Play Dead (9 page)

K
im tried
to leave the day on the doormat as she turned the key in the lock.

Her detour to the Brierley Hill station on the way home had been brief but fruitful.

A small smile tugged at her lips as she heard the familiar tap, tap, tap on laminate.

She hated bringing negativity home. Her best friend had had enough in his few short years.

‘Hey, boy,’ she said, leaning down to rub at his head. Barney jumped up, trying to press his head even closer into her hand. She took off her jacket and lowered herself to the ground.

‘Come here, you little terror.’ She laughed as he jumped all over her legs.

As usual the dog walked behind her. The Border collie was busy rounding her up towards the food cupboard.

He sat and looked up at her expectantly.

As she looked down his full tail swished across the floor. She smiled and reached into the cupboard. She took a teeth-cleaning chew and asked for his paw.

He gave his left then his right then his left again, doing a little dance that never failed to raise a smile from her lips.

He took the chew and trotted proudly to the rug in the lounge, the place he always took his booty.

As she filled the percolator jug, she knew that she would never be without him.

But even his enthusiastic welcome had failed to lift the cloud for more than a few minutes.

She had tried to convince herself that it was her current case.

She hated this stage of a new investigation. It was the most frustrating part, getting to know her victim, trying to get inside the mind of the killer.

Some clues came from the life of the victim and others came from their death. So far, other than a complete dickhead for a boyfriend and a break-in attempt at her home, there was very little of Jemima’s life to pick apart. She’d only been back in the country for a short while and it was unlikely she’d made any new enemies in that time. Unlikely but not impossible.

Waiting for the clues of her death was like being stuck in the middle lane of the motorway at rush hour. You look for different ways to go but you’re just not moving anywhere.

Kim tried to superimpose the photo she’d seen of Jemima at the Lowes’ home on top of the bloody, battered mess that she’d been left with.

There was so much about this murder that was personal. Her instinct was telling her that Jemima had not been some random woman taken with no thought or care. Her killer had wanted her for a reason.

Kim applied her usual logic of deeds done past, present or future. Jemima appeared to be no threat to anyone. She wasn’t involved in any project that was going to harm or threaten anyone. Her present was equally vanilla. Although Kim thought that if she’d been able to collar Roach for it and get away with it, she might be tempted. Any loss to the human race, women in particular, he was not. But the more she pictured the viciousness and passion that had gone into the attack, the more certain she became that he was not their man.

Which left only Jemima’s past – and that’s where they would begin tomorrow.

She knew it wasn’t the only thing bothering her.

It was the bloody commendation that was at the core of her misery, for more reasons than one.

Kim disliked public recognition for doing her job. Yes, it had been a hard and trying case, and yes she had eaten, breathed and slept the investigation. But that’s what she’d signed up for and receiving a piece of paper in front of a few hundred people was not what had prompted her application to the police force.

The commendation meant little to her but would have meant everything to Keith and Erica. The irony was that the ceremony was to be held on the anniversary of their deaths.

This time of year brought forth many cherished moments of her time in their care, but it also prodded at a day that, when recalled, had the power to bring her to her knees.

Kim did what was second nature when memories from her past threatened to overwhelm her.

She turned to work and opened the file of a man named Bob.

O
h
, Mummy, I remember a little girl named Lindsay. She lived just down the street with her two daddies.

I found it strange that she had two and I had none. Her daddies were named Maxwell and Clint. You showed me my birth certificate when I asked. And my daddy’s name was ‘unknown’. You convinced me we didn’t need one; that families were made of all different types of people and some families didn’t have a mummy and some families didn’t have a daddy. And like everything else I accepted it.

One of Lindsay’s daddies dropped her at our house one day. She was such a pretty little girl. Her hair was blonde and curly, natural curls that constantly invaded her face.

She had an adorable little head shake to dislodge the unruly curls from her eyes. I remember her eyelashes. They were long and black, framing eyes that were as blue as the summer sky. Her cheeks were rosy and round and she had happy lips. That’s how I’ve always remembered them, Mummy, as happy lips because even when she was frowning her lips looked like they were having fun.

