Blood Lines

  ‘Okay, got it,’ she said, ending the call.

  She sighed heavily.

  ‘Okay, scrub that last instruction, for one of you anyway. Time to get the straws out ’cos control room just handed us a body.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  A quarter-mile out Bryant was guided by the blue fireworks that lit the night sky. Such a pretty announcement for the horror that lay beneath, Kim thought.

  There had been no straw pulling back in the squad room. Bryant had sent the kids home to bed and jumped in the car beside her.

  The traffic slowed, and Kim pictured an officer at the crossroads guiding traffic away from the crime scene.

  For every one that acquiesced without questions there would be three motorists demanding an explanation and then double that for the ones trying to get a look.

  The area known as Colley Gate sat on the A458 that linked Halesowen and Stourbridge. Although traffic reduced at night the road never quieted completely. The main road gave way to side roads that led to the infamous Tanhouse estate.

  Kim had responded to many calls on Tanhouse. By the 1980s the resident community had been plagued by drug abuse, burglary, vandalism, car crime and violence. Much of which had emanated from the three tower blocks. Kipling House and Byron House had been demolished in 1999, and the last remaining tower block, Chaucer House, had been renovated. A man was stabbed the week the project was completed.

  Kim remembered the off-licence that had been attached to one of the tower blocks. Such was the level of crime he had refused to open his doors at night and had served customers through a hatch in the window.

  They reached the outer perimeter which was flanked by three squad cars, two officers and half a dozen cones.

  She opened the window and thrust out her ID and her head. The officer raised a cone and waved her through.

  ‘Here we go again,’ Bryant mumbled as he killed the engine on the Astra Estate. She stepped around Keats’s van and assessed the scene as a warm drizzle began to fall. The autumn day had been bright with a temperature in the late teens and was still in double digits in the early hours of the morning.

  The car, a one-year-old Vauxhall Cascada, was parked in a lay-by that fronted a row of shops on the main road.

  Of the nine properties only three were not boarded up: a Chinese takeaway, a post office and a launderette.

  Opposite, but within the cordon area, was a pub that had, thankfully, emptied a few hours earlier. She could live without the live audience.

  As she approached the vehicle a familiar voice met her ears.

  ‘Oh goody, my favourite detective. How are you, Bryant?’

  She snatched the blue slippers hanging from the hand of the diminutive pathologist and offered him a look in return.

  ‘Bryant, you’ll be rewarded in the afterlife for your—’

  ‘Keats, I’m waiting,’ she said.

  ‘Oh Inspector, you’re just no fun anymore.’

  She’d never been any fun, she thought, as she bit back a hundred acerbic retorts that came to mind.

  The pathologist weighed in at around twelve stone, wringing wet, and the top of his head just about reached her chin. That alone was enough to keep her tongue in check.

  ‘Victim is female, late forties to early fifties, smartly dressed, with a single stab wound: lower torso, left side.’

  Kim nodded and headed around the side of the car.

  A young bespectacled male stood in her way. She was instantly reminded of Harry Potter.

  She stepped to the left. He followed.

  She stepped to the right. He followed.

  She briefly considered picking him up and throwing him out of the way when the voice of Keats found her again.

  ‘Detective Inspector Stone, please meet my new assistant, Jonathan Bullock.’

  The misery of the kid’s school days flashed before her like a film.

  The trainee pushed his glasses further up his nose and squinted as though his approaching middle finger had surprised him. He held out his hand and opened his mouth.

  ‘No, no, Jonathan,’ Keats said, stepping forward quickly. ‘It’s best not to make eye contact or address her directly. Like most wild animals, she’s unpredictable.’

  Kim stepped around him to the front passenger door.

  White suits surrounded the vehicle. One dusted the door handle; another was taking the last couple of photographs of the car’s interior.

  They moved away and gave her the nod.

  The first thing that hit Kim was the smell. Copious amounts of fresh blood brought a metallic smell wafting towards her. As pungent as it was she found it preferable to the sickly sweet smell that accompanied decaying blood.

  She turned her face to the side and took a generous gulp of air. She turned back and began her appraisal from the top. The crime scene photos would assist her later but her initial priority was to commit the scene to memory. Her senses would never be as keen as they were right now.

  The woman’s hair was dyed a classy chestnut brown. A hint of grey at the temples signalled touch-up time. The stylish cut landed an inch below the jaw. The forehead was smooth with just the hint of lines that would have stretched and contracted during animation. They would deepen no more, Kim thought sadly.

  Her face was still holding on to the remnants of make-up applied at the start of the day. It had worn and faded since the morning and a small smudge of mascara was visible beneath the left eye, perhaps an absent rub at the end of a long day; driving home, when her appearance mattered a little less.

  Her eyes were open wide and the lips slightly parted. A layman might say she looked surprised but the dead usually looked that way. Once the heart stopped beating the muscles dropped and returned to rest without retaining the memory of the last known expression. The finality of death lived in the eyes. Had they been closed she would have looked peaceful – serene.

  A pearl earring was centred in each earlobe.

