Play Dead (11 page)

J
ane could feel
a soft pressure on her hand. She wasn’t sure if she was in some kind of dream.

Sometimes there were voices and sometimes not. Sometimes there was a soft bleeping sound that was swallowed only when the darkness came again.

In her stomach there was fear. It began in her belly button and worked its way out.

The blackness around her kept moving, rearranging itself then snatching and stealing her thoughts.

There was pain echoing around her body. She didn’t know from where but the blackness took it away. The darkness consumed it along with her and then spat her back out.

At times she was at one with the darkness

She wondered if this was death and if so how she had got here. Was it possible to feel pain in death? And if she was dead was this her eternal state?

Any further thought or realisation was taken away by the dark.

She wanted to open her eyes but the blackness took her before she could.

If she was alive she knew she was in hospital. She knew that someone was holding her hand.

She tried to open her eyes.

She knew she had something to say.

The panic rose up to her throat before the blackness took her again.

I
nstead of heading back out
to Bryant’s car, Kim went straight to the morgue.

Keats was sitting at his desk, head bent in studious concentration.

‘Ahem…’ she said.

‘I know you’re there, Inspector. It’s a stomp I would recognise anywhere, but I’m hoping if I ignore you, you’ll go away,’ he droned without raising his head.

‘Yeah, you and most people I’ve ever met, but I need your help.’

He looked up and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. ‘Are you mauling me, Inspector?’

She stifled the smile that played at her lips. He knew her too well.

Blowing smoke up the behind of the pathologist was not worth her time. She knew from other people’s experience that it didn’t work. He would either help her or not.

‘Three years ago a male was found at Fens Pools,’ she said.

‘You’ll need to be a bit more specific than that.’

‘His fingers had been cut off.’

‘Aaah, yes, I remember it. I didn’t do the post-mortem, but I recall the case. Still unidentified?’

Kim nodded and sat down. ‘I have the reports, but I could do with a bit of expert translation.’

He tipped his head. ‘Only if you stop being so damned pleasant to me. It’s a little bit frightening without Bryant to protect me.’

This time the smile escaped. ‘Okay.’

He looked above her head and then began tapping away at his keyboard. ‘I have five minutes until my next customer arrives, so make it quick.’

Kim recalled the post-mortem report she had pored over at home and recalled the one thing that had struck her as curious.

‘The only wound visible was a knife mark above the left chest, two – maybe two and a half – inches long, possibly a stab wound?’

He glanced back at the screen. ‘Well if it was a stab wound, it wasn’t deep. The cause of death was definitely drowning.’

‘The fingers were removed after death, is that right?’ she asked.

Keats nodded and continued to read.

There had been no pain or torture inflicted by the killer to prolong the agony. The removal of the digits had been purely functional.

‘What can you tell me about him, Keats?’ she asked.

‘Shush,’ he said and continued to read for a couple of minutes. ‘In layman’s terms, his age was estimated at mid to late fifties. He wasn’t a heavy drinker but was definitely a heavy smoker. He ate too many fatty foods and didn’t take enough exercise. No obvious broken bones, tattoos or other distinguishing characteristics.’

Pretty average then, Kim thought. Except that every finger had been severed from his hand. Yeah, there was no escaping that particular fact.

Kim sighed. She had not learned much at all.

She stood. ‘Thanks, anyway, Keats. I’ll—’

‘Not so fast, Inspector. Just take a quick look at this.’

She stepped around to his side of the desk. The image on the screen had been zoomed, and she wasn’t sure what it was she was looking at.

She tipped her head sideways. ‘Is that the chest wound?’

Keats nodded. ‘And there’s something there that looks a little odd.’

Her ears pricked up. Odd was good.

As she stared she began to see what he meant. She’d attended enough crime scenes to know how knife wounds normally looked on the skin. Regardless of the type of knife used the cut was consistent and clean. Close up, this one appeared lumpy and uneven, as though the knife had been dragged across the skin.

‘It looks more like a cut than a stab,’ Kim observed.

