Текст книги "Evil Games"

Автор книги: Angela Marsons

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

TWENTY-ONE

Shane Price stood back as the door opened. A man and woman left and got into a Golf.

Despite his rage, Shane’s heart quickened slightly as he caught a brief glimpse of her closing the door. His anger paused as he contemplated her perfection.

Emotion erupted within him. He hated her, he loved her, he needed her.

It wasn’t a sexual desire within him. He felt no sexual desire for anyone. His ability for that had been destroyed years ago.

What he craved was her perfection, her purity. She was so clean. He knew from their time together that her hair smelled of coconut and that she used a jasmine-scented body wash. Her nails were free of polish but manicured and tidy. Her clothes were fresh and crisp.

His own clothes were the ones he’d been wearing when he’d left Hardwick House in the middle of the night. The light blue jeans were stiff with dirt. The knees caked in grime from ‘working’ behind the derelict bingo hall in Cradley Heath. Each time he’d accepted only a fiver as payment; just enough to eat.

It wasn’t the dirt on the outside that bothered him. It was the filth on the inside. Every cell of his body was soiled with his past. Shane often visualised removing each body part one at a time and washing it in hot soapy water. If he scrubbed hard enough he could put them all back, shiny and new.

But Alex had taken that hope away from him. He would never be free of the memories of his uncle’s organ throbbing inside him. Or the sickness he felt when he recalled the soft caresses to his hair and the intimate murmurs of encouragement that had accompanied the acts. The whispered endearments had been worse than the rapes.

Shane felt the bile rise in his throat as the memories engulfed him. He lunged into a side street and bent over. His hard-earned McDonalds hit the pavement.

The rage returned so forcefully he almost folded to the ground. Until his last meeting with Alex there had always been that tiny sliver of hope that he could be cleansed. That somehow, someone would eventually find a way to remove the grime.

But in that final conversation she had taken that dream away from him. She had taken everything, and now she had to pay.

Shane wiped the spittle from his mouth on the sleeve of his jacket. He already knew how he’d get in. A small bathroom window was slightly open at all times.

Shane knew he would get through the small gap. As a child he had excelled at fitting himself into small spaces. To hide.

The next time she left the house he would gain access to her home, her safe place, and then he would wait.

TWENTY-TWO

‘Oh, come on, Bryant. Why would she agree to testify against her own patient?’ Kim asked, back in the squad room.

Bryant shrugged as he opened his lunchbox. He appraised the contents although they had never once changed: an apple, a ham and cheese sandwich and an Actimel drink.

‘Conscience.’

Kim remained silent. Bryant, she guessed, had been taken in by the cool, attractive woman and the flirtatious smile, and even Kim had to concede that there was a certain allure to her persona, but a couple of things were not sitting well with her. They had visited the psychiatrist to get information and that’s what they’d got, but Kim couldn’t help the uneasy feeling that they’d come away with more than they’d asked for.

Kim also felt that her natural instinct for detecting emotion had been switched off the second they walked in the door. Perversely, despite her own emotional detachment she was perceptive to the emotions of other people and yet with Alex she had felt nothing.

‘Jeez, Guv, what’s your problem? She’s answered our questions and agreed to testify. Happy Birthday to us.’

‘And you’re not the least bit swayed by her looks and flirting?’

‘Not at all.’ Bryant held a sandwich in one hand and a pen in the other. ‘Granted, she’s a very attractive woman, a bit on the skinny side for me, but last I heard being gorgeous was not against the law. I mean, ultimately she knows what she’s talking about. Those certificates didn’t come out of Photoshop.’

‘I’m not saying she’s a fraud … ’

Bryant threw down his pen. ‘Then what are you saying, Guv? The doctor told us everything we wanted to hear. We know that Ruth Willis is not insane and CPS are going to be our best friends forever. This case could be tried in the River Severn and come out dry. It’s watertight so I just don’t see the problem.’

Kim rubbed her chin. Everything he said was true, but it didn’t stop the nibbling in her belly.

‘And that crack on the way out, what was that about?’ Bryant asked.

‘Just an observation.’

‘She’s a doctor, not God. How could she know what Ruth was going to do?’

Kim could feel Bryant’s frustration as reflected in the state of his appearance. His jacket had been discarded, the tie knot loosened and the top button of his shirt undone.

Kim carried on. ‘She’s a psychiatrist. She specialises in the workings of the mind. Don’t you think she should have known it was a possibility?’

Bryant finished his first sandwich and wiped his mouth.

