Evil Games (16 page)

Dawson faced the technician. ‘So, what did you find?’

Trish moved to the left. ‘The shadow in the footage was here,’ she said, standing by the wardrobe. ‘The camera was set up here, and the spotlamp was here.’

Stacey followed the woman as she used herself as a prop around the room.

‘So, given the mathematics and common sense, our subject would have been standing right there. Just where you are now, Stacey.’

‘Oh, shit,’ she cried, as though standing on hot coals.

Trish smiled in her direction. ‘It’s okay, he’s not there now.’

Stacey felt the colour rush to her cheeks. She was thankful that her skin didn’t show it.

‘Pass me the light, Mo,’ Trish said to another tech.

The infrared lamp was placed in her outstretched hand like a scalpel in a theatre.

Mo immediately headed for the light switch and the room was plunged into total darkness. The blue light was aimed at the ground. Stacey knew the forensic light source was most successful at picking up body fluids: semen, vaginal fluids and saliva, which were all naturally fluorescent. From her basic knowledge it could also locate latent fingerprints, hairs, fibres and shoe prints.

Trish stepped forward and highlighted the area. A small puddle, invisible to the naked eye, was now obvious upon the concrete.

‘Aww … shit,’ Kev said with disgust. The marking needed no further explanation.

Stacey stepped back and stumbled as the reality of her surroundings bore down on her. Yes, she’d seen photos. Yes, she’d seen footage. But she’d always been one step removed. Right now she was standing in a room where an eight-year-old girl had been stripped of her childhood forever. Daisy Dunn had stood in the middle of this space, terrified and alone, shivering, confused.

Stacey felt the tears prick her eyes. As the light came on she took two paces back and lowered herself onto the step.

A figure appeared above her. ‘First time?’ Trish asked, quietly.

Stacey nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

‘It’s tough. But don’t ever lose that connection. It’s what helps you do your job.’

‘Thanks,’ Stacey said, swallowing the tears.

Trish touched her gently on the shoulder. ‘And anyway, I have a little present.’

She took a small packet from the evidence tray on the desk. Bagged, taped and neatly labelled.

‘I have a single pubic hair.’

THIRTY

‘You know, Guv, you were pretty good up there,’ Bryant said, as they pulled away from Dudley County Court.

Kim shrugged off the compliment. Unlike some police officers, she never dreaded the inevitable court days. She’d never lied on the stand or even stretched the truth and so had nothing to fear.

The defence barrister had been Justin Higgs-Clayton, an officious terrier who had paid for his four-bed, three-bath, double-garage property by defending high-paying serious fraud cases.

She’d been handed the complaint almost twelve months earlier and had made a case against his client that would stick. The man in question had been registering false business credit cards to the AIDS charity for which he worked and had amassed a cool two hundred thousand.

This particular barrister knew when a case was strong and switched his focus to police procedure in an attempt to find a loophole that might get the case thrown out on a technicality.

‘Did you have the PACE book in your back pocket?’ Bryant asked her now.

The Police and Criminal Evidence Act of 1984 laid down every regulation and Code of Conduct for the Police Force.

‘No, but I think he did.’

‘What’s your bet?’

‘It’ll be guilty.’ Kim knew when she had done everything she possibly could to ensure that the lawbreaker went to jail. Her puzzle was complete on the fraud case. The Dunn case, she wasn’t so sure about.

‘Pull in here,’ she said as they passed the Brewers Wharf Pub on the edge of the Waterfront complex. It was a collection of bars, restaurants and offices built on the canal. The site had previously been the famous Round Oak Steelworks, employing 3,000 people at its peak and 1,200 at the time of its closure in 1982.

‘What, you want a pint, Guv?’

‘I’ll have a coffee. Your shout.’

Bryant groaned and parked the car. The pub was caught in the mid-afternoon lull between the lunchtime crowd and the after-work crew.

Kim took a seat by the window overlooking a black and white wrought-iron bridge that straddled the canal.

Bryant placed two coffees on the table. ‘You know, Guv. It just struck me that after all this time I’ve never once seen you take even a sip of alcohol.’

‘That’s because I don’t drink, Bryant.’

He leaned forward, intrigued. ‘Not even an occasional glass of wine?’

