Play Dead (D.I. Kim Stone, #4)(5)

‘Other than that, watertight,’ he said.

She nodded her understanding and again took a step backwards towards the door.

‘So much so, I think you and your team have earned yourselves a little treat.’

She narrowed her gaze and opened her ears. Now she was suspicious.

‘Do you remember being briefed about that facility in Wall Heath?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘The one carrying out forensic research? Of course.’

Everyone down as far as detective-inspector level had been briefed when the place had originally started work. It was called Westerley and focussed on studying the human body after death.

Kim wondered if the mid-July heat was getting to her boss. Outwardly the twenty-three-degree heat had only prompted him to loosen his shirt cuffs but maybe he was melting on the inside.

Completing cases was not like bowling. Solving one didn’t knock the other ones down. There were many more cases spread across the desks of her team, and Woody knew it.

‘Sir, any chance of a rain check?’ she asked. ‘My team has six new cases that have landed over the weekend.’

Again, that almost-smile appeared on his face.

‘No, Stone. I’ve been waiting for an opportunity for the last few weeks but delayed it while the Nadir case was live. But you will take the trip today.’

She had learned to accept when her boss would not be moved, and she now chose her battles more wisely. Still she had to give it one last try.

‘Is there any particular reason why now is…?’

‘West Mercia have solved two cold cases in the last month based on the research being carried out at Westerley,’ he said, with a look that left her in no doubt that the discussion was over.

They were going.





Four





Her team piled into her ten-year-old Golf, which was only with her today after dropping Barney at the groomers. Normally her Kawasaki Ninja provided all the space she needed.

Bryant folded his six-foot height into the front while Stacey and Dawson shuffled in the back.

‘Buckle up, kiddies,’ Bryant said over his shoulder.

‘Bloody hell, Kev. Move over a bit, will yer?’

‘Christ, Stace, you’ve got loads of room.’

Kim drove the car out of the car park as Dawson and Stacey continued to bicker in the back.

‘Hey, you two…’ Bryant said. Thankfully he was going to restore some order before she had to. ‘Hope you both went to the toilet before you got in the car.’

Dawson groaned and Stacey stifled a chuckle.

‘Hey, Bryant,’ Dawson said, leaning forwards. ‘Did you bring us all a packed—’

‘One more bloody word,’ Kim snapped, ‘and you’ll all be walking. This isn’t a school trip to the zoo.’

At least in the office she could retreat to The Bowl, a term used for her tiny office in the corner of the CID squad room. In her small car there was really nowhere to go.

Silence descended like a curtain.

Eventually Bryant broke the peace.

‘Guv?’

‘What?’

‘Are we there yet?’

‘Bryant, I swear—’

‘Sorry, what I meant to ask is where exactly are we going?’

‘Just on the outskirts of Wall Heath.’

The facility was right on the border where the West Midlands met the Staffordshire police force.

Wall Heath was primarily a residential area located on the edge of the West Midlands conurbation bordering Staffordshire to the west. It was at the very edge of Kim’s safety zone before the roads narrowed, traffic lights disappeared and roadkill was waiting around every corner.

‘That’s Holbeche House,’ Bryant said as she passed what looked like a stately home. ‘It’s famous for being where the flight of the Gunpowder Plotters ended. The mansion was originally built around 1600 but is now a private nursing home.’

‘Splendid,’ Kim offered. ‘Apparently we’re looking for a place called Westerley Farm,’ she said, glancing to her left.

‘Not signposted as a site of rotting corpses then, boss?’ Stacey asked.

‘Funded research?’ Dawson asked.

Kim was relieved that they had returned to grown-up questions.

‘Yes but not exclusively,’ she answered. ‘The programme is funded by a mixture of universities and police forces.’

‘Unlikely to be featured on the annual “look how we spent your money” leaflets,’ Stacey acknowledged.

Kim suspected not. It was definitely on the ‘not for public consumption’ list.

‘And you just passed it on the right,’ Bryant said, looking behind.

The lane was a one-track road. She drove along for almost a quarter mile before reaching a driveway she could use to reverse.

She drove back down the lane and slowed as she saw the break in the seven-foot-high hedgerow. A simple wooden sign with the name burned into it hung from a gate that offered a one-foot gap either side of the car width.

Bryant jumped out and unlatched the gate, waving her through. He closed the gate behind.

‘No lock?’ Kim asked, frowning.

The road narrowed further and became two strips of dirt with a central line of grass and weeds. The hedgerow grew higher and began to impose itself around them. Kim was reminded of taking the car through the car wash.