Silent Scream: An edge of your seat serial killer thriller (Detective Kim Stone crime thriller series Book 1) (3 page)

A
t seven thirty a.m
. Kim parked the Ninja at Halesowen police station, just off the ring road that circled a town with a small shopping precinct and a college. The station was located within spitting distance of the magistrates court; convenient, but a bitch for claiming expenses.

The three-storey building was as drab and unwelcoming as any other government building that apologised to tax-paying citizens.

She navigated her way to the detectives’ office without offering any morning greetings and none were offered to her. Kim knew she had a reputation for being cold, socially inept and emotionless. This perception deflected banal small talk and that was fine by her.

As usual, she was first into the detectives’ office and so fired up the coffee machine. The room held four desks in two sets of two facing each other. Each desk mirrored its partner, with a computer screen and mismatched file trays.

Three of the desks accommodated permanent occupants but the fourth sat empty since they had been downsized a few months earlier. It was where she normally perched herself rather than in her office.

The space with Kim’s name on the door was commonly referred to as The Bowl. It was nothing more than an area in the top right hand corner of the room that was partitioned off by plasterboard and glass.

It was a space she used for the occasional ‘individual performance directive’, otherwise known as a good old-fashioned bollocking.

‘Morning, Guv,’ Detective Constable Wood called as she slid into her chair. Although her family background was half English and half Nigerian, Stacey had never set foot outside the United Kingdom. Her tight black hair was cut short and close to her head following the removal of her last weave. The smooth caramel skin suited the haircut well.

Stacey’s work area was organised and clear. Anything not in the labelled trays was stacked in meticulous piles along the top edge of her desk.

Not far behind was Detective Sergeant Bryant who mumbled a ‘Morning, Guv,’ as he glanced into The Bowl. His six foot frame looked immaculate, as though he had been dressed for Sunday school by his mother.

Immediately the suit jacket landed on the back of his chair. By the end of the day his tie would have dropped a couple of floors, the top button of his shirt would be open and his shirt sleeves would be rolled up just below his elbows.

She saw him glance at her desk, seeking evidence of a coffee mug. When he saw that she already had coffee he filled the mug labelled ‘World’s Best Taxi Driver’, a present from his nineteen-year-old daughter.

His filing was not a system that anyone else understood but Kim had yet to request any piece of paper that was not in her hands within a few seconds. At the top of his desk was a framed picture of himself and his wife taken at their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. A picture of his daughter snuggled in his wallet.

DS Kevin Dawson, the third member of her team, didn’t keep a photo of anyone special on his desk. Had he wanted to display a picture of the person for whom he felt most affection he would have been greeted by his own likeness throughout his working day.

‘Sorry I’m late, Guv,’ Dawson called as he slid into his seat opposite Wood and completed her team.

He wasn’t officially late. The shift didn’t start until eight a.m. but she liked them all in early for a briefing, especially at the beginning of a new case. Kim didn’t like to stick to a roster and people who did lasted a very short time on her team.

‘Hey, Stacey, you gonna get me a coffee or what?’ Dawson asked, checking his mobile phone.

‘Of course, Kev, how’d yer like it: milk, two sugars and in yer lap?’ she asked sweetly, in her strong Black Country accent.

‘Stace, would you like a coffee?’ he asked, rising, knowing full well that she didn’t touch the stuff. ‘You must be tired after fighting warlocks all night,’ he quipped, referring to Stacey's addiction to the online game World of Warcraft.

‘Actually, Kev, I received a powerful spell from a high priestess that can turn a grown man into a raging dickhead – but looks like someone else got to yer first.’

Dawson held his stomach and offered mock-laughter.

‘Guv,’ Bryant called over his shoulder. ‘The kids are playing up again.’ He turned back to the two of them and wagged a finger. ‘You two just wait until your mother gets home.’

Kim rolled her eyes and sat at the spare desk, eager to begin. ‘Okay, Bryant, hand out the statements. Kev, get the board.’

Dawson took the marker pen and stood next to the whiteboard that occupied the entire back wall.

While Bryant divided up the paperwork she talked through the events of earlier that morning.

‘Our victim is Teresa Wyatt, forty-seven years old, highly respected principal of a private boys’ school in Stourbridge. No marriage or children. Lived comfortably but not lavishly and had no enemies that we’re aware of.’

