Child's Play (D.I. Kim Stone #11)(5)

‘Eleanor who?’ Kim asked, frowning.

‘Don’t know her last name but she’s rumoured to glide around the park looking for her lost love, a monk who was walled up in a passage alive and…’

‘Or it could be Annie Eliza,’ Stacey said, widening her eyes. ‘She lived there alllllll alone, never married or had children and…’

‘Or it could have been Yvette?’ Bryant added.

‘Another bloody ghost?’ Kim asked, moving towards the Bowl.

‘Nah, she’s real. Does Most Haunted programme and they’ve been to investigate—’

‘Enough, guys,’ she said, grabbing her jacket.

Kim glanced back at the white board that contained just the barest of details. Right now, Belinda Evans was a bullet-point list, a collection of facts gained solely from the crime scene and already Kim had the feeling that the woman was going to become much more than that.





Four





Wombourne was a village in South Staffordshire with Anglo-Saxon origins that managed to hold on to its sense of community despite the numerous housing developments that had sprung up as an overspill housing solution for the nearby city of Wolverhampton.

Bryant pulled up behind a squad car on Trident Road, a few streets back from the village green.

As she got out of the car Kim noted that the double-fronted detached bungalow had been recently painted. A waist-high slatted fence enclosed the front garden and disappeared around the back. A hanging basket was placed either side of the door, both bearing identical flowers coloured pink and white. The property was tidy and pleasant and appeared to have been designed for low maintenance.

‘Wish my missus would go for something like this,’ Bryant moaned, holding his ID up for the constable on the gate. ‘Damn flowers back home have me sneezing all over the…’

‘Hang on,’ Kim said, stepping back to the officer on the gate. ‘Any interest?’ she asked, looking around the street.

‘Plenty, Marm,’ he said. ‘Lady at number seventeen watched from her bedroom window for over an hour before leaving twenty minutes ago. The person at number twenty-one doesn’t realise we know they’ve been behind that net curtain for forty-five minutes and Mr Blenkinsop from number fourteen along the road makes a very nice cup of tea.’

Kim smiled. In her experience, there were four types of neighbour. The first, and her favourite on a personal level, were the ones that really couldn’t give a shit what was going on beyond their own front door. The second were the ones who wanted to know what was going on but didn’t want to show it. The third group were the openly curious but easily bored, and then there were her professional favourites: The Blenkinsops; the ones that were openly curious and made the effort to engage with police and find out what was going on.

‘Cheers,’ she said, catching up with Bryant who was already in the hallway.

‘Observant guy,’ she noted, glancing back to the officer.

‘Give the man a plant,’ Brant said, turning left.

His failure to earn the plant had become a standing joke in the squad room. One which Bryant played for all it was worth.

‘Basic layout by the looks of it,’ he noted. ‘Living area on the left and bedrooms on the right. Decent size.’

The hallway was decorated with an embossed wallpaper that had been painted with bland magnolia matt emulsion. The rooms offered a similar colour palette which gave the impression of fresh, clean but coolly detached somehow.

‘How much?’ Kim asked, looking around the lounge. Bungalows were pretty expensive around the area.

‘I’d guess around three hundred grand,’ Bryant said, frowning.

‘I’d have expected a bigger property,’ Kim said, honestly, purely based on the car model and registration of the car that the victim drove.

‘My thoughts exactly,’ he said touching the top of a sideboard. ‘It’s a nice place but…’ His words trailed away as he pulled open the top drawer of the cupboard.

‘Empty,’ he said, looking her way.

Kim shrugged, and continued walking around the room. The television was flat screen but not much bigger than a computer monitor. An old-fashioned stacker system music centre sat on a two-drawer unit in the opposite corner. She could see no speakers attached and it appeared to be just for show.

She opened the drawers. ‘These are empty too.’

They moved along to the kitchen. The heart of the home. In this property it appeared to have suffered a cardiac arrest. The space was a functional area of boxes, hard edges and sharp corners. Nothing softened the space or brought it to life. No chopping board, place mats, canisters for tea bags, bread bin, teapot. All the things that people have and don’t really use.

Again, Bryant began opening doors and drawers.

‘A few bits and pieces but little more than we found in the lounge. Not sure we’re gonna find any evidence to help solve her death when we can barely find anything to prove her life.’

Kim turned to her colleague.

‘Bloody hell, Bryant, you been reading books again?’

‘Actually, Carl Jung says—’

Bryant’s words were cut off by a cough that came from behind.

Kim turned and her breath met a brick wall in her chest.

‘Jesus,’ Bryant whispered, as they both stared at the person before them.