Page 7 of Child's Play

‘Rest them, Stone. You have to manage them and ensure they get enough downtime. Try to stick to shift patterns and look for tell-tale signs like emotional changes.’

She raised an eyebrow.

‘Okay, maybe in your case you should look for behavioural changes and physical signs like being withdrawn, irritable, aggressive. It’s all here,’ he said, waving the memo at her again.

‘Noted, sir, and I have only one question,’ she said, glancing at the piece of paper in his hands.

‘Go on.’

‘Did the criminals get the memo too?’

If her memory served correctly that was the point at which he’d thrust the memo at her and told her to leave.

Penn’s court case could not have come at a worse time. Any time over the last few weeks would have been fine by her, while they’d been working routine cases since their last major investigation into the sicko who had been recreating the most traumatic events in her life.

Unfortunately, the CPS didn’t consult her diary when programming murder trials, and as it had been Penn’s last major investigation with West Mercia, she’d had no choice but to free him for the trial. Especially as he’d been the arresting officer.

‘Okay, let’s get cracking,’ she said, perching on the edge of the desk facing the wipe board. ‘Belinda Evans, sixty-one years of age found tied to a swing, late at night at Haden Hill Park. Smartly dressed, presentable, arrived there under her own steam but no mobile phone on her person. Lives in a nice area of Wombourne and hasn’t come to our attention before. Stace, find out everything you can about our victim. Bryant and I will be heading over to her house before meeting with Keats for the post-mortem at ten.’

‘Got it, boss,’ she said, turning to her computer.

‘Woody has delegated statement taking to Inspector Plant and his team seeing as Penn is taking a holiday this week.’

Follow-ups normally fell to Penn. He shook his head. ‘Who the hell would want to hurt a little old?—’

‘Hey, sixty-one ain’t old, matey,’ Bryant said, being the closest person in the room to that age. ‘And my money is on Eleanor.’

‘Eleanor who?’ Kim asked, frowning.

‘Don’t know her last name but she’s rumoured to glide around the park looking for her lost love, a monk who was walled up in a passage alive and…’

‘Or it could be Annie Eliza,’ Stacey said, widening her eyes. ‘She lived there alllllll alone, never married or had children and…’

‘Or it could have been Yvette?’ Bryant added.

‘Another bloody ghost?’ Kim asked, moving towards the Bowl.

‘Nah, she’s real. DoesMost Hauntedprogramme and they’ve been to investigate—’

‘Enough, guys,’ she said, grabbing her jacket.

Kim glanced back at the white board that contained just the barest of details. Right now, Belinda Evans was a bullet-point list, a collection of facts gained solely from the crime scene and already Kim had the feeling that the woman was going to become much more than that.

Four

Wombourne was a village in South Staffordshire with Anglo-Saxon origins that managed to hold on to its sense of community despite the numerous housing developments that had sprung up as an overspill housing solution for the nearby city of Wolverhampton.

Bryant pulled up behind a squad car on Trident Road, a few streets back from the village green.

As she got out of the car Kim noted that the double-fronted detached bungalow had been recently painted. A waist-high slatted fence enclosed the front garden and disappeared around the back. A hanging basket was placed either side of the door, both bearing identical flowers coloured pink and white. The property was tidy and pleasant and appeared to have been designed for low maintenance.

‘Wish my missus would go for something like this,’ Bryant moaned, holding his ID up for the constable on the gate. ‘Damn flowers back home have me sneezing all over the…’

‘Hang on,’ Kim said, stepping back to the officer on the gate. ‘Any interest?’ she asked, looking around the street.

‘Plenty, Marm,’ he said. ‘Lady at number seventeen watched from her bedroom window for over an hour before leaving twenty minutes ago. The person at number twenty-one doesn’t realise we know they’ve been behind that net curtain for forty-five minutes and Mr Blenkinsop from number fourteen along the road makes a very nice cup of tea.’

Kim smiled. In her experience, there were four types of neighbour. The first, and her favourite on a personal level, were the ones that really couldn’t give a shit what was going on beyond their own front door. The second were the ones who wanted to know what was going on but didn’t want to show it. The third group were the openly curious but easily bored, and then there were her professional favourites: The Blenkinsops; the ones that were openly curious and made the effort to engage with police and find out what was going on.