Kev noted the information as bullet points beneath the heading of ‘Victim’.

Bryant’s phone rang. He said little before replacing the receiver and nodding in Kim’s direction. ‘Woody wants you.’

She ignored him. ‘Kev, make a second heading, “Crime”. No murder weapon, no robbery, so far no forensics and no clues.

‘Next heading, “Motive”. People are normally murdered because of something they have done, something they are doing or something they are going to do. As far as we know, our victim was not engaged in any kind of dangerous activity.’

‘Err ... Guv, the DCI wants you.’

Kim took another gulp of the fresh cuppa. ‘Trust me, Bryant, he likes me better when I’ve had coffee. Kev, the post mortem is at ten. Stace, find out everything you can about our victim. Bryant, contact the school and let them know we’re coming.’

‘Guv ... ’

Kim finished her drink. ‘Calm down, Mum, I’m going.’

She took the stairs to the third floor two at a time and knocked lightly before entering.

DCI Woodward was a heavyset man in his mid-fifties. His mixed race origins gifted him smooth brown skin that travelled up and over his hairless head. His black trousers and white shirt were crisp and creased in all the right places. The reading glasses on the tip of his nose did little to disguise the tired eyes behind them.

He waved her in and pointed to a chair, giving her a full view of the glass cabinet holding his model car collection. The lower shelf housed a selection of classic British models but the upper shelf displayed a history of police vehicles used through the ages. There was an MG TC from the Forties, a Ford Anglia, a Black Maria and a Jaguar XJ40 that took pride of place at the centre.

To the right of the cabinet, fixed firmly to the wall, was a photograph of Woody shaking hands with Tony Blair. To the right of that was a photograph of his eldest son, Patrick, in full dress uniform, right before he was deployed to Afghanistan. He had been clothed in that exact same uniform for his burial fifteen months later.

Woody ended the phone conversation and immediately picked up the stress ball from the edge of his desk. His right hand clenched and relaxed around the clump of putty. Kim realised he reached for it a lot when she was around.

‘What do we have so far?’

‘Very little, Sir. We were just outlining the investigation when you summoned me.’

His knuckles whitened around the ball but he ignored the dig.

Her eyes wandered to the right of his ear, to his current project on the window sill. It was a Rolls Royce Phantom and construction had not progressed in days.

‘You had a run-in with Detective Inspector Wharton, I hear?’

So, the jungle drums had already been busy. ‘We exchanged pleasantries over the body.’

There was something about the model that didn't look quite right. To her eye the wheel base looked much too long.

He squeezed the ball harder. ‘His DCI has been in touch. A formal complaint against you has been lodged and they want the case.’

Kim rolled her eyes. Couldn’t the weasel fight his own battles?

She fought the urge to reach across and pick up the Rolls Royce to rectify the mistake but she contained herself.

She slid her eyes along and met the gaze of her commanding officer. ‘But they’re not going to get it, are they, Sir?’

He held her gaze for a long minute. ‘No, Stone, they are not, however a formal complaint does not look good on your file and quite frankly I'm getting a little bit tired of receiving them.’ He swapped the ball to his left hand. ‘So, I’m curious to see who you’re buddying up with on this one.’

Kim felt like a child being asked to choose a new best friend. Her last performance review had highlighted only one area of improvement; playing nice with others.

‘Do I get a choice?’

‘Who would you choose?’

‘Bryant.’

The ghost of a smile hovered around his lips. ‘Then yes, you get to choose.’

So, there was no choice at all, she thought. Bryant provided damage limitation and with the neighbouring force sniffing at her backside Woody wasn’t taking any chances; he wanted her in the care of a responsible adult.

She had been on the cusp of offering her boss a little advice that would save him hours of dismantling the rear axle of the Rolls but quickly changed her mind.

‘Anything else, Sir?’

Woody put the stress ball back and took off his glasses. ‘Keep me updated.’

‘Of course.’

‘Oh, and Stone ...’

She turned at the door. ‘Let your team have some sleep now and again. They’re not all charged via a USB port like you.’

Kim left his office, wondering how long it had taken Woody to come up with that little gem.

