Play Dead (D.I. Kim Stone, #4)(14)

‘Mr Lowe, Mrs Lowe,’ Bryant said, stepping forwards. ‘Detective Sergeant Bryant and Detective Inspector Stone. May we come in?’

Mr Lowe hesitated before nodding yes. Every other inch of him begged them to go away. And Kim sincerely wished that they could.

Intruding on the grief of a family was like entering their bedroom in the middle of the night.

They followed the family as they walked slowly across the drive.

Mr Lowe opened the front door and stood aside for his wife and daughter to enter. Once inside, the family paused in the hallway, not knowing what to do. Everything was the same but strange now. Their house looked different because their daughter would never be there again.

No one knew what to do. Normality had been suspended until they found a new one.

‘I’ll make tea,’ Mrs Lowe said to no one in particular.

It was an action, a movement, a minor distraction. The family liaison officer would arrive soon and even that small task would be shared.

A door to the right led to an informal lounge decorated in shades of beige. Kim saw a flat-screen TV in the corner.

Mr Lowe guided them inside. He took an armchair while she and Bryant took the sofa.

‘We are sincerely sorry for your loss,’ Kim offered.

Good manners prompted a nod as though the platitude meant something. It meant nothing. Anything other than it suddenly all being a mistake was meaningless to the grief-stricken man. And she understood. She had seen what he had just been forced to see. For her it was horrific enough; for him it was a trauma she couldn’t measure.

Kim guessed him to be mid-fifties. The white shirt and charcoal trousers showed the body of a man who had stayed fit and trim. His hair was short and unashamedly grey. His face carried an outdoor complexion.

‘Can we excuse Sara from this?’ he asked, looking from her to Bryant. The sudden concern took its place in his eyes amongst the worry and the grief.

Kim nodded. She would speak to Jemima’s sister only if absolutely necessary.

Mrs Lowe entered the room and placed a tray onto the glass coffee table. The tray contained a teapot, sugar bowl, milk jug but no teacups. No one commented as Mr Lowe stood for his wife to take the chair.

She was a woman who matched her husband’s height inch for inch with the assistance of high heels. Her hair was a mass of unruly red curls being held in check by clips and a rubber band. As Mr Lowe stepped behind the chair and placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder Kim couldn’t help but notice what an attractive couple they made.

‘Can you tell us when Jemima went missing?’ Kim asked.

‘Saturday afternoon,’ Mrs Lowe offered. ‘She was late from work. She’s never late from work.’

Kim wondered if it was something the thirty-one-year-old did every Saturday. Come home for tea with the parents.

‘Was Jemima married? Children?’

Mrs Lowe shook her head. ‘I got the feeling it was something she was beginning to think about, but her career has taken precedence since she left university. She’s an equine specialist but she’s been working locally and living here until she could get everything sorted.’

‘Sorted?’ Kim asked.

‘Oh, I’m sorry she’s… she’s…’

Mr Lowe took over from his wife, whose thoughts had been diverted by her own use of the present tense.

‘Jemima suddenly made the decision to move to Dubai about five years ago. She went to work for a family of horse breeders. She’s been back less than a month.’

Kim nodded her understanding.

‘Did Jemima have a boyfriend?’ she asked.

‘She’d been seeing someone. Just a couple of dates, I think.’

Bryant’s pen was poised above the notepad.

‘His name is Simon Roach, someone she met while shopping over the road. Deputy manager, I think.’

‘Did you meet him?’

‘Once,’ Mr Lowe confirmed. ‘One night she brought him round for a meal.’

‘And?’ Bryant asked.

‘I don’t like to judge on first impressions.’

The message was loud and clear.

‘Had Jemima had any problems with anyone that you know of?’

Mr Lowe frowned. ‘Not at all. Jemima is… was a gentle soul.’

Mrs Lowe stifled a sob on the past tense. Mr Lowe squeezed her shoulder again.

‘Jemima was not confrontational. She detested arguments and would always walk away.’

Kim stood. She had asked enough questions for now. They had intruded on the grief of this family long enough for one day.

Bryant followed suit and spoke before she had a chance. ‘Thank you for your time and, again, we are sorry for your loss.’

Kim headed through the hallway.

A shadow moved at the top of the stairs followed by the gentle closing of a door.

Kim hesitated for just a second before leaving the house.





Nine





Kim switched on the iPod. Bach was a composer she hadn’t listened to extensively before, but the string work in the Brandenburg Concertos complemented her work on the bike.

He had scored the concertos for several instruments: two natural horns, three oboes, a bassoon, two violins, a viola and a cello. The artistry required to bring all of those components together to produce a piece of music was not unlike the task of forming the parts strewn over her garage floor. One day it would grow up into a 1954 BSA Goldstar.