Play Dead (12 page)

K
im stepped
out of the hospital into a twenty-four-degree wall of heat. The clouds had cleared, and the sun was shining proudly in the sky.

Bryant was parked on the double yellows across the road with a face like thunder. She stood still as he brought the car around to the entrance.

She jumped in as he used a tissue to wipe at his forehead.

‘No air conditioning in this thing?’ she asked, buckling up.

He wound down the passenger-side window. ‘There you go.’

‘Who pissed on your chips?’ she asked.

‘It’s this damn heat,’ he said, pulling out of the hospital grounds. It wasn’t the heat that was bothering him at all. It was a morning of inactivity. He was a police officer with a keen brain and a gift for solving puzzles. Not a chauffeur.

‘So our girl’s name is Isobel Jones and that’s about it.’

He glanced her way as he approached the traffic island for the second time that day.

‘Really?’

‘Yep, that’s it. The guy in there has been seeing her for a few months and got worried when she stood him up.’

‘So he knows very little about her?’

‘Yeah, but I do have a mobile number.’ She swiped her screen as her mobile began to ring. ‘Stace, I was just about to call you. Can you write this number down?’

She recited the number she’d keyed in.

‘That’s the number of our victim two whose name is Isobel Jones. Update the board and start looking at 157 Plaza building in Erdington. She may have worked there. Also check the electoral roll around Wolverhampton – there would be a husband listed too. And check the logs and see if we got a call yesterday morning from a Duncan Adams. I know how that sounds, but it’s all we’ve got.’

‘Jeez, boss…’

‘I said I know, Stace. You’ve got a lot on your plate so if you need me to call Dawson back…’

‘Boss, I’m perfectly capable of doing my job, but I called you because there’s something you need to know.’

A beeping sounded in her ear. She pulled the phone away and checked the screen.

‘Hang on a sec, Stace, I’ve got Kev trying to get me.’

She switched calls to Dawson. Whatever he had to tell her took priority. He was at site.

‘What is it, Kev?’ Kim said into her phone. ‘We’re on our way back to West—’

‘Yeah, boss. You might want to take a detour,’ he said.

‘Why?’ she asked, putting him on loudspeaker.

‘Something a bit strange going on over here. It’s a bit chaotic at the minute. Machinery is arriving. Identifications are being checked. Looks like Woody has blown a month’s budget on this one…’

‘Kev…?’

‘Sorry, boss. The phone has been going mental. The press has discovered the facility and the shit is hitting the proverbial fan.’

Kim frowned at Bryant, who had glanced to his left. Unfortunate but not wholly unexpected. Only a fool would have expected it to stay secret for much longer.

‘There was so much going on that I didn’t even notice at first…’

‘Notice what?’ Kim asked. Whatever he’d missed sounded important.

‘She took a call – I was right beside her. She screamed “No comment” and slammed the phone down. Next time I looked she was no longer here.’

‘Kev, you’re not making a whole lot of—’

‘It’s Catherine Evans, boss. She seems to have just disappeared.’

T
he uneasy feeling
in Kim’s stomach did not lessen the closer they got to Catherine’s house.

It began as soon as Dawson had told her that Catherine had fled her place of work and continued to swirl when she had returned to her conversation with Stacey.

The fact that Catherine Evans was living under a false identity had scattered Kim’s thoughts in a dozen directions. Whatever had happened must have been serious and how the hell was it linked to a call from the press?

All she knew now was that she needed to find Catherine and get answers to some of these questions.

Bryant wound the car through the shiny residential estate that had caused controversy on the edge of the green belt that bordered West Hagley. Affordable housing had been the marketing strategy for the sprawling housing complex that had wiped out three fields and a small wooded area.

So far Bryant had navigated the two of them through the outer circle of detached, spacious homes with double garages and mock pillars. Properties valued in the mid three hundreds eventually gave way to single-garage dwellings with half the drive space, which in turn guided them to the affordable housing buried in the centre of the estate.

These houses made no attempt to stand out from each other. Not one facet identified them from their neighbour or the strip of properties over the road.

The house at which they stopped was a two-storey semi-detached property formed of brick that was an unnatural red.

‘Compact and bijou,’ Bryant observed as they got out of the car.

The narrow, one-car driveway held the Ford Focus that belonged to Catherine Evans.

