Play Dead (8 page)

‘
J
esus
, I’m gonna get car sick in a minute,’ Bryant said sarcastically

The journey from Russell’s Hall to Dudley Wood had taken less than ten minutes. The address they sought was directly opposite the old site of the Cradley Heath Speedway track.

The speedway team was formed in 1947 at the Dudley Wood Stadium. The club was one of the most successful in the sport throughout the eighties and nineties, winning seven Speedway World Championships.

In 1995 the team were evicted by their new landlords, who had bought the stadium to redevelop it into housing.

Kim couldn’t pass the stadium without a pang. Most of her Saturday nights between the ages of ten and thirteen had been spent standing between Keith and Erica watching the bikes race around the track.

She could easily recall the sound of the tyres on the red gravel track above the Saturday-night crowds. A noise that to the locals was unbearable yet was missed once it had gone. The smell of methanol used for bike fuel mixed with cheap hot dogs was a combination she would never forget.

Initially Kim had not understood their fascination for speedway. Round and round the track until one bike won. A bike was a bike was a bike. She had never supported any kind of team in her life.

But their enthusiasm had been contagious, her foster parents fervent in support of their local team. She cheered them on not because she felt any kind of pride in them but because Keith and Erica did. The fish and chip supper on the way home remained the same, win or lose.

But whether she got it or not, those nights had been magical.

Hidden behind the spacious houses that lined Dudley Wood Road was a small development of newbuild properties. The mixture of townhouses and apartments were set around a small paved courtyard.

The property of Simon Roach appeared to be a ground-floor flat with an old BMW-series car on the communal drive.

The paintwork on the door had been patched up with a shade of blue that didn’t match.

Bryant pressed the doorbell but there was no connecting sound in the property.

Kim knocked on the door. Three sharp bangs and listened. Nothing.

Bryant tried again. Kim stepped back and surveyed the area. No activity.

She looked at her colleague. This male was not at work. His car was parked outside and his girlfriend had been murdered less than forty-eight hours ago. Bryant got it.

He nodded. ‘Yeah, I think this time I’m gonna agree with you.’

Bryant pushed on the door and established the exact location of the lock.

Kim got into position beside him. She would kick beneath the lock at the same time he threw his weight above it. It wasn’t pretty and could look like a standing variation on the game Twister. But they’d done it before and it had worked.

‘On three,’ Bryant said.

She raised her leg, ready.

‘One… two… three… ’

The force of their joint weight both above and beneath the lock forced the door open.

The momentum bounced it off the inside wall.

‘Police,’ Kim shouted, entering the small, dark hallway. A number of closed doors cut off any light source to the poky space.

The second door along opened. A beam of light appeared before the shape of a stark-naked male.

‘What the fuck…?’

‘Simon Roach?’ Kim asked.

‘Fuck, yeah. Who are you?’

Bryant produced a warrant card and introduced them to the man who was making no effort to cover any part of his anatomy. Kim couldn’t help thinking his confidence was misplaced.

‘What the hell…?’

‘Simon, what’s going…?’

‘Nothing, Rach,’ he called back without turning.

He moved forwards, bringing himself just a little too close to the boundary of Kim’s personal space.

She stepped to the side. He closed the bedroom door behind him and opened the door to the next room.

Kim followed him into the lounge, keeping her gaze on the back of his head. Roach’s hair was long, dark and tousled.

Two sofas faced each other over a wooden coffee table. He aimed for the furthest seat from the door and sat.

Kim sat opposite.

He raised his left foot onto his right knee.

Kim didn’t miss a beat.

‘We’re here about your dead girlfriend,’ she clarified. She knew his failure to cover up demonstrated a lack of respect and was an attempt to unnerve her. It would not.

‘Jemima?’ he asked, causing Kim to wonder just how many dead girlfriends he had.

Kim nodded.

‘Girlfriend is probably a bit formal,’ he said as a lazy smile spread across his face.

And that was when she saw it. His blatant and unabashed charisma. Kim’s brief time with this man had already prompted the question of what the hell Jemima had seen in him.

The lazy smile had transformed his face. The humour in his mouth travelled up to his eyes and made them sparkle with challenge and danger.

He locked his gaze with hers.

Kim was unimpressed. Men who were truly dangerous did not need to advertise it. But she’d play along.

‘What about Rach? Is she your girlfriend?’ Kim asked.

He shook his head slowly.

‘Ah, friends with benefits,’ Bryant said.

‘Something like that,’ he said, without removing his gaze from hers.

Simon leaned forwards and took a pack of cigarettes from the table. He lit a match and the smell of sulphur filled the air. He continued to hold the match as the flame burned along the shaft, staring right at her as the flame met with his fingertips and died.

