Child's Play (D.I. Kim Stone #11)(10)

‘Why strangely?’ Kim asked. She was ready for anything out of the ordinary that might explain why this academic, educated lady had taken a knife to the chest.

‘Strange, because I’ve rarely had a customer, especially of this age, without some kind of broken bone or injury. I myself have a broken bone in my wrist from not holding the cricket bat correctly when I was a child.’

Bryant stepped forward. ‘I got a broken toe from kicking a football when I was six.’

‘Oh yeah,’ Keats responded. ‘Well I broke my thumb falling out of a tree.’

‘Cracked jaw on the rugby field,’ Bryant countered.

‘Fractured femur when I fell from a two-storey building trying to catch a murderer,’ Kim piped up.

They both turned her way.

‘Fair enough,’ said Bryant.

‘Exactly my point, Inspector. All three of us have suffered major injuries.’

‘Perhaps she never played cricket, football, rugby or chased murderers around rooftops,’ she suggested.

‘I didn’t say it was a smoking gun, only that it was curious,’ Keats said.

‘So, general health was good and the cause of death was the single stab wound to the chest, which was a direct hit on the heart. The murder weapon is clearly a knife blade of seven to eight inches with a smooth sharp edge. The thrust was confident and decisive. There was no hesitation and it was accurately placed. Death would have been near instant.’

So, the aim had not been to cause as much pain and suffering as he or she could.

‘And the barbed wire?’ Kim asked.

‘Was wound around her wrists only moments before death,’ Keats answered. ‘Judging from the blood loss from the wrist wounds.’

‘Okay, Keats, as ever you’ve been—’

‘Your impatience is equalled only by your rudeness, Inspector,’ he said, moving towards the tray. ‘You should know by now that I like to leave a little something until the end. A finale if you like.’

‘Like something that might help?’

He ignored her. ‘Bryant, can you stand the other side, please?’

Her colleague did as he was asked and they faced each other across Belinda’s upper body.

Keats rolled the sheet down to her breastbone and placed his right hand on her shoulder to prevent the sheet slipping further.

‘Pull her gently towards you,’ he instructed Bryant across the body.

Bryant did as he was asked, and she watched as Belinda was rolled on to her side.

‘Lift up her hair at the back,’ Keats instructed.

Kim did so and took a sharp intake of breath at what she saw.

An X had been carved into the skin.





Nine





Penn glanced around the courtroom as both the prosecution and defence readied themselves to begin.

His eyes wandered over the modern light wood and cream paint that made the space more like a conference room than a court of law.

His gaze rested on Mr Kapoor, sitting straight, staring ahead in the public gallery, surrounded by people nudging and whispering, without a clue that he was the only person in the room whose life would never be the same.

As the man stared into space Penn couldn’t help wondering if Mr Kapoor was remembering Devlin’s first word, first step, first day at school. Maybe he was reliving a sporting achievement during his school years or a party for his eighteenth birthday. He hoped it was any one of those things instead of the sight of his young son lying on the floor of the family business saturated in blood.

Mrs Kapoor had not been able to force herself to attend the trial, just as she had not been able to step foot in the service station since the death of her son. Truth be known Mr Kapoor wanted shot of the place, but with two teenage daughters to feed and clothe he didn’t have many options. His older brother had stepped in and between them they were keeping the place afloat.

Memories of Mr Kapoor had stayed with Penn. He had taken the news of his son’s death with dignified silence. Not because he didn’t feel the loss. Penn had seen the sudden emptiness that had crept into his gaze. And as Penn had listened to Mrs Kapoor’s hysterical outpourings of grief he had also seen the resolution that had kept the man’s own emotions at bay.

He had stepped forward to hold his trembling wife, offering himself as a rock onto which she could cling.

Throughout the investigation the man had quietly and respectfully enquired about progress in finding his son’s killer. He had not shouted, screamed or accused and that had prompted Penn to want to find the bastard who had done it even more.

‘Looks lost, doesn’t he?’ Lynne whispered beside him.

Penn nodded his agreement as his gaze continued along the public gallery. Doug sat on the other side of Lynne staring straight ahead.

Penn’s eyes rested on another solitary figure staring straight ahead. Irina Nuryef, Gregor’s wife.

He tried to read her expression now as he had twice before. The first time was when she’d been giving her husband an alibi, and the second time was when she’d admitted she’d lied and taken his alibi away.

And that one admission had thrown the case wide open.

He stared at her hard, trying to pinpoint exactly what had changed since the last time he’d seen her.

On that second visit her hair had been unwashed and lank, hanging around her shoulders like a blanket. Her face had been pale and drawn. Understandable, given that she was admitting her husband was a murderer.