Page 88 of First Blood

Stacey waited.

‘The origins of the rhyme are based in child abuse.’

‘Jeez, I’d never even considered…’

‘And listen to this. Tommy Deeley was found with a small silver bell in his pocket, which could refer to the bell mentioned in “Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary”, which continues “how does your garden grow? With silver bells and cockleshells and pretty maids all in a row.” Goes back to Queen Mary I, whose torture techniques earned her the nickname “Bloody Mary”. But both silver bells and cockleshells were not innocent items, they were torture devices.’

‘Bloody hell, Dawson,’ she said, still looking at the board.

‘So, what do you think now?’ he asked.

‘I think it’s time for yer to call the boss.’

Chapter Eighty-One

Kim glanced at her watch before opening the door of Marianne’s office. The woman had kindly offered her own working space to enable them to speak to the staff.

‘Hey Jay, Curt does know we want to speak to him today, doesn’t he?’

‘I told him straight away but I think he’s just gone into the mess room.’

‘Mess room?’

‘Sorry, small storeroom next to the kitchen with a couple of lockers and tool boxes. So called cos the place is a bit of a…’

‘Mess, yeah, got it,’ Kim answered for him. ‘Buzz us through, Jay. I’m not waiting any longer.’

He hesitated.

‘Marianne knows we need to speak to people.’

He pressed a button and the door clicked open. Bryant followed her through and pushed the door closed behind him.

If she remembered correctly from the computer screens the kitchen was at the rear of the house beyond the smaller lounge used as the salon.

Kim felt a strange sense of calm as she moved along the hallway. She could hear voices coming from each room that she passed, an occasional laugh against the Christmas carols playing somewhere in the background.

Colourful, handmade decorations mixed with strands of tinsel framed every doorway. A generous tree sparkled multicoloured lights from the main lounge.

The aroma of cooking, either late breakfast or early lunch hanging below the scent of cinnamon guided her forward.

If you were going to be in a women’s refuge over Christmas, this was definitely the place to be, she thought, remembering her Christmases at Fairview Children’s Home.

An ancient battered tree had been retrieved from the storeroom each year, held together only by dust. One crisp box held all the decorations, which grew less each year with breakages. Two members of staff decorated it half-heartedly, just to say it was done right, before they were all brought together into the dining room on Christmas Eve. Not for a special meal or present giving but to be ready for the annual visit from the Salvation Army. It was the same every year where the kids were told to behave and ‘look grateful’. Christmas morning two plates of mince pies were handed round by whichever staff members had drawn the short straw on the rota. A chicken dinner was served before business returned to normal for the rest of the day. It wasn’tOliver Twistand it was no Hallmark movie either. It was just another day.

Kim shook away the thoughts of Christmas past as she headed through the small lounge. Two women eyed them suspiciously as they awaited their turn in the salon chair. Two little girls and a boy were holding hands, singing and dancing around in the middle of the room.

‘Come for your free haircut, officer?’ Nigel asked, reaching over and turning up the radio as the Band Aid Christmas song came on. ‘Sorry, kiddies, love this one.’

‘I’m still good, Nigel,’ she said, continuing her journey through to the mess room.

‘Hi Curt, you forget about us or something?’ she asked, folding her arms in the doorway.

‘Nah, just making me a cuppa first,’ he said, holding up a steaming mug.

‘Only, it’s not like we’ve got a murderer to catch or anything,’ she said, pulling out a thin metal chair from beneath the battered bistro-sized table.

Bryant positioned himself leaning against the door frame.