‘No, I don’t. We were asked to gather information for the charge. You were convinced it should be murder and everything we’ve done confirms that you were right, yet you still see darkness in everything, an ulterior motive if someone tries to help. The whole world is not calculating and evil, Guv.’ He let out a long sigh. ‘And on that note, I’m going to the canteen to get something to drink.’

By the time he came back, things would be fine between them. They always were.

In the meantime she’d just satisfy herself with a Google search. She entered the doctor’s full name into the search bar, which turned up twelve reports. She started at the top.

Ten minutes later she’d visited the website for Alexandra Thorne’s practice, read about the articles she’d published, learned of her charity work and been redirected to a couple of sites where she volunteered online counselling advice.

As Bryant re-entered the room with coffee, she realised he was right. Her search had turned up nothing. It was time to let it go.

For now.

TWENTY-THREE

Kim dismounted the bike and tried to leave Woody’s words in the fabric of the helmet but they still rang in her ears. Under no circumstances was she to approach or talk to the Dunn girls. If her memory served her correctly, she had not agreed. Well, not explicitly. Therefore, realistically, no contract existed.

She hadn’t even told Bryant where she was going. They’d had enough spats for one day.

Fordham House was a new facility built on the west side of Victoria Park in Tipton. Listed in the Doomsday Book as Tibintone, the area had been one of the most heavily industrialised towns in the Black Country. It had once been known as the ‘Venice of the Midlands’ for its abundance of canals. But, like many other local towns, the nineteen-eighties had seen the closure of many factories, and housing estates had been built in their place.

The entrance to Fordham House was an extended porch formed of glass and brick with a simple gold sign etched in black to name the property. Kim knew it catered for victims of sexual abuse pending an outcome of their future. The children here were either transferred into a long-term care home or returned to a parent or family member. It was transitional accommodation and the duration of each stay varied from a few days to a few months. Social Services would decide when or if the girls would be returned to their mother.

On entering the building Kim was instantly struck by the difference to other care facilities. The glass of the front porch welcomed all available light from outside.

Children’s paintings were pinned to the noticeboard but had overflowed to the bare walls.

More glass at waist height displayed an office behind reception. A woman was bent over the lower drawer of a filing cabinet.

Kim pushed the red attention button that was the nose in a smiley face.

The woman jumped backwards from the cabinet and turned towards her.

Kim held her warrant card up to the glass.

She guessed the woman to be early thirties. Her hair may have started the shift in a tidy bun but appeared to have had a rough day. Her slim frame was clad in light blue jeans, a green T-shirt and a cardigan that was falling off her left shoulder.

After checking the warrant card, the female stepped out of the office. A couple of door buzzes later, the woman stood before her.

‘May I help you?’

‘Detective Inspector Kim Stone. I’d like to speak to the Dunn girls.’

‘I’m Elaine, and I’m sorry but that’s not possible.’

The tone was not unpleasant but it was firm.

Kim had to remember that Bryant was not beside her with his endless supply of manners. She tried to think how he might handle this situation.

‘I understand this may be a little unorthodox but I could really do with just a quick word … please.’

Elaine shook her head. ‘I’m sorry but I can’t allow you to …’

‘Is there someone else I can speak to?’ Kim asked, cutting her off. Damn it, she had tried.

Elaine glanced into the office to where a man now sat.

She put two fingers of her right hand to her lips. He nodded in response to the smoking gesture.

‘Come with me,’ Elaine said, heading towards the exit doors. Kim followed until they were around the side of the building and out of view.

Elaine took a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the cardigan pocket. She put one to her mouth and lit it.

Kim leaned back against the wall. ‘Look, I know this is highly irregular but there’s been a development in the case. I really need to speak to them … or even one of them.’

‘They are both very vulnerable. You’re not trained …’

‘Oh, come on Elaine, help me out here. Don’t force me to go through a process that will end with some snot-nosed, jobsworth psychologist telling me I can’t speak to them.’

Elaine smiled. ‘There’s no process needed. I am that snot-nosed, jobsworth psychologist and I’m telling you right now that you can’t speak to them.’

Shit, Kim thought, that had worked well.

Kim decided to go with the only tactic she knew. Honesty.

‘Okay, here it is. I don’t think that Leonard Dunn was acting alone. I think there was someone else in that room during at least one of the films.’

Elaine closed her eyes. ‘Ohhh … shit …’

‘I want them, Elaine. I want to get whoever it is that, at least, spectated or, at worst, participated.’

