out to the neighbourhood team and ask them to keep a look out. It’s the best I can do,’ she said, as she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She ignored it.
The woman nodded her understanding and offered the ghost of a smile.
It wasn’t much but Kim hoped the woman didn’t feel quite so alone.
Mrs Greaves followed them to the door. Kim offered her a card. ‘If she turns up hungry and sorry, just give me a quick call.’
‘Thank you, officer. Thank you so much,’ the woman said, as Kim’s phone began to vibrate again.
‘Bloody hell,’ Kim said, taking it out. People who rang her in quick succession annoyed the hell out of her. If she was in a position to answer it she would.
Two missed calls from Keats.
She leaned against the car and waited. If he’d called twice, she could guarantee he was about to try again.
‘Stone,’ she answered, the second his name appeared.
‘About damn time,’ he snapped.
Her antennae reacted instantly to his mild curse. Keats rarely cursed at all.
She stood. ‘What is it?’ she asked, already fearing his response.
‘I’ll give you one good guess.’
‘Shit,’ she said, looking to Bryant.
His eyes demanded a response.
‘Looks like we’ve got another.’
THIRTY-NINE
Cristina lay on the top bunk and stared at the naked yellow light casting a sickly glow around the small room, highlighting the starkness of her surroundings.
She closed her eyes as the gentle sobbing reached her from the bunk bed opposite. Natalya reached out and touched the wall close to her thin pillow. Cristina knew that she was touching a photo of her two young daughters back in Romania, and on the end of those fingers was a kiss.
After a few minutes the gentle crying turned to a soft snore. Even the deepest sadness could not fight exhaustion.
Normally, Cristina would be close behind, following Natalya to the place of peace, the relief from the emotion, the fear, the loneliness. Sleep was what they all craved at the end of the day.
But not tonight. Cristina was wide awake.
She took the sheaf of papers from beneath her pillow and began to read the first entry dated nineteen years earlier.
Her brain switched easily between Romanian and English as she began to make notes. She had been taught well.
Today we arrived at Calais two weeks after leaving home. We ate the last of the food while we waited on an upturned wooden box.
The fear turned my stomach despite the miles we’d travelled. Romania still felt so close while we waited. The terror that we would be stopped and returned would not leave me until we crossed the water.
A man named Ralph found us as darkness fell and you nestled in my arms.
He gave me a piece of paper and ushered us to a row of tall lorries. A man stepped out of the shadows. An envelope changed hands. The curtain of the lorry opened and the man pointed.
We climbed in and over the plastic-covered boxes. We found a corner and huddled. I pulled you close and you slept. The loud hum of the engine beneath us lulled you and your breathing changed.
The lorry stopped and started before finally staying still. I prayed and I cried as you slept peacefully beside me.
I knew we were on the sea. The secret darkness around us both comforted and scared me.
No one could find us here.
Surely we were invisible to the world in this tiny darkened corner of the lorry. Suddenly I wanted to stay there for ever.
For just a few hours I felt relief. The doubts of what I’d done swirled around in my head but I tried to bury them with hope. We were going to a land with work, with food, with opportunity. We were going to be somewhere safe.
As the lorry began to move again you stirred.
You looked to me with a mixture of hope, fear and trust.
I pulled you closer and held you tight.
Your faith humbled me to tears. I knew that we would be fine as long as we had each other.
Cristina put the pencil to the side and wiped away the tears that were streaming down her face.
FORTY
Kim pulled up at the cordon which stretched across the road and restricted access to a car wash on one side and the entrance to a small playground on the other.
The building itself was a dated, single-storey brick structure with a doorway at each end. One marked ‘Ladies’ and one marked ‘Gents’.
‘Bloody classy,’ Kim muttered approaching the public conveniences at the end of Brierley Hill High Street.
No badges were required. The guarding officer was a constable they knew well. He lifted the tape and they ducked underneath.
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‘What do we know?’ Kim asked.
‘Further update identifies her as Donna Hill.’
‘Oh Jesus,’ Kim sighed. Although the girl had barely spoken the other night Kim did remember the trembling that had nothing to do with the temperature.
Kim spotted a foot as she stepped into the entrance of the Ladies. Kim didn’t care who the girl was, or what she’d done. To meet her end here filled her with a mixture of revulsion and sadness.