I liked her, Mummy, and you liked her too.

I was so excited when she came for tea that night. It was the very first time and I couldn’t wait. She was dressed in a bright yellow frock that reflected her golden hair. She wore brilliant white stockings that made her legs look like chubby little tree trunks. Her white buckle shoes were finished off with polka-dot bows that matched the one in her hair.

She was excited and so was I.

We played so nicely at first. A game that you chose. We giggled and chuckled and you smiled at us both. Oh, Mummy, how I loved to see that smile.

You left the room to make our tea. It was going to be sausage, egg and beans – my favourite.

Lindsay nudged me and I fell over. I giggled as I nudged her back. Within minutes we were wrestling all over the floor. We were laughing and playing, our dresses and best clothes were getting creased and ripped, but we didn’t care. We were too busy laughing to notice.

You stepped back into the room and the look on your face had changed. I knew I’d done something wrong.

You called Lindsay’s father to collect her and she never came back again.

You always made my friends leave, Mummy, and now I must do the same.

K
im had read
through the file before she’d taken Barney for his nightly walk.

The humidity of the night had dissuaded her from the drive to the Clent Hills. Even with all the windows down, the small car was like a Dudley furnace working overtime.

She wasn’t sure Barney was all that bothered about where they walked. A field was a field and his nose went into overdrive picking up the new scents wherever they went. Owner projection, she considered, made her think Barney preferred a car trip to the local beauty spot.

He plonked himself on the rug in the middle of the room while she returned to the paper explosion at the dining table. Her mind had been busy as they’d walked the park.

Yes, Bob appeared to be a mystery but surely not an unfathomable one. Many questions were rattling around in her head.

Why that particular reservoir – did it hold any significance? Was Bob a fisherman? Had the locals known him? Why had it been so important to hide his identity? Were his stomach contents important? What about the items found in his pocket… what help could they get from some pound coins and a raffle ticket?

There was nothing remarkable about Bob. He was an overweight middle-aged man who had been found on the edge of a reservoir. He was an average guy that no one seemed to have missed, but he was something to someone and that was what bothered her. If nothing else he had been someone’s son.

‘Damn it, Bob,’ she said, picking up the file. She already knew that this man’s story had wormed its way under her skin. Tracy Frost may not have known that she was pressing Kim’s activate buttons, but they had been pressed all the same.

Her interest wasn’t purely due to the mystery of his missing hands; it was because nobody fought for the average guy. Unsolved cases were periodically reassessed, but Bob was unlikely to be the cream that rose to the top. He was low profile and nobody was chasing for a result, so other cases would always take priority. He would remain the property of the coroner with a tag of ‘unidentified male’.

Not if I can help it, big guy
, Kim thought.

The précis report she’d picked up from Brierley Hill offered her an overview of the basics but no detail of the investigation, posing even more questions in her mind. How much effort had gone into trying to find out who this man had been? Was he a father? A grandfather? Had he known his killer was coming?

Her mind was fragmenting into so many lines of enquiry that the sound of her phone startled her.

Instantly she bristled. If this was Tracy bloody Frost again, she’d arrest her for harassment.

‘Stone,’ she answered.

‘In-Inspector, is that… that you?’

The trembling male voice ruled out Frost.

‘It is,’ she answered, frowning.

‘Professor Wright from W-Westerley.’

She sat forwards, her mind cleared of everything except the voice on the other end of the line.

‘Professor…?’

‘There’s a… another one, Inspector.’

Kim was already on her feet and reaching for her jacket.

‘Professor, don’t let anyone touch—’

‘Please hurry, Detective Inspector. This poor woman is still alive.’

A
s Kim waited
for the gate to move aside, Bryant’s Astra pulled up behind her. The gate began to move, and she drove through once the gap was a foot and a half wide.

She was off the bike and heading into the office as Bryant parked the car.