Kim skirted around it and stepped onto the border between the two properties.

‘Start knocking and I’ll take a look around the back,’ she said, leaving Bryant at the front door.

The side of the house was not fenced, and she had free access to the rear of the house.

As she turned the corner she saw the reason. A CCTV camera was fixed to the corner of the property, covering the walkway to the side of the house.

Well, Catherine would certainly know they were there.

Another camera was fixed to the rear wall, peering down at the back door. It was a small box-like property but covered by two expensive CCTV cameras. Why?

Kim initially wondered if it was some kind of neighbour dispute, but the placement of the cameras said otherwise. The protection was on the approach and entrances.

Catherine was watching for people coming in.

The small garden was grassed without borders or plants. A five-foot fence separated it from the property next door and the property behind.

Kim’s path was unencumbered by garden furniture. At this time of year any garden forays were normally obstructed by barbecues, lawn chairs and parasols. But here there was nothing.

Against the fence was an outside storage box about five feet long by two feet high. Beside it was a Flymo lawnmower.

Kim could see straight into the house through the patio door.

Having learned from Bryant in the past, she fought her natural instinct to find something heavy to smash against the glass.

‘No answer yet, guv. But she must be here,’ Bryant said, appearing beside her.

‘Not necessarily. She could have parked the car and gone out.’

Even as the words left her mouth Kim felt it was unlikely.

She wasn’t sure exactly what she was hoping to find, but she had to establish why a call from the press had caused Catherine to run away like a scalded rabbit. Catherine had told no one she was leaving Westerley and was not answering her mobile phone.

What did she know about this case and what had frightened her away?

Kim touched the door handle, and the door slid away from the frame.

She frowned. Why would a woman who had every inch of outside space covered by a camera leave her back door unlocked?

‘Shit, guv,’ Bryant said, reaching the same conclusion. ‘You don’t think our guy has…?’

‘Dunno, Bryant but we now have a reason to enter,’ she said, stepping over the threshold.

The room was small and dark. Kim guessed the kitchen was at the front, basking in the daytime sun.

The mauve furnishings brought some light into the property, but there was a claustrophobic feeling about the space.

She stood still and listened. There was no sound echoing through the house. Only the noise of an occasional car driving past. There was no sound of a TV or radio or anything to cut through the silence. Somehow it made the small space even darker.

Kim headed to the kitchen, a room she always found gave the most accurate snapshot of the activities within the home.

All of the property’s light appeared to have been filtered to this one small room. The units and appliances were a shiny white, all reflecting the afternoon sun as it burst in through the window.

The space was neat and tidy. She felt a few crumbs underfoot and saw a single plate and upturned mug on the sink drainer.

Her investigating skills were not being tested in deducing there had been coffee and toast for breakfast before heading off to Westerley this morning.

So Catherine had had no time to make any more mess since she’d come home. Kim reached across and touched the kettle. It was stone cold.

Most people on entering home tended to switch on the kettle for a drink. Even if they then got distracted by unloading shopping or tidying things away, the kettle had normally been activated.

‘This is starting to look a bit suspect now,’ Kim said, heading out of the kitchen.

Bryant had remained in the lounge, as there was only room for one in the kitchen. He followed her as she took the stairs two at a time.

At the top of the staircase was a stubby hallway with three doors, all pulled shut.

The first left was a small but functional bathroom. The second was the spare room, which held no bed, just a couple of pieces of mismatched furniture, a few boxes and a wardrobe.

So the house had CCTV but Catherine still hadn’t properly unpacked.

Kim was getting an uneasy feeling in her stomach, which was not helped when she opened the door to the main bedroom.

An open suitcase lay on the bed. It was empty but the top drawer of a chest was open. Kim glanced inside. Underwear. Normally the first thing when packing in a rush, the mind already attuned to need rather than desire.

Women tended to pack from the inside out, essentials first. Men normally packed the opposite.

The rules differed when packing for a holiday. Then you might take time over the clothing first, but in a rush it was underwear first.

‘Where the hell is she, Bryant?’ she asked, surveying the room.

It was a small house and they had covered every square inch in a few moments. Catherine wasn’t here but she had been.

