Silent Scream: An edge of your seat serial killer thriller (Detective Kim Stone crime thriller series Book 1) (17 page)

‘He made a mistake. He would never have harmed anyone.’

‘I understand that, Mr Croft, but we have the body of what appears to be a teenage girl buried in the grounds of Crestwood and one thing I can deduce with absolute certainty is that she didn’t get there by herself.’

He stood still and ran his fingers through his hair; the only physical reaction to her words. His facial expressions were difficult to read beneath the Botox.

‘Mr Croft, did you or anyone you know file objections to Professor Milton’s dig on the land?’

‘Absolutely not. I would have no reason at all to do that.’

She stood and faced him. ‘And finally, the last question I have before I leave you in peace. Where were you on the night of Teresa’s murder?’

His face turned crimson and he pointed towards the door. ‘I would thank you to leave my property immediately. My offer of assistance is revoked and any further questions should be directed through my solicitor.’

Kim moved towards the door. ‘Mr Croft. I am more than ready to leave
your
wife’s
home and I’d like to thank you for your time.’

Kim exited through the front door as a silver Range Rover pulled onto the gravel patch. The driver did not take the available space between the two others, indicating that something else was normally parked there.

A slim female stepped out of the vehicle and retrieved a briefcase from the back seat. She wore a black business suit with a pencil skirt that fell just below the knee. The calves were lifted by four-inch heels. Her hair was black and glossy but pulled back into a severe ponytail.

As they passed, Kim couldn’t help but notice that the woman was absolutely stunning. She was rewarded with a tolerant smile and a curt nod.

‘Okay, what the hell does
she
see in him?’ Bryant asked.

Kim shook her head as she got into the car. The door closed behind the married couple. There were still mysteries in the world after all.

Bryant started the car and put it into reverse. ‘Guv, are you ever gonna find a way to play nice?’

‘Of course I am, the very moment I find playmates that I like.’

She sighed as she looked back at the property and for a moment thought about William Payne and his daughter Lucy. Fate most definitely had a flawed perspective.

‘What’re you thinking?’ Bryant asked as the gate slid open to release them.

‘I’m thinking about his reaction to the news of the buried girl.’

‘What about it?’

‘He never even asked if we’d made an identification. He wasn't shocked by anything we told him. The Botox may have numbed his face but it couldn't control his eye movement.’

Kim’s gut had reacted unfavourably to Mr Richard Croft. He knew something, of that she was sure. But she was still chasing that elusive thread, that final piece of hanging cotton that once pulled, would unravel the secrets of Crestwood.

‘
W
hat did
they
want
?’ Nina Croft asked, placing her briefcase down in the hallway.

‘They were asking about Crestwood,’ Richard answered, as he followed his wife into the kitchen. After fifteen years together there were two things about her that never failed to amaze him.

The first was that she still looked as fantastic as she had the day they’d met. He had fallen head over heels in love with her and unfortunately for him, that had not changed since.

The second was that the icy remoteness had not left her eyes for seven years.

Nina stopped at the floating island in the middle of the vast kitchen. He stood on the other side. She faced him through the Le Creuset kitchenware that had never been used.

‘What did you tell them?’ she demanded.

Richard lowered his eyes. Seven years ago, after the birth of his second son, he had been in the throes of euphoria. Watching his beautiful wife give birth had provoked in him such fierce protection and love he had thought the bond with his wife had been unbreakable. He had felt he could trust her with anything.

Two days later, after settling Harrison into his cot, Richard had felt close enough to his wife to reveal the secrets held at Crestwood. They had not shared a bed again.

There had been no anger, no recriminations and no threat of turning him in. A freezing fog had fallen between them and it had not lifted since.

‘What did they ask?’

He recounted the conversation word for word. She showed no emotion at all until the final couple of questions. Only then did a muscle jump in her cheek. When he’d finished he felt a bead of sweat forming beneath his hairline as he waited for her response.

‘Richard, I told you years ago that I would not tolerate your past mistakes affecting my life or the lives of my children.’

‘Was that the night you left my bed forever, sweetheart?’

Every now and again the barely tolerant tone of her voice was like a kick to the stomach and sometimes his backbone put in a surprise appearance.

‘Yes, my love, any attraction I felt died after your night-time confession. It would have been scandalous enough that an enquiry into Crestwood would have revealed your inability to keep your hands out of the facility's pockets.’ She raised her eyes to the ceiling as though speaking to Harrison. ‘To take money that was meant for those girls was reprehensible, my love,’ she said icily, ‘but what you did to cover it up. Well ... quite honestly, words defy me.’

Once more he damned his total honesty to her that night. Yes, he had taken a little extra salary for himself. He had deserved it and the girls hadn't missed it. Their basic needs had been covered at all times.

