‘Never get injured at work, Detective Inspector?’
‘Not by the people I work for,’ she snapped.
‘Just fuck off, will you?’
Kim stood and touched Sal’s left arm. ‘Okay, I’ll go but I’m not giving up on you, Sal.’
Sal didn’t move her arm or speak for a few seconds. When the words came Kim could hear the thickness in her voice.
‘Eventually you’re gonna have to.’
Kim turned away, thinking that Sal might be right.
But she always came back to the same memory. Foster family three, the Nelson family. Mr Nelson had owned his own hardware business and Mrs Nelson had been a part-time dinner lady. The care workers had been overjoyed at their willingness to take a nine-year-old and an eleven-year-old together. It was the only time they’d ever shared a foster home.
Each Saturday morning Mr Nelson would head off to his premises to tidy up and stocktake his business. The first Saturday he’d taken Sal with him. Upon their return Sal had been quiet and pensive but would not say a word. The following week Mr Nelson had told Kim it was her turn. Sal had immediately stepped in front of her and said she wanted to go again. And so it went every Saturday.
Kim had not fully understood at the time but later she had come to realise what happened at the hardware store on a Saturday morning and that she had been spared because of Sal.
She thought about the woman lying in a hospital bed because she’d tried to help her once again.
So, no, she wasn’t prepared to give up on her. Not just yet.
SIXTY-ONE
Dawson pulled onto the drive behind the silver Corsa and sighed heavily.
It was almost eleven and he’d been out of the house since 7 a.m. If Alison was awake there was going to be an argument. He had considered telling her the truth but she wouldn’t understand. He shook his head at the thought of the phrase, ‘my wife/girlfriend/fiancé doesn’t understand me’. But on this occasion it would be accurate.
She’d been cool on the phone when he’d called to explain it was another late night at work. The tightness of her voice had signalled that she didn’t believe him. And, of course, she was right. Stacey had left hours ago.
Some nights she chose not to argue at all. She simply deigned not to speak a word. Those nights were worse than the all-out arguments.
He knew that she was tired. He knew that Charlotte was into everything and only yesterday had chosen to shove a red crayon in her ear and call it an antler. He knew that by seven Alison was exhausted and barely able to see straight. Right at the time he should have been coming back and giving her a hand.
He took a deep, preparatory breath and entered his home. As the light switched on he noticed two things: the dining table had been set for a candlelit dinner and there was a pillow and blankets on the sofa.
‘I thought you were joking,’ she said, quietly.
Damn it, she’d been waiting for him in the dark.
‘I really thought you were going to walk in and surprise me.’
He noted the Daniel Wellington box on his side of the table. He’d mentioned a few weeks ago their classic Durham silver watch.
She stood. ‘I thought there was no way you’d forget it was four years today since we met, Kev. Obviously I was wrong.’
He could not bear to look at the hurt in her eyes. Even after all the late nights, the arguments, the bitter silences, she had bought him the gift he had wanted. And she was right. He hadn’t even remembered.
‘What’s this?’ he asked, sitting next to the pillow.
‘Your bed for the night,’ she said, leaning against the door frame.
Finally, he looked at her and saw the accusation and pain on her face.
He turned away and removed his jacket. There was nothing to say.
‘Whatever it is you’re up to you’re not bringing it into the same bed as me,’ she spat.
He undid his tie and threw it over the back of the sofa.
Alison allowed the silence to build between them. She knew that he could be as stubborn as she was.
Tonight he didn’t trust himself to speak.
‘You do know we’re reaching a point from which we can’t return?’
He stared down at the carpet, unable to meet the intensity of her gaze. He wondered if the reason for his deceit was worth this and, damn it, yes it was.
‘You’re a selfish bastard, Kevin Dawson,’ she said, heading towards the stairs.
Oh yes, I’m definitely that, he thought to himself as he lay down to sleep.
