First Blood: A completely gripping mystery thriller (A Detective Kim Stone Novel) Page 10

  ‘Oh yeah, the murderer had gone to town there.’

  So, the only similarity so far was the genital mutilation.

  ‘How was he found?’ Kim asked.

  ‘Tatters,’ he explained. ‘All checked out and clean from what I understand. The estate was bequeathed to the National Trust a few years ago but they’ve not got around to doing anything with it. Place has been a source of income to local shits for a while now. The whole site is huge and difficult to secure.’ He shuddered. ‘Bloody horrible place.’ He narrowed his gaze. ‘You’re not thinking of going there, are you?’

  ‘’Course not,’ she answered. ‘It’s not our case, but just out of interest, where was the body found?’

  ‘Well, that’s the thing I found weird; of all the places, rooms and halls, hundreds of them, this guy was killed in a tiny, poky hole concealed under the stairs.’

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Dawson hoped he was going to have better luck at the next house he tried, but as he moved further away from Luke Fenton’s property he was losing the will to live.

  He’d had no luck at Fenton’s workplace. The supervisor had said only that the man had kept to himself. He’d attended no Christmas parties, no laddish nights out and barely passed the time of day with his colleagues, all of whom had got the message and left him alone. They had known nothing about the man himself and even less about any women or children in his life. Dawson guessed if they knew the truth about him they’d now like him a whole lot less than they had before.

  What he needed right now was one of those nosey neighbours that knew everything about everyone.

  He tapped on the door of number 81. No answer but he could hear a radio playing inside.

  He tapped again louder and checked his watch. He hadn’t got long before heading off to the morgue for the identification of Luke Fenton.

  ‘Hold your horses, I’m coming,’ called a shrill woman’s voice. The door was opened by an elderly lady using a walking frame. Her hair was a shock of white which didn’t look as though it had seen a comb in days.

  She looked him up and down. ‘Don’t want no windows.’

  Dawson knew he could suggest that she ring the station and verify his identity but he suspected she would rather slam the door in his face.

  ‘I’m not selling windows but could I ask you a question or two Mrs…’

  ‘I ay giving yer my name. You’ll have my bank account emptied before I’ve got back to my soup.’

  Given his current financial situation she probably wasn’t far wrong.

  ‘I’m trying to find out a bit of information on the young guy from down the road. Luke Fenton from number 81.’

  She popped her head out the door as if to remind herself of the occupants of the street.

  ‘You mean grumpy git?’

  Dawson couldn’t help but smile. From what he’d learned the woman was bang on.

  ‘Yeah, that’s the one. You know him well?’

  She shook her head. ‘Never speaks or waves to me in the window. You know when we had all that snow, plenty folks come to see if I needed anything but not him. Never offered anybody anything. Miserable so and so…’

  ‘Do you know if?…’

  ‘And his lady friend was just as bad.’

  Dawson was realising that sometimes it was best to just keep quiet. He’d been asking the same questions all morning with no result.

  ‘Always had her head down when she walked past, dragging that little kiddie of hers. Pretty little thing. Don’t know what the mother saw in him, though. I mean, she was no looker herself and that birthmark over her left eye didn’t help. Maybe she was grateful to any man that’d take her on with a kiddy and that splodge on her face.’

  Dawson knew he could be politically incorrect at times but this woman couldn’t care less.

  ‘I thought she’d seen sense. Disappeared for a few months but then the stupid cow came back again.’

  Dawson frowned remembering what the boss had said about this guy being into kids. Had the mother known and left him and if so, why the hell had she come back?

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Redland Hall was located two miles out of Stratford-upon-Avon.

  ‘You do recall Sergeant Greene advising us to stay away?’ Bryant asked.

  ‘Aww come on, it’d be rude not to take a bit of a peek. I mean it’s not like we’re going in or anything. It’s practically on our way back.’

  ‘It actually isn’t,’ Bryant said, turning off the main road onto a tree-lined driveway. ‘You know, I never even knew this was here.’

  ‘You wouldn’t, it’s never properly been open to the public,’ she replied. ‘It was used in the Nineties for some courses and stuff by the previous owners, to inject some cash, but it didn’t work. Owners moved into a small cottage in Evesham and left the property to the National Trust, who inherited it two years ago and don’t know what to do with it.’

  She’d been reading about the place since they’d left the station.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Bryant said as the building came into view.

  He’d taken the words right out of her mouth.

  The structure was grand and imposing stretching up over three stories.

  Kim’s research in the car told her that the house originated in the thirteenth century.

  The driveway led to a moat and bridge that appeared to be newer than the rest of the property.