The disgust in the face of his wife found its way to a heart that refused to let her go. Croft’s immediate reaction was to strike back. To hurt her in a way that would provoke any measure of feeling.

He tipped his head and smiled. ‘Well, at least I have someone prepared to offer me love, even if my wife will not.’

Richard held his breath. Any reaction that contained real emotion would be welcome. Anything that would indicate the remnants of what they once had.

She laughed out loud. It was not a sound born of joy or happiness. ‘You mean Marta?’

This was not the reaction he’d expected. A sly smile was creeping across her face.

The room started to close in on him. ‘You ... you know about Marta?’

‘Know about it, my sweet ...? I pay very handsomely for it.’

Richard stepped back as though she had slapped him. She was lying. She had to be.

‘Oh Richard, you ridiculous old fool. Marta has a large family back in Bulgaria that she supports with this job. Her annual salary ensures that they eat. Her erm ...
overtime
sends both her brothers to school, so if she seems eager to have sex with you it’s because she gets paid by the hour. And I am happy to pay, because she deserves every single penny.’

Richard could feel the colour infusing his face as the ugly truth registered. Earlier today Marta had been quite insistent.

‘You cold-hearted bitch.’

Nina ignored the insult and turned to the coffee machine. ‘I’ve told you before that I will not have even the hint of scandal attached to my name. I have worked very hard to achieve the life that I live and because of your public standing in the community I don’t mind having you along as a passenger. As long as you travel silently.’

Richard felt the disgust at his life wash over him. His only use to his wife was the vicarious kudos of his standing as a member of parliament; a career which gave her an element of respectability that counter-balanced her unsavoury clientele.

‘Don’t look so shocked, my dear. It is an arrangement that has worked well and should continue to do so.’

His skin crawled at the thought of sharing a bed with Marta after what he had learned. At times, Richard had felt they had a genuine connection and yet he had been nothing more than a salary enhancement.

‘But why Marta?’ he asked, still stunned from her admission.

‘My image is everything and I will not allow you to tarnish it. You are a man and you have certain needs but I would never tolerate you screwing some diseased whore out on the streets and putting my children in danger.’

He watched as Nina took out her mobile phone. ‘Now, run along like a good boy while I continue to clean up your mess.’

Richard stood on the cusp of a decision. His hands were clenched at his sides. He could turn and walk away, out of this house, away from Nina’s coldness and control.

He could go straight to the police and release the burden inside him. He could be free of this woman and the life he led.

He considered his meagre MP’s salary of £65,000. Even creative accounting with his expenses left daylight between him and a six-figure income. His monthly pay barely covered the house utility bills. The salary of his wife paid for the mortgage, the cars and the £5,000 pocket money that landed in his account on the first of each month.

Richard’s clenched hands fell to his sides. He turned and walked into the study, carrying his balls on a nine-carat-gold dinner plate.

Only when the door was closed behind him did he wipe at the bead of sweat behind his ear. His last remaining sliver of pride had prevented him doing so in front of his wife.

Teresa and Tom were dead and Arthur on his way. Richard wanted to believe that the deaths were coincidental. He had to believe it ... because not believing it could only mean one thing; that he was probably next.

K
im dialled
Stacey’s number as Bryant gave their order at the McDonalds drive-thru. It was answered on the second ring.

‘Stace, we’re going to need any addresses you’ve got for the ex-occupants of Crestwood ‘cos we are rapidly running out of staff members.’

‘Yeah, we heard about that here. Woody’s already been down here looking for yer.’

‘Woody’s after me,’ she whispered to Bryant as Stacey tapped her keyboard.

Bryant grimaced.

‘Okay, first one on the list is, oh actually, it’s two of 'em. Twin sisters named Bethany and Nicola Adamson. This address is for Nicola at Brindleyplace in Birmingham.’

Kim read out the address and Bryant jotted it down.

‘Okay, can you work on tracking down that pastor you mentioned before? His name came up again so I think he’s worth a visit. The girls may have talked to him.’

‘On it, Guv.’

‘Thanks, Stace. Anything from Dawson?’

‘Not to me.’

Kim ended the call.

‘We really should have gone back to the station after what happened earlier,’ Bryant said.

Kim knew full well they should have briefed Woody about the hit-and-run and followed the procedure that accompanies the witnessing of any 'traumatic incident' but on her team they'd never get out the station.

'I’ll do a report later and go talk to Woody but we’re running out of time. So far we’ve lost four people that worked at Crestwood at the time it closed.’

She took a bite of the chicken burger. It tasted like a wedge of cardboard placed between two slabs of MDF. She put it aside and took out her mobile phone.