K
im followed Courtney
, the school receptionist, through the hallways of Saint Joseph’s on their way to the office of the Acting Principal. From behind, Kim marvelled at the woman’s ability to move so swiftly in four-inch heels.

Bryant sighed as they passed classroom after classroom. ‘Weren’t these just the best days of your life?’

‘No.’

They turned into a long corridor on the second floor and were led into an office with a discoloured oblong on the door where the name plate had already been taken off.

The male behind the desk stood. His suit was expensive and his tie was a sky blue silky number. The flat black colour of his hair indicated it had been recently dyed.

He offered his hand across the desk. Kim turned away, examining the contents of the walls. Any certificates or memorabilia containing the name of Teresa Wyatt had already been removed.

Bryant accepted the extended hand.

‘Thank you for accommodating our request, Mr Whitehouse.’

‘You’re the
Deputy
Principal, I understand,’ Kim noted.

He nodded and sat. ‘I will be stepping in as Acting Principal and if I can be of any assistance in the investigation ...’

‘Oh, I’m sure you will be,’ Kim interrupted. There was something disingenuous about his manner. Too well rehearsed. The fact he had already moved into Teresa Wyatt’s office and removed all traces of her existence was distasteful to say the least. The woman had been dead for less than twelve hours. She guessed that his curriculum vitae had already been updated.

‘We’d like a list of all staff members. Please arrange for them to be available to speak with us in alphabetical order.’

The set of his jaw indicated that he didn’t respond all that well to instruction. Kim briefly wondered if that was the case with all women or just her.

He lowered his eyes. ‘Of course. I’ll have Courtney arrange that for you immediately. I’ve made available a room down the hall that will more than meet your needs to conduct the interviews.’

Kim looked around and shook her head. ‘No, I think we’ll be just fine right here.’

His mouth opened to respond but good manners prevented him laying total claim to the workspace so soon.

Whitehouse gathered some belongings from the top of the desk and headed towards the door. ‘Courtney will be with you shortly.’

As the door closed behind the Acting Principal, Bryant chuckled.

‘What?’ she asked, taking the chair behind the desk.

‘Nothing, Guv.’

He moved one of the chairs to the side of the desk and sat down.

Kim assessed the placement of the remaining chair for the interviewees.

‘Move that one back a little.’

Bryant moved the chair so that it was closer to the door. Adrift. There was nothing to lean on or sit against. Now she could observe the body language.

A light knock sounded on the door. They both shouted ‘come in’ at the same time.

Courtney entered with a piece of paper and a smile that was trying to climb out of her mouth. So, Mr Whitehouse was not all that popular.

‘Mr Addlington is outside when you’re ready.’

Kim nodded. ‘Please show him in.’

‘Can I get you anything else? Coffee, tea?’

‘You most certainly can. Coffee for both of us.’

Courtney headed to the door and reached it before Kim remembered. ‘Thanks, Courtney.’

Courtney nodded and held the door open for the first interviewee.

B
y four fifteen p.m.
, after twelve identical conversations, Kim’s head hit the desk. There was something satisfying about the thunk of her skull on wood.

‘I know what you mean, Guv,’ Bryant offered. ‘Looks like we’ve got ourselves a real life saint in the morgue.’

He took a pack of mentholyptus cough sweets from his pocket. By her count that was his fifth.

Two years ago a chest infection had prompted an instruction from the doctor to give up his habit of thirty cigarettes a day. In an effort to get rid of the ripping cough Bryant had popped the sweets non-stop. The smoking had gone but an addiction to the cough sweets had remained.

‘You really need to cut down on those, you know.’

‘It’s that kind of day, Guv.’

And like a seasoned smoker, he indulged more when stressed or bored.

‘Who’s next?’

Bryant consulted the list. ‘Joanna Wade, English Language.’

Kim rolled her eyes as the door opened. In stepped a woman wearing tailored black trousers and a lilac silk shirt. Her long blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail revealing a strong square jaw and little make up.

She sat without offering her hand and crossed her right ankle over her left. Her hands landed neatly in her lap.

‘We won’t take up too much of your time, Mrs Wade. We just need to ask you a few questions.’

‘Ms.’

‘Excuse me.’

‘It’s Ms, Detective, not Mrs, but please call me Joanna.’

