Child's Play (D.I. Kim Stone #11)(15)

His words trailed away as Kim’s phone began to ring. She had to agree that these observations were not matching Veronica’s description of their relationship.

‘Excuse me,’ she said, heading back into the hallway.

‘Go ahead, Stace,’ she said, out of earshot.

‘Boss, I know you said the sisters weren’t close but it might be worth finding out why they spoke to each other on the phone at the very least ten times a day.’





Fifteen





Penn watched as Ricky Drake took the stand and placed his hand on the Bible.

Although not a religious man, Penn wanted to rip the thing from beneath his palm.

Even now he couldn’t account for the instant dislike he’d felt for the man, which he’d buried well during the investigation, due to him being their star witness.

It wasn’t the first time he’d met someone like Ricky Drake, low-level scum always on the take and busted for house robberies two years earlier. It was unfortunate that you couldn’t choose your witnesses, but the man saw what the man saw.

Penn was pleasantly surprised that he’d taken the time to make an effort. The dirty grey jogging bottoms had been replaced with a pair of black trousers and the navy fleece had become a long-sleeved white shirt that covered most of the tattoos that decorated his body.

He couldn’t help but wonder if jury members still fell for the illusions and games played on both sides of the courtroom. Clean someone up to make them look more respectable, shave off facial hair to make them look younger. Surely every courtroom drama on the TV meant that jurors no longer fell for that crap.

And yet when Ricky Drake had entered the courtroom not one face in the jury had registered any kind of emotion. He knew full well the distaste that would have travelled across their faces had he not been cleaned up. But his benign appearance had caused no offence and therefore the jury was prepared to listen to him without prejudice, without judgement.

Yeah, the prosecution team did good in turning him into a credible witness, and he could see Doug nodding approvingly in the direction of where he stood.

All three of them had been surprised when Ricky Drake had offered them information on an armed robbery in exchange for leniency on a petty shoplifting charge, because Penn had thought he was seasoned enough to know that kind of stuff really did only exist in films. And after a sandwich and a cuppa from the station canteen he’d given up his info anyway.

He’d told them how he’d left The Crying Dog pub at around ten twenty to beat the rush into the chippy. He’d walked on the other side of the road, glanced into the brightly lit shop and seen the male in what he’d assumed to be a normal transaction. He’d stopped to light a cigarette, taken another look and realised he knew the guy vaguely and then carried on along to get his supper.

Both himself and Doug had been surprised – they’d been barking up the tree of the Reed family, having felt the incident had all the markings of one of their jobs – but they couldn’t ignore a witness who had walked by the location during the actual incident. This man’s statement had changed the direction of the whole investigation and eventually led to the apprehension of the murderer.

Ricky Drake had been instrumental in giving them enough detail about the man to track down Gregor Nuryef and question him. Initially his wife had provided an alibi and a search warrant had been out of the question.

However, guilt had driven Irina Nuryef to retract her statement and admit she’d lied about her husband being at home on the night of the murder.

This admission had enabled them to obtain the search warrant for the Nuryef home.

Doug had found nothing in the house, but Penn had struck gold in the garden shed where he’d found a bloodstained tee shirt rolled up in a carrier bag. Testing had matched the blood to that of Devlin Kapoor.

And despite the fact that Ricky Drake had handed them the crowbar to crack this case wide open there was still something in the man that almost brought bile to the back of his throat.

He tuned back in as the prosecutor drew the witness to the business end of his statement.

‘So, you glanced towards the lit shop once as you walked along the road?’

‘Yeah, that’s right,’ Ricky answered, seeming to be enjoying himself. Looking towards the jury as though they were his very own audience, all present to witness his solo performance. He was caught up in the moment, distracted as he played to his fans.

‘But then you paused to light a cigarette…’

‘Nah, chippy’s only up the road and yer cor tek yer fag in…’

Penn’s breath caught in his chest as every head on the side of the defence table shot up, and he could understand why.

Ricky had maintained from day one that he’d got a good enough look at the killer because he’d stopped to light a smoke.

The prosecutor was desperately trying to get Ricky to backtrack and remember the events accurately. The way they’d been recorded on the statement in front of him.

The defence team were furiously scribbling notes.

And Penn was trying to swallow down the bile that was now well and truly in his throat.





Sixteen





Veronica’s house was not what Kim had been expecting and yet somehow it suited her completely.

The property was a four-storey town house including the garage that was at ground level and could not have been more different to the single-storey dwellings of her sister. And yet the height, the imposing structure of the dwelling, mirrored the woman perfectly.