Dawson answered immediately.

‘How’s things?’ she asked.

‘Moving along. Cerys is in the pit with her hand tools so we’re not far away from whatever’s down there.’

Kim could hear the fatigue in his voice. ‘Did you pay a visit to William Payne?’

‘Done, Guv. I placed a check call to ADT to make sure the alarm is working. I cleaned and tested the motion sensors front and back which work on a fifteen foot arc. I got him to move a couple of planters away from the fence and change the battery in Lucy’s emergency response pendant, just to be sure.

‘Oh, and I’ve briefed every patrolling officer to include Payne’s home in their perimeter checks.’

Kim smiled. And that was why he was on the team. There were times that managing Dawson was like mothering a toddler. Some days he tried her patience to the limit and others where he did his job; brilliantly.

‘Just so you know, Guv. It came over the radio. Arthur Connop died.’

Kim said nothing. She had known he wasn't going to make it.

‘SOCO still have the road closed. You never know, there might be something.’

Kim ended the call. 'Connop,' she whispered.

‘Dead?’ Bryant asked.

Kim nodded and then sighed. If she was perfectly honest, she was hard pushed to measure the loss of Arthur Connop. His wife had been emphatically disinterested in his whereabouts. No one they’d spoken to had harboured any affection for the man at all, past or present. Perhaps Maureen might feel his loss from the decrease of beer and cobs sold per week but few would seriously mourn his passing.

Kim would have liked to think that the rude, insufferable man had once been a decent human being who had slowly grown bitter with age but his blatant neglect of his charges ten years ago destroyed the false hope. She suspected that Maureen was right that Arthur had always been selfish and mean ‒ but she now had to wonder if he was more than that. How far would he have gone to cover his tracks?

As Bryant wiped at his mouth with a paper serviette Kim glanced at the dashboard clock. It was just after three and a lot of paperwork lay ahead at the station. It had already been a long and taxing day and she could always start working through the list of occupants tomorrow. Her body demanded a shower and some rest.

‘You want me to head towards that address in Birmingham, then, Guv?’

She smiled and nodded her head.

C
overing seventeen acres
, Brindleyplace was the largest mixed-use redevelopment in the UK. Canal-side factories and a Victorian school had been renovated in a range of architectural styles.

The project was started in 1993 and now offered three distinct areas.

Brindleyplace was an assortment of low-rise buildings offering plush office space, retail units and art galleries while Water’s Edge housed the bars, restaurants and cafes. The residential element sprawled out from Symphony Court.

‘Guv, what the hell are we doing wrong?’ Bryant asked as they stood on the fourth floor of the King Edwards Wharf building.

The door was answered by a slim, athletic woman wearing black leggings and a tight sports top. Her face bore the flush of recent exertion or exercise.

‘Nicola Adamson?’

‘And you are?’

Bryant offered his warrant card and introduced them both.

She stood aside and welcomed them into an open plan penthouse.

Kim stepped onto beech wooden flooring that stretched all the way to the kitchen area.

White leather sofas were set diagonally before a wall bearing a large, flatscreen television. Beneath it were various electronic devices recessed into the wall. No wires or cables were evident.

Spot lights were flush with the ceiling and a couple of down lighters were fixed above a pebble fireplace.

A glass dining table surrounded by teak chairs signalled the end of the lounge. Just beyond that the laminate ended and stone tiles began.

Kim would guess she was looking at around 1500 square feet of living space.

‘Can I offer you a drink, tea, coffee?’

Kim nodded. ‘Coffee, as strong as you’ve got.’

Nicola Adamson smiled openly. ‘That kind of day, Detective?’

The woman padded into a kitchen formed of white glossy cabinets with accents of brown wood.

Kim didn’t answer but continued to move around the space. The left side wall was formed entirely of glass, punctuated only by a few circular stone pillars. Beyond was a balcony and without stepping out Kim could see the view of the Brindley Loop Canal.

Further along the wall of glass Kim saw a treadmill partly obscured by an oriental screen. Well, she reasoned, if you were going to exercise this was surely the way to do it.

It was an impressive space for a woman in her mid-twenties who was home in the middle of the afternoon.

‘What do you do?’ Kim asked, bluntly.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Very nice place you have here. I was just wondering what you did to pay for it.’

Kim’s tact and diplomacy were somewhere back around eleven a.m. It was growing into a long day and the woman would either answer or she wouldn’t.

‘I’m not sure how it's your business as my work is certainly not illegal, but I'm a dancer, an exotic dancer, and I happen to be very good at it.’

Kim guessed that she probably was. Her movements were naturally graceful and lithe.