She shook her head.

‘A tipple at Christmas?’

She cut her eyes. He knew she hated Christmas.

‘Okay, scrub that. So you’ve never tasted alcohol?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘So, you just didn’t like the taste?’

‘No, that’s not it either. Now, just leave it.’

He pulled his chair closer. ‘Oh no, I couldn’t possibly. As soon as you want me to leave something it tells me there’s something to leave.’

Fantastic, she’d fallen into that one pretty well. ‘Actually, it was the second one. I didn’t like the taste.’

Bryant rubbed at his chin. ‘No, don’t believe you.’

‘Leave it, Bryant.’ Sometimes he just wouldn’t let go. Only he could push her like this.

‘It could be that you refuse to make a fool out of yourself because your inhibitions would be shot to hell. You could be an alcoholic.’ He paused. ‘Are you an alcoholic?’

‘No, I’m not.’

‘Then why don’t you ever take one little drink?’

Kim turned to face him and forced him to look into her eyes. ‘Because if I started, I might never stop.’

Shit, she hadn’t meant to say that.

She turned back to the window. On the night that Mikey’s headstone had been fitted she’d treated herself to a large bottle of vodka and a small bottle of Coke.

The resulting hangover brought with it the memory of alcohol-induced oblivion. For a few hours the pain and loss had been dissolved and her mind had been free of guilt and hate. Kim dared not visit that happy place again, for fear she might never come back.

‘Chicken baguettes?’ a male asked questioningly, holding two plates aloft.

Bryant nodded and thanked him.

‘Bryant,’ she growled.

‘You don’t do breakfast and we’ve been in court for six hours so I know you haven’t eaten.’

‘You really do have to stop mothering me.’

‘Well, start taking care of yourself and I won’t have to. Now, what’s on your mind?’

Kim watched as he took a bite of the crusty end of the baguette and followed suit, amazed at how their friendship worked. It was like an elastic band, at times stretched to its limit, taut with intensity and then twang, right back into place.

‘There’s something still bugging me about the Ruth Willis case.’

‘No shit.

Is this personal, Guv?’

‘How so?’

‘It was obvious that you didn’t have a lot of time for Alex Thorne. You took an instant dislike to her, so is this just self-perpetuating your negative view of her?’

Kim had asked herself the same question, but Bryant was mistaken on one point. She didn’t dislike the doctor. There hadn’t been any emotional reaction at all.

‘My gut is telling me something.’

‘Normally I have the greatest respect for your gut, but I think on this occasion it might be picking up white noise.’

Kim opened her mouth to speak, but decided against it. She took another bite of the baguette as Bryant rested his back on the plate.

‘Guv, I’m just dying to ask, is that a bloody dog hair on your jacket or what?’

The earlier conversation was closed. Kim knew that if she wanted to delve any deeper into what was troubling her about Doctor Thorne, she would be doing so on her own.

THIRTY-ONE

‘Okay, kiddies, update on the Dunn case. Dawson?’

‘Semen sample and pubic hair has gone for analysis. Still waiting on the results.’

Kim nodded. Useful, but not until they had a suspect.

‘So far I’ve spoken to most of his colleagues. Can’t seem to pin down Leonard’s manager though. Last place of employment was a branch of a car spares chain in Kidderminster. I’ve been twice now and the bloke’s never there.’

Kim turned to Bryant. ‘Note it down.’

Dawson continued. ‘Spoken to all of his family, and most of Wendy’s. Nothing but disgust for Leonard Dunn. Her brother is fiercely protective and wouldn’t allow me in the house. But he did make his feelings clear from the doorstep.’

Kim turned to Bryant. He noted it down.

‘Focus on the neighbours, Kev. I want to know everything about visitors to the house. Find the resident curtain twitcher and have yourself a cup of tea.’

‘Stace?’ Kim asked.

‘No new messages on Facebook since the arrest. Another nineteen folks have unfriended him and blocked ’is account. I’ll goo through the ones he’s got left, to see if there’s anything of use.’

From the corner of her eye, Kim saw Dawson take his phone from his pocket and turn away from her.

Bryant coughed loudly and Stacey kicked the wood where the desks met between them.

Kim held up her hand to silence them both, crossed her arms across her chest … and waited.