A woman so focussed on security had left her back door unlocked. For some reason she had bolted from her place of work and come home. She had paused for nothing before starting to pack. Her car was still here, she was not and yet there was no evidence of a struggle.

‘I think he’s got her,’ Bryant said, scratching his head.

No scenario made sense to Kim, but she was on the verge of agreeing when her phone shattered the silence.

‘Stace,’ she said.

Kim listened to Stacey’s excited and turbocharged voice. She didn’t interrupt her colleague once.

Because what she had to say changed everything.

K
im pressed
the button that ended the call.

She closed her eyes for a second, absorbing everything she’d heard. The pieces began to fall into place.

She exhaled the breath she’d been holding. ‘Oh, Bryant,’ was all she could say.

‘What’s going on?’ her colleague asked.

Kim took a moment to retrace everything they’d seen since arriving at Catherine’s home. Now she knew where to look.

‘Follow me,’ Kim said, heading out of the room and down the stairs.

She strode out of the back door and stopped at the only place that made sense.

She lowered herself to the ground and sat cross-legged in front of the garden storage box.

‘Catherine, it’s Kim Stone, and I know you’re in there.’

Because the lawnmower was not.

There was no sound and Kim considered the possibility that she was sitting on the ground speaking to an empty plastic box. But she suspected not.

Kim scooted closer to the box and lowered her voice even further. She placed one hand on top of the lid as though offering the woman some kind of reassurance.

‘Catherine, I know who you are, and I know why you’re scared.’

There was the faintest of sobs.

Kim heard a sharp intake of breath from Bryant, who was standing behind her. She glanced around to find him shaking his head with bewilderment. She turned back to the container.

‘It’s okay, Catherine. I know you’re the orange-box kid.’

Kim heard another sob and she knew Stacey had got it right.

‘I also know your name was Janet Wilson and you were abducted from your front garden in Walsall. You were kept in an orange storage box for seventeen days before you managed to get away.’

Kim now understood the scarring on her hand. It was from trying to escape.

The sobbing became even louder. Bryant stood behind her, not making a sound.

‘I know why you’re scared, Catherine. Will you please come out and talk to me?’

The sobbing had stopped and Kim knew she could throw open the lid and haul the fully grown Catherine out. Only it was nine-year-old Janet who was hiding in the box.

Stacey had read her everything she’d been able to get her hands on.

‘The doctors couldn’t understand how you’d managed to stay alive, could they?’ Kim asked.

But Kim knew. The nine-year-old had lived on insects and it was why she showed them such great respect now. They had kept her alive.

‘Catherine, I promise you can trust me. Please step out of the box.’

The lid began to open and a contorted body began to unfurl.

Kim held the lid open as Catherine resumed her normal shape.

Bryant offered his hand to help her step out of the box.

Her face was pale, tear-stained and looked much younger than her thirty-two years.

‘May we go inside?’ Kim asked.

Catherine nodded and stepped through the patio door.

Kim followed and Bryant stood in the doorway.

Catherine sat on the sofa and stared at her hands. This was not the self-assured, aloof woman Kim had met at Westerley.

Kim sat beside her. ‘Catherine, I know you’re still in hiding. The men that took you were never caught, were they?’

It didn’t matter how many years passed, the fear that they were coming back for her would always be there.

Kim had experienced dreams for years that her mother had managed to find her and put the handcuffs around her wrist again. Her mother had been locked in Grantley Care psychiatric facility for more than twenty-five years. And yet still the dreams came.

‘Trust me, Catherine. I get it,’ Kim said, meeting her eye.

Kim was saddened by the fear she saw there.

‘I can’t go back,’ she whispered.

‘To Westerley?’ Kim clarified.

Catherine nodded and lowered her head. ‘I’ll have to move again. Once the papers start printing the story my name will appear and someone might make the connection. It didn’t take you long. He’ll find me. I know he’ll find me.’

Kim could see her point, although not everyone had a Stacey up their sleeve.

The fear was not rational anyway. Catherine was now a grown woman with a different name and a different life, but the fear came from the nine-year-old girl who knew her torturers were still out there. She had worked through her education safely, although she’d moved university twice, and she’d found a job doing what she loved in a place where she could never be found. Finally, she had felt safe.

But Catherine was correct. Westerley would be examined in depth, staff members and all.

