Child's Play (D.I. Kim Stone #11)(23)

Bryant still appeared unconvinced, and Kim had a good idea why.

‘You’re allowing her age to colour your view,’ Kim said facing him across the table.

‘Don’t be…’

‘If we were looking at a twenty-something victim, you’d take the information about her sex life as part of her story, but because she’s older you’re assuming this is her only story. If she’s in her sixties and having kinky sex then that has to be the reason for her death.’

‘Keats, are you hearing this rubbish?’ Bryant implored.

Keats shook his head. ‘Remaining silent right now as even I can’t stomach agreeing with the inspector twice in one day. And much as I’d love to stand and watch you argue this one to the death, I do have other customers to deal with, so…’

‘Thanks, Keats,’ Kim said, heading towards the door, her mind whirring with what they’d learned.

‘Not so fast, Inspector. I do want you gone, admittedly, but you still don’t have the answer I called you here for.’

‘And the question was?’

‘The cause of the forty-seven nicks in the bones of the left hand.’

‘And?’ she asked.

‘I’d have thought that was now perfectly obvious,’ he answered, with a coy smile.

Her brain clicked.

‘The ruler?’ she said, rubbing at her left hand.

Keats nodded. ‘At some stage our victim’s knuckles were being constantly rapped forcefully with a sharp, metal ruler.’





Twenty-Three





Penn held his breath as Irina Nuryef strode to the witness stand, offering a filthy sideways look to everyone in her path.

Again, he couldn’t help but notice the difference in her appearance from the other two times he’d seen her.

With a face set in a permanent scowl she looked like a feral animal ready to strike at any second. The hair may be better styled, the make-up more expertly applied and the jewellery finer but the hostile expression he’d know anywhere.

He studied her as she took her oath and realised that she hadn’t looked at her husband once.

The defence barrister stood and smiled in the direction of the witness, who glowered in response.

‘Mrs Nuryef, the court understands that you are in fact a hostile witness to the defence team of your husband who is currently on trial for murder.’

Still she didn’t glance in his direction and managed to remain silent, clearly coached to stay shtum unless asked a direct question. Knowing her as he did Penn could only wonder at how long that would last.

‘It is your testimony that your husband was not at home on the night of the twenty-sixth of October last year.’

‘Yes’

‘And that you have no idea where your husband was that evening?’

‘Correct. I already—’

A shake of the head from the prosecution cut her off, but the real Irina Nuryef was just dying to break free.

‘And to the best of your memory this information is accurate and true?’

Penn began to relax. This questioning was not doing them any harm at all. Every time she repeated her answer the jury heard her say it again.

‘I’ve already said—’

‘Just answer the question, Mrs Nuryef,’ the barrister said curtly causing the anger to flash in her eyes.

‘You say he left at approximately 9 p.m. and returned around 11 p.m.?’

‘That’s what I said, didn’t I?’

‘Eventually, yes,’ said the barrister. ‘But I’ll come to that.’

Penn suddenly knew exactly where the barrister was going but had no idea how much this was going to hurt them. He had a feeling it would come down to the credibility of the witness and that was the cause of his concern. And that of his colleagues judging by the tension on their faces.

‘And you recalled that he didn’t come straight into the house. He went into the garden first?’

‘Yeah, bastard was—’

Shit, the genie was out the bottle.

‘You don’t actually know what your husband was doing in the garden, do you?’

‘He was hiding the fucking—’

‘Did you see your husband hiding anything in the garden, Mrs Nuryef,’ the barrister asked curtly.

Penn could see the prosecution breathe a sigh of relief every time the barrister cut her off or interrupted her. They were relieved she was being shut up, but what they didn’t realise was that the barrister was doing it deliberately, taunting her, cutting her off, which was firing her up more. He was opening the gate long enough for her to poke her head out and then slamming it in her face. When he was ready, when she was straining at the leash and dying to have her say, he would open the gate completely. He could see it and he couldn’t stop it.

‘So, you told the police that he was out hiding something in the garden and then went straight upstairs to clean himself up? Is that correct?’

‘Yes, the bastard went and washed the blood—’

‘And you saw that? The blood, I mean?’

‘Well… no… but…’

‘So, he may have just run upstairs because he was desperate for the toilet?’

‘No way. He was—’