Silent Scream: An edge of your seat serial killer thriller Book 1

  ‘Bryant, how long had Peter and I been seeing each other?’

  ‘Almost a year.’

  ‘And how many times do you think he stayed over?’

  ‘Quite a few.’

  ‘Yep, and do you want to know what lead to that final argument?’

  ‘If you wanna share.’

  ‘Only so you’ll get off my back. I finished it because one morning he didn’t take his toothbrush with him.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’

  Kim shook her head, remembering the day when he’d left for work and she’d gone into the bathroom to see it there, brazenly lying next to hers. No crime scene had ever induced that level of horror.

  ‘I realised that if I’m not prepared to share a toothbrush glass, I’m not prepared to share much of anything else.’

  ‘But surely you could have worked it out.’

  ‘Jesus, this is not Blind Date and you’re not Cilla Black. Some people are meant to find a soul mate and live happily ever after. And some people are not wired that way. That’s all.’

  ‘I just want you to have someone in your life that makes you happy.’

  ‘Do you think it’ll make me any less difficult to work with?’ Kim asked, signalling that the conversation was over.

  He got it. ‘Bloody hell – if it was that easy, I’d move in here myself.’

  ‘Yeah, well, make sure you don’t leave your toothbrush.’

  ‘No, I’ll just bring the glass I put my teeth in at night.’

  ‘No, really, stop there.’

  Bryant finished his coffee. ‘Alright, enough foreplay. We both know why I’m here. Are you gonna show it to me or not?’

  ‘Well ...’

  ‘Come on, enough with the teasing.’

  She jumped up and headed out to the garage. Bryant was no more than two steps behind.

  She took her treasure from the workbench and turned to face him. She tenderly peeled back the cotton pillowcase protecting it from the temperature.

  Bryant stared in wonder at the motorcycle fuel tank. ‘Original?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘It’s a beauty. Where did you get it?’

  ‘eBay.’

  ‘May I?’

  Kim passed it to him. She’d spent six weeks trawling the internet for the 1951 model. Far easier to find were parts for the 1953 model and upwards. But she’d never done easy.

  Bryant caressed the rubber knee pads fitted on each side of the tank and shook his head. ‘Beautiful.’

  ‘That’s enough, give it back.’

  Bryant handed it to her and walked slowly around the motorbike. ‘Wasn’t this the model Marlon Brando rode in The Wild One?’

  Kim jumped up and sat on the workbench. She shook her head. ‘Nineteen-fifty.’

  ‘Are you ever gonna ride this bike?’

  She nodded. The Triumph would be her therapy. The Ninja was a rush, a challenge. Riding it satisfied a need deep within her, but the Thunderbird was a thing of beauty. Just being near it transported her back to the only three years in her life that she’d felt anything even resembling contentment. A mere interlude.

  The sound of a phone ringing startled her. She jumped off the work bench and retrieved her mobile from the kitchen.

  She saw the number. ‘Hell, no,’ she whispered. She darted through the house and into the street. Two houses away from her own, she pressed the answer button. Her home would not be contaminated.

  ‘Kim Stone.’

  ‘Umm ... Miss Stone, I’m ringing about an incident with your mother. She ...’

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘Oh, my apologies. I’m Laura Wilson, the night supervisor at Grantley Care Facility. I’m afraid she’s had an episode.’

  Kim shook her head, confused. ‘Why are you ringing me?’

  There was a brief silence. ‘Umm ... because you are listed as her emergency contact.’

  ‘Does it say that in the file?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is she dead?’

  ‘Goodness, no. She took a dislike ...’

  ‘Then you should have read the file better, Miss Wilson – because then you’d have known that there is only one situation for which I require an update and you’ve already confirmed that not to be the case.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. I had no idea. Please accept my apologies for disturbing you.’

  Kim could hear the tremor in the woman’s voice and instantly felt bad for her reaction.

  ‘Okay, what did she do now?’

