Dead Memories (D.I. Kim Stone #10)(57)

Stacey nodded and began to walk around. The first thing she noticed were the books. Everywhere, on shelves, on occasional tables, small piles beside chairs. This couple had liked to read, a lot, which explained their lack of interest in television channels.

She ventured upstairs and counted three bedrooms. The biggest held a double bed, fitted wardrobes, a dressing table and more books. The second double bedroom had been turned into a library-cum-reading room and the smallest was being used as storage.

Looked like the son wasn’t coming home anytime soon.

She returned to the master bedroom and sat on the right side of the bed.

She pulled open the single drawer in the bedside cabinet and almost jumped back.

‘Jesus,’ she whispered as her eyes took in the colourful assortment of sex toys and lubricants. Stacey closed the drawer and smiled. The couple had clearly enjoyed more than a good book. And fair play to them, she thought.

She moved to the other side of the bed and hesitated before opening the drawer, unsure what she might find.

She sighed with relief. No more sex toys, instead she found a few hair grips, a couple of items of jewellery and a clutch of receipts, and underneath everything was a small lockable diary that reminded Stacey of the one she’d had as a teenager. The tiny key dangled from the strap, but the diary clicked open.

Stacey wondered how many different ways she could invade this couple’s privacy as she leafed through it.

The latest entry had been made the night before they died. The handwriting was tidy but the words brief, Stacey noticed, as she read what appeared to be short notes as a form of record rather than an outpouring of feelings.

The day before their murder they had attended a doctor’s appointment for Bill’s blood pressure, visited the post office to buy stamps and nipped into the library.

Stacey leafed backwards seeing similar entries throughout until she reached a date two weeks earlier.

Saw Joel. Didn’t know what to say. Left early.





Stacey frowned. Where had Helen Phelps seen her son? The neighbour had given her the impression that Joel had been travelling for a while.

And why had she struggled for conversation?

This was no longer making sense, she realised, as she leafed to the back of the diary and found a single piece of paper, battered and marked by time.

She opened the piece of paper to find it was a birth certificate.

Her eyes took in the detail a few times.

The birth certificate was for Joel and his last name wasn’t Phelps at all.

No wonder she’d been unable to find any trace of him.

She’d been looking for the wrong man.





Seventy-Four





‘Look, guv, there’s just nothing else we can do right now,’ Bryant said as they pulled back into the station. ‘We’ve put out a description of Duggar. If he turns up anywhere we’ll be the first to know. It’s almost eight so…’

His words trailed away as her phone began to ring.

‘Working late, Keats,’ she answered.

‘Only for my favourite detective,’ he answered.

‘Yeah, he’s right beside me,’ she said, putting the phone on loudspeaker.

‘Hey, Keats,’ Bryant said.

‘Sorry for the late call but had to get some results checked and thought you’d want to know the results—’

‘Yep,’ she interrupted.

‘Toxicology came back on Amy Wilde and Mark Johnson. As expected there were substantial amounts of heroin in their system and most certainly enough to cause an overdose. But there’s something else. Also present were high levels of a drug called Baclofen, a muscle relaxant used to treat spasticity and musculoskeletal conditions.’

‘Bloody hell,’ she said. ‘So, you’re saying our killer most likely relaxed them enough to be able to shoot them full of heroin?’

‘I’d say so,’ Keats replied.

‘Thanks for—’

‘That’s not all, Inspector,’ Keats said, stopping her from ending the call.

‘Same drug was found in the soft tissue of Mr and Mrs Phelps.’

Silence fell for just a few seconds but it was long enough.

‘So, they were paralysed?’ she asked, quietly.

‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘Most likely semi-conscious but unable to move.’

‘Shit,’ Bryant said, shaking his head.

She was guessing they were all imagining the couple forced to sit still as the flames engulfed them and licked at their flesh, searing it away from the bone. She just hoped the smoke inhalation had got them quick.

Kim swallowed and shook the image away.

‘Thanks, Keats,’ she said, ending the call.

Kim got out of the car shaking her head. Was there any worse way to die?

Bryant rested his arms on the roof of the car. ‘Guv, we’re gonna catch this bastard,’ he said as the doors to the station were thrown open.

Three officers headed for the squad car beside them. The driver accidentally barged into her side.

‘Hey, watch…’

‘Sorry, Marm, didn’t mean…’

The others were already in the car.

‘What’s the bloody rush?’

‘Rape at Linley Park, Marm… gotta…’