Play Dead (D.I. Kim Stone, #4)(45)

Her hands had wound themselves into the shoulder strap of her handbag. Her fingertips were turning white but she couldn’t unclench them.

‘Yow all right, love?’ asked the woman who had thrown filthy looks her way earlier.

Tracy tried to smile and nod her head, but she could feel that the expression on her face was a lopsided grimace.

Tracy sensed the woman slip into the chair beside her, but the stars in her eyes were threatening to consume her.

‘Here yow am, love,’ said the woman, unclenching her hands from the strap. ‘Hang on to me and squeeze as ’ard as yow con.’

Tracy did as she was told, as she was in no position to argue.

She squeezed her palms around the woman’s fingers and told herself over and over that she wasn’t going to die. That her breath would continue to come and that her heart would not explode right out of her body.

‘Goo on, love,’ the woman said. ‘I can teck it.’

Another good squeeze and Tracy could feel the tension starting to fall from her fingers. The uncontrollable trembling in her legs was beginning to subside. The stars were receding to the back of her head. Her body felt battered and exhausted.

‘All right now, love?’ the woman asked.

Tracy nodded gratefully. A few people were looking their way but nothing Tracy couldn’t cope with.

‘Thank you,’ Tracy said, giving her hand one last squeeze.

The woman stood and reached for her shopping bag. ‘You’re welcome, now teck care, eh?’

Tracy nodded and thanked her again.

Only when she’d gone did Tracy allow the tears to pierce her eyes. An episode was always followed by fatigue and emotion.

She probably had about twenty minutes to get home before the exhaustion claimed her completely.

The shame of her condition was as humiliating today as it had been back then. If she turned she was sure she would see the group of girls and boys who had screamed it as she’d passed.

There had been many other names throughout her school days but spastic had been their favourite.

Unequal leg length was the common term for it these days, or leg-length inequality. All very nice names but not ones you can get kids to shout while they’re pointing and laughing.

The discrepancy in her own legs was due to the femur in her left thigh being shorter than the one in the right. The frequent back pain was the result of a now tilted pelvis.

She had tried the heel lifts and the ugly shoes that had been available and none had worked.

They’d just made her feel even more clunky and ugly.

And that was why she wore the shoes.

Tracy took a deep breath and reached for her handbag. Her legs faltered for a moment as she pushed herself to a standing position, but a couple of breaths and she was ready to walk.

The fatigue pulling at her eyelids told her she was already on borrowed time, but she would have to fight it for a little bit longer.

She had to get her jumbled thoughts in order. Her legs were not responsible for the panic attack.

It was due to the mention of Jemima Lowe.





Thirty-Seven





As Kim pulled up at the gate that separated Westerley from civilisation, she wondered how long it would be until this entrance was besieged by reporters and the placard brigade.

The press knew that a body had been found on ‘farmland bordering Wall Heath’, but as yet the exact details had been hidden. With the arrival of equipment and specialists, they were on borrowed time before the secret was out.

The gate began its slow journey. The CCTV camera had alerted her arrival.

The gravel parking area held three vehicles Kim didn’t recognise.

Bryant stood beside the Portakabin as she parked.

Kim felt the full force of the evening sun when she stepped off the bike and switched it off. The passing breeze had kept her cool, but the fact that the temperature had prised the suit jacket from Bryant’s back and rolled his sleeves up to the elbow told her they were mid to high twenties.

‘They’ve checked it twice,’ he said as she removed her helmet. ‘But I’ll let the guys explain when you get down there.’

‘Where are they?’ she asked.

‘Furthest point away, opposite side to where Jemima was found,’ he said, matching her stride as she headed down the hill.

‘Have you called Keats?’ she asked.

Bryant nodded.

And she had called Woody, so between the two of them key personnel should already be on their way.

She glanced down in the general direction Bryant had indicated and was dismayed at what she saw.

‘Jesus, it’s a circus already?’

Although the commotion was in the distance Kim counted at least nine or ten people around the area, including Professor Wright and Daniel Bate.

‘Watch out for Cher,’ Bryant said, guiding her to the left.

In her haste she had almost missed the cut in the grass and the metal grid that lay across the grave. Kim took a quick glance as she passed. The similarity to the real Cher ended with the long black hair. This version was bloated and waxy and writhing with worms.

‘Bloody hell… this place… ’

She shook her head and charged straight into the middle of the group.

‘Okay, guys, what have we got?’ she asked, stepping towards the machine. She sensed Bryant’s despair, but there was little point in introductions. Whoever had the information would shout up.