Play Dead (D.I. Kim Stone, #4)(35)

‘Significant?’ Doctor Singh asked.

Kim smiled. ‘Now it’s my turn to say I don’t know.’

He acknowledged her answer. ‘Is that all?’ he asked.

‘May I just have a minute more?’

‘Of course,’ he answered before turning away.

He drew back the curtain and stepped towards the patient opposite.

Kim put the phone back into her pocket and placed her hand back onto Jane’s wrist. ‘I’m sorry I had to do that, but I want to catch the person who did this to you.’

Once more Kim felt the scar tissue beneath her touch.

This woman had suffered in the past, and now she was suffering again.

‘I promise you will not be a Jane for long.’





Twenty-Six





Jane could feel a soft pressure on her hand. She wasn’t sure if she was in some kind of dream.

Sometimes there were voices and sometimes not. Sometimes there was a soft bleeping sound that was swallowed only when the darkness came again.

In her stomach there was fear. It began in her belly button and worked its way out.

The blackness around her kept moving, rearranging itself then snatching and stealing her thoughts.

There was pain echoing around her body. She didn’t know from where but the blackness took it away. The darkness consumed it along with her and then spat her back out.

At times she was at one with the darkness

She wondered if this was death and if so how she had got here. Was it possible to feel pain in death? And if she was dead was this her eternal state?

Any further thought or realisation was taken away by the dark.

She wanted to open her eyes but the blackness took her before she could.

If she was alive she knew she was in hospital. She knew that someone was holding her hand.

She tried to open her eyes.

She knew she had something to say.

The panic rose up to her throat before the blackness took her again.





Twenty-Seven





Instead of heading back out to Bryant’s car, Kim went straight to the morgue.

Keats was sitting at his desk, head bent in studious concentration.

‘Ahem…’ she said.

‘I know you’re there, Inspector. It’s a stomp I would recognise anywhere, but I’m hoping if I ignore you, you’ll go away,’ he droned without raising his head.

‘Yeah, you and most people I’ve ever met, but I need your help.’

He looked up and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. ‘Are you mauling me, Inspector?’

She stifled the smile that played at her lips. He knew her too well.

Blowing smoke up the behind of the pathologist was not worth her time. She knew from other people’s experience that it didn’t work. He would either help her or not.

‘Three years ago a male was found at Fens Pools,’ she said.

‘You’ll need to be a bit more specific than that.’

‘His fingers had been cut off.’

‘Aaah, yes, I remember it. I didn’t do the post-mortem, but I recall the case. Still unidentified?’

Kim nodded and sat down. ‘I have the reports, but I could do with a bit of expert translation.’

He tipped his head. ‘Only if you stop being so damned pleasant to me. It’s a little bit frightening without Bryant to protect me.’

This time the smile escaped. ‘Okay.’

He looked above her head and then began tapping away at his keyboard. ‘I have five minutes until my next customer arrives, so make it quick.’

Kim recalled the post-mortem report she had pored over at home and recalled the one thing that had struck her as curious.

‘The only wound visible was a knife mark above the left chest, two – maybe two and a half – inches long, possibly a stab wound?’

He glanced back at the screen. ‘Well if it was a stab wound, it wasn’t deep. The cause of death was definitely drowning.’

‘The fingers were removed after death, is that right?’ she asked.

Keats nodded and continued to read.

There had been no pain or torture inflicted by the killer to prolong the agony. The removal of the digits had been purely functional.

‘What can you tell me about him, Keats?’ she asked.

‘Shush,’ he said and continued to read for a couple of minutes. ‘In layman’s terms, his age was estimated at mid to late fifties. He wasn’t a heavy drinker but was definitely a heavy smoker. He ate too many fatty foods and didn’t take enough exercise. No obvious broken bones, tattoos or other distinguishing characteristics.’

Pretty average then, Kim thought. Except that every finger had been severed from his hand. Yeah, there was no escaping that particular fact.

Kim sighed. She had not learned much at all.

She stood. ‘Thanks, anyway, Keats. I’ll—’

‘Not so fast, Inspector. Just take a quick look at this.’

She stepped around to his side of the desk. The image on the screen had been zoomed, and she wasn’t sure what it was she was looking at.

She tipped her head sideways. ‘Is that the chest wound?’

Keats nodded. ‘And there’s something there that looks a little odd.’