She carried a tray bearing two steaming mugs and a bottle of water. ‘I work at The Roxburgh,’ she said, as though that explained everything and for Kim it did. The club was membership only and provided adult entertainment for professional people. The stringent management ensured few visits from the local constabulary, unlike other clubs in Birmingham city centre.

‘You understand why we’re here?’ Bryant asked. Having made the mistake of sitting back on the plush sofa he was now struggling to sit forward before the furniture swallowed him whole.

‘Of course. I’m not sure how much I can help but feel free to ask me anything.’

‘How old were you when you were at Crestwood?’

‘It wasn't one whole stretch, Detective. My sister and I were in and out of care from the age of two.’

‘How old were you in that picture?’ Kim asked of a photo in a silver frame on the small table beside her.

The features of the two girls were as identical as their clothes. Both wore stiff white school shirts from the free uniform shop. Kim remembered those clothes well and the free taunts that came with them.

Both wore matching pink cardigans with an embroidered flower motif on the left hand side. Everything was identical but their hair. One had loose flowing blonde locks and the other had theirs tied back in a bobble.

Nicola reached for the photo and smiled. ‘I remember those cardigans so well. Beth lost hers and would steal mine. It was about the only thing we ever fought over.’

Bryant opened his mouth but Kim’s expression silenced him. The woman’s face had changed. She was no longer looking into the photo, but past it.

‘They may not look much but those cardigans were precious. Mary asked for a couple of volunteers to help wipe down all the paintwork. Beth and I offered because Mary was a good woman who did her best. At the end of the day she gave us a few pounds for our work.’ Nicola finally raised her eyes. Her expression was both sad and wistful.

‘You can’t even begin to imagine how we felt. The very next morning we went up into Blackheath, to the market. We spent all day roaming the stalls deciding what to buy and it wasn’t so much the cardigans but that they were ours, from new. Not hand-me-downs from the older girls or used garments from the charity shop. They were new and they were ours.’

A tear had escaped from Nicola’s right eye. She placed the picture back and wiped at her cheek.

‘It sounds silly and you can’t really understand ...’

‘Yes, I can,’ Kim said.

Nicola smiled indulgently and shook her head. ‘No, Detective, you really can’t ...’

‘Yes, I really can,’ Kim repeated.

Nicola met her gaze and held it for just a couple of seconds before nodding her understanding.

‘To answer your question, we were fourteen in that photo.’

Bryant looked to Kim and she gestured for him to continue. ‘Did you spend all your time in care at Crestwood?’ he asked.

Nicola shook her head. ‘No, our mother was a heroin addict and I’d like to say she tried her best but she didn’t. Until we were twelve it was a mixture of foster homes, children’s homes and our mother getting clean and taking us back. I don’t really remember it all that well.’

Kim could tell from her eyes that the recollection was no trouble at all.

‘But you had each other?’ Kim said, looking at the photo. For six years she had also known that feeling.

Nicola nodded. ‘Yes, we had each other.’

‘Miss Adamson, we have reason to believe that the body we’ve discovered within the grounds is possibly one of the Crestwood occupants.’

‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘You’re not serious.’

‘Is there anything you can recall about your time there that would help us?’

Nicola’s eyes were busy as though searching her memories. Neither she nor Bryant spoke.

Slowly, Nicola began to shake her head. ‘I honestly can’t think of anything. Beth and I kept to ourselves. There is nothing I can offer.’

‘How about your sister? Do you think she would be able to help?’

Nicola shrugged just as Kim’s mobile began to ring. Two seconds later, Bryant’s sounded. They both fumbled and cut off the calls.

‘Sorry about that,’ Bryant offered. ‘You were saying?’

‘Maybe Beth can recall something. She is staying with me at the moment.’ Nicola checked her watch. ‘She should be home in about half an hour if you’d like to wait.’

Kim’s phone began to vibrate in her pocket. ‘No, that will be fine,’ she said, standing.

Bryant followed suit and offered his hand. ‘If you do think of anything, please give us a call.’

‘Of course,’ she said, walking them to the door.

Kim turned, willing to take a long shot. ‘Do you remember any of the girls having a particular fondness for beads?’

‘Beads?’

‘Perhaps a bracelet?’

Nicola thought for a moment and then clasped her hand over her mouth.

‘Yes, yes, there was a girl called Melanie. She was older than me so I didn’t know her very well. She was one of the “cool” girls, one of the troublemakers.’

Kim held her breath.

‘Yes, now I remember the beads. She gave some to her best friends. They were like a little club.’

Nicola began to nod her head. ‘Yes, of course, there were three of them. They all had the beads.’

Kim felt the sinking in her stomach. She was willing to bet that all three of them ran away.