Dead Memories (D.I. Kim Stone #10)(65)

‘I buy a bigger cupboard.’

‘Ha, funny. Now answer the question.’

‘Eventually I’m going to open the cupboard door to throw in a garment and the whole lot is going to collapse on top of me.’

‘Exactly that.’

‘So, you’re saying that I’m only delaying the feelings, that they’re going to get me eventually?’

‘Every cupboard has its limits, Kim.’

She took a deep breath. ‘Woody’s taken me off the case.’

Ted didn’t seem surprised. ‘Because of the constable?’

She nodded.

He sipped his drink.

‘You have some kind of madman recreating every traumatic point in your life. They are doing this to make you suffer, to make you hurt. They are going to a great deal of trouble to cause you pain from which, given that level of hate, the only possible end game can be death. Your death. It’s the only final outcome that makes sense.

‘And now I’ll explain the significance of the room. You choose where we sit when you come here. If you want to be alone to reflect or you want me to sit close by silently, you head out into the garden. If you want an in-depth conversation with an equal amount of give and take, where you’re happy to accept my thoughts and opinions, you choose the living room. If, however, you just want me to agree with whatever you’ve got to say, you choose the kitchen.’

‘Really?’

He nodded. ‘That’s why you got instant coffee. Because I very rarely agree with you. And, I’m afraid this time is no exception. Given the circumstances, your emotional state and your actions, not to mention your physical safety, I think Woody was absolutely right to take you off the case.’

Kim felt the pieces of anger reattach themselves to the whole that lay heavy at the base of her stomach.

And whether or not she was acting true to form, she got up and stormed from the house.





Eighty-Two





Alison saw the taxi pull on to the car park and breathed a sigh of relief.

She got out of the car. ‘Stacey, thank you for—’

‘What the hell is going on, Alison?’ she asked, looking around her. ‘Jesus, are you drunk?’

Alison shook her head.

‘Then why are you parked diagonally taking up three spaces? And if it’s a lift home you want, I’m the only one who doesn’t—’

‘I don’t need a lift,’ she said. ‘And I don’t need a breathalyser. What I need is a police officer I can trust.’

Stacey groaned and indicated to the taxi driver to go.

‘I swear, my partner wants your guts for garters. Popcorn, Baileys, Melissa McCarthy film and actually, thinking about it, I could bloody well kill you. Now what the?…’

‘Stacey, I’m sorry,’ Alison said, genuinely. Sometimes she did forget that people she worked with had lives outside the job. ‘Sit in the car and I’ll explain.’

Stacey narrowed her eyes but did as she’d been asked.

Alison got in, took a deep breath and told her the whole story.

She watched as Stacey’s expression and posture went from disinterested to curious to shocked to angry to disbelief.

Alison came to a stop after revealing her conversation earlier with Tom.

‘And you think he did it?’ Stacey asked.

‘I’d bet my next meal on him before Curtis,’ she answered.

‘So why call me?’

‘Because it’s here,’ Alison said. ‘Beverly’s missing earring, the pink flamingo, it’s here.’

Stacey looked around and then looked her way. ‘It’s underneath us, isn’t it? You’re parked over it?’

Alison nodded. ‘I didn’t want it to get even more contaminated. The killer’s DNA could be on it.’

‘Novel idea for preserving the evidence, Alison, but if Beverly was attacked over a week ago that earring could have hundreds of people’s DNA on it,’ she said.

‘So, it’s useless?’ Alison asked.

‘I’m not saying that. I’m saying that from an evidential point of view it’s problematic but still a bloody good find,’ Stacey said, taking an evidence bag from her pocket.

‘Shall I back up so you can?…’

‘No, no, no,’ Stacey said, quickly. ‘We don’t want to risk anything else happening to it. I’ll crawl under and retrieve it.’

Alison got out of the car and suddenly felt bad as the detective dropped to her knees.

She had pulled this woman away from her partner during some much-needed downtime. She had burdened her with the whole story and now the constable was scrabbling underneath her car for evidence on a case that she had nothing to do with.

Alison briefly wondered how many police forces could be pissed off with her at any one time.

And all because she believed in her profile.

‘Okay, got it,’ Stacey said, crawling away from the car and dusting herself down.

‘Thanks, so much, Stacey. I’m so sorry to have called you out. It’s my problem not yours, so if you hand it over I’ll just have a think and work out what I’m gonna do with it.’

Stacey rolled her eyes. ‘Unfortunately, Alison, I can’t unsee or un-hear everything I’ve learned, so whether we like it or not I’m involved; so the more pertinent question is, what are WE gonna do with it?’