Child's Play (D.I. Kim Stone #11)(52)

Gregor regarded him for a full minute.

‘You really serious about this? You really looking at this with your eyes open this time?’

‘It’s why I’m here.’

‘I got nothing that’s gonna help you one way or another, but I’ll tell you the whole bloody truth and you make your own mind up.’

‘Go on.’

‘You find the tee shirt?’ he asked.

Penn nodded. ‘I did the outside search.’

‘Where was it?’

‘Back right, furthest corner from the door.’

‘What did you have to move to get in?’

Penn thought back. ‘Pair of stepladders, a couple of kids’ bikes, storage boxes.’

‘All at the front, right?’

Penn thought. ‘Yeah, up to about halfway and then it was clear to the back.’

‘I put everything at the front, mate. Either side of the door. I stack it up and push it around from the doorway.’

Yeah, Penn could imagine that from what he’d seen.

‘Like I said before, it’s nothing you can use but I can tell you that I didn’t put that tee shirt right at the back of the shed there, cos I never even step into the thing. Never.’

Penn shook his head, not understanding

‘Spiders, man. I’m not just scared of ’em. I’m absolutely terrified of the little fuckers.’





Fifty-Five





‘So, what do you think Veronica meant by access to everything?’ Bryant asked as he pulled up at a zebra crossing.

Yes, Kim had been thinking about what the woman had said right before they’d walked out the door. What exactly was there to have access to? Didn’t they know it all now?

‘Stace and Tinkerbell are on it right now,’ she replied. ‘But I’m more interested in what Freddie Compton has to say.’

‘You ruling Veronica out then?’

‘Oh, Bryant, when do I ever rule out anyone? She’s just on the back burner for now. If an obvious link to our second victim comes in I’ll put her back on the boil.’

‘You try cooking something last night?’ he asked, giving her a sideways glance. ‘Only you tend to use food analogies when you’ve braved the kitchen again. Unsuccessful, I’m guessing.’

‘My cooker hates me.’

‘You’re blaming your kitchen appliances?’

‘Obviously,’ she said as though it was a no-brainer.

She’d tried all manner of recipes, books, internet, YouTube videos and even kiddy cooking corner and as yet there had been no success. There was only one common denominator: her cooker.

‘So, no, to repeat, I’m not ruling out Veronica Evans yet. But Stacey said that this guy, Freddie Compton, organised Brainboxes for twelve years before the Welmsleys took over, so will have seen both our victims at the events. He has to have some clue as to what they’ve got in common, but more importantly, Bryant, where the fuck are we?’ she asked looking around.

‘Wondered when your anxiety levels were gonna kick in,’ Bryant smirked.

Oh yeah, they were firing up. There had been a lot of green land between Kidderminster and where they were now.

‘We’re in a village called Cleobury Mortimer and we’re taking this left turn right here,’ he said, negotiating a tight bend that turned into a steep climb immediately.

‘This isn’t a bloody road,’ she moaned as the bramble on the passenger side hit her window.

The road continued to climb and then levelled before dropping slowly beyond a grey stone farmhouse.

‘Why would anyone want to live here?’ she asked.

Bryant pulled on to the drive beside a Land Rover and pointed. ‘For that.’

‘Oh,’ she said.

The house was elevated above a steep, sloping garden that ran into a valley below. The house looked out over miles of countryside.

‘That’s Clee Hills in the distance,’ Bryant offered as they got out of the car. ‘Used to take the missus up there when we were dating.’

‘You cheap bas—’

‘It’s romantic,’ he said, shaking his head.

Kim shrugged and started walking to the door on the side of the house.

‘Hear that?’ Bryant said, tapping her on the arm.

‘Hear what?’ she asked, impatiently, as he stopped walking.

‘The silence.’

Oh, he was right about that. They were in the middle of nowhere. They’d turned off a decent A-road, onto a narrow bumpy B-road, before hitting a single-track lane that had led to the hilly dirt road.

She couldn’t remember seeing another car for miles.

‘You really don’t get it, do you?’

No, she really didn’t. The property was rural, isolated and to her desolate. She drew comfort from the familiarity of town noise, even the late-night noise of occasional sirens, doors slamming, tellies blaring, loud music through open windows, drunks singing on the way home from the pub, wives giving them what for once they got there.

Her only interest in the countryside was tearing through it on the Ninja to blow the cobwebs from her mind.

‘Come on, country boy,’ she said, knocking on the heavy wooden door. The sudden sound cut through the heavy silence.