Dead Memories (D.I. Kim Stone #10)(3)

‘Bryant, what the?…’

‘Don’t go in there, guv,’ he said, quietly.

Kim tried to understand what was going on here.

Together they had witnessed the worst that mankind could do to each other. They’d viewed bodies where the stench of blood clung to the air. They’d seen corpses in the worst state of decay, alive with maggots and flies. Together they had unearthed the bodies of innocent teenage girls. He knew her stomach could handle just about anything, so why was he trying to stand in her way now?

He ushered her to the side. ‘Kim, I’m asking as a friend. Don’t go in there.’

Never before had he used her first name on the job. Not once.

What the hell had he just seen?

She took a deep breath and fixed him with a stare.

‘Bryant, get out of my way. Now.’





Three





Kim weaved her way through the personnel that were providing a guiding tunnel towards the crime scene. No one gave her a second glance. She was expected so what the hell was Bryant’s problem? she wondered, feeling his presence behind.

Bloody drama queen.

A wall of uniforms parted, and she froze.

For just a few seconds every sound around her was muted, every movement not seen, as her eyes registered the scene before her.

The saliva dried in her mouth as she wondered if she was going to pass out. She felt Bryant’s hand on her elbow, steadying her.

She turned to look at him. His expression was fearful, concerned. And she got it. She knew why he’d tried to protect her.

She swallowed down the nausea and turned back, trying to shake off the slow-motion feel to her actions.

An emaciated black-haired male in his late teens sat with his back against the radiator. His dead, glossy eyes stared straight ahead, his head lolled to the left. His bony legs were lost inside the jeans that covered them. Milky white arms, little wider than a snooker cue, hung out of the short-sleeved tee shirt.

Undeniably dead, his body began to move, to shudder rhythmically. Kim followed the line of his right arm, slightly extended from his body, to his wrist and the handcuff that was still attached to the radiator and the wrist of the girl on whom the paramedics were still working, causing the awkward, jerky movements that rippled across.

Events around her began to filter back in as though someone was gradually removing headphones from her ears.

‘I think we gotta move her, Geoff,’ said one of the paramedics. ‘We got her back twice, next time…’

His words trailed away, no need for a full explanation.

She moved aside as they lifted her effortlessly onto the stretcher. The preservation of life over the preservation of evidence.

No one got to investigate anything while paramedics were working.

There were no grunts of effort as they lay her down.

The girl was even thinner than the dead boy beside her. Her bones appeared to be barely covered by the thin layer of skin that hung loosely in places. Her young face was gaunt, cheekbones and chin sharp against her skin. Dark rings circled her eyes and sores littered her skin.

A low moan sounded from her mouth as they headed towards the door.

The second paramedic kicked something as he passed by. It landed at her feet.

She heard Bryant’s sharp intake of breath as he looked down at the empty Coca Cola bottle.

Kim tried to maintain her composure as she looked around. She expected all eyes to be on her. Waiting for some kind of reaction. A reaction that every cell of her being wanted to scream.

No one was looking her way. Of course, they weren’t. They didn’t know.

A boy and a girl chained to a radiator. A Coke bottle. This same flat a few floors up.

The sweltering heat outside. The boy dead, the girl alive.

They didn’t know this was a recreation of the most traumatic event of her life.

Bryant did and yet there was something even he wasn’t aware of.

Today marked the thirty-year anniversary.





Four





It was almost eleven when Kim parked the Ninja outside Halesowen Police Station.

And whether or not the weariness that had taken over her body had wanted to propel her straight home, she hadn’t been surprised to see the message from Woody on her phone instructing her to return to the station upon leaving the scene, whatever the time.

And she had been only too pleased to get away from Bryant who had asked her a hundred times if she was okay while his eyes had searched hers to see how she was feeling.

She had convinced him that she was fine and now it was time to convince Woody.

‘Sir,’ she said, putting her head around the door. She entered and left the door open. Subtle, she thought.

‘Close it,’ he said.

Not subtle enough.

She stood behind the chair opposite his desk.

Still here at this time of night and his only concession to the hour was a loosening of the tie and a few crumples in his brilliant white shirt.

‘Saw the report, so tell me more about the crime scene.’

‘Not sure there is a crime yet,’ she answered. ‘Two teenagers, drugs, one overdosed and one pretty close. I’ll attend the post-mortem of the male tomorrow but I think it’ll turn up as accidental overdose.’

‘That’s it?’ he asked, his face hardening.