Page 8 of Silent Scream

‘Next heading, “Motive”. People are normally murdered because of something they have done, something they are doing or something they are going to do. As far as we know, our victim was not engaged in any kind of dangerous activity.’

‘Err ... Guv, the DCI wants you.’

Kim took another gulp of the fresh cuppa. ‘Trust me, Bryant, he likes me better when I’ve had coffee. Kev, the post mortem is at ten. Stace, find out everything you can about our victim. Bryant, contact the school and let them know we’re coming.’

‘Guv ... ’

Kim finished her drink. ‘Calm down, Mum, I’m going.’

She took the stairs to the third floor two at a time and knocked lightly before entering.

DCI Woodward was a heavyset man in his mid-fifties. His mixed race origins gifted him smooth brown skin that travelled up and over his hairless head. His black trousers and white shirt were crisp and creased in all the right places. The reading glasses on the tip of his nose did little to disguise the tired eyes behind them.

He waved her in and pointed to a chair, giving her a full view of the glass cabinet holding his model car collection. The lower shelf housed a selection of classic British models but the upper shelf displayed a history of police vehicles used through the ages. There was an MG TC from the Forties, a Ford Anglia, a Black Maria and a Jaguar XJ40 that took pride of place at the centre.

To the right of the cabinet, fixed firmly to the wall, was a photograph of Woody shaking hands with Tony Blair. To the right of that was a photograph of his eldest son, Patrick, in full dress uniform, right before he was deployed to Afghanistan. He had been clothed in that exact same uniform for his burial fifteen months later.

Woody ended the phone conversation and immediately picked up the stress ball from the edge of his desk. His right hand clenched and relaxed around the clump of putty. Kim realised he reached for it a lot when she was around.

‘What do we have so far?’

‘Very little, Sir. We were just outlining the investigation when you summoned me.’

His knuckles whitened around the ball but he ignored the dig.

Her eyes wandered to the right of his ear, to his current project on the window sill. It was a Rolls Royce Phantom and construction had not progressed in days.

‘You had a run-in with Detective Inspector Wharton, I hear?’

So, the jungle drums had already been busy. ‘We exchanged pleasantries over the body.’

There was something about the model that didn't look quite right. To her eye the wheel base looked much too long.

He squeezed the ball harder. ‘His DCI has been in touch. A formal complaint against you has been lodged and they want the case.’

Kim rolled her eyes. Couldn’t the weasel fight his own battles?

She fought the urge to reach across and pick up the Rolls Royce to rectify the mistake but she contained herself.

She slid her eyes along and met the gaze of her commanding officer. ‘But they’re not going to get it, are they, Sir?’

He held her gaze for a long minute. ‘No, Stone, they are not, however a formal complaint does not look good on your file and quite frankly I'm getting a little bit tired of receiving them.’ He swapped the ball to his left hand. ‘So, I’m curious to see who you’re buddying up with on this one.’

Kim felt like a child being asked to choose a new best friend. Her last performance review had highlighted only one area of improvement; playing nice with others.

‘Do I get a choice?’

‘Who would you choose?’

‘Bryant.’

The ghost of a smile hovered around his lips. ‘Then yes, you get to choose.’

So, there was no choice at all, she thought. Bryant provided damage limitation and with the neighbouring force sniffing at her backside Woody wasn’t taking any chances; he wanted her in the care of a responsible adult.

She had been on the cusp of offering her boss a little advice that would save him hours of dismantling the rear axle of the Rolls but quickly changed her mind.

‘Anything else, Sir?’