Darren, the night security guard, sat at the small round table. His hands were trembling around a mug of something.

The colour of his skin had not yet returned to its natural state.

‘Did you touch her?’ Kim asked urgently.

He shook his head.

‘Then how did you know she was still…’

‘She moaned,’ he said brokenly. ‘Oh God, the sound…’

He shook his head and stared back into the mug.

‘Is the professor with her now?’

He nodded without looking at her.

Kim looked at Bryant. ‘Stay with him and get the gate open for the ambulance,’ she instructed.

He nodded.

She headed out of the door and took her torch from her pocket.

The light from the Portakabin aided her only to the end of the car park. The moon offered her the promise of a direction of travel, but she was stepping into a sheet of darkness with only a general idea of where she was going.

Kim walked into the blackness and each stride confused her senses more. She took a few steps and was no longer sure she was moving in the right direction.

Bryant would question Darren, find out about his patrols. Kim guessed they’d be more accurate this time around. He’d almost lost his job. After his recent discovery, Kim suspected he might be wishing he had.

‘Professor,’ she called into the darkness.

Suddenly a shaft of light lifted from the ground and illuminated the single figure beside the oak tree.

Thank goodness, she’d already been starting to head away.

She sprinted to his location, feeling the long grass whip her ankles as she ran.

She detoured slightly to the left, remembering Jack and Vera in the sunken graves not far away.

As she reached his side the professor shone the torch down but not before she’d seen his ashen face.

Kim dropped to the ground, her knees sinking into the dirt thanks to a brief shower that had occurred around sunset.

A soft moan sounded but Kim could see the colour red seeping along the grass.

Kim knew she needed to assess the scene for evidence, but the priority was the woman who was still alive. She gently touched her bare arm.

‘It’s okay, we’re here with you and the ambulance is coming.’

She had made a second call to Ambo Control to clarify the exact location. It was difficult for them to find a place that was trying to hide.

There was no further moan or acknowledgement that the figure had heard her.

She looked up to the professor. ‘Can you get down here and place your hand where mine is so she knows there’s someone here?’

He knelt beside her and touched her hand, replacing it.

Torches shone from the Portakabin that was now illuminated by the lights from a squad car and the ambulance but, God help her, she needed to look for clues.

‘Shine your torch there,’ she said, pointing to the woman’s head.

The hair was brown, short and matted with blood and dirt. She couldn’t see the face, and she dared not touch it in case she caused further injury. She followed the light beam down the body to the breastbone. Flecks of brown, like freckles, mottled the area below her chin.

Shit, her mouth, Kim realised as she leaned down and inspected the woman’s lips. Specks of brown were present. Damn it – her mouth was full of dirt!

Kim realised she had no choice. She took hold of the woman’s chin and slowly pulled down her lower jaw. What should have been a gaping hole was packed with dirt. Kim used her index finger to gently prod and then sweep the dirt from her mouth. She knew she had to be careful not to dislodge the packed mass too quickly, for fear of sending the soil down her throat to her airway. After the first sweep Kim leaned down and placed her cheek as close to the woman’s mouth as she could without touching.

She could hear the rasp of some air making it in and out. She wanted to just dive in and scrape it all out in one go, but she made another sweep and removed another small portion.

‘I’m just trying to make it easier for you to breathe,’ Kim said calmly. The woman still had her nose but the effort of using her nostrils only was causing her chest to rise and fall quickly.

Another gentle sweep and Kim had removed as much dirt as she dared.

‘Paramedics are here,’ the professor said. The relief in his voice was evident.

The irony that she had more freedom with the dead was not lost on Kim. Not nice but true all the same. Although a dead body couldn’t offer a description, she reasoned.

From what she could see, Kim was guessing that their killer had begun his ritual of filling the mouth and beating the face to a pulp, but there was a slight difference. The blows to this victim had landed on the side of her head rather than in the middle of her face, indicating this woman had been able to move her head around more to avoid the blows.