SIXTY-TWO
Kim parked her car behind Bryant’s Astra outside the crematorium building on Powke Lane in Rowley Regis. The mechanical yellow digger surrounded by white suits beneath the portable floodlights were at the top left-hand side of the site. She blew a kiss to her right and hoped it found her twin brother, Mikey.
She headed up the single-track road as a mixture of grit and ice crunched beneath her boots. Only one entrance to the site had been opened and was being guarded by a police constable.
The temperature had stabilised at -1 ̊C but was expected to drop to -3 ̊C before 2 a.m.
‘Everyone here?’ Kim asked, as Bryant walked towards her.
All parties were already wearing protective suits and face masks. Bryant handed her the last set. Clearly introductions had taken place prior to her arrival and Bryant began to point and name for her benefit.
‘Gravedigger, Environmental Health, undertaker and assistant, crem manager, photographer, pathologist, and police,’ he said, pointing at Keats and then at the two of them.
The last had not been necessary, she thought, as she stepped into the white overalls.
‘And Keats has already grumbled about your time-keeping,’ he added.
Kim shrugged. A lot seemed to have happened in the few hours since she’d last seen her partner.
‘Are you ready?’ Keats asked her shortly.
She nodded as she put the face mask on her head.
Keats instructed everyone to step back as the gravedigger mounted the JCB. The area had been marked out but no headstone had yet been installed. The grave was only ten days old. The photographer stepped in and took a photo.
She stepped forward too, her eyes drawn to the walkway that ran behind the grassed area. She frowned as the digger rumbled into action.
‘Stop,’ she cried, holding up her hand.
The crematorium manager immediately repeated her action and the digger silenced.
She took another step forward and bent to the ground. ‘Was this removed from the grave?’ she asked, glancing at the snow-spattered wreath of pine cones, holly and berries.
The manager nodded.
Kim swore under her breath. ‘Who touched it?’
The manager looked around. ‘Just me,’ he said.
Keats reached into his case and produced an evidence bag. She chose a sprig of holly unlikely to have been touched by anyone handling the wreath and lifted it into the bag. Keats took it and marked it up.
‘You gonna get a full DNA workup done on that?’ Bryant asked, as the digger kicked into life once more.
‘What do you think?’
‘Woody will be chuffed,’ Bryant said.
‘Someone valued this girl enough to leave flowers and I want to know who it was.’
They stepped back as the digger broke ground.
‘So, where’ve you been?’
‘Umm… home, community centre on Hollytree, and Russells Hall hospital. How about you?’
‘Just home for a bite to eat and to reintroduce myself to the wife.’
‘Slacker,’ she said, watching the bucket make light work of the frozen earth.
The Environmental Health rep stepped forward and got in the way of the photographer. Kim was unsure of his purpose. His responsibility was to ensure that the body was treated with respect at all times. They were a good four feet away from a coffin.
Suddenly the digger stopped and the crem manager nodded towards
Keats.
Keats took a scoop from his toolbag and burrowed it into the digger bucket.
‘We’re getting close,’ she said to Bryant.
‘What’s he doing?’ her colleague asked.
‘Taking soil samples,’ Kim answered. He would also take a sample from below and each side of the coffin to ensure the body had not been contaminated by anything from outside the coffin.
‘So, who is in hospital?’ Bryant asked.
‘Sal,’ she answered.
‘Because of what happened the—’
‘Obviously,’ she said, shortly. That her actions had caused injury to a woman she had known all her life was not sitting well on her shoulders.
‘Listen, guv, she’s made her own…’
Kim stepped away from him. There was absolutely nothing he could say that was going to make her feel any better.
The coffin of Lauren Goddard appeared and was placed into the waiting casket that would prevent any liquid from escaping prior to analysis.
For a moment every person present fell silent as they each appreciated the enormity of removing a body from what should have been its final resting place.
The environmental officer stepped forward and checked the name on the brass plate matched the name on the licence. He scribbled something down and then nodded that the process could continue.
