Page 37 of Stolen Ones

‘You’ve heard, sir, about the bones at Hawne Park?’

‘Of course. Are you on your way?’

‘Yep, just a mile out. Harte has links to this location, so if the bones are human, we’re gonna need some help in reading and understanding this man.’

One wrong move and they could lose him. He was clever. He was playing a game, and she had to make sure he didn’t win.

‘Okay, I’ll see if Derek can return and—’

‘Thanks, but no thanks, sir. He’s a train the trainee guy who has absolutely no practical experience in questioning suspects.’ She took a breath. ‘There’s only one person to help us with this one and if you can’t get her, we’ll go it alone.’

Woody said he’d see what he could do before ending the call.

Kim tried to use the remaining half a mile to prepare herself for what lay ahead.

Were they finally going to bring Melody Jones home?

Twenty-One

Alex finished her poor excuse for a breakfast and headed back to her cell. The tasteless, mundane offering of porridge, cereal or toast did nothing to set her up physically or psychologically for the day ahead.

Oh, how she had once loved warm, freshly baked croissants with home-made preserves from the café a short walk from her home. It had been her favourite time of the day and the reason she’d never booked an appointment before 10a.m. Nothing beat eating a leisurely breakfast made of the best ingredients while observing the trials and tribulations of people far more ordinary than she was.

It was both the breakfast and the feeling of superiority that helped her get through the day in her old life, but here only the sense of superiority was the same. There wasn’t one person in the whole prison able to match her in intelligence. Another reason she was looking forward to a visit from Kim Stone.

She rubbed her hands with anticipation, unsure when the eagerly awaited event would occur.

In the meantime, she had plenty to keep her going to help secure the result she craved.

And this morning she was going fishing.

‘Hey, Olivia,’ Alex said, standing in the doorway of the cell next to her own.

‘Hey, Alex. How was breakfast?’ she asked. It was a meal Olivia never appeared for.

‘Same old.’

Olivia Spencer was an educated, wealthy woman in her late thirties, doing a two-year stretch for the embezzlement of a children’s charity that raised tens of thousands of pounds for underprivileged kids. Her own lifestyle with her husband, a local TV news anchor, hadn’t been too shabby, but she’d been tempted by the large amounts of money she’d handled on behalf of the charity.

Olivia had made some mistakes in her few months at Drake Hall. Firstly, she’d thought that Warden Siviter would go easy on her because they had been friends through high school and college. She had found out quickly that the warden didn’t play favourites.

Olivia’s second mistake had been in thinking she could befriend her, that because they were both educated, professional women they would bond. Another mistake. Alex hadn’t yet found a glue strong enough to bond her to anyone.

Upon meeting people, Alex worked through a checklist in her mind. Are they useful to me now? Will they be useful to me later? This woman’s name was shit to the other prisoners, and her name would be worth nothing on the outside. As a woman who had actively taken money from deprived kids, she would struggle professionally and personally to rebuild any kind of reputation, and no one in here would say a word to her.

In truth, Alex didn’t care one way or the other what the woman had done. She’d seen an opportunity to make some extra cash and she’d taken it. Her true crime had been in getting greedy and getting caught.

Alex had initially dismissed the woman until her personal little bone carrier, Emma, had furnished her with the information of Olivia’s and Warden Siviter’s history. That had changed things substantially.

She had started slowly: the occasional smile, a wave as she passed by the door, sometimes sitting closer to her in the food hall, standing in her doorway to ask her how she was.

Today she moved into the room and took a seat on the bed.

‘I swear these women are killing me. I never thought my biggest issue in here was going to be my need for a decent conversation.’

Olivia smiled as though she understood when she really didn’t. Barely anyone in the whole place spoke to her. Her crimes against kids weren’t enough to secure her a beating or a push down the stairs, but they had earned her the silent treatment. By now she must be desperate to just talk to someone.

‘Talk to me, Olivia,’ she said with mock drama. ‘About anything other than your kids, your husband or what happened last night onCorrie.’