  Around her throat was a simple gold chain with a small heart-shaped ruby resting against her skin.

  A powder pink cashmere cardigan tucked neatly beneath the collar of a plain white shirt.

  Kim’s gaze continued down. She paused and turned.

  ‘Keats, anybody touch this woman?’

  The pathologist came to stand behind her.

  ‘Only me to establish the wound site. And that’s exactly as I found it.’

  She nodded and continued her assessment. She pushed aside the cardigan to see the full extent of the wound. A crimson stain coloured the whiteness of the shirt. A single tear in the fabric denoted the site of entry.

  Kim lowered the cardigan and continued.

  Her lower half was clad in quality black trousers. Her feet were encased in court shoes that were stylish but functional. A Burberry handbag sat in the foot-well of the passenger side.

  She reached in and removed it as Bryant reappeared beside her.

  Although there was no official pairing in her team the two of them often worked together. Her boss liked it that way.

  Bryant provided damage limitation. He possessed manners and social skills. It worked well. She hadn’t needed to tell him to seek out the person who had found their victim. He had known. And during the conversation he would have shown the correct level of empathy and consideration. She had automatically headed for the victim; luckily for her she couldn’t offend the dead.

  ‘Chinese guy, closing up for the night found her, guv,’ he said. ‘He didn’t see the car pull up.’

  Kim nodded. ‘Okay, get details of as many customers as he can remember.’

  She looked around and assessed the surroundings. ‘Find the pub owners and do the same. Someone must have seen or heard something.’

  He turned away, and Kim continued interrogating the handbag.

  Although she didn’t carry one, many of the general contents appeared to be present. She glanced back into the car to the hands-free apparatus. An expensive smartphone was still present.

 
Kim felt rather than heard a figure sidle up beside her.

  ‘Go on then, Keats, what do you know?’ she asked.

  ‘I can confidently confirm that she is dead.’

  She raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Did you know that long ago, when science was in its infancy, there were some very interesting methods of testing for death.’

  Kim waited.

  ‘Among them were tongue and nipple pulling, tobacco smoke enemas and insertion of hot pokers into various bodily orifices.’

  ‘Not great if you’re a heavy sleeper,’ Kim observed.

  ‘Thank goodness for the invention of the stethoscope, I say,’ Keats murmured.

  ‘Okay, so how about telling me something I need to know,’ Kim pushed.

  ‘I’m guessing a five to six-inch blade, one stab wound, almost immediate death.’

  Kim had guessed that much. There was no blood on the woman’s hands. She had not reached for the wound.

  Harry Potter approached and pushed his glasses further onto his nose. ‘A carjacking, Inspector?’

  Keats shook his head and mumbled, ‘Oh dear, I told you not to—’

  ‘It’s okay, Keats. Let the boy speak,’ she said.

  Keats spoke around her. ‘Walk away, Jonathan, while you still can.’

  He ignored his new boss. ‘I’m just saying that’s what it looks like. I mean it’s a nice car and… ’

  ‘It’s still here,’ she said.

  Keats groaned and walked away.

  ‘The perp could have been disturbed?’

  Her tongue was charged and ready to fire when his long swallow and the memory of his last name stopped her.

  She nodded towards the passenger door which was still open.

  ‘Firstly, don’t ever use the word “perp” and secondly, take another look.’

  He did so as Kim continued to speak to him.

  ‘All her jewellery is in place. Even that Rolex on her wrist. Her phone is still there, and her purse is still in her handbag. You see anything else?’ Kim asked.

  He shook his head.

  ‘Seat belt is off. The car is parked straight, and she’s turned slightly to the left. Anything now?’

  His mouth had fallen open slightly but still he shook his head.

  ‘The car is fitted with OnStar,’ she said, pointing to the three-button control panel. The button on the right was red and marked ‘SOS’. Any activation would have been received at the Vauxhall command centre in Luton, and the police would have been informed already.

  Realisation dawned in his eyes. ‘It was someone she knew?’

  Satisfied he’d learned something it was time to drive it home.

  ‘Listen, if you want to be a detective be one, otherwise focus on the job you’re here to do. Us investigators don’t take kindly to being told how to do our job.’

  He nodded, swallowed and touched his glasses all at the same time. The kid was a multitasker.

  It was a lesson he needed to learn quickly and she’d done it privately. Another SIO might not have done. He would have been humiliated into understanding. And yet the redness in his face as he’d turned away remained in her mind.

  ‘Oh and Jonathan… ’

  He turned.

  ‘You doing your job well helps us do ours.’ She smiled. ‘Got it?’

  He smiled in return, nodded and walked away.

  She turned back to the handbag. She took out a tan leather purse containing notes and coins, a dentist card with an appointment for the following week, a cheque book holder and a small cosmetics bag.

  She took out the driving licence.

  ‘Okay, Deanna Brightman, let’s see what we are going to find out about you.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  He felt the hatred surge around his body at the sight of her.

  She put her leg to the ground and tipped the powerful motorbike to the right. Her left leg swung around with ease and yet there was a weariness to her body as she pushed the machine under the garage door.