The room had been silent for almost a full minute when Dawson turned back towards his colleagues.

‘Are you with us, Dawson?’ she asked.

With six unimpressed eyes gazing upon him, he coloured instantly.

‘Sorry, Guv, it’s the father-in-law. He’s …’

‘Kev, shut up. Don’t embarrass yourself any further. Our next conversation will be very different. I will not warn you again. Clear?’

He nodded and stared ahead.

‘Good, okay, everybody get to it.’

Dawson was the first out of the door.

Kim remained seated where she was but tossed Bryant the keys to her car.

He looked at her and then Stacey.

‘Ah.
Bryant, get yourself out of the room
,’ he acknowledged to himself.

Kim smiled as he breezed past her.

‘Stace, don’t look so worried,’ Kim said with a smile, when just the two of them were left. ‘You’ve done nothing wrong.’

And that was the truth. The DC very rarely did anything wrong.

‘I need you to do something for me. Just to put my mind at rest. Can you do a little digging on the doctor?’

‘Thorne, yer mean?’

Kim nodded. It wasn’t an official request.

‘Yer looking for anything in particular?’

Kim thought for a moment. ‘Yeah, I want to know how her little sister died.’

THIRTY-TWO

Kim brought the Golf to a standstill in front of the car spares warehouse. Bryant visibly relaxed and checked himself for injury.

‘Jeez, Guv, I hate it when your driving speed tries to keep pace with your brain.’

‘A little whiplash never hurt anyone,’ she said, getting out of the car before he could respond.

The entrance to the premises was a heavy, glass push-door that led into a small reception. The area was clean and tidy with a desk that rose to her midriff. A two-seater leather sofa sat to the right of the desk.

‘Ugh … smell that,’ Bryant said.

It was a smell Kim recognised. Oil mixed with grease and a top note of lubricant. To her, it was delicious.

A man stepped through the doorway carrying a front brake assembly, then placed it on top of the reception desk.

Kim guessed him to be early forties, with a receding hairline that was trying to hide behind a short, spiky style that was better suited to a teenaged son. He wore a light blue shirt that was clean despite the environment. A badge marked ‘Brett – Manager’ indicated they had found the elusive employee.

‘May I help you?’ he said, looking from one to the other. His customer-service-training smile was just a second later than the words, indicating he was working from a checklist in his mind. Greet. Smile.

Bryant showed his warrant card and introduced them both.

No longer needed, the smile disappeared. ‘Someone’s already been here a couple of times and spoke to the lads. I don’t know what I can tell you.’

‘Perhaps you could just tell us a bit about Leonard Dunn.’

Asking the man an open question gave them the opportunity to assess him as he spoke freely.

‘He came to us through a government scheme. We got paid to take him on. Started him in the stores but he was making too many mistakes.’

‘Were you required to keep him for a set period?’ Kim asked.

There had been many back-to-work schemes initiated by the government to reduce unemployment figures. And they all did. For a while.

Brett smiled in her direction. ‘Yes, twelve months’ minimum, but it just wasn’t working out.’

‘What did you do about it?’ Bryant asked.

‘Obviously, spoke to him. There wasn’t any improvement, so we put him in a van.’

‘And?’

‘I got two complaints about his attitude and one about his body odour.’

Kim hid her smile. ‘What next?’

‘I offered the government their money back.’

‘You tried for a refund?’ Bryant asked.

Kim didn’t normally like people being referred to as possessions but in the case of Leonard Dunn she was happy to make the exception.

‘Any strange habits?’ Bryant asked.

He shook his head. ‘He was overweight and could have showered a bit more but not particularly remarkable.’

And not an obvious child abuser, Kim thought, knowing that there was no such thing.

If only they could be picked out by skull size, or by the distance between the eyes; once thought to be an indicator of criminality. All she’d need was a tape measure and a notepad and they’d all be behind bars.

‘Did he have any friends here?’ Kim asked.

‘No, and I lost a few for putting him forward.’

‘For what?’ Kim asked.

‘The employment scheme,’ he said, irritably.

Bryant frowned on her behalf. ‘I thought the government put him forward.’

‘It was me that suggested it … after meeting him at a bloody book club.’