Keats nodded. ‘And I think I know why.’

He zoomed in one more time. ‘I think he was cutting scar tissue.’

‘You think he was opening an old wound?’ Kim asked, as thoughts began to form in her mind.

‘Or taking something out…’

They looked at each other as the realisation hit them both.

‘Pacemaker,’ they said simultaneously.

‘
H
ow is she
?’ Bryant asked as she reached the car.

‘Unresponsive right now and the doctors aren’t really committing to anything in terms of her recovery.’ Kim paused. ‘Head towards Brierley Hill,’ she said as she processed everything she’d learned in the last hour.

‘She has the same marks on her back and thighs as Jemima,’ she continued.

Bryant shook his head as he drove. ‘Never seen anything like that. It doesn’t make sense.’

Kim agreed. They already knew that the restraint was a handcuff to the wrist, so what could those straight lines mean?

‘There’s something else,’ she said as he crossed a set of traffic lights. ‘Her legs are covered in little nicks and cuts.’

‘Well, that makes sense. She was pulled over a gravel path and up a hill to the dump site.’

‘She would have been pulled around on her back, like Jemima. These marks are on the front of her legs, just like Jemima. It’s like a shaving rash.’

Bryant rubbed at his chin. ‘Yeah, I get it sometimes.’

Kim pondered. ‘Why only sometimes?’

‘If I want a closer shave I’ll go against the grain. Gets a cleaner look but irritates the skin more.’

So now she had both girls scrubbing the polish from their nails and giving their legs a close shave. Who the hell did they think they were meeting?

‘Hang on, turn right here,’ Kim instructed as they passed through Brierley Hill.

She continued to direct him until they arrived at a warden’s office at the junction of Pensnett Road and Bryce Road.

‘Ummm… guv…’ Bryant said.

‘Are you coming?’

He followed her past the warden’s office to Fens Pools.

The area was a nature reserve that had once been part of Pensnett Chase, a medieval hunting ground of the barons of Dudley. Like most of the rest of the Chase, it had been gradually turned to industrial use, including coal mining, clay extraction and a brickworks.

Part of the Earl of Dudley’s private railways ran across the area. The collieries and clay pits closed in the early twentieth century but the brickworks and railway only closed in the 1960s.

Some of the ponds had been formed from old clay pits but the three largest reservoirs, Grove Pool, Middle Pool and Fens Pool in the north-eastern part of the reserve, had been constructed by the Stourbridge Canal Company in 1776 and were the largest areas of open water in Dudley. A fourth pool called Foot’s Hole lay to the south-west and was separated from the others by the Dell Sports Stadium.

Kim knew it was a popular spot for fishing and the ninety-two-acre site had been designated an area of special scientific interest.

She looked beyond the first pool to the grass bank that ran between the water and the canal.

‘That’s where he was found,’ she said, pointing.

There were areas one could sit and feel miles away from the built-up industrial area close by and other places where the sprawling housing estate and trade units were clearly within view.

‘Who?’ Bryant asked.

‘Unidentified male with his fingers cut off, a few years ago.’

‘Didn’t Brierley Hill solve that one?’

Kim shook her head. ‘No, Bob is still a guest of the coroner in a cold, dark drawer.’

‘Bob?’ he asked, narrowing his eyes.

‘Not my term, but it’ll do until we find his real name.’

And Kim wasn’t exactly sure how she was going to do that. Her only potential clues had been removed. All that was left was his clothing, the change in his pockets and an old raffle ticket. Dental records were a good form of identification, but you had to know where to start.

There were no family members harassing the police force for progress reports on the murder of their father, brother, uncle. The missing-persons reports would have been searched when the body was first found so no one cared enough about Bob even to file a report.

He appeared to have been missed by no one – and that in itself was enough to burrow under her skin.

‘Ah, bittern,’ Bryant said.

‘By what?’ she asked.

He shook his head. ‘Bittern the bird. Over there by the tall grass.’

‘Didn’t have you down as a twitcher,’ she said, turning away.

