Dead Memories (D.I. Kim Stone #10)(91)

Bryant nodded. ‘As of three days ago he was residing at HMP Bristol after breaking his parole.’

‘But that’s for young adult and…’

‘The kid is seventeen years old.’

‘Got it,’ Stacey said, causing them both to turn.

‘Email came the day after the download message. Here it is.’

Kim read it over her shoulder.

Mr Beckett.





* * *



Please read this carefully. This is not junk mail and your reputation and career rely on you taking this message seriously and following the instructions below to the letter.





* * *



At 10.05 a.m. yesterday you downloaded thousands of images containing child pornography to your computer. You will find them in the photographs folder on your directory in a subfolder called Childs Play. If you try to delete them they will still leave a trace.





* * *



The police and your employers will be contacted if you do not do the following:





* * *



Obtain the file of Kimberly Stone who entered the care system on 15 June 1988





* * *



Deposit the file in the yellow grit bin on Llewellyn Avenue, Lower Gornal at 11 p.m. on Friday night.

Return home and delete this message.





* * *



Any variation on these instructions will prompt an immediate complaint and call to the police.





* * *



‘Jesus,’ Kim said. ‘If only he’d contacted us we could have stopped this. We could have had them right there and then.’

‘Should we go and check out the location stated?’

‘Don’t need to,’ Kim said. ‘It was the street of foster family number one.’

‘But why?…’

‘Because he knew, Bryant. He knew we’d follow this trail. It’s just one more slap in the face for me,’ she snarled, pacing the room. ‘I swear to God, just one more fucking—’

She stopped speaking as her phone began to ring.

‘Keats,’ she snapped into the phone, catching the exchange of expression between her two colleagues.

‘Well, if you were pissed off before I called,’ he said, ‘you’re going to be even more irate by the time I’ve finished. Come meet me at the entrance to Netherton Tunnel and I’ll show you why.’





One Hundred Seventeen





Netherton Tunnel opened in August 1858 and was the last major canal tunnel to be built in Britain during the canal age. Built with a width of 27 feet it allowed two-way working of narrowboats with towpaths running through it.

Kim remembered Keith bringing her for a walk through the tunnel on a bright Sunday afternoon, guiding her into the darkness and then pointing out the speck of light that signalled the other end over 9,000 feet away.

As they travelled towards it, he would point out the chainage markers on the eastern wall of the tunnel and talk to her of horse-drawn narrowboats. She would try to ignore the drips that fell from the vents called ‘pepper pots’ on the roof of the tunnel and focus on how exciting he made it sound.

Kim pulled herself back to the present. There were many emotions she should be feeling, but her first emotion as she looked down at the body of John Duggar was sadness.

This guy had not had the best start in life and fate seemed to have just dealt him one blow after another. His height, background and illiteracy had all made him a target to the insecure and cruel. She knew at times there’d been hope. His job, his relationship with Billie had all been opportunities for him to change his life.

‘You been looking for this guy, Inspector?’ Keats asked, standing up.

She nodded. ‘Yeah, suspect in a lot of what’s happened this week.’

‘Well, if it’s anything that’s happened since Wednesday night it wasn’t him because he’s been dead for approximately thirty-six hours.’

‘And he’s only just been found?’ Kim asked.

‘He was back there,’ Keats nodded towards the side of the tunnel mouth. ‘Covered in foliage but some guy’s retriever came back with one of his shoes and the body was spotted. Single stab wound to the heart by the looks of it.’

Kim stepped back and took a good look. Whether or not he liked to fight this would have been a hard man to fell and yet she could see no defensive wounds on his hands or arms.

‘Got any more for me, Keats?’ she asked.

‘Judging by the blood loss back there he hasn’t been moved.’

Yeah, cos that would have taken a small army, she thought.

Keats continued. ‘Small knife, well placed, judging by the wound so he wouldn’t have suffered. I can give you more when I get him back.’

‘Okay, thanks,’ she said, turning away.

Three steps later.

‘Um… Inspector, aren’t you forgetting something?’

She turned. ‘Like what?’

‘A disrespectful attitude, a request for me to meet unrealistic timescales, annoying jibes, poor attempts at humour. All of the above?’