‘I was happy there,’ Catherine offered. ‘I haven’t felt so safe since leaving Bromley…’

The very name sent a frisson of fear through Kim. She knew of Bromley. Every kid in the care system knew of Bromley. Twenty years ago it had been a closed psychiatric unit for youngsters and a place surrounded by mystery and fear. It had been the threat that lived on the lips of every care worker that couldn’t handle an unruly or spirited kid.

Catherine caught her expression. ‘You know of it?’

Kim nodded. ‘I was a care kid, Catherine. It was often used as a threat to keep us in line. We were terrified of the place,’ she admitted.

Catherine looked surprised. ‘Really? I was happy there. I couldn’t cope, you see. Afterwards. I went home to my family, but it wasn’t the same. They tried to make me feel safe, the police even arranged for panic alarms to be fitted throughout the house, but my mind found a way around everything.

‘They could disable the panic alarms, cut the power, take me again while I was sleeping. It was the fear… it consumed me. I couldn’t eat or sleep and nowhere felt safe. I just cried every day. They tried drugs first, but nothing worked until I was sent to Bromley. They took care of me there. They protected me.’

‘Did you stay there?’ Kim asked gently.

Catherine shook her head. ‘My first stay was two weeks. The second I heard those doors close and lock behind me I felt safe. I felt relief. Amongst all that craziness, I finally felt sane.’

Kim understood that she had hated it for the very reasons Catherine had loved it.

‘The second I got home the old feelings returned. Two days later I was back at Bromley. The trips home became less frequent, and that was fine by me. My parents visited as often as they could, and my father consulted a solicitor who made a case for a new identity.’

Catherine’s expression saddened further at the mention of her father.

‘By the time I left Bromley for good I no longer knew my parents. They just reminded me of what happened, and so I stayed away.’

Kim realised from the dates Stacey had given her that Catherine had been at Bromley until she was eighteen years old. No wonder the outside world was difficult for her to navigate.

‘At Westerley I thought I was safe,’ Catherine continued, looking around the small living room. ‘But I have to leave now. I can’t possibly go back.’

‘Sleep on it, Catherine,’ Kim advised. ‘Don’t do anything rash. It might not be over yet.’

‘I don’t understand. You know everything, so you have to understand that I can’t go back there. If it’s about the investigation I’ll let you know…’

‘It’s not about the investigation. I’m just asking you to ease off. At least until tomorrow. Will you do that for me?’

She could feel safe here for the moment. The article wasn’t out for the next hour or so and she had CCTV.

Kim handed her a card. ‘If you have any trouble, any unwelcome visitors or even noises you can’t explain, call me. Got it?’

Catherine nodded eagerly. Kim had given her options. The logical mind of the grown woman knew her captors were not coming back, but the fear of the little girl would never go away.

Catherine used her index finger to trace a line around the edge of the card. A slight tremble was still present and some tension in the jaw.

‘What is it?’ Kim asked, sensing there was still fear in this woman’s mind.

‘Do you have to tell them – at Westerley, I mean?’ She bit the inside of her lower lip. ‘I just don’t want to be treated any differently and they’ll have questions which will take me back to that time. And I don’t think I can bear that.’

Kim understood that better than anyone. She saw no reason to divulge what she’d learned to the woman’s work colleagues. She had made her life as Catherine Evans and it was her prerogative to share her past with whomever she chose.

Kim shook her head. ‘It won’t come from me but you’d better start thinking up an explanation for your sudden departure today.’

Catherine swallowed and tipped her head. Her face had lost some of its ashen colour.

‘Inspector, you’re not quite the person I thought you were.’

Kim offered a half-smile. ‘Neither are you, Catherine Evans.’

Kim stood. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?’

‘Thank you,’ Catherine said.

Bryant followed silently to the car.

‘You know, guv, I hate to have to say this but none of what I heard in there completely rules her out.’

Kim knew he was right. But despite her team’s suspicions, she still felt they were looking for a man.

She opened the passenger door and tossed Bryant the keys. A clear indication that she needed to think.

‘Bryant, drop me home and head back to Westerley. I’ll meet you back there later.’

He frowned. ‘What the hell are you going to try and do for her?’

Kim said nothing but stared out of the window. She couldn’t tell Bryant what she was considering.

Because it meant bedding down with the devil.