Dead Memories (D.I. Kim Stone #10)(27)

Penn glanced down at the timeline he was painstakingly building for the boss detailing the journey of Amy and Mark around the supermarket on Sunday afternoon.

3.09 p.m. – A+M enter Asda

3.14 p.m. – Look at Sandwich fridge

3.18 p.m. – Peruse fruit and veg 3.20 p.m. – Pick up apple and put back

3.26 p.m. – Wander up and down chilled meats aisle 3.30 p.m. – Take telephone call (3 mins)

3.33 p.m. – Chat beside fresh bread aisle

3.34 p.m. – Look at wrist

3.37 p.m. – Peruse toiletries aisle

3.40 p.m. – Slip something into pocket

3.42 p.m. – Go into toilets





And that was where he was right now waiting for either or both of them to come out of the toilets. He’d seen a cleaner come and go, countless shoppers rush in and rush out, but the two of them had been in around seven minutes.

‘Coffee?’ he heard through his headphones.

He paused and glanced at his colleague. She never touched the stuff and rarely made it. He normally had one or two in the morning and then laid off. Much more and he was like a freed bumblebee on a summer day.

He shook his head but watched from the corner of his eye as she glanced a few times towards Alison, making calls in The Bowl.

He resumed the recording and saw both Amy and Mark exit the toilets at 3.52 p.m., just eight minutes before the store closed.

He switched to the camera covering the entrance and exit doors and waited: 3.53; 3.54; 3.55, nothing.

Where had they gone? It took less than ten seconds to get from the toilets to the door.

He backtracked to the camera covering the cigarette kiosk, the only thing between the toilets and the doors.

He caught them, deep in conversation behind the newspaper stand. Amy walked away first and Mark followed, but he knew they hadn’t reached the doors.

He sat up in his chair tapping away furiously, switching from one camera to another to pick them back up.

Finally, he found them again and watched as they perused, chose and finally made a purchase.

He noted the entry on the timeline but, by goodness, he hadn’t expected that.





Thirty-Eight





Kim couldn’t recall the last time she’d visited Winson Green prison but it hadn’t been long enough.

Now referred to as HMP Birmingham it would always be Winson Green to her. She remembered the occasional trips with Erica and Keith into Birmingham on the train. Each time Keith would warn her that a view of the imposing building was coming up and each time she had been compelled to look. And then regret it. The sight of the Victorian exterior had both frightened and fascinated her. She had feared its stark, harsh, unforgiving shell but also wondered about the bad men that it contained.

Well, right now 1,450 bad men were held within its Category B walls: a mixture of adult and remand prisoners, and she’d been instrumental in putting a fair few of them in there.

They approached the iconic police blue columns and entered. Bryant had called ahead and their first visitation was being set up in a private room with a heavy security presence. Not at Kim’s request but Bryant and the director had been in agreement. This visit would not take place over the road at the visitor’s centre.

A man in his thirties with black hair and a tidy moustache moved forward to greet them.

‘Team Leader Gennard. I’ll be supervising your visit here today,’ he said, showing her his customer service training.

A part of her objected to the emblem on his shirt of the private security company. The privatisation of prisons which began in 1992 did not sit well with her. Her mind could not reconcile the idea of the protection of the public from dangerous criminals as a profit-making business. The potential consequences of cost-cutting and penny-pinching could be disastrous.

But that wasn’t this man’s fault, she thought, as Bryant shook his hand and thanked him.

‘ID please,’ he said, pleasantly, with an expression that said: No one bypasses that rule.

They both held up their identification. He produced a basket and nodded towards it. ‘Everything in here,’ he said. ‘It’ll all be returned.’

‘Everything?’ Kim questioned.

‘The improvised weapons would make your toes curl,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen knives made from toothbrushes, razor whips. We even have to monitor water usage,’ he said, pleasantly as though still trying to make their visit a positive experience.

‘Water’s pretty harmless, isn’t it?’ Bryant asked and even she was wondering what the most ingenious minds could make of that.

‘Ha, don’t be fooled into thinking anything is harmless around a devious criminal mind. Water seems safe enough until you fill a plastic bag with it and drop it from a great height on someone’s head. Then it’s a water bomb with the ability to kill.’

She was sure of it.

‘Okay, all set?’ he asked, as though they were taking some kind of day trip.

‘Almost,’ she said, turning to her colleague. ‘Bryant, stay here.’

His expression said, not bloody likely, but it was important for what she was about to do.

‘Guv, I don’t think…’

‘I’ll be fine,’ she said, decisively before turning away.

‘Harris, Iqbal, with me,’ Gennard called to a group of white-shirted officers.