Page 113 of Twisted Lies

For Stacey, it wasn’t just the pain the poor little girl had endured that placed the brick of despair in her stomach. It was the fear. The little girl had come from a decent enough background and had probably not known the emotion too well, but from the moment Boy X had laid a finger on her flesh, it would have been the emotion that stayed with her until the moment she died. And although the injuries were beyond anything Stacey had ever read, it was that single thought that wouldn’t leave her alone. No child should feel that pain, and no child should feel that fear, she thought as her eyes filled with tears once more.

She made no effort to stop them falling or to wipe them away. Her emotions were real and valid and she would hide them from no one.

Slowly but surely she began to understand the reason for the vague feeling of unease she’d had all week.

She was about to explore it more when her phone rang.

‘DC Wood,’ she answered.

‘PC Silvester here. I’m letting you know that from the description you gave us of Jacob Powell, we think we’ve found your man.’

‘Where?’ she asked urgently.

She listened to his answer and the only words that came out of her mouth were, ‘Oh shit.’

Ninety-Seven

Frost mounted the stairs to the offices of Winston Associates with confidence.

She’d returned home for as long as it had taken her to shower, change, apply make-up and find the highest pair of heels she owned.

The double glass doors opened as she approached. She strode through purposefully.

‘Mr Daryl Winston please,’ she said to the heavily made-up receptionist.

‘And you are?’

‘Tracy Frost, reporter at theDudley Star.’

The friendly smile turned down a notch to cordial.

‘You have an appointment?’ she asked doubtfully. Obviously, Daryl Winston didn’t take meetings with reporters from the local daily. She was pretty sure he’d take this one.

Frost shook her head as the woman’s face relaxed, ready for the no-appointments speech.

‘He’ll want to see me,’ Frost added, saving her the trouble.

Hesitation.

‘Just tell him I have a doctor’s report I’m sure he’d like to see.’

More hesitation.

Frost shrugged. ‘Okay, it’s no skin—’

‘One second,’ she said, picking up the phone.

Frost stepped away to offer her a little privacy.

‘He’ll be down in a second,’ the woman said, failing to hide her own surprise.

She’d barely finished perusing their selection of life-sized posters, celebrating their award-winning campaigns, when a door to her left swung open.

But she’d had long enough for one particular poster to catch her attention.

‘Ms Frost,’ said the man standing in the open doorway.

His smile and manner were cool and professional as he offered his hand.