The additional body weight of the woman before her could have meant that the same level of drug in her system hadn’t had quite such potent or debilitating effects as it would have had on the slight frame of Jemima Lowe.

That there was also less dirt in the mouth told Kim he’d been rushing. It was possible he had seen Darren’s torchlight in the distance but had still been compelled to finish the ritual. The specks of soil on the woman’s chest confirmed to Kim that he had filled her mouth with the dirt around them. Had he done it earlier they would not still have been present after she’d been dragged up the hill. Even under duress, the ritual was important to him. But he must have given up completely once Darren had come closer.

‘It’s okay,’ Kim soothed the woman as she assessed. ‘The medics are here and they’re going to take care of you.’

As the torch moved down her body Kim saw she was wearing a floral halter-neck dress made of cotton and the smell of soap drifted up from the bare skin. The dress was not raised above the knee and Kim could see no sign of trauma.

Except for the back of her head being caved in.

The torches and voices were coming closer. The torchlight rested on the woman’s bare feet.

‘Shine it around,’ Kim instructed the professor.

He plunged her body into darkness as he raised the torch to light the area.

There was no evidence of her footwear.

She could hear words now passing between Bryant and the paramedics and the grass being trodden underfoot. She quickly leaned back down to the woman as another soft moan sounded.

Kim gently reached for her hand and rubbed her thumb across the nail. As with Jemima, it was coarse to the touch. Both women had chosen to strip their nails right before going out. It was a coincidence that didn’t sit comfortably in her mind.

‘Step aside, please,’ said the first paramedic as he knelt at the victim’s head. ‘Name?’ he said, looking to her. Kim shook her head. The dress had no pockets and there was no handbag.

‘Unknown,’ Kim answered. ‘There’s dirt in the mouth and she’s probably been drugged.’

The head injury they could see for themselves.

‘All right, love,’ he said to the victim as he reached into his bag. The second paramedic took the place of the professor.

Kim took a few steps back and drew level with Bryant.

The work of the paramedics was far more important than hers. For now.

‘Darren’s in a bit of a state,’ Bryant said. ‘But his log is in order. He swears on his daughter’s life he did a patrol at eleven and the next at twelve. He happened on to the victim at around twelve fifteen.’

Kim nodded and turned her attention back to the medics.

The first medic took a dressing from the bag while the second raised the woman’s head slightly.

‘Worst of the bleeding is over but we’ll dress it anyway, Jeff,’ he said.

Another soft moan sounded from the victim.

‘It’s all right, love, you’re okay now,’ said Jeff without taking his eyes from the bandage being looped around her head. Once the task was complete, the first medic spoke again.

‘Okay, Jeff, place the stretcher.’

Kim took one step forwards. ‘How is she?’

Jeff shrugged. ‘Need to get her in. She’s breathing, so best to get her to hospital quickly for the head injury.’

The two paramedics managed her carefully onto the stretcher and lifted her on three.

The professor offered to carry the rest of the equipment and headed off across the field behind them.

By Bryant’s torchlight she could see three crime-scene techs heading in their direction.

‘What do you reckon he used?’ Bryant asked.

Kim took the torch from him and shone it around the area just away from where the woman had been found. No weapon had been found at the crime scene of Jemima and she suspected this time would be no different.

‘Well, Darren might be feeling shitty right now, but he needs to know he saved this woman’s life.’

Kim was in no doubt that Darren’s torchlight as he had patrolled the grounds had scared the killer off before he’d had a chance to complete the task. Because of Darren, their second victim still had a pulse and still had a face.

‘It’s not just about the death,’ she said. ‘It’s all about what he’s doing with them first.’

‘Jemima showed no evidence of sexual assault,’ Bryant reminded her.

The techies arrived and took control of the scene.

Kim moved and stood beside her colleague with a slight shake of the head. There was one thing that had been puzzling her since finding Jemima and was even more disturbing to her now.

‘Bryant, why the hell is he leaving them here?’