  ‘Earlier today she became convinced that a trainee nurse had been brought in to poison her. She’s quite sprightly for a woman approaching her sixties and she charged the nurse and brought her to the ground.’

  ‘Is she okay?’

  ‘She’s fine. We’ve altered her medication slightly to ...’

  ‘I meant the nurse.’

  ‘She was a bit scared but she’s okay now. It’s part and parcel of working in this profession.’

  Yep, all in the normal day of living with a paranoid schizophrenic.

  Kim was eager to end the phone call. ‘Is there anything else?’

  ‘No, that’s all.’

  ‘Thank you for the call but I would appreciate it if you made a further note on the file regarding my previous instruction.’

  ‘Of course, Miss Stone and once again, apologies for my error.’

  Kim hit the end button and leaned against the lamp post, banishing all thoughts of her mother from her mind.

  She only gave thought to that woman on her terms. And that was once a month at a time and place of her choosing. Within her control.

  She left all thoughts of her mother in the street and closed the front door firmly behind her. Kim would not allow her mother’s influence into her place of safety.

  She took fresh mugs from the cupboard and poured more coffee for herself and Bryant. He said nothing as she re-entered the garage, as though it was the most natural thing in the world for her to take flight from her own home to accept a phone call.

  She resumed her seat on the workbench and placed the petrol tank on her lap. She reached for a wire brush, similar in size and shape to a toothbrush and gently brushed at a small patch of rust on the right hand side. Flecks of brown landed on her jeans.

  ‘Surely there’s a quicker way of doing that?’

  ‘Oh, Bryant, only a man would be concerned with the speed.’

  An easy silence settled between them as she worked.

  ‘He’ll keep you on the case, you know,’ Bryant said, quietly.

  Kim shook her head. She was not so sure. ‘I don’t know, Bryant. Woody’s right when he says I can’t be trusted. He knows that regardless of any promises I might make there are some times when I just can’t help myself.’

  ‘And that’s why he’ll keep you on it.’

  She looked at him.

  ‘He knows how you work and yet you’re still around. There is no disciplinary on your file ... which is beyond shocking, if you want the truth. He knows that you get results and that you won’t rest until you solve a case, especially this case.’

  Kim said nothing. This case was personal to her and Woody might feel that was detrimental.

  ‘And there’s one other reason why he won’t remove you from the case.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Because he would be a damn fool to do so – and we both know that Woody is no fool.’

  Kim sighed heavily as she put the tank aside. She sincerely hoped her colleague and friend was right.

  Twenty-Three

  Nicola Adamson rewound the news report and watched it again.

  A tall, solid, black male by the name of Woodward confirmed the discovery of a body on the site of the old Crestwood children’s home. His brief statement was followed by an aerial view of the place she had once called home.

  Nicola felt instant relief. Finally they were going to uncover the secrets of that godforsaken place.

  But then came the fear. How would Beth react
to the news? Nicola knew her sister would not open up and talk to her. As children, they had been so close; all they’d had was each other. They had shared everything. Nicola struggled to recall when that had changed.

  They had grown apart after Crestwood. Beth had returned four years ago when Nicola had been struck down by glandular fever but once she’d been out of intensive care, Beth had disappeared.

  A week ago she had returned and although there were minor irritations at sharing her home, Nicola loved having her sister around. A small voice in the back of her mind offered the question, how long?

  When Beth was away Nicola always felt that part of her was missing. Yet when she was back Nicola felt more anxious; always worried about Beth’s reactions.

  Her sister was changed somehow. There was a remoteness to her personality now; a coldness that showed in a mean set to her features, an impatience with the rest of the world. Nicola felt that every ounce of her sister’s joy had been lost.

  She checked on the contents of the oven. She had decided to cook Beth's favourite meal of breaded chicken nuggets and potato waffles with a dollop of tomato ketchup. Nicola smiled. It was strange how she’d never grown out of that.

