Page 110 of Twisted Lies

Although Frost reckoned that one single action would be enough to get her killed, and even though Stone had not adopted any of Barney’s warm and fuzzy traits, she clearly loved the dog very much.

‘Make it come, Barney,’ she said, tapping the screen, as though it would make the email magically drop into her inbox.

It was on her ninth call that she’d found a guest house owner who had remembered a pretty, blonde English lady with sad eyes who sat on the veranda every morning with a cup of tea.

An emailed photo and a second call had confirmed the lady in question to be Trisha Morley.

Frost had managed to get the dates they’d visited over the last five years, which she had known would give her a starting point with the local hospitals.

And just as she’d been weighing up the enormity of the task ahead, the woman had offered something trivial that probably meant nothing to her but meant a whole lot more to Frost. She’d remarked that on their last visit, Trisha had never even said goodbye as she normally did. Instead, she’d gone straight to the car and her husband had checked them out.

As she’d thanked the woman and hung up, Frost had already slotted that piece into place. Would Trisha really have wanted to present herself if she’d been injured and covered in bruises?

She’d checked Trisha’s medical records, and the dates had coincided with Trish having to have her arm re-set two days after their return.

It had narrowed the dates down and enabled her to be more specific with the information she was requesting. Her third call had been to the Bellano Hospital, where after half an hour of holding for a fluent, English-speaking nurse, Frost had explained what she was seeking.

The nurse had confirmed Trisha’s attendance at the hospital, and Frost had punched the air with her free hand.

The nurse, Antonella, had refused her request for the medical records, until Frost had explained the situation fully and had sent her the news reports of Trisha’s murder, by email, as they spoke.

Frost had detected a change in her manner. Antonella had revealed that Trisha had been dropped off at the hospital by her husband and been collected by him two hours later.

Frost prayed that not having Nick standing over her shoulder might have prompted Trisha to confide the real reason for her injuries. When she’d pressed Antonella on the possibility, the nurse had explained that she would reveal nothing further until she had sought permission to share the public records, and if granted, she would send them along.

Frost had ended the call knowing there was nothing more she could do but wait.

The sound of the key in the lock startled her. Not so much Barney, who was already waiting at the door with a wagging tail.

Briefly, Frost felt a pang of jealousy. He had been her loyal companion for hours but was now prepared to abandon her at the drop of a hat.

‘You must be the reporter,’ the elderly man offered with a smile.

She nodded as he fixed the lead to Barney’s collar.

‘I’m Charlie. Kim sent me a text, warning me there was a strange woman in her house.’

Frost laughed at his devilish smile and realised how strange it was to hear someone call the police officer by her first name. To some people, she was Inspector, others marm, boss or guv, and Frost found herself wondering to how many people was she known simply as Kim.

‘Okay, I won’t keep you. We’ve got squirrels to terrorise, haven’t we, boy?’ Charlie said, leading him out the front door.

Instantly, the house felt empty without the dog, she realised, as her email dinged a new message.

Her stomach lurched as she saw it was from Bellano Hospital. And there were attachments. They had sent the report.

She opened it up and began to read.

Ninety-Five

Kim entered Mary Stevens Park, in Stourbridge, alone, exactly as she’d been instructed. The information Superintendent Wexford was about to share was meant for her ears only.

She spotted the man sitting on the first bench, with a Jack Russell on a retractable lead. Two things struck her. Wearing his uniform, the man was imposing, authoritative. Everyone at West Midlands Police knew who he was. Right now, sitting here on a bench, he was a man pausing while walking his dog.

‘Nice dog,’ she said, taking a seat beside him.

The lead whirred as it retracted when the small dog left the patch of grass that had been the centre of his world and came towards her.

She tickled him behind the ears. Many people offered their hand for a dog to smell their scent. Kim had learned that such a gesture was pointless, as the dog would have smelled her as soon as she entered the park.