Keats looked up from his kneeling position and opened his mouth to speak. Kim was in no mood for any wisecracks and cut him short.
‘Not here and not now,’ she said, stepping around the pathologist.
The body lay as though it had fallen or slid to the ground. The knees were bent and she lay partly on her side. Her high heels remained firmly attached to her feet. Her bare legs did not appear bruised and her skirt, although short, was in position around her thighs. The yellow T-shirt had been dyed crimson from the blood. The lightweight jacket was thin and had offered no protection against the temperature.
‘Two stab wounds to the back and one to the front.’
‘To the back?’ Kim asked. The assailant had followed her into the toilets.
Keats nodded. ‘Small amount of blood loss but the third wound was the fatal one.’
‘Any sign of sexual assault?’ Kim asked Keats.
‘I haven’t moved her yet. Waited for you good folks to arrive. No obvious signs at this point.’
Kim studied the face in detail as the photographer took the last few shots. The pink eye shadow was smudged on the left-hand side. The poor skin condition was beginning to fight through the layers of foundation and concealer. Her lips were free of make-up.
‘Definitely need to find out who her last client was,’ Kim said, as Bryant appeared beside her. ‘Because it wasn’t long afterwards. She’s made no effort to re-apply her make-up so either she didn’t have time or she was done for the night and on her way home.’
Bryant made a note.
‘Guv, she was found by that lady over there. She’s a long-distance lorry driver. Took a wrong turn after driving most of the night and parked up quickly to use the toilet. Norwegian, I think, but speaks reasonably good English.’
‘Anything suspicious about her?’
At this point everyone was a suspect.
Bryant shook his head. ‘Not that I can see. Her consignment notes confirm that she’s heading for Norton and took a wrong turn off the Stourbridge ring road. Couldn’t find anywhere to turn her rig around.’
‘That’s lorry to you and me,’ Keats said to her.
‘And she’s still whiter than the snow she’s sitting on. Got her details in case we need her later but the FOA is taking a detailed statement.’
Kim nodded her understanding. The first officer attending appeared to have done a good job of securing the scene and witnesses.
Kim stepped back, away from the technicians, and surveyed the scene for a second. The woman had been attacked from behind as she’d entered the public conveniences. Her gut told her that meant something but she had no clue what.
Bryant joined her as Keats gently turned the victim onto her back.
‘Definitely not moved,’ he said, pointing to the purple staining of her skin.
Lividity had pooled down her entire right side. Kim had seen it many times before. Upon death the blood in the body travels to the lowest point and stains like a birthmark.
Keats gently moved aside her clothing looking for signs of sexual assault.
‘Nothing obvious around her thighs or breast area, Inspector.’
‘Approximate time?’ she asked.
Keats took out the rectal probe.
Kim really didn’t feel the need to watch any more.
She reached down and dislodged the gold lamé handbag. Bryant opened an evidence bag ready as she carefully clicked the clasp. Inside she saw clutches of cash, a supermarket brand lipstick, a compact with powder, a selection of condoms and a house key.
She very carefully lifted out the clutch of notes closest to the top of the bag. The roll was thicker than the other one.
She opened it up and counted it.
She frowned at Bryant.
‘It’s £40 and it’s all in £5 notes.’
FORTY-ONE
‘Okay, boys and girls, where are we?’ Kim asked.
‘Board updated, boss,’ Penn offered.
Kim had already noted that the wipe board had been cut in half and Donna’s details now headed the right-hand side.
‘Okay, let’s crack on. I don’t want to divide that board again. What else you got, Penn?’
‘Exhumation Licence for Lauren Goddard has been sent to Environmental Health who are currently drawing straws to see who attends. Funeral Directors are confirmed and the crematorium is on standby awaiting the exact time.’
Kim nodded. If she was honest she did wonder what the exhumation would reveal but if there was something untoward surrounding this girl’s death it might just shake the murderer out of the woodwork. At the very least the person responsible would know that her death had not been forgotten.
‘Anything more on the link from Kelly Rowe to Kai Lord?’ she asked, sticking with Penn.
It still bothered her that there was no clear trail from the young mother to the gang leader. How the hell had their paths crossed?
