Page 7 of Silent Scream

Four

At seven thirty a.m. Kim parked the Ninja at Halesowen police station, just off the ring road that circled a town with a small shopping precinct and a college. The station was located within spitting distance of the magistrates court; convenient, but a bitch for claiming expenses.

The three-storey building was as drab and unwelcoming as any other government building that apologised to tax-paying citizens.

She navigated her way to the detectives’ office without offering any morning greetings and none were offered to her. Kim knew she had a reputation for being cold, socially inept and emotionless. This perception deflected banal small talk and that was fine by her.

As usual, she was first into the detectives’ office and so fired up the coffee machine. The room held four desks in two sets of two facing each other. Each desk mirrored its partner, with a computer screen and mismatched file trays.

Three of the desks accommodated permanent occupants but the fourth sat empty since they had been downsized a few months earlier. It was where she normally perched herself rather than in her office.

The space with Kim’s name on the door was commonly referred to as The Bowl. It was nothing more than an area in the top right hand corner of the room that was partitioned off by plasterboard and glass.

It was a space she used for the occasional ‘individual performance directive’, otherwise known as a good old-fashioned bollocking.

‘Morning, Guv,’ Detective Constable Wood called as she slid into her chair. Although her family background was half English and half Nigerian, Stacey had never set foot outside the United Kingdom. Her tight black hair was cut short and close to her head following the removal of her last weave. The smooth caramel skin suited the haircut well.

Stacey’s work area was organised and clear. Anything not in the labelled trays was stacked in meticulous piles along the top edge of her desk.

Not far behind was Detective Sergeant Bryant who mumbled a ‘Morning, Guv,’ as he glanced into The Bowl. His six foot frame looked immaculate, as though he had been dressed for Sunday school by his mother.

Immediately the suit jacket landed on the back of his chair. By the end of the day his tie would have dropped a couple of floors, the top button of his shirt would be open and his shirt sleeves would be rolled up just below his elbows.

She saw him glance at her desk, seeking evidence of a coffee mug. When he saw that she already had coffee he filled the mug labelled ‘World’s Best Taxi Driver’, a present from his nineteen-year-old daughter.

His filing was not a system that anyone else understood but Kim had yet to request any piece of paper that was not in her hands within a few seconds. At the top of his desk was a framed picture of himself and his wife taken at their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. A picture of his daughter snuggled in his wallet.

DS Kevin Dawson, the third member of her team, didn’t keep a photo of anyone special on his desk. Had he wanted to display a picture of the person for whom he felt most affection he would have been greeted by his own likeness throughout his working day.

‘Sorry I’m late, Guv,’ Dawson called as he slid into his seat opposite Wood and completed her team.

He wasn’t officially late. The shift didn’t start until eight a.m. but she liked them all in early for a briefing, especially at the beginning of a new case. Kim didn’t like to stick to a roster and people who did lasted a very short time on her team.

‘Hey, Stacey, you gonna get me a coffee or what?’ Dawson asked, checking his mobile phone.

‘Of course, Kev, how’d yer like it: milk, two sugars and in yer lap?’ she asked sweetly, in her strong Black Country accent.

‘Stace, would you like a coffee?’ he asked, rising, knowing full well that she didn’t touch the stuff. ‘You must be tired after fighting warlocks all night,’ he quipped, referring to Stacey's addiction to the online game World of Warcraft.

‘Actually, Kev, I received a powerful spell from a high priestess that can turn a grown man into a raging dickhead – but looks like someone else got to yer first.’

Dawson held his stomach and offered mock-laughter.

‘Guv,’ Bryant called over his shoulder. ‘The kids are playing up again.’ He turned back to the two of them and wagged a finger. ‘You two just wait until your mother gets home.’

Kim rolled her eyes and sat at the spare desk, eager to begin. ‘Okay, Bryant, hand out the statements. Kev, get the board.’

Dawson took the marker pen and stood next to the whiteboard that occupied the entire back wall.

While Bryant divided up the paperwork she talked through the events of earlier that morning.

‘Our victim is Teresa Wyatt, forty-seven years old, highly respected principal of a private boys’ school in Stourbridge. No marriage or children. Lived comfortably but not lavishly and had no enemies that we’re aware of.’

Kev noted the information as bullet points beneath the heading of ‘Victim’.

Bryant’s phone rang. He said little before replacing the receiver and nodding in Kim’s direction. ‘Woody wants you.’

She ignored him. ‘Kev, make a second heading, “Crime”. No murder weapon, no robbery, so far no forensics and no clues.