Page 51 of Deadly Cry

‘Anything to report so far?’

Inspector Plant shook his head.

‘Had a fair few volunteers this morning,’ he said with a frustrated look.

Penn knew that volunteers always turned up to help search, especially if there was a child involved. It was both a blessing and a curse. More bodies in the mix meant greater co-ordination and constant instruction.

‘How many?’ Penn asked, moving towards the open boot of Plant’s squad car, which was currently serving as an on-site command point.

‘Had forty-eight so far, but the day is young,’ he said, tapping the list where the names had been recorded. ‘All been tasked in pairs outside of the park area, and trained techies and police officers all over the park and the immediate area beyond the boundary.’

Penn picked up the sheets detailing the names and the location they’d been tasked to search.

His gaze rested on a name halfway down the page.

It was a name he already knew.

Forty-Two

‘Well, he’s not done too badly out of it, has he?’ Kim asked as Bryant turned on to a tree-lined road on the outskirts of Quinton.

Although only two miles from Halesowen, the area fell within the Edgbaston formal district bordering the suburbs of Harborne and Bartley Green and covered only two square miles. Its claim to fame was having the highest point of any building in Birmingham at the top of the Christ Church spire. The area had a few housing estates which balanced social and private housing, but as Bryant drove a mile or two from the centre Kim noted the properties they passed were around fifty metres away from their neighbours, separated by vast tree hedges and high walls. All of them were gated.

‘Go on, how much?’ she asked, revisiting a game they often played.

‘I’d say the upper sixes or low sevens.’

That was a fair range he’d offered, and she agreed with him.

‘For looking at handwriting,’ she mused as they drove through the only set of open gates in the road.

The house itself was a double-fronted, Victorian home, painted pure white with blue detail added to all the windows.

The overhanging trees formed a canopy blocking the weak sunlight from above.

Kim got out of the car and took a look around.

‘Stacey said he was… oh my god,’ she said as a woman appeared from behind a thick tree trunk with a large pair of shears. For a moment, she looked like she’d been in some low-budget horror movie where everyone with a speaking part met a slow and horrific death.

Kim glanced again at the shears as the woman smiled pleasantly. Kim guessed her to be late sixties or early seventies; she had a tanned and healthy complexion.

‘You must be the police officers,’ she said, placing the shears against the tree and wiping her hands on her jeans. ‘Reginald is very much looking forward to seeing you, even if he pretends otherwise,’ she said with a cheeky wink that took years off her appearance. ‘He’s in the sunroom, if you follow me.’

Kim did as she was told and was led from the front of the house to the rear, passing one high-ceilinged room after another, all painted in light colours, harvesting as much light as possible. As they neared the rear of the property, it was like stepping into another house. The weak sunlight flooded every room and warmed the house considerably.

The woman stepped down into the sunroom that stretched half the width of the house. The space was filled with wicker furniture and plants that appeared to have been brought in from the cold.

‘Mr Wilkins?’ Kim said as Bryant offered his hand.

‘Reg, please,’ he said, putting his book aside and motioning for them to sit.

‘Coffee, tea?’ the woman asked from the doorway.

They both shook their heads and Bryant thanked her.

She disappeared whistling.

‘You’ll get it whether you want it or not,’ Reg said, watching her go.