Kim struggled not to laugh. Overt sexuality had never been her bag. Now if he’d taken the match and extinguished it in his naked arse that would have been a party trick worth seeing.

He threw the match into the ashtray on the table.

‘You do know Jemima was murdered?’ Kim clarified. It was kind of hard to tell.

‘I’m not stupid, Sergeant,’ he drawled as a flash of irritation appeared in a gaze that someone else might have called smouldering.

‘I didn’t say you were, Mr Roach. And it’s Inspector. You just appear to have dealt with your grief very quickly.’

The irritation fell away and the smirk returned.

‘Let’s not play with each other, Inspector. I’m not exclusive, okay? I’m not your monogamous type. There are far too many beautiful women in the world.’

His gaze fell to her breasts.

‘Did Jemima know this?’ Kim asked.

He shrugged before flicking his ash. ‘Not sure if I remember mentioning it specifically, but if she didn’t know, she should have. I mean, look at me,’ he said, glancing down to his crotch. Kim didn’t follow his gaze. ‘It wouldn’t be fair to limit all this to one person.’

‘So you never actually told her you were sleeping with other women?’ Kim asked, eager to see any kind of remorse.

He shook his head. ‘Works better as a break-up line and we weren’t quite there yet.’

‘How about Rach – does she know she’s not the only recipient of your charms?’

A soft chuckle escaped from his lips. ‘I like that, Inspector. And, no, we haven’t had that conversation yet.’

Kim was imagining the tip of her biker boot grinding his testicles like a discarded cigarette end. She couldn’t help wondering what a date with this charmer might entail. She would guess it wasn’t candles, music and flowers.

‘How did you and Jemima meet?’ Kim asked.

‘Oh, you know. I saw her around.’

‘Where?’ Kim pushed.

His expression held a distinct lack of interest in trying to remember. ‘Honestly couldn’t tell you, Inspector.’

Kim realised it wasn’t worth pursuing. He wasn’t being difficult. He just didn’t give a shit.

‘When was the last time you saw Jemima?’ she asked.

‘Friday night. She was getting on my nerves. Quiet and sulky. Said she thought someone was following her. I cut the night short and met my mates for a game of snooker. It was obvious I wasn’t gonna get anything from her.’

‘You took her home?’ Bryant asked.

Kim hadn’t needed the answer to that one.

Simon shook his head. ‘No, just told her I wasn’t feeling so good and was heading home.’

Kim ignored his childish grin and focussed on the only thing he’d said of interest.

‘Did she say anything else? Any hint about who might be following her?’

‘Sorry, Inspector, but I was already thinking about last orders.’

She could see from his expression that there was nothing else.

‘Where were you on Saturday?’ she asked.

He tipped his head. ‘Oh, Inspector, you can’t believe I had anything to do with it. Honestly, I couldn’t even be bothered.’ He looked down at his crotch proudly. ‘I’m just your average kind of guy.’

Kim offered no reaction. ‘So you were…?’

‘Here, in bed.’

‘Can Rach verify that?’ she asked.

He smiled. ‘No. Unusually I was alone. It was a rare—’

‘Thank you, Mr Roach,’ she said, standing abruptly. ‘If there’s anything further we’ll be in touch.’

Quite frankly, she couldn’t bear another second in his company.

‘You’d best get someone back here to fix this door,’ he moaned from behind her.

Oh yeah, it would jump right to the top of her priorities list, Kim thought as she stepped outside and almost gulped in the cleansing fresh air.

Bryant stepped past her and headed towards the car. Kim turned to follow him. Simon filled the doorway in all his naked glory.

Kim stepped back towards the repulsive creep. Her skin started to recoil at each inch she closed.

She spoke loudly, confident that her voice would carry. ‘By the way, given your sexual activity, I would strenuously recommend you get yourself checked for sexually transmitted diseases. We are awaiting those results from your last partner.’

His shocked silence gave her just long enough to hear the sound of movement from the bedroom behind him.

Result.

Simon Roach opened his mouth to speak but Kim beat him to it.

‘And for the record, whoever said you were average…’ she cast her gaze downwards ‘… was just being kind.’

She offered him a sad smile and turned away.

‘Honestly his name should be cock for a number of reasons,’ Kim said, getting into the car.

Bryant thought for a second. ‘Oh I get it. Last name and all that.’

‘Jeez, Bryant, I’ll wait while you catch up.’

Her gut was taking the fifth on Simon Roach. If she was looking for the cockiest moron this side of the River Severn he’d be cuffed and on his way to the station, but she was looking for a murderer, someone who had actually possessed the passion to beat Jemima’s face to a pulp. Was Mr Personality capable of that? She really had no idea.

‘Where to, guv?’ Bryant asked as her phone began to ring.

