Play Dead (D.I. Kim Stone, #4)(3)

She turned him around on top of the shed so he was facing the target property.

The whole six-foot height of Bryant stood with his arms folded and his head tipped.

‘Any time you’re finished, guv?’

She moved Ashraf closer towards the edge. She would happily have pushed him forwards, head first, but the code of conduct frowned upon gratuitous violence towards apprehended suspects.

She leaned on his shoulder and forced him to a sitting position.

‘Cautioned?’ Bryant asked, easing the male down to the ground.

She nodded. On top of a garden shed was not the strangest place she’d made an arrest but it was probably top five.

Bryant took hold of Ashraf’s cuffs and pushed him ahead.

‘What stopped him running?’

‘Two German shepherds.’

Bryant looked at her sideways. ‘Yeah, I’d probably have taken my chances with the dogs.’

Kim ignored him and entered the back door first.

The second target and the customer were cuffed and under the guard of Dawson and two uniforms.

She looked at Dawson, the question in her eyes.

‘Living room, boss.’

Kim nodded and took the next door off the hallway.

Stacey sat on the sofa a good foot and a half away from the thirteen-year-old boy clad only in underpants and a T-shirt beneath Bryant’s suit jacket, which dwarfed him and made him look like a toddler playing dress up.

His head was bowed, legs together, and he was sobbing quietly.

Kim glanced down at the hands that were strangling each other.

She covered the hands with her own.

‘Negib, you’re safe now. Do you understand?’

His flesh was cold and clammy.

Kim took one hand in each of her own to stop the trembling.

‘Negib, I need you to go to the hospital and then we’ll get your father…’

The head shot up and began to shake. The shame shone from his eyes and Kim thought her heart would break.

‘Negib, your father loves you very much. If he hadn’t been so insistent we wouldn’t be here now.’ She took a deep breath and forced him to look into her eyes. ‘It is not your fault. None of this is your fault and your father knows that.’

She could see the brave effort it took for the boy to hold back his tears. Despite the pain, the humiliation, the fear this child was feeling, he did not want to break down and cry.

Kim remembered another thirteen-year-old who had felt exactly the same way.

She reached across and touched his cheek gently. She uttered the words she had longed to hear back then.

‘Sweetie, it’s going to be okay, I promise.’

The words unleashed a torrent of tears accompanied by loud, heaving sobs. Kim leaned in and pulled him close.

She stared over the top of his head thinking, Go on, sweetheart, just let it out.





Two





Jemima Lowe felt the palms close around her ankles.

With one sudden movement she was yanked from the tinny van. Her back landed on the floor followed by her head. The pain shot around her skull like a star bursting through the darkness. For a few seconds the shards of pain were all she could see.

Please, just let me go, she offered silently as her mouth was unable to move.

The muscles in her body had been severed from her brain. Her limbs no longer obeyed her. Her mind screamed messages but the rest of her body wasn’t listening. She could run a half marathon with ease. She could swim the Channel and back. She could ride a bike a triathlon distance, but right now she couldn’t even make a fist. She cursed her own body for letting her down and succumbing to the drug ravaging her system.

She felt herself being turned on the ground. The gravel bit into the small of her back where her top had hiked up.

Her body was being dragged along by the ankles. She had the sudden image of a caveman dragging a freshly killed carcass home for the family.

The texture beneath her changed. It was grass. Her head bounced up and down as her body was pulled along by invisible hands. The angle changed. She was being pulled up hill. Her head was thrown to the side. Her cheek hit against a small rock.

She sent an instruction to her hands to grab on to the ground. She knew her only chance was to slow this down. It was her only way to live.

Her thumb and forefinger almost grabbed at a small clutch of grass but then slid away as the digits refused to hang on. She knew the drugs were deep in her system. The tears of frustration stung at her eyes. She knew she was about to die – but also knew she couldn’t stop it.

A laboured sigh from her captor punctured the silence as the incline grew steep and the angle of her body changed.

Please, just let me go, she prayed again. Her thoughts had sharpened, but her muscles refused to catch up.

Her body came to a halt. It was level, her legs in line with her back.

‘You want me to stop, don’t you, Jemima?’

There was the voice. The only voice she’d heard for twenty-four hours.

It chilled her to the bone.

‘I wanted you to stop, Jemima. But you wouldn’t.’

Jemima had already tried to explain, and yet she had been unable to find the right words. How could she ever explain what had happened that day? In her mind the truth had sounded so inadequate and once out of her mouth it had sounded much worse.