The voice was low and controlled with a hint of a northern accent.

‘Thank you, Ms Wade. How long have you known Principal Wyatt?’

The teacher smiled. ‘I was employed by Principal Wyatt almost three years ago.’

‘How was the working relationship between the two of you?’

Ms Wade fixed her gaze on Kim and cocked her head slightly. ‘Really, Detective, no foreplay?’

Kim ignored the innuendo and returned the gaze.

‘Please answer the question?’

‘Of course. We had a reasonable working relationship. Not without its ups and downs, which happens between most females, I find. Teresa was a very focused Principal, rigid in her beliefs and convictions.’

‘In what way?’

‘Methods of teaching have evolved since Teresa’s time in the classroom. Creativity is often needed to instil knowledge into young, fertile minds. We have all tried to adapt to a changing culture but Teresa believed that quiet, disciplined, book learning was the only way to teach and anyone who tried anything different was suitably advised.’

As Joanna Wade talked, Kim assessed her body language to be open and honest. She also noted that the woman had not glanced at Bryant once.

‘Can you give me an example?’

‘A couple of months ago one of my students turned in a paper whereby half of the prose had been written in abbreviations more commonly used to communicate by text message or on Facebook. I sent all twenty-three students to their lockers to retrieve their mobile phones. I then insisted that they spend the next ten minutes texting each other in correct, grammatical English including appropriate punctuation. This process felt completely alien to them and they all got the point.’

‘Which was?’

‘That the methods of communication don’t translate. It hasn’t happened since.’

‘And Teresa wasn’t happy with this?’

Ms Wade shook her head. ‘Not at all. She felt that the boy concerned should have been given detention and that would have sent a clearer message. I dared to disagree and Teresa made a note of insubordination on my file.’

‘This isn't the picture we’ve been getting from other members of staff here, Ms Wade.’

The woman shrugged. ‘I can’t speak for anyone else, however I would say that there are teachers here who have given up. Their methods of reaching young minds no longer work and they are treading water until retirement. They are content to remain uninspired and uninspiring. I, however, am not.’ Again her head cocked to the side and a small smile tugged at her mouth. ‘Teaching today’s teenagers to appreciate the beauty and finesse of the English language is truly challenging. But, I firmly believe that one should never shy away from a challenge. Don’t you agree, Detective?’

Bryant coughed.

Kim offered a small smile in return. The woman’s confidence and open dialogue was a breath of fresh air after twelve identical responses. The blatant flirting was amusing.

Kim sat back. ‘What can you tell me about Teresa, the woman?’

‘Would you like me to toe the line and offer the politically correct epitaph reserved for the recently deceased – or should I be candid?’

‘Your honesty would be appreciated.’

Ms Wade re-crossed her legs. ‘As a school Principal, Teresa was driven and focused. As a woman, I feel that she was quite a selfish person. As you will see from her desk there are no pictures of anything or anyone important to her. She thought nothing of keeping staff members here until eight or nine o’clock.

‘A great deal of her time was spent at spas, shopping for designer clothes and booking expensive holidays.’

Bryant made a couple of notes.

‘Is there anything else you feel might be of help to the investigation?’

The woman shook her head.

‘Thank you for your time, Ms Wade.’

The woman sat forward. ‘If you’d like an alibi, Detective, I was at Liberty Gym practicing my yoga moves. Excellent for muscle flexibility. And if you're interested, I’m there every Thursday night.’

Kim met her gaze. The clear blue eyes sparkled with challenge. She sauntered towards the desk and held out a business card.

Kim had no choice but to hold out her hand. The woman placed the card in Kim’s palm and turned the contact into a handshake. Her touch was cool and firm. Her fingers lingered over Kim’s palm as the hand withdrew.

‘Here’s my number. Please feel free to call if I can be of any further assistance.’

‘Thank you, Ms Wade, you’ve been most helpful.’

‘Jesus, Guv,’ Bryant said as the door closed. ‘You didn’t need a book to read those signals.’

Kim shrugged. ‘You’ve either got it or you haven’t.’

She placed the card into her jacket pocket. ‘Any more?’

‘No, she was the last.’

They both stood. ‘That’s it for today. Go home and get some rest,’ Kim said.

She had a feeling they were going to need it.