Child's Play (D.I. Kim Stone #11)(60)

‘And freeze,’ Keats shouted.

Both men stood totally still as Keats walked around them looking through and then over his glasses.

‘Hmm…’ he said.

‘Exactly,’ Mitch agreed.

‘Guys, as I didn’t bring my clairvoyant head with me you’re going to have to…’

‘You’re sure of the wound point?’

He nodded. ‘Oh yeah.’

‘And the trajectory?’

He took another look. ‘Yes.’

‘And the length of the blade given the internal wound?’

‘Yes,’ he said, impatiently. He’d given them every bit of information he had.

‘You’ve got yourself a bit of a problem here, my boy,’ Keats said, taking off his glasses.

‘How so?’ he asked, feeling the dread rise in his stomach.

He watched as Mitch went back to the tee shirt and frowned, but it was Keats who was speaking.

‘That’s not how it happened.’

‘It has to be,’ Penn said.

‘You’re not arguing with me, you’re arguing with science and I can tell you categorically that the blood spatter marks don’t match.’

‘Jesus,’ he said, running his hand through his curly hair. More doubt was not what he needed right now.

‘Hmm…’ Mitch said from beside him.

‘What now?’ he asked.

‘I’m afraid that’s not your only problem.’





Sixty-Four





It was almost eight when Kim and Bryant found themselves knocking at the door of Beth Nixon whose social media channels were conspicuous in their absence. A woman in her late twenties with a total of eleven friends on her closed FB account and no other kind of online footprint was more unusual than unheard of.

Beth answered the door wearing a grey leisure suit that was neither day wear nor bed wear. It was just plain comfortable. Her blonde hair hung loosely around her shoulders and her face was pale and devoid of make-up. Had it only been yesterday they’d been here to tell this woman her husband was dead?

‘Officers?’

‘Do you mind if we come in?’ Kim asked.

‘Please, I’m in the kitchen,’ she said, pointing the way.

Kim walked through the silent house.

‘We just wanted to see if there was anything further you’d remembered,’ Kim said.

‘That I wouldn’t have contacted you about if I had?’ she asked, offering a wry smile.

Kim said nothing but sat down at the kitchen table. Bryant followed suit.

The small TV on a corner wall bracket was on but there was no sound. The whole house was steeped in an eerie silence as though it was waiting for something.

Beth followed her gaze. ‘I don’t watch it after the news,’ she said, reaching for the remote. ‘I’d rather read a book but the picture gives a bit of movement to the room.’

Kim nodded her understanding. It was a substitute for the lack of activity in the house around her.

‘You don’t have family that could be with you?’

‘No, I have Lenora but after a while she can be… well, you met her. I think you can understand. Katie has come home but is staying with Lenora.’

‘You don’t get on?’

‘We get on for Barry’s sake but her coming here without him would be strange. Her own grief is too overwhelming for her to consider mine.’

‘No family of your own?’ Kim pushed. Katie was Barry’s family. Lenora was Barry’s family. Inherited by this woman. Not her own.

She shook her head. ‘I have a brother but we haven’t spoken in years. Now, how may I help you?’

‘We’re just re-questioning anyone close to the victims.’

‘You have no idea who murdered my husband, do you?’ she asked, perceptively.

‘We have leads that we’re following up,’ Kim offered.

Despite what she’d said, this wasn’t the reason for their visit.

‘I don’t want to be rude, but why are you here?’ she asked, switching off the television completely.

‘Mrs Nixon, did you and your husband originally meet at the Brainbox event, when you were a child?’

‘I was fourteen,’ she said, defensively, offering no reaction to the fact that Kim had mentioned the event for gifted children.

Kim held up her hands. ‘There’s no judgement here,’ she said. Well not on your part, she thought to herself. The ethics of your husband are a different matter entirely.

‘I can read that look on your face,’ the woman said, folding her arms. ‘And I know you don’t understand.’

‘So, help me,’ Kim said, not bothering to lie. ‘Help me understand how an intelligent, gifted teenager fell in love…’

‘I didn’t fall in love with him when I was fourteen, at least I wouldn’t call it that. I clicked with him and if he did with me he made no sign of it. I know how he made me feel and it stuck with me.’

‘And how was that?’ Kim asked, wondering if they were moving into grooming territory. ‘How did he make you feel?’

‘He got me, totally and completely. He listened. He let me talk and he understood how I was feeling; my fears, my insecurities, my sudden bursts of anger, my hatred of—’