He sighed heavily. ‘Ummm… remind me again why we’re looking at this?’

Kim was about to say, ‘Because no one else was,’ but the thought was cut off by the ringing of her mobile phone.

The number was withheld.

‘Stone,’ she answered.

‘Inspector, it’s Jo. You were here just a little—’

‘Is Jane okay?’ she asked urgently. She had left a card with the ward sister and asked to be informed of any type of development.

‘Yes, she’s fine. No change. Except her name’s not Jane. It’s Isobel.’

‘How do you know?’

‘That’s what her boyfriend told us. He called and is on his way here.’

S
tacey stared
hard at the computer. Something about the entry of the records for Catherine Evans was not quite adding up.

Her birth certificate was there but new documents out of place always left a trail, no matter how skilfully inserted into the records. And this one was highlighted by a software change.

A different file type had been in use up until the late eighties so if Catherine’s birth certificate had been issued back then it would have been the old file type. It was the one that matched the system upgrade in 1999 prior to the widespread panic over the millennium bug. Software companies had injected the fear of God into everyone and especially the government, local councils and health authorities, hinting that older systems would be unable to maintain date and time facilities once the clock tried to click into a new century, never mind a new millennium.

Worldwide, private companies had sought confirmation and guarantees from suppliers that systems would not fail. Contingency arrangements, business continuity plans and disaster-recovery manuals had all been set up to prepare for the second it switched over.

The whole thing had fizzled out like a damp firework as the anticipated chaos failed to materialise.

Catherine’s birth certificate stated 15 June 1983 but had not been entered on to the system until 2001, when Catherine was eighteen years old.

Fifteen minutes later, Stacey had tracked the issue of a medical card registered to Catherine Evans. Also registered as June 1983 but entered in the late nineties.

Stacey sat back in her chair. The palm of her hand rested on the mouse but her fingers tapped absently.

Why the eighteen-year delay in registering the details?

The words ‘new identity’ screamed in her head. Documents being inserted at a later date trying to look like authentic records hinted at an invented identity. This was not a name change by deed poll instigated by the woman herself. This level of expertise pointed only one way. The state.

Why the hell would Catherine Evans have been given a new identity?

Stacey felt the excitement building in her stomach. She was on to something and she knew it.

She went back to the date of insertion and began to work back from that.

Whatever it was, it would have made the news.

K
im stepped
into the ward for the second time that day.

Jo smiled as she approached the desk. ‘He arrived a few minutes after I got off the phone.’

‘May I?’ she asked, taking a step away from the desk.

Jo nodded.

A dark-haired male sat beside the bed with his back hunched and his head bowed. He wore a black T-shirt and jeans and was holding tightly on to Isobel’s right hand.

‘Excuse me…’

His head snapped up and she saw a handsome face ravaged by fear and worry. His skin was pleasantly tanned as though he’d been working outside or just returned from holiday. A quick assessment of his height gave her a guessing measurement of one similar to her own five foot nine. He wore hiking boots, adding to her theory that he worked outside. His arm muscles were not overly developed but were definitely used. Light stubble was peeking through his lower jawline.

‘Detective Inspector Stone,’ she said. ‘And you are?’

He offered her a shy smile. ‘Duncan… my name is Duncan Adams and I’m Isobel’s boyfriend.’

Kim looked around. ‘How did you know she was here?’

He coloured slightly. ‘She didn’t text me on Monday night. I always sent her a goodnight message and she would send one back if she could. I sent one but got no reply. I didn’t think too much of it as we were due to meet on Tuesday anyway. When she didn’t turn up I knew something was wrong.’

‘Did you try and call?’ Kim asked.

He nodded. ‘All through the night and when I got no response I rang the police to see if there had been any, umm… incidents. They noted my call and advised me to try the local hospitals. I spoke to admissions who confirmed there was no one under Isobel’s name but an unidentified woman had been rushed into the HDU.’ He nodded towards the nurses’ station. ‘I was put through to Jo who asked me some questions and then I got here as fast as I could.’