Elaine took another draw on the cigarette.

‘Neither of the girls are volunteering a great deal of information as yet. I’m getting the occasional yes and no answer but the questions have to be properly phrased to get any response at all.’

Yeah, Kim knew. Abusers found the victim’s most vulnerable point and used it as a threat to maintain silence. The physical removal of the abuser did not remove the fear. Any threats that he had made would stay with them for a very long time.

Answering yes or no was not as bad as a full description. In a young, naive mind it was a way of avoiding the danger that came from telling the truth.

‘So, can I speak to them?’

Elaine took one last draw on the smoke and shook her head emphatically.

‘Unless you just got four years of training during my fag break the answer is still no.’

‘Jesus, didn’t you hear …’

‘I heard everything you said and I want anyone involved arrested as much as you do.’

Kim took a look at her face and believed her. Her own job was bad enough but Elaine’s was a whole new level. She was paid to tease and elicit information from damaged young minds. If she did her job well she was rewarded with the most horrific stories one could imagine. Some kind of prize that was.

For once Kim fought her natural instinct and kept quiet.

‘I will talk to the girls and you may be present, but if you interact in any way, I’ll end it. Clear?’

It wasn’t ideal. Kim wanted to ask her own questions in her own way, but she got the feeling it was this or nothing.

‘Okay, clear.’

‘Right, is there anything in particular that you want me to ask?’

Kim nodded and spoke without hesitation.

‘Yes, I want to know if the other person in that room was their mother.’

TWENTY-FOUR

Kim was pleased to see that the girls had been kept together. She suspected it would only be a matter of days until they were reunited with their mother. With Wendy Dunn having been cleared of any involvement, the decision to reunite the family would be imminent.

Although small, the room held two single beds separated by a bedside table. A small wardrobe and dressing table completed the furnishings. Kim found the room far less stark than the ones she had stayed in as a child. One simple word had driven every decision on furnishing and decoration: functional.

These white walls were decorated with a painting of red and green Ivy that travelled around the room. The bedding and pillows were a mismatch of Disney characters.

The girls sat on the floor between the two beds, both dressed in onesies. Daisy was a Dalmatian and Louisa an owl. The air was permeated with the smell of soap and shampoo from their freshly washed hair.

Suddenly, Kim’s heart ached. For a split second before she’d noticed them, Daisy’s expression had been open-mouthed and joyful as she entertained her sister with a teddy bear in shorts.

But now the face was closed and Kim understood it. However horrendous Daisy’s life had been, it had been familiar. And although fearful, she had known the people around her. There had been constants: her mother, her friends, her possessions. And now all of that had been replaced with strangers and constant questions continually returning her to the memories.

Kim hated that she was responsible for inflicting further pain.

‘Hi girls, what are you playing?’ Elaine asked, sitting on the floor.

Kim noted that she sat close to the girls but not too close. She made sure that there was less space between the two girls than between them and her, placing her firmly on the outside of their circle, without threat.

Kim stood in the doorway as Daisy’s eyes gazed upon her.

‘This lady is a friend of mine. Just pretend she’s not here. She’s not going to ask you any questions or do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable, okay?’

Daisy looked away, unconvinced and Kim didn’t blame her.

‘Daisy, I just want to ask a couple of questions if that’s okay.’

Daisy glanced at her sister who looked at everyone in the room.

‘Sweetheart, I want you to think back to when you were downstairs.’

Kim noticed the psychologist didn’t name the room specifically or use any words that would force the child’s memory. Daisy had the freedom to travel there herself.

The child blinked furiously but she offered no response. The teddy bear remained gripped in her hand.

‘Sweetie, was there anyone else in the room?’

Daisy glanced at her sister but offered no response.

‘Sweetie, did your mommy ever come down to the basement?’

Again the glance at her sister.

Shit, Kim realised, that had been the threat. The bastard had told her that if she ever told the truth something bad would happen to her sister. And she was still fearful of that now. An older sister protecting her sibling. Kim got it. She had been the older sister, only by a few minutes, but she would have protected Mikey with her life.

Kim felt the hope draining away. No wonder she wouldn’t speak, and Kim would push it no further. She stepped forward to tap Elaine on the shoulder. It was over. She would not cause this girl any more pain.

As her hand hovered over Elaine’s shoulder, Daisy turned and glared at her and Kim stopped dead.

Her eyes were beseeching, her mouth tense. Daisy was trying to tell her something.

She appraised the girl from head to toe and the simplicity of the truth stared her in the face.

