Page 55 of Dying Truth

The Joker looked down at the ten droplets of blood ground into the pudgy little face.

The choice had to be unanimous.

It was.

Thirty-Five

‘Okay, boy, what’ll we listen to tonight?’ Kim asked Barney as she scrolled through her music library.

He offered no response as he waited for key words he understood, despite the fact he’d eaten his evening meal, crunched away on a carrot and had been for a two-mile walk. Still, he lived in hope of something more.

After listening to Saffie earlier her ear now craved a burst of Beethoven. Kim scrolled to the playlist, found ‘Hammerklavier’ – the piece played by Saffie earlier – turned up the volume on the speaker and hit play. Immediately the piano notes seeped into her ear and travelled right to her nerve endings, massaging away the stress of the day.

She stood back and observed her current project. Two months earlier she had tasked an ex-criminal named Len to find her a bike frame for less than five hundred quid. He had taken the challenge and three weeks later presented her with the bare bones of the 1968 Norton Commando she’d asked for.

She had offered him the money, and he had refused, saying that in man-hours he had spent no more than a day searching and the frame itself he’d managed to get for less than a hundred. Kim had insisted that he take it. To her a deal was a deal. Reluctantly he’d agreed.

The following morning she’d stepped out of her front door to see his pushbike leaning against her fence and him on his knees with a pile of weeds to his right.

When she’d asked him what he was doing, he’d said following her advice and providing value for money. He was a man desperately trying to put his criminal past of burglary behind him and provide for his young family.

Seeing the job he’d done on her garden, Charlie – her neighbour – had given him some odd jobs to do. Len’s girlfriend, Wendy, had secured a part-time early morning cleaning job, and the small family were now off benefits and trying to make their own way.

The whole journey of this bike caused her a smile every time she looked at it. The Commando was in production for ten years from 1968 and won Machine of the Year for five years running up to 1972, which came as a surprise, not least to the company’s owner, as the production of the bike was filled with problems. Early clutches couldn’t hold the engine torque and two small internal pins would shear off leading to severe slippage. The side stand on the bike often broke off if the rider was too forceful when kicking off.

But those were the reasons she loved the MK1750cc model. It wasn’t perfect. It had fought back.

And although she was enjoying every minute of working on the bike she couldn’t help her mind wandering back to the events at Heathcrest. Two children dead in a few days; one murder and one accidental. The full post-mortem on ShaunCoffee-Todd was due to take place in the morning. The press hadn’t got their hands on the story yet, but she was sure by the morning it would be out there.

The piece that she’d heard earlier that day continued to fill her ears. She felt the joy enter her heart as her eyes closed to savour the notes. She pictured the intensity of emotion passing between Saffie and Eric Monroe as the girl had played the piece. Whatever lay between them was still raw like an open cut.

The music ended, and Kim opened her eyes as a sudden thought occurred to her.

Saffie Winters had played that exact piece earlier that day and it had elicited no emotion in Kim at all. Although technically accurate it had been lacking a vital ingredient.

The performance had had no soul.

Thirty-Six

‘There’s little in this scoring I’d change,’ Kim said, glancing up at Stacey above her appraisal form. Before the death of ShaunCoffee-Todd, she had asked Stacey to meet half an hour before the morning briefing. They were all eager to get on with the murder of Sadie Winters, but Woody had left her in no doubt that the damned appraisals had to land on his desk before the end of the week.

They had been through the individual criteria together, and Kim had found Stacey’s account of her own performance both accurate and honest. She signed the bottom of the form and put it on top of Dawson’s sheet.

She saw the look of relief that passed over the constable’s face.

The official appraisal was over, but Kim had more to say. Things that had no place on an official document that would live on her personnel file for ever. Despite her integral role in the team Kim always felt that Stacey was trying to prove something.

She recognised it because she had been exactly the same when she’d joined the police force. But it had been a different animal back then. Most female police officers had felt the need to work harder and stay later than their male counterparts. She hated the thought that Stacey had felt the need to act in the same way, especially under her direction.

Kim sat back in her chair. ‘Stace, why do you still feel you have so much to prove?’

Stacey shifted uncomfortably.

Kim continued. ‘You stay later than anyone else, you carry on working when you get home. Your mind is always on the job…’ Kim hesitated before going on. ‘You have to make a life too,’ she said.

She was not the kind of boss that got involved in the personal lives of her team. It was something that made both her and them feel uncomfortable; but from what she could gather Stacey had other priorities now, a budding relationship. Something to divert her constant focus from her work.

Stacey looked down at her hands.