‘Stace,’ Kim answered, checking her watch. It was almost six and she wasn’t surprised the detective constable was still at work.

She listened as her colleague revealed the reason for the call. A frown began to form on her face as she ended the call.

‘Change of plan, Bryant,’ she said, taking a deep breath. ‘Head back to the Lowe house. There’s something this family hasn’t told us.’

T
he door
to the Lowe house opened as Bryant parked the car.

A woman in her early sixties stepped out and turned to hug Mrs Lowe. The absence of a handbag or purse told Kim it was probably a neighbour offering condolences for the family’s loss.

Kim noted that Mrs Lowe tapped the woman’s back as they hugged.

It was a gesture of reassurance. A physical ‘there, there’ as though the neighbour had suffered the loss.

She was not surprised as the woman walked across the driveway that separated the Lowe property from the next.

Any irritation she had felt at the family’s omission faded away when Mrs Lowe offered a weary wave, the exhaustion and grief shining from her eyes.

‘Sorry to bother you again,’ Kim said and meant it. ‘But there’s something we need to clarify.’

‘Of course, come in,’ she said, stepping aside.

Kim automatically moved towards the lounge they’d occupied the previous day. She caught a movement from the top of the stairs. It was Sara. Her eyes were red and puffy, and she had a tissue clutched in her right hand.

Kim nodded in her direction and Sara nodded back. This time Sara didn’t skulk back into the shadows but lowered herself and sat on the top stair.

‘How are you doing?’ Kim asked once the three of them were seated.

The woman considered for a moment before answering. ‘People visit and mean well. They bring me their grief, and I don’t need any more. A bit of it stays when they go. Another realisation of what the loss of my daughter means to someone else.’

Kim heard the tinge of bitterness and understood it. Swimming alongside someone in the sea of misery was not helpful to a grieving person. It offered them nothing, no respite from the hollow feelings of loss. Share something funny, an example of their clumsiness, innocence, humour, naiveté. Offer the grief-stricken a memory to add to their own portfolio that would grow no more.

‘Mrs Lowe, we need to ask you about something that happened to Jemima before she left for Dubai.’

The confused expression as the woman looked from her to Bryant was genuine. There was no deceit. It had been an honest mistake and obviously something she had forgotten in the intervening years.

‘We have an incident report filed by Jemima dated just a few weeks before she left. It details an attempt of forced entry into her flat.’

The woman’s hand flew to her mouth. Her eyes had widened in horror. ‘Are you serious? Are you telling me that some kind of madman tried to get into her home?’

‘She didn’t tell you?’

Mrs Lowe shook her head as her hand rubbed furiously at her chin. Her eyebrows raised as a memory seemed to jump to the front of her mind.

‘What is it?’ Kim asked. She’d take anything.

The woman nodded slowly. ‘She came home to stay, before she left for Dubai. She said that her landlord was carrying out emergency repairs to the building.’ She paused as the rest of the memory caught up. ‘She also took some time off work. Said the job was getting her down, and she needed something new. She heard about the job in Dubai from an old college friend. She spoke to the family for two hours on Skype and she clicked with them straightaway…’

‘So she moved back in and then rarely left the house?’ Kim clarified.

The woman nodded again. ‘Come to think of it, yes. She didn’t even accompany us out for a family birthday. I just never thought for a moment that anything like that…’

‘Are you saying that she never told you?’ Kim asked incredulously. Jemima had felt frightened enough to report the incident to the police. She had moved back into the family home and had pretty much left the country as a result – but she hadn’t told her family?

‘I swear that she never—’

‘It was me she told, Inspector,’ Sara said quietly from the doorway.

Mrs Lowe’s head whipped around as Sara took two steps into the room.

‘What are you… when did she… why…?’

Sara held up her hands in defence. ‘I’m sorry, Mum, but she swore me to secrecy. She didn’t want you to worry. She called me the night it happened. It was me that advised her to come home.’

Kim could see the hurt that had settled on Mrs Lowe’s face. That her daughters had kept such a secret from her seemed just too much to bear under the weight of everything else. Kim couldn’t tangle herself up in that right now. Sara had spoken to Jemima on the night of the attempted break-in. She might have said something that hadn’t made it to the report.

Kim turned towards the younger sister.

‘Sara, did she talk to you about what had happened?’

Sara nodded. ‘Only that night on the phone. Once she was back here she swore me to secrecy and then tried to pretend that it had never happened. She never spoke of it again.’

Kim could feel the frustration growing in her stomach, but she had to push the girl.

‘Is there anything at all that your sister said that night about the incident that might help us now?’

Very slowly Sara’s head began to move in an affirmative direction.

‘Go on,’ Kim urged.

Sara took a breath. ‘She said she thought it was someone that she knew.’