Dead Memories (D.I. Kim Stone #10)(44)

Her wrinkled face broke into a grin.

‘Steve, come on in,’ she said, with a voice damaged by decades of smoking cigarettes.

He heard the police constable guffaw as he closed the door behind himself.

‘Well, how are you?’ he asked, following her slowly down the hallway, a strange clunking noise coming from her frame. She stopped before a wing back chair with a seat made higher with a mismatched square cushion. She used the frame to lower herself down to the chair.

‘I’m fine, Steve,’ she said, reaching over for a pack of Park Drive. His grandfather had smoked that brand for years. ‘Did you bring the coupon?’

‘I’ll get it in a minute,’ he said, pleasantly, with no clue what she was talking about.

‘Bad bit of business next door,’ he said, nodding towards the wall.

She sniffed. ‘Don’t care for them much to be honest. He thinks he’s all that because he works at Bluebird, and she’s been at Jonty’s for years now.’ She leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘Stuck up to be honest.’

He had no idea what Jonty’s was but he knew the Bluebird factory had closed down in 1998.

‘Used to bring me those toffees but he doesn’t any more, miserable bleeder.’

Penn hid his smile. She had some spirit.

‘If he thinks I’m going to keep giving him my Green Shield Stamps, he can think again.’

‘I’d keep them yourself,’ he said, as an alarm sounded in the kitchen.

‘Oh, that’s my muffin done,’ she said, making to get up.

He stood. ‘Let me.’

‘Oh, you’re a good boy, Steve, and don’t forget the coupon.’

‘Okay,’ he said, heading back down the hall.

He turned into the kitchen to see that it was indeed a muffin she’d been timing. The clock was set beside the grill. Except the muffin had been placed face down on top of the extractor fan.

He took it, blew it and placed it under the grill on low heat and found himself wondering at the safety of this woman living alone in this environment when she clearly suffered with dementia.

He could understand why other people had written her off in regard to learning anything about the incidents next door, but Penn wasn’t as quick to walk away.

‘Not quite done yet,’ he said, retaking his seat on the sofa.

‘Well, have you got it?’ she asked, looking at his hand. ‘The coupon.’

He slapped his own head. ‘Oh, I’ve left it in the car.’

‘Well, how am I gonna win if it’s in the car?’

Of course, the football coupon. He thought she was the football coupon man.

‘I’ll go and fetch it in a minute,’ he said. ‘And I’ll help you put the crosses in.’

She smiled her pleasure and he smiled back.

When Jasper was small he’d struggled to communicate and Penn had learned to just let him talk. Eventually the pieces had come together.

He glanced down at the walking frame and saw what had caused the clicking as she’d travelled down the hall.

He leaned down and lifted it up taking off the grey rubber foot. He wiped the inside and put it back on, firmer. Same thing happened on his mum’s frame all the time.

‘There you go,’ he said, looking up into a face filled with suspicion. He immediately knew what had happened. She was back in the present.

‘Who are you?’ she barked.

‘I’m here about that nasty business next door,’ he said, wiping his hand on his jacket.

She narrowed her eyes. ‘What, are you from some housing association too?’





Fifty-Eight





‘Want anything from the canteen?’ Alison asked, standing.

Stacey shook her head.

‘I get a bit of a sugar low around this time each day,’ Alison said, sitting back down. ‘But, I’ve probably had enough for a bit.’

Stacey grunted in response. If the woman was fishing for compliments with the figure she had, they were not going to come from her, especially seeing as she’d had a bit of trouble fastening the button on her size 14 trousers this morning. Damn it, she loved to eat but maybe a trip to the gym now and again wouldn’t kill her.

‘So, did you research your boss last night?’ Alison asked.

‘Alison, I’m trying to work,’ she said, without looking up. One because she didn’t want the woman to see the lie in her eyes and two she didn’t trust this woman’s motivation in trying to talk to her.

Right now she was more interested in trying to locate the son of Bill and Helen Phelps. There was a young man out there who needed to know what had happened to his parents.

‘It’s not disloyal to try and find out everything you can,’ she continued. ‘It is an active case after all.’

‘Hmm…’ Stacey said, not really listening.

‘I mean how could she not be affected by what she saw at that flat. An exact replica of one of the most traumatic events of her life. I mean the level of detail, the flat being just a few floors below. The radiator, the handcuffs, the cracker packet.’

Stacey looked up. Now she was listening as Alison bowed her head and began scribbling again.

Yes, she’d forgotten about the cracker packet in the throat of Mark Johnson.