Page 69 of Deadly Cry

‘Where are you, Stone?’

Kim wondered if this was a trick question. She’d updated him about the third murder before entering Nicola Southall’s home. He wasn’t normally on her case this quickly. And clearly her answer didn’t matter, as she was given no time to answer.

‘I need you back here right now.’

Kim rarely felt irritation towards her boss. Usually he had a good reason for the things he did and the decisions he made, so she gave him the benefit of the doubt. Most of the time, even when he was sending her to pointless INEPT meetings.

‘Sir, I just need—’

‘The instruction wasn’t debatable, Stone. I want you back here now. There’s something we need you to do,’ he said, ending the call.

Jesus, how was she supposed to solve this case if he kept pulling her off it to run errands. And more importantly, who the hell was ‘we’?

Fifty-Six

Within twenty minutes, Stacey had the call log from Nicola Southall’s phone. The revelation of a missing child tended to light a fire under most people from whom she requested assistance.

The majority of calls were short ones to and from the same number that Stacey knew was Nicola’s husband. She’d ruled out calls to friends and other family members and only one other number remained in the seventy-two hours prior to Nicola’s murder. And that number had called the former actress at nine o’clock that morning.

‘She really did get some shit over that part, you know,’ Penn said, shaking his head.

He’d been tasked with finding out as much as he could on Nicola Southall.

‘I remember it,’ Alison piped up. Stacey had no knowledge, as her parents had never been into the soaps.

Alison continued, ‘My mum used to shout “evil bitch” every time she came onto the screen.’

Penn agreed. ‘Mine too. I know folks get into these programmes. My mum watched every one of them, but surely this level of hatred for a fictional character is unnatural. I mean, the intensity of it all drove Nicola out of the public eye, and it looks like she never returned to social media. She just disappeared.’

‘Penn, why do you think people watch these shows?’ Alison asked.

‘Dramatic storylines that grow ever more outlandish especially for the Christmas specials?’

Alison laughed and shook her head. ‘Nope, it’s for the characters. Viewers are invested in their lives.’

Stacey stopped what she was doing to listen. She always valued Alison’s insights when it came to the human psyche.

‘Viewers spend a lot of hours each week with these people. They’re not necessarily switching on to watch a programme. They’re switching on to catch up with the lives of the characters. It becomes important to them. It matters. It’s like ringing a parent or family member. People record their favourite soaps, unable to bear the thought of missing something. The more people watch the more engrossed they get. They are invested, so when something bad happens to one of their favourite characters they’re hurt, angry. The characters are real people and the viewer feels as though they know them like friends and family, which is the purpose of the writers. They want the viewer to feel all these emotions.’

‘But to what degree?’ Stacey asked. ‘How do the writers ensure that an element of realism keeps it from becoming obsessive?’

‘They can’t. They have no control over the intensity, and what that intensity can do to an individual. Most folks will feel the emotion, maybe take to social media to lament for a few minutes and then move on to the next show or put the kids to bed, read a book. Others will not. They’ll take it personally, become enraged and take it further.’ Alison paused. ‘In 1989, a twenty-one-year-old actress named Rebecca Schaeffer was murdered by an obsessive fan who had been stalking her. He shot and killed her after being fixated on her for more than three years. Closer to home, we still have the case of Jill Dando, shot on her doorstep, case never solved.’

‘Do you think that’s what’s happened here? A crazed soap fan finally caught up with Nicola and punished her?’ Penn asked.

Alison shrugged. ‘I think it’s too early to rule it out.’

Stacey picked up the phone to call the network.

She needed to know who had been on the other end of that three-minute call.

Fifty-Seven

‘Go check on the kids while I go and untwist Woody’s nickers,’ Kim said as they entered the station. It was after four and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a drink. It felt like two days instead of the six hours that had passed since they’d been drinking coffee with the graphologist. ‘Oh, and Bryant…’

‘I’ll get a pot on,’ he said without looking her way.

She smiled. She guessed that soon she wouldn’t even need to open her mouth at all.