Kim smiled at the girl and nodded her head. She got it.

Her words were gentle when she spoke. ‘Elaine, ask her again.’

Elaine turned to look at her.

‘Please.’

Elaine turned back towards Daisy who now stared straight ahead.

‘Daisy, was your mummy ever in the basement?’

The teddy bear’s head moved from side to side.

‘Daisy, was there a man in the room with you and your dad?’

The teddy bear’s head moved backwards and forwards.

‘Daisy, was it a man that you knew?’

Kim held her breath.

The teddy bear said yes.

TWENTY-FIVE

Alex started the BMW as she saw the black Golf pull out of the side street that led onto the Wordsley Road. Her furtive observations had uncovered that the female detective was unmarried and without children. The fact that the woman was psychologically damaged she’d assessed during their first meeting, and although that information in itself was enough to pique her interest, she needed more.

The detective inspector was providing a welcome distraction while she waited for news on Barry. And she knew for sure it would come.

She allowed two cars to move out in front to put some distance between the two of them.

She had discovered all she needed to know about the detective’s professional life. Kimberley Stone excelled at her job and had been promoted quickly. She had an inordinately high success rate with solving cases and despite her lack of social skills, was quite well respected.

What Alex needed was another clue and knowing the subject would not come to her voluntarily, yet, she was forced to be a little more creative. The only way to further this research was to follow the woman on a Saturday afternoon to establish what she did when she wasn’t being a high-achieving detective inspector and that journey had currently landed her outside a florist in Old Hill.

Alex was intrigued when Kim exited the shop with a bouquet of lilies and carnations. The detective didn’t strike her as the flower-giving type.

Alex eased into gear and remained a few cars behind as she followed the Golf over a couple of islands towards the outskirts of Rowley Regis.

The only two places of substance were a small hospital and the Powke Lane Cemetery. An accidental meeting was far easier to engineer in the latter.

As though bending to Alex’s will, the Golf entered the cemetery at the entrance directly off the island. Alex took the earlier exit and headed up towards the hospital to put a little distance between herself and the detective.

She passed around the hospital car park and exited. As she drove slowly back down the road that ran alongside the cemetery, she located where the Golf was parked.

She stopped outside the gates and headed in, immediately spotting the figure clad in black walking up the hill. Alex appraised the area and chose a row of headstones that stood between where the detective was headed and where the Golf was parked. Perfect. The woman would have to pass Alex to return to her car.

She picked a gravestone and stood before it. The black marble was unfettered by flowers or ornaments, a good indication that she wouldn’t be inconvenienced by actual grieving relatives.

She couldn’t help the intrigue she felt for Kimberley Stone. There was a remoteness in those dark, vampiric eyes. Alex was often able to get a snapshot of a personality in a few seconds. She studied the minute details of non-verbal communication, which was lucky as the woman had barely spoken during their first meeting. She hadn’t been able to deduce much, but someone so reserved had experienced trauma and pain, and that made the woman interesting.

Alex knew she would have to be at her most manipulative against the calculated intelligence she sensed in the detective but she also knew she’d win eventually. She always did.

The figure started moving, so Alex put her plan into action. Leaning down, she placed a small pebble inside her right shoe. She timed her exit from the row of gravestones and started limping up the hill, meeting the detective halfway. Alex took a gamble and kept her head down.

‘Doctor Thorne?’

Alex raised her head and hesitated briefly, pretending to try to place the woman who had interrupted her deep thoughts.

‘Detective Inspector, of course,’ she said, offering her hand.

The other woman shook her outstretched hand for the briefest of seconds.

‘How is Ruth doing? Can I ask that?’

The detective burrowed her hands deep into the pockets of her jeans and Alex had the impression that the physical contact was being wiped away on the inner lining.

‘She’s been charged with murder, no bail.’

Alex smiled sadly. ‘Yes, I heard that on the news. I meant, how is she?’

‘Scared.’

Alex realised this was going to be difficult. The woman was more closed than she’d expected. ‘You know, I’ve thought about what you said as you were leaving my office.’

‘And?’

No apology, no backtracking. No attempt to explain the harsh words or pretence that they had been misconstrued. She liked this woman’s style.

Alex moved from one foot to the other, pained. She looked around and saw a bench ten feet away. ‘Could we sit for a moment?’ she asked, hobbling towards it. ‘I twisted my ankle yesterday.’

The detective followed and sat at the other end of the bench. Her body language screamed ‘get on with it’, as Alex had suspected. People stayed longer if you got them sitting down. The reason every venue imaginable made room for a coffee shop.