  Despite their differences, Nicola wanted to forge a stronger relationship with Beth. She wanted to understand what had driven them apart.

  She was hoping they could sit together in their pyjamas and watch a film while eating the juvenile meal that might find its way into Beth’s memories.

  Living together was not ideal but Nicola wouldn’t trade the mild irritations for having Beth back in her life.

  And she would do whatever she could to make her stay.

  Twenty-Four

  Kim headed into the office after a forty-minute meeting with Woody. Three pairs of eyes looked at her expectantly.

  ‘I’m still heading the case.’

  A collective sigh went around the room.

  Kim continued. ‘The forensic osteoarchaeologist has confirmed the bones to be human and modern, so the area is now a crime scene. Cerys has remained on site and will head up the archaeological side and a forensic anthropologist is due to land from Dundee shortly.’

  Dundee University was home to the Centre for Anatomy and Human Identification and had been offering degree courses in forensic anthropology for years. CAHID was regularly contacted for advice and input in high-profile identification cases at home or abroad.

  Those strings had been pulled by Woody, who wanted to ensure that everyone who might need to take the stand was impeccably qualified.

  ‘Where are we on Crestwood staff members?’

  Dawson picked up a piece of paper. ‘I’ve weeded out various short-term and temporary staff and I’m left with a list of four other members of staff that were recorded as working there when the place burned down.

  ‘As we know, Teresa Wyatt was the deputy manager and Tom Curtis was the head chef. General manager was a guy called Richard Croft. There was a housekeeper there for years by the name of Mary Andrews and two night-watch guys who doubled as caretaker, odd job guys.

  ‘So far, I’ve tracked Mary Andrews to a nursing home in Timbertree ...’

  ‘Richard Croft, isn’t that the name of the Conservative MP for Bromsgrove?’ Kim interrupted him. She could swear she’d just read an article that Croft had just completed some kind of bike ride for charity.

  ‘Definitely the same name but I haven’t yet been able to link him ...’

  ‘Pass it to Stace,’ Kim instructed.

  She saw the set expression on Dawson’s face.

  ‘Stacey, what have you got on the names of the kids?’

  ‘I’ve got about seven so far and most of them's from Facebook.’

  Kim rolled her eyes.

  Stacey shrugged. ‘There ain’t many records of Crestwood and even less people that wanna talk about the place. My understanding is that the younger kids had already been placed in foster homes or other care facilities around the area. Another six or seven had gone back to family members, leaving around ten kids at the time of the fire.’

  ‘Sounds like a bloody nightmare.’

  Stacey grinned. ‘To lesser mortals, maybe.’

  Kim smiled. Stacey loved a challenge and that was about to be a good thing.

  ‘Right, Bryant, go get the car started.’

  Bryant grabbed his jacket and left the office. Kim stepped into The Bowl and sat to remove her biking boots. As she did, she overheard the conversation taking place in the outer office.

  ‘Have yer tried flowers?’ Stacey asked.

  ‘Check,’ Dawson replied.

  ‘Chocolates?’

  ‘Check.’

  ‘Jewellery?’

  No response.

  ‘Are yer kidding? You haven't tried jewellery? Oh, Kev, nothing says “sorry for being a totally amoral arsehole” like a sparkly expensive necklace.’

  ‘Piss off, Stace, what would you know?’

  ‘I'd know, lover boy, ‘cos I'm all woooooman.’

  Kim smiled as she tied her right lace.

  ‘Yeah but your love life amongst the world of goblins doesn't count. I need advice from a woman who goes out with men. Like, real ones.’

  The conversation ended as Kim stepped back into the office. ‘Stace, you’re now working on the staff members and ex-residents.’

  Dawson looked confused.

  ‘Get your coat, you’re coming with me.’

  He took his suit jacket from the back of the chair.

  ‘I’d get your overcoat as well. You’re now staying on site with forensics.’