He shook his head. ‘Spoke to a neighbour of hers named Roxanne Shaw who confirmed everything we already know about her. Nice girl, no boyfriend and lived quietly with her daughter. Neighbour had no clue she was a prostitute until she saw it on the news.’
Damn Kelly Rowe for being so good at keeping secrets.
‘Registration numbers?’ she asked.
‘Still tracking that BMW, boss, but I might have something good for you in a minute,’ he said, looking at his screen.
‘Kev?’ she said, glancing across the room.
‘Currently trying to identify Romanian links to our victim at the canal,’ he said.
‘And those injuries?’ she asked. Keats had sent the post-mortem report to her email.
He shook his head. ‘Horrific,’ he answered.
‘Recent or historic ones?’
‘Both,’ he answered. ‘His leg looked like a three-storey building had fallen on it and there was little of his body that had escaped injury over the years. Six broken ribs, a fractured collarbone, small breaks around his head, eye, temple and nose probably from being punched.’
‘How about his hands?’ Kim asked.
Dawson frowned, thoughtfully. ‘Not too much damage, actually,’ he said.
She decided to let that just filter into his brain. It would fertilise a cell eventually.
‘So he could still work?’ Stacey said.
Kim shrugged. Okay it had fertilised the wrong brain but as a team they were working well and following up leads and clues effectively.
‘Any fresh leads on the child?’ she asked.
‘We’re gonna try the factory again,’ Stacey offered, tentatively.
‘Was that a question or a statement?’ Kim asked, narrowing her gaze at the constable.
‘Statement,’ she answered.
‘Good idea,’ she agreed.
The folks at Robertson’s had been given enough leeway and the story about the minibus had touched something on the back of her neck too.
A tentative shadow appeared at the doorway.
‘Marm, may I?’
‘Come in, Sergeant Evans.’
As he entered he glanced sideways at the board. He swallowed.
‘It’s true then?’
Kim nodded. ‘Donna Hill was murdered late last night.’
The sergeant shook his head. ‘She wasn’t a bad kid, though some would disagree.’
Kim looked after him. ‘Where’s happy chappy today?’
‘Called in sick. Stomach bug or something. I had a message you wanted to see me.’
‘That was me,’ Bryant said, standing.
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br /> He retrieved a clutch of papers from the printer and passed them across.
‘Can you hand these out to a few of your guys. Her name is Ellie Greaves and she’s been missing since Sunday night.’
Sergeant Evans took a good look at the picture.
‘This isn’t an official missing person’s case,’ Kim clarified. ‘She is sixteen years of age and has most likely taken a breather for a couple of days but if you guys could just keep an eye out for her we’d be grateful.’ She nodded towards Penn. ‘We have her phone number and will be trying to get in touch with her as well.’
He nodded. ‘Of course, Marm.’
He turned to leave and took another look at the board. His shoulders slumped a little and he shook his head again.
Kim understood. The ‘beat boys’, as Dawson called them, spent a lot of time out on the streets. They liaised with local businesses and were the primary face of the police force. Their designated areas were like extensions of their own homes. It was their patch; their area of protection.
These girls would have been more than a name on a board. The beat officers would know their backgrounds, about their kids, their lives. Deaths on the beat were taken very personally.
‘Thank you, Sergeant,’ she said as he disappeared from sight.
‘Yes, got it,’ Penn cried.
‘I hope it’s not catching,’ Stacey quipped.
‘The Toyota from the other night, boss,’ Penn continued.
‘I thought we’d eliminated that from our enquiries,’ Kim said. The registered owner was a seventy-nine-year-old male with severe physical disabilities.
‘Couldn’t understand why our registered owner would be out at that time of night, so I ran a search again yesterday, and another hit came up – for the AutoTrader website – and there it was for sale, a month ago. Tried to ring Mr Bingham but he doesn’t hear so well. Went to see him and he confirmed he’d sold the car but couldn’t remember the name of the man who’d bought it.’
‘Any description?’
He smiled ruefully. ‘Average height, average build, mousy hair but he was wearing a green Puffa jacket.’
‘Get an urgent bolo out on that guy,’ Dawson said, shaking his head.
Broken Bones: A gripping serial killer thriller (Detective Kim Stone Crime Thriller Series Book 7) Page 14