‘How did you confirm the woman was Isobel?’ Kim asked.

He pointed to his wrist.

Of course – the scars, Kim realised.

‘How long have you been seeing Isobel?’ she asked.

‘About two months,’ he said.

‘Do you know Isobel’s last name?’

‘Jones. Her last name is Jones,’ he answered emphatically.

Bloody great, Kim thought.

‘How did you meet?’ Kim asked, praying they had met at work.

A smile spread across his face, which lit the affection in his eyes. ‘Believe it or not, I swept her off her feet – or rather knocked her off them. I was hurtling out of the phone shop and she was coming out of Costa. We collided and I’m sorry to say that she got the worst of it. Her coffee was all over the floor and I insisted on buying her another. It was the least I could do.

‘We got talking and something just clicked. It was as though…’

‘Do you know where Isobel works?’ Kim asked. She hadn’t meant to cut him off so sharply, but she’d already established there was nothing in their meeting that would help her at all.

‘I picked her up from 157 Plaza in Erdington, but I never went inside.’

Kim made a mental note. It was a starting point at least.

‘Her address?’

Duncan coloured further and Kim could see that his inability to help was as troubling to him as it was to her. She noted that he went to bite the inside of his lip and stopped himself.

There was something this man was not telling her. She quickly replayed their conversation so far and remembered something he’d said earlier.

‘You said that Isobel replied to your texts when she could. What did you mean?’ she asked.

He looked to Isobel regretfully and lowered his voice.

‘She’s married, Inspector, that’s why she insisted on secrecy, and I respected that.’ He squeezed Isobel’s hand. ‘Please don’t judge her. She told me straightaway, and I chose to continue seeing her, but she was beginning to talk about leaving her husband. She hadn’t been happy for a long time. They separated a week ago, and Isobel was planning on speaking to him about divorce.’

‘Was he abusive?’ Kim asked, thinking about the scars on her wrists.

Duncan hesitated, as though it pained him to be discussing her most intimate secrets behind her back.

‘I think he’d been physical with her, the odd push and shove…’

‘That’s why you called the police and the hospital?’ Kim clarified.

He sighed heavily. ‘Yes, I was worried that she’d told him it was over and he’d hurt her.’

Kim had no feelings either way about the secrecy and deceit. People spun their own webs, and she couldn’t get caught up in them all.

His eyes travelled up and to the left, recalling something. ‘She did say something about shopping in Wolverhampton, so…’

Kim smiled her understanding and made a mental note.

His hand had not left Isobel’s. His thumb stroked her skin tenderly.

‘Do you know how she got those scars on her wrist?’ Kim asked.

He shook his head. ‘I first saw them on our second date, but she covered them quickly. Eventually she admitted they were from a long time ago, but I didn’t push her. I knew she would tell me when she wanted to.’

He let out a breath. ‘Inspector, I am so sorry that I can’t be more help.’ He looked back to Isobel and his face softened. ‘But I will be here if you need to ask me anything else.’ He squeezed gently on the hand. ‘If she can hear me, I want her to know that I’m here for her and that I’m not going anywhere.’

He turned back to face Kim fully. ‘Although it was only a few months I felt like we were getting along very well. I had high hopes for us… still do in fact.’

Kim couldn’t help but think about the inconvenient husband that would need to be dealt with first. If Isobel woke up, she would need a lot of help. It would not be a fast recovery.

‘Can I take the mobile number you have for her?’ Kim asked, taking out her own phone.

He recited it and Kim keyed it into her phone.

‘Do you think she’ll make it?’ he whispered with a tremor in his voice.

‘I spoke to the doctor and he…’

‘Won’t commit to a damn thing,’ Duncan said, shaking his head.

Obviously he’d had the same conversation with Doctor Singh as she had.

She passed the man a card from her pocket.

‘If you think of anything at all that might help, however irrelevant you might think it is, give me a call.’

Duncan slipped the card into his pocket and she offered him a smile before she turned away.

Kim hoped to God he came up with something – because at the moment she was feeling as though she had no clues at all.