  His face lit up. ‘Seriously, Guv?’

  Kim nodded. ‘I need to know what’s going on as soon as it happens. I want you to make a total nuisance of yourself. Keep asking questions, follow people around, listen to conversations and the minute you get anything new, let me know.’

  ‘Will do, Guv,’ he said, eagerly.

  He followed her down to the waiting car.

  She got in the front seat and he got in the back.

  ‘Buckle up, kiddies,’ Bryant said, pulling out of the car park.

  Kim glanced into the rear view mirror at Dawson's eager, excited face, then turned and looked out of the window.

  For a person with no people skills whatsoever, the law of averages dictated that now and again she had to get it right.

  Twenty-Five

  The site she’d left yesterday now looked like a small walled city. The entire edge of the property was surrounded by interlocking metal fencing. There was an entrance at the top of the site and one at the bottom, each guarded by two constables. Others roamed the fence edge, keeping within the eye line of other officers. Kim was satisfied that the perimeter was secure.

  A corral had been set up along the top of the site for press but she could see they were already spilling out along the fence line. Two white tents had been erected; one around the pit and another for the technicians to store equipment.

  Kim headed into the first tent but was not prepared for the sight of the skeleton in the pit – or the effect it would have on her. She had attended many crime scenes; had witnessed bodies in every stage of decomposition, but this one was just bone. When tissue was still present it felt as though there was something to return to the family, something of the person left to bury and mourn. But bones felt anonymous, featureless; like the foundations of a building but without the architecture that made it unique. Kim realised she didn't like that thought one little bit.

  She was also shocked by the tiny amount of space the skeleton occupied.

  'No clothes?' Kim said as the forensic archaeologist came to stand beside her.

  ‘Good morning, Detective,’ said Cerys.

  Yep, she always forgot that bit.

  'To answer your question, it doesn't mean there weren't any clothes. Only that they're not there now. Different materials deteriorate at different rates. Depends how long they're in the ground. Cotton can disappear in ten years or so, whereas wool can remain intact for de
cades.' Cerys turned towards her. 'I wasn’t too sure you’d be back.’

  They both stepped away as technicians took photographs from every angle. A yellow marker had been placed alongside the length of the bones.

  ‘We didn’t get much time to chat yesterday,’ Kim said.

  Cerys tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. ‘Didn't have you down as the chatting type but okay ... I'm twenty-nine years old, single and childless. My favourite colour is yellow. I have a weakness for chicken-flavoured crisps and I am enlisted in the Territorial Army when I'm not busy knitting.’ Cerys paused. ‘Okay, I lied about the knitting.’

  ‘All good to know but that's not really what I was asking.’

  ‘Then ask the question you want to, Detective.’

  ‘How qualified are you for this job?’ Kim said without flinching.

  Cerys tried to hide her smile but her eyes lit up. ‘I achieved my degree in archaeology at Oxford eight years ago. I then spent four years travelling on archaeological projects, predominantly in West Africa, came home and earned my forensic science degree and have spent the last two years trying to gain respect in a male-dominated arena. Sound familiar, Detective Inspector?’

  Kim laughed out loud and offered her hand. ‘Glad to have you on board.’

  ‘Thank you. Now, the bones have been exposed and I’m waiting for the anthropologist to discuss removal. I have to be sure we don’t under cut or over cut.’

  Kim looked at her blankly.

  ‘Sorry, we need to be as careful as possible that we don’t either take too much or too little. We can’t go back and do it again.'

  Kim's expression remained unchanged.

  Cerys thought for a moment. 'Okay, imagine the ground as a brick wall. Each course of the wall is a period in time. If we take too much of the soil we risk encroaching on other events that occurred before the murder and which could give us false information.'

  Kim nodded her understanding.

  'Once the bones are removed we’ll begin sifting the soil for clues.’

  ‘Ah, Detective, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.’

  Kim heard the familiar voice of Keats, her favourite pathologist.