Page 58 of Twisted Lies

‘So who is he?’

‘Jackson aka “Jacko” Birch. An amateur boxer from the East End.’

‘What the hell is he doing with a different name in Old Hill?’

‘Dunno, Stace, but according to this article Jacko Birch vanished into thin air five and a half years ago.’

Forty-Seven

‘Sir, I want access to a murder enquiry in Somerset,’ she said as Bryant took the slip road onto the motorway. They were heading back to Halesowen, and she wanted her request logged immediately.

‘Stone, what the hell are you playing at?’

She’d momentarily forgotten that she should really inform her boss if she was leaving the county, especially if she intended to interact with another police force, just to pre-empt any complaints that might land on this desk. But he’d given her about the same amount of notice regarding Frost. Karma was a bitch.

‘Sir, I think it’s the same guy. The planning, the execution, the torture. I need access to every bit of information they get.’

‘Bloody hell, Stone, you can’t just go invading the crime scenes of other forces with your size nine hobnail—’

‘I’m size six, sir, and I tiptoed,’ she explained. ‘To my knowledge, I didn’t piss anyone off. I asked permission to attend, and I’m glad I did. This sick bastard is travelling the country to torture people and I need—’

‘Hang on, Stone, I have another call.’

The line went dead as he switched to the other call. She groaned inwardly, already aware of what the call would be. DI Lynes had been co-operative and obliging, but she was willing to bet his superior officer was not so accommodating, and once he heard of her presence would have got on the phone. So right now, one DCI was talking to another DCI about her lack of etiquette and professionalism. She knew that Woody would field the complaint, support her publicly and bollock her privately.

She braced herself as the line opened up again and Woody returned to their conversation.

‘Okay, Stone, you’ve got it,’ he said tightly.

‘Got what, sir, the sack?’ she asked, momentarily confused.

‘Access to the case in Somerset.’

Her relief turned to gratitude and then went straight for suspicion.

‘Why, sir?’ she asked, frowning. That had been way too easy. She hadn’t had to sell a relative or anything.

He said nothing, and the unease in her stomach cranked up a gear.

She’d got exactly what she’d wanted, even though it was not what she’d expected. There was something here she wasn’t being told. Woody hadn’t had the time to make the calls necessary to get her unrestricted access. Who the hell had he just spoken to?

‘Sir, we’re on our way back, and I think it’s best if I come up and see you right away.’

‘Yes, Stone,’ he said gravely. ‘I think that’s a very good idea.’

Forty-Eight

It was almost five thirty when Frost pressed the ‘Publish’ button on her second article of the week, and in truth, she was quite pleased to see it go.

She’d spent the whole afternoon reading through every one of Trisha’s unfortunate incidents and injuries. As Nick Morley had been found guilty of no crime, she’d had to cloak the article in an ‘unluckiest woman alive’ tone without any accusation towards her husband. She’d rewritten the article four times when her own voice and opinion had crept into the piece. At times, she had felt as though she was reliving every injury she was recording: the broken bones; the cuts; the bruises; two dislocations. And Frost knew that this victim could very well have been her.

She sat forward and clicked on the article, surprised to see the piece already had seventy-three comments. It had been live for no more than a couple of minutes. She scrolled through them and was delighted to see that the majority of them were speculating about domestic abuse. There was the odd smart-arse comment from their regular trolls, but she was happy with the result. The more people that questioned Nick Morley’s innocence the better.

‘Hey, Frost, get in here,’ her boss called from his door.

The seven people left in the office looked up from their work. Such a summons was never a good thing. Well, not in her experience anyway.

It couldn’t be the article, she assured herself as she threaded her way through the desks and enquiring glances. He’d checked it.