‘Opened?’ asked the crem manager.
Keats shook his head.
Kim knew that sometimes a coffin was opened at site to allow the gases to escape into the air rather than the morgue and for the pathologist to visually check the condition of the bones in case damage occurred in transit. She’d seen the vulnerable points of the hands and feet wrapped to ensure nothing escaped.
But due to the recent burial Keats was obviously happy for everything to take place at the morgue.
The funeral director, his assistant, the crem manager and the gravedigger carried the coffin gingerly to the hearse.
No one spoke until the hearse doors closed.
‘I’ve read the file and studied the report,’ Keats said, with a tight expression. ‘So what are we hoping to achieve here, Inspector?’
Kim could feel his disapproval. His respect for his customers dictated that someone needed a bloody good reason for disturbing their remains.
‘I honestly have no idea, Keats. But someone thinks she’s hiding something.’
And he had 48 hours to find out what before Lauren had to be returned to the ground. She could feel the aggravation bubbling within him but was saved by the ringing of his mobile phone.
Kim silently thanked them, whoever they were. She turned away and headed towards Bryant as the hearse slowly pulled away.
‘Okay, Bryant, I’ll meet you—’
‘Not so fast, Inspector,’ Keats said, ending his call. ‘The lab appears to be working late this evening and I have some news that might be of interest to you.’
She turned back towards him.
‘That car, the Toyota, traces of blood were found in the passenger seat footwell.’
‘Go on,’ she urged.
‘Belonging to our first victim, Kelly Rowe.’
SIXTY-THREE
Kim took her temporary new spot at the head of the room. The whiteboard had been updated and divided into three. Lauren Goddard had taken the third column.
‘Okay, guys, look lively. We have a lot to get through,’ she said. ‘As you know, Lauren Goddard was exhumed in the early hours of the morning, and Bryant and I will be heading over to Keats as soon as we can. The lab has confirmed that traces of blood from Kelly Rowe, who was murdered on Saturday night, were found in Roger Barton’s Toyota but nothing from Donna Hill who was killed on Monday night?’
‘Different killers?’ Penn asked.
Kim considered. ‘Possible but unlikely,’ she said. The murder of two prostitutes in the same week by different killers didn’t feel right to her.
‘Penn, can you update on Donna’s background?’ she asked.
He whistled. ‘Oh yeah. Donna Hammond-Hill is the daughter of Louisa Hammond-Hill and the late Peter Hammond-Hill.’
‘Wasn’t he that famous architect who won the contract to design the Grand Tower in the centre of Birmingham?’ Dawson asked.
Penn nodded. ‘Yeah, died suddenly before he had a chance to get started. Massive heart attack.’
‘And Donna?’ Kim asked.
‘Donna attended Heathcrest Academy from the age of four and a half until five months after her father’s death. Expelled for constant fighting. Put a girl in hospital.’
‘Guessing she didn’t deal with her father’s death all that well,’ Bryant said.
‘And her mother?’ Kim asked.
‘Is currently on her way to identify the body,’ Penn answered. ‘She’s expecting you to visit the family home this morning.’
Kim was very interested to understand Donna’s journey from the carefree, vibrant girl in the photo to the emaciated, desperate young lady in the morgue.
‘Okay, we’re still looking at Jeremy Templeton. There’s something not quite right there, and although he’s been warned to leave the area I have a sneaky suspicion that he won’t go until he gets what he came for.’
‘What’s he like? This man who likes sex with young girls,’ Dawson asked.
‘Not how you’d imagine,’ Kim offered. ‘Good-looking, athletic, well-spoken and clearly well off.’
He looked nonplussed. ‘Then why the hell…’
‘Come on, Kev,’ Stacey said. ‘You know appearances doe count for nothing. Remember Ted Bundy. Not every deviant looks like Fred West.’
‘So, his name stays current, and Penn, carry on digging.’
‘Nothing incriminating yet.’
