Dead Memories (D.I. Kim Stone #10)(95)

She had to make a quick decision.

‘Update from Keats,’ she said, placing her phone back in her pocket.

‘Saying?’

‘Nothing much,’ she hedged, her mind already forming a plan.

He gave her an odd look.

‘Nothing that’s gonna help us find Alison,’ she said, trying not to make the lie worse; but right now she felt like every second mattered.

‘Bryant, I’m gonna go check her bathroom for any clues. Wanna head out and check that shed in the back garden?’

He didn’t know that she already knew it was a complete waste of time. The text message said so.

He reached the back door and turned.

‘You okay, guv, you look a bit?…’

‘I’m fine, Bryant, now go check so we can get moving.’

He opened the back door and stepped out just as she turned and left the house.





One Hundred Twenty-Three





Bryant opened the shed door with an uneasy feeling that was not caused by what he might find. He was as convinced as his boss that Alison was not at home, either dead or alive.

No, it was the look on her face when she’d told him the text message was from Keats.

He was sure she was lying and had they been at her house, drinking coffee and she was Kim, he’d have said so. But while she was Guv it wasn’t a great idea.

What she didn’t realise, and he wasn’t going to mention it, was that although she was a good liar she was a reluctant one. Everything about her was direct and truthful, so he’d learned to read her eyes. And they held regret.

He cast his eyes over the normal assortment of shed guts. A battered barbecue, ripped parasol and an assortment of cobwebbed hand tools. Nothing of interest. He took a cursory glance around the perimeter in the name of thoroughness.

He headed back to the house. If he asked her again who had sent the text message, he wasn’t exactly calling her a liar but just giving her a second opportunity to tell the truth.

‘Hey, guv, who’d you say?…’

It didn’t take him long to realise he was talking to an empty room.

He moved to the hallway and glanced into the lounge.

Of course, she was heading upstairs to check Alison’s bathroom.

‘Hey, guv,’ he called, from the bottom of the stairs.

‘She ain’t up there, mate… sorry… I mean…’

‘So, where is she?’ he asked, turning to one of the constables who had broken into the house.

‘Tore off in an Astra Estate just a few—’

Bryant swore and headed back to the kitchen, taking out his phone.

He dialled her number and quietly seethed as it rang and rang before depositing him at voicemail. He ended the call and tried again. Same.

‘Damn it,’ he growled, calling Stacey. What the hell was she playing at?

‘Hey Stace, the guv call in?’

‘Err, no… aren’t you?…’

‘Did you call her for anything?’

‘Nope, not a—’

‘Stace, we had anything through recently from Keats?’

‘Hang on… nope nothing. I can—’

‘Fuck,’ he said, looking around.

The squad car already here had to stay to keep the premises safe until they could get it re-secured.

‘Stace, send a squad car out to fetch me.’

‘Okay, Bryant, but what the hell is?…’

‘It’s the guv, Stace. The guv has gone AWOL.’





One Hundred Twenty-Four





Kim ignored the seventh call to her mobile and pulled over.

She knew some of those calls would be from Bryant and some probably from Stacey.

Yes, she felt bad running out on her colleague like that and not least because she’d taken his car but the text message had been specific.

She took out her phone and read it again.

‘You know who I have and you know who I want. Come alone or she dies. You know where I am.’





Enough people had died this week because of one person’s sick vendetta against her. She couldn’t risk one more person getting hurt.

And the person who had sent the text message was right.

She did know where Alison would be.

She just didn’t know who she was with.





One Hundred Twenty-Five





Alison tried to stem the feeling of panic rising within her, but the fear inside her body wanted to get out.

She knew that she was outside; she could feel wisps of her hair blowing in the breeze and the freshness of the air around her.

She knew that she was lying on her back and that storm clouds were passing overhead.

She could feel brick biting into the bare skin of her arms and her scalp.

She knew she was on some kind of ledge because her right arm had fallen over the side and hung limply, uselessly, against the brick.

She didn’t know how long she’d been here, but none of these things were causing the terror to surge around her veins.

That was coming from the fact that she couldn’t move.

Not one muscle in her body was responding to the commands in her brain.