Page 41 of Little Children (Detective Kim Stone #22)

Forty

It didn’t take long for Bryant to realise that Roy did everything as though he was the only person that existed.

They had barely travelled a mile before their car had been honked at and shown the finger more than once.

‘Bet you can’t believe the bitch has been called back, eh?’ Roy asked. ‘Sometimes you just gotta believe in God, eh?’

It was surreal to hear the man refer to God in any way. He had to be the least God-fearing man Bryant had ever met. But today he was better prepared to play along.

‘Oh, yeah, gives me the chance to do some real police work, and maybe have a bit of fun at the same time,’ he said, slipping into his despicable character. Although he had the guv’s permission to play this part, he still felt a stab of guilt every time he badmouthed her.

Roy laughed. ‘If it’s fun you’re after, I’ve got a doss house that needs raiding later. That’ll brighten your day.’

Bryant glanced out of the window to hide the tension that had shot into his face as a picture of Pippa Jacobs’s lifeless eyes, broken spirit and fearful demeanour came into his mind.

He was pretty sure she wasn’t having any fun.

‘Listen, we’re not gonna get a lot from these on-the-pier guys, so we’ll chat for half an hour then go find somewhere out of the way for a cuppa.’

‘You don’t think they can help find Noah?’

‘Nah.’

‘His parents must be going out of their minds,’ Bryant said – a not-so-subtle reminder of the job at hand.

‘Shoulda thought about that before they left the kid alone. Their negligence means a ball-ache for us. If the kid ends up dead, who do you think is gonna get the blame – us or the two grown adults that left him on his own? Seriously, it pisses me the fuck off when folks have kids and make ’em somebody else’s prob—’ He stopped speaking as his phone rang.

No surprise that he took it from his pocket, answered it and held it to his ear while driving with one hand.

He listened for a few seconds.

‘Where?’ he asked.

In response to the answer, he replied that they were on their way before ending the call.

‘Change of plan, my man,’ he said, pulling into a private drive to turn the car around.

Bryant held on to the side of his seat.

‘Boss said we might get a call, and this is a big one. Gonna show you folks how we do it up here.’

Yeah, please show me how you can investigate poorly in a haphazard manner , Bryant thought as he held on for dear life.

A sense of relief coursed through Bryant when Roy finally pulled the car to a screeching halt at the cordon tape serving as a barrier to an industrial estate.

Every head, from members of the public to police officers, turned. He was reminded of the opening credits to the old seventies cop shows where the main characters zoomed in to save the day.

Seeing who it was, the police officers quickly lost interest, but the public were still watching them closely as Roy barged his way through the crowd.

The officer keeping the log managed to nod at Roy without even looking up.

All activity was focussed on a small industrial unit which appeared to be unused.

Roy spoke to no one as he approached. A man whom Bryant assumed to be the pathologist appeared to curse under his breath.

This wasn’t his case, meaning he was free to observe the reactions of the people around him, and he’d yet to spot anyone pleased to see Roy Moss.

‘Step aside,’ Roy said to no one in particular.

They did so, and Bryant found himself frozen to the spot.

His gaze had landed on the figure of a woman in her late twenties.

Her jeans were pulled down around her ankles and her underwear pulled down to her calves. Her sweatshirt was rolled up, exposing her bra. A single line had been cut across her neck; the wound had bled down to her breastbone and into her black hair.

‘Shit,’ Roy said, running a hand through his hair. ‘I know this woman.’

‘Oh yeah,’ Bryant croaked out, trying desperately not to give himself away.

He knew her too.

The face he was looking at belonged to Jasmine Swift. The woman they’d visited the day before. The woman who’d reported a burglary and then been harassed by DI Red Butler.

Bryant had to turn his face away to hide the shock written all over it. He was sure Roy would know in an instant that he wasn’t looking down into the face of a stranger.

How was it possible that a woman they’d just spoken to was now lying raped and murdered not five feet away from him? Had they caused this? Did someone know they’d spoken with her? Was someone covering their tracks?

His first instinct was to take out his phone and call the guv.

This young, vibrant woman was dead, and he didn’t know if they were the cause of it.

But he had to hold his nerve. There was nothing the guv could do to help Jasmine right now, and any strange behaviour on his part would only appear suspicious.

Only when he was sure he could keep his expression impassive did he turn back to the body at his feet.

The similarities to the crime scene photo Roy had shown him were astounding.

‘Looks similar to…’

‘Yeah, yeah, exactly what I was thinking,’ Roy said, stroking his chin.

‘How long’s she been dead?’ Roy asked, looking at the pathologist with whom he had exchanged not one civil word.

Dealings between his boss and Keats were hardly warm and fuzzy, but at least they were cordial to each other.

‘Twelve hours or thereabouts,’ the pathologist said, glancing at Bryant as though waiting for an introduction.

‘Anything else I need?’ Roy asked, completely devoid of manners.

Bryant could see the pathologist bristling at the sergeant’s manner. Rather than answering, he turned away to consult with one of the forensic technicians.

‘Now’s your chance,’ Roy hissed in his ear as he took out his own phone.

Hell no, Bryant thought. The very idea of taking a photo made him nauseous, but he took out his phone anyway. As he raised it, he knocked his elbow into Roy’s hand, sending his phone clattering to the ground.

The pathologist turned and gave Roy a hard stare.

Roy mumbled his apologies and retrieved his phone, but the moment was lost. The pathologist’s attention was now firmly back on the victim.

Small triumphs, Bryant told himself. The man was as despicable as they came, not to mention rude, insensitive and arrogant, but at least he wouldn’t be poring over any photos of this poor soul any time soon.

‘Fuck me, man,’ Roy said as they headed back towards the car after what must have been Bryant’s shortest ever crime scene visit.

‘Yeah, I bloody told you. I always get caught.’

‘Crime scene ones won’t be anywhere near as good. I had the perfect angle to see right up?—’

‘So, where now?’ Bryant asked hurriedly.

‘Ah, well, I already know a bit about this lovely lady, so I think we’ll start with her ex-boyfriend.’

‘Not her family?’ Bryant asked. Surely her next of kin were the first people to contact?

‘Yeah, we’ll let someone else do that. First line of suspicion has to be the ex, and I know exactly where he lives.’

‘But surely?—’

‘My man, you gotta throw away the book you’re living by. Up here, we do real police work, and you should already have realised, Toto, that you ain’t in Kansas any more.’