‘I went over some of my notes, searching for any clue I might have missed during our sessions. I looked for any indication of her intention, but there was nothing. Except …’

Alex hesitated, and for the first time she saw a flicker of interest. ‘Except, maybe I should have realised that she wasn’t responding as quickly as she should have. She was making little effort to move forward, and although it’s not a form of treatment that can be worked to a particular timescale, looking back, I think perhaps she was fighting the process a little.’

‘Oh.’

Bloody hell, this woman was hard work. Alex tipped her head. ‘You think I failed, don’t you?’

The detective said nothing.

‘May I explain my position or is this matter completely closed to you?’

The woman shrugged and continued to look forward. The fact that the detective was not yet back in her car told Alex there was some residual curiosity. The woman was still sitting here for a reason.

‘The mental health community doesn’t view damaged psyches the way other people do. Take yourself; you think that someone like Ruth can enter therapy and be completely restored to normality in a specific, scheduled timescale: a rape victim takes four months, a bipolar sufferer ten months, a victim of sexual abuse two years. It’s not a shopping list.’

Alex looked for a reaction to the triggers she’d mentioned but saw none. Her trauma lay elsewhere.

‘As a psychiatrist, I accept that people are broken. Psychologically, some of us are injured for a short period of time following a loss.’ She looked over at the gravestone of good old Arthur, and swallowed bravely. ‘And we find a way back, never to normality, but we mend as best we can.’

‘Who’s over there?’ the detective asked, without finesse or apology for the directness of the question.

Alex sighed deeply. ‘You saw the photos on my desk. My family, killed three years ago in a car crash.’ Alex’s voice broke on the last few words. She could sense the woman’s discomfort. She raised her head and stared forward. ‘Grief does strange things to you.’ Alex thought she saw a reaction and pressed on. Any response just whetted her appetite for more and she had plenty of heat-seeking missiles in her pocket. ‘I don’t think one ever truly comes to terms with a loss.’

The woman offered no encouragement but Alex persevered anyway.

‘I lost a sister very young.’

Aah, a noticeable bristle. Now they were getting somewhere. ‘We were very close, almost best friends. There was only two years between us.’

The lack of response or encouragement to carry on was infuriating. Alex decided she needed to give them something in common.

‘After she drowned, my sleeping patterns changed drastically. I’ve never slept for more than three to four hours a night. I’ve been tested, examined, prodded and monitored. For my trouble, I got a nice name for my condition but no cure.’

Truthfully, Alex slept for seven hours solidly every night but the hours parked outside this woman’s house indicated that the detective did not.

‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be talking like this. I’m sure you want to get back to your family.’

The woman beside her shrugged. Still she hadn’t engaged verbally and yet she remained on the bench.

Alex laughed ruefully and toyed nervously with the belt on her jacket. ‘Even psychiatrists sometimes need someone to talk to. Loss changes us all. I’ve learned to fill the long hours of the day productively. I write up notes, research, use the Internet, but sometimes it feels like the night will never end.’

A slight nod. Every reaction, however small, told Alex something.

She noticed a small change in the demeanour of her companion. The body had turned slightly in on itself, like a sandwich left uncovered. It could have been an effort to protect herself against the biting wind, but Alex knew otherwise.

She decided on a no-lose gamble.

‘May I ask who …?’

‘Nice chatting, Doc. See you later.’

Alex watched as the detective strode back to her car, got into the Golf and sped out of the grounds.

She smiled as she removed the stone from her shoe and headed up the hill. The woman’s actions in beating a hasty retreat were as significant as a lengthy conversation. Alex had learned plenty and was beginning to get the measure of her opponent.

Detective Inspector Kim Stone was socially inept. She lacked the manners that if not naturally present could easily be learned, if required. She was driven and intelligent. It was possible she had been sexually abused but she had definitely experienced tragedy and loss. She didn’t enjoy physical contact and didn’t care who knew it.

Alex reached the gravestone she’d been aiming for. She read the simple inscription and made no effort to hide her pleasure.

Solving any puzzle involved methodical, logical stages. First came the eagerness to get started, followed by an understanding of the enormity of the challenge ahead. Next comes the focused concentration required to make headway, the commitment to achieving the end goal.

Finally, the most exciting part: the point at which the next piece you fit will be instrumental in the completion of the entire puzzle.

Alex reread the information engraved gold on red and knew she’d found a key piece of the puzzle.