‘Okay, and keep pinging Ellie Greaves’s phone. I promised her mother an update today. And right now the only thing I can confirm is that we don’t have an unidentified body.’
‘It’s been on and off since yesterday but nowhere long enough to get a fix.’
‘Keep trying,’ she said.
She turned to Dawson. ‘Where are you two at?’
She saw his frustration. ‘Spoke to the employees at Robertson’s, who all spouted the exact same script. We have a thin link from our canal guy to the bag factory.’
‘Which is?’
‘Sarmale,’ Stacey answered. ‘A Romanian dish of cabbage and meat. Contents were in our guy’s stomach.’
Kim raised one eyebrow. ‘Is that it?’
They looked at each other and then back at her.
‘Yeah, but we did follow the minibus back to where all the girls live. Telling you, boss,’ Dawson said, ‘something there is not right.’
‘Immigration have put out feelers and are suspicious of what they’ve found,’ Stacey offered.
‘Or more like what they haven’t found,’ Dawson explained. ‘No complaints, no whispers, no rumours. We’re tagging along this morning.’
Giving them the green light to continue to focus on Robertson’s was risking a complaint of harassment but she trusted Dawson’s instinct almost as much as she trusted her own. The planned raid on the factory would be the responsibility of Immigration but the prompt had come from them.
‘Keep on it,’ she instructed, looking around the room. ‘Anything else?’
Everyone shook their heads.
‘Okay, get to it,’ she said.
Dawson and Stacey were out of the door first as Bryant reached for his jacket. She did the same and nodded for Bryant to carry on without her.
‘Penn, there’s something else I want you to look at but it stays between us.’
‘Of course, boss.’
‘I want you to find me anything you can on Ian Skitt.’
Penn looked puzzled. ‘You talking about that young neighbourhood constable guy?’
‘Yep, that’s the one. But it goes no further, okay?’
Penn nodded his understanding.
There was something there that felt a little off but it
was a feeling that was growling in her gut and she was not prepared to muddy his name unless she had a good reason.
And she bloody well hoped there was no good reason to find.
SIXTY-FOUR
Stacey rubbed her hands feverishly to get some heat to the end of her fingers.
‘What’s the high today?’ she asked.
‘Two degrees,’ he said, turning up the heat in the car.
‘Great,’ she moaned.
They’d been sitting opposite the trading estate for twenty minutes waiting for Devon and her team. The minibus had entered ten minutes earlier, at 8.55 a.m.
‘Stace?’
‘Yeah,’ she answered.
‘Never mind.’
‘Okay,’ she said.
‘It’s just…’
‘What?’
‘It’s nothing. Doesn’t matter.’
‘Jesus, Kev. Go on, ask me the damn question,’ she snapped.
‘Why the hell did you blow her off?’
It was the question she’d been waiting for. She said nothing.
‘She’s totally gorgeous.’
‘Yep,’ she said.
‘Sexy as hell.’
‘Yep,’ she repeated.
‘Overdosed on appeal.’
‘Yep,’ she said.
‘Intelligent, articulate, did I mention gorgeous?’
‘Yep.’
‘I don’t get it, Stace,’ he said.
‘Because of all those things,’ she answered.
‘You blew her off because she’s gorgeous?’ he asked, incredulously.
‘Look at her and then look at me,’ she said.
He turned to her, genuinely confused.
‘You’ve lost me?’
‘I just did it first,’ she answered.
‘Hang on. You finished with her before she could finish with you?’
She nodded. Damn it. It had made sense at the time but put like that it sounded just a little bit childish.
‘Fuck me, Stace,’ he said, shaking his head as a black van pulled up behind them. ‘You finished it because you don’t think you’re good enough?’
‘Leave it, Kev,’ she said, with her palm on the door handle.
He growled as he got out of the car. Both doors slammed together as he faced her across the roof.
Broken Bones: A gripping serial killer thriller (Detective Kim Stone Crime Thriller Series Book 7) Page 21