  He cared nothing for her fatigue.

  He had been here when she had left at 9 p.m. and he was here when the single headlight had turned into the street at almost 2 a.m.

  And for the whole time one single question had looped around his brain.

  Take the helmet off, he instructed, silently. Let me see that face. Let me see the cold, selfish bitch that you are.

  Although he had never met her, he knew her. She had saved people from the devil and now the devil lived inside his head.

  Just one question – he wanted to ask one question – before he unleashed the rage that was now aimed directly at her.

  The childhood abuse that had shaped him was because of her.

  The voice in his head was because of her.

  His powerlessness to break free was because of her.

  The filth in his soul was because of her.

  The question finally burst through his lips – no more than a whisper:

  ‘Why didn’t you save me?’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Kim let herself into the house quietly, not sure who she was hoping not to disturb. The only living thing in her home didn’t care that it was after 2 a.m. and was already at the door wagging its tail.

  ‘Hey boy, how’re you doing?’

  She picked up the post and rubbed Barney’s soft black head with her spare hand. As she passed the sofa she reached over and touched her usual spot. It had a Barney-sized patch of warmth.

  A small voice reminded her that one of her first rules after collecting Barney from the dogs’ home had been ‘no sofa’. If she recalled correctly that had lasted about thirty-five minutes.

  The ‘no feeding by hand’ and ‘you sleep on your own bed’ rules hadn’t fared much better.

  ‘Show me,’ she said, as he walked at the side of her.

  He ran ahead to the kitchen and sat in front of the treat cupboard.

  Barney was partial to the teeth cleaning chews. She took out the box and counted. ‘Yeah, right,’ she said, putting back the box. There had been seven left earlier in the day and now there were six. Charlie from two doors down visited Barney while she was working, and took Barney back to his house when she was away from home for long periods. Since losing his wife of forty-four years the two of them provided company for each other. But despite her gentle reminders about Barney’s weight Charlie continued to spoil the dog rotten.

  She opened the fridge and took out a carrot.

  She would swear he did a dog shrug as he took it to his usual chewing spot on the rug.

  She could hear his teeth crunching through the vegetable as she filled the coffee machine with water. It would drip through the coffee grounds while they took their nightly walk and be perfect for her return.

  Thankfully, the humid, sticky heat of the summer was behind them and the late September temperatures were stuck around the mid-teens. Perfect.

  She leafed through the post as Barney continued to do battle with the carrot.

  A gas bill, a bank statement and a third envelope that caused her to frown.

  It was plain white with her name and address neatly written on the front. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d received a handwritten envelope.

  The postmark was Staffordshire. She didn’t know anyone in Staffordshire.

  She tore open the envelope with a curious expression. Immediately Kim could see through the thin paper that the single sheet was handwritten. The bemused expression froze on her face as she read the first two words.

  Her fingers loosened the paper as though flames were leaping out at her. The single sheet fluttered and landed on the breakfast bar.

  Her eyes were still locked on those first two words. And they could only have come from one person.

  Kim stepped away from the breakfast bar and paced.

  Suddenly she was transported back to the previous year and her first meeting with the sociopathic doctor, Alexandra Thorne.

  Kim used the word ‘evil’ very sparingly, even
in her job. It was too general, too easily applied to people who did bad things but, in the case of Alex Thorne, the description did not do the woman’s despicable nature justice.

  They had met during an investigation into the murder of a convicted rapist, and Kim had been on alert straightaway. Persuading anyone to believe ill of the beautiful, enigmatic and charming woman had been an impossible feat, even for her. It had taken every ounce of determination she possessed to uncover Alex’s foul, sick experiment, and she had almost lost her mind in the process.

  There had been a moment during their battle that Kim had almost slid into the darkness: when Alex had thrown the worst memories of her childhood into her face, exposed all her vulnerabilities. She had been tempted to let go. And yet she had just barely managed to hang on. Only the willpower to expose the true depth of evil that lived inside the woman had kept her from oblivion.

  Most people thought her encounter with Alex had been just another case, and there were times Kim tried to tell herself that too. Occasionally it worked.

  She reached for the sheet of paper without looking and scrunched it into a ball, as though even reading the words would take her right back to that moment.

  She launched it towards the bin. It bounced off the lid and landed in the corner.

  She had survived one battle with Doctor Alexandra Thorne.

  She was by no means sure she was capable of doing it again.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a scream that chilled her blood.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Barney reached the front door before she did. She nudged his barking frame out of the way and stepped outside.

  Kim heard the words, ‘Get the fuck off me,’ screamed from her left.

  She ran to the end of the drive as bedroom lights began to illuminate the street. Curtains twitched and front doors opened but no one made a sound.

  Kim looked in the direction of the scream and saw a dark form leaning against the lamp post. A shadow rounded the corner at the end of the road and disappeared from sight.

  A low groan sounded from the figure as it staggered two steps forward.

  ‘Yer fucking bastard,’ it shouted before falling to its knees.