  She got out of the car and surveyed the building with a mixture of wonder and sadness.

  Once it would have been a grand property. Two front wings branching off a turreted central entrance, an archway below a double row of windows. There was no pane that hadn’t been broken.

  The tiles had been nicked leaving the roof beams exposed and three brick structures that would have supported the massive chimneys. Unchecked ivy and moss covered the walls and crept in through the windows.

  ‘Damn shame,’ Bryant observed, as Kim took a step forward. ‘Guv, I thought you said…’

  ‘I’ll just be a minute. Stay here if you like,’ she said, heading for the bridge.

  From what she could understand the National Trust had attempted to secure the site numerous times with fencing and each time the fencing got nicked too. It looked to her like they’d decided to make do with the ‘Danger’ and ‘No Entry’ signs nailed into the front wall of the building. She already noted that the perimeter of the property that she could see was tree-lined and not fenced or walled, making it impossible to secure and protect.

  She guessed that Bryant’s hesitation in joining her was due to some kind of decision-making process going on in his mind. A dynamic risk assessment. She wasn’t all that surprised when she heard his footsteps behind her.

  ‘Jesus, even the door’s gone,’ he remarked as they stepped into the building that was little more than a shell.

  Daylight shone in from the roofless structure through gaps where the floorboards had either been removed, stolen or had rotted away. Rubble and stones littered the ground, where the floor tiles had been removed.

  Kim couldn’t help feeling relieved that the previous owners never got to see it in this condition.

  The staircase swept out of what would once have been a grand hallway where the lord and lady of the manor would have greeted their guests and where staff took coats and hats.

  Greene had said the body had been found beneath the staircase. She could see where two wooden panels had been removed by the tatters and how the body had been discovered.

  She stepped to the side of the staircase.

  ‘It’d be useful if we had…’ her words trailed away as the spotlight landed on the area.

  The beam came from Bryant’s hand.

  ‘A torch,’ she finished.

  ‘Yeah, nifty little things to keep in your boot.’

  Ah, so he hadn’t been considering whether or not to follow her. He’d been sourcing much needed equipment.

  For some unfathomable reason that pleased her.

&n
bsp; ‘To the left a bit,’ she said.

  ‘Now to the right.’

  ‘Down a bit.’

  ‘What’s this, The Golden Shot?’ he asked.

  ‘The what?’

  ‘Clearly a TV programme that was before your time.’

  ‘Bryant, I don’t get this,’ she said, stepping back. ‘Take a look.’

  He moved into her space and looked around, while Kim considered if it was definitely the right spot, as described by Sergeant Greene. The tiny space that went under the staircase was no bigger than a broom cupboard. Possibly six feet square. The bloodstains were evident.

  Regardless of whether it was their case or not, the first question she had to ask was why had Lester Jackson been murdered here?

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Dawson worked hard to hide just how much he hated visiting the morgue. It wasn’t like he thought anything was going to come back to life or that he was in any danger. It wasn’t even that he had any issue with the post-mortem itself. He didn’t mind the tools or the sounds of the process, it was the sight of all the dead flesh just hanging, slack from the bones.

  He shook away the thought as he approached a woman wearing an Asda uniform and a pensive expression.

  ‘Lisa Bywater?’ he asked, offering his hand.

  She nodded and returned the briefest of touch.

  He introduced himself and showed his ID.

  A flash of impatience flitted across her face. ‘Can we please just get this over and done with?’

  He nodded and led the way through the doors. He’d met few family members that relished this particular task.

  ‘I’d just like to say how sorry I am for your…’

  ‘Don’t be,’ she said, without emotion.

  Well, that was an hour of sensitivity training wasted.

  Thankfully for this task he didn’t have to enter the belly of the morgue. A private viewing room with a second door was available for this process.

  Keats appeared from nowhere and gave Dawson the nod to enter.

  He guided her into the room that was neutral and without decoration.

  He closed the door and pointed to a door in the opposite wall.

  ‘The pathologist will bring your brother through and will await your instruction before revealing his face. If you could just confirm that it is your brother, Luke—’

  ‘I know his name,’ she said as the door opened.

  Dawson noticed a chill pass through her.

  For all her bluster, some part of her cared a great deal and was not relishing what she was about to do.

  The doors opened and Keats brought the trolley to a halt.

  Dawson watched as she stared hard at the sheet-covered figure for a long minute before nodding at Keats.

  He gently grasped the top end of the sheet and began to roll it back.

  Her hand had moved to her throat and he saw the tremble.

  As though realising she was displaying emotion she lowered the hand back down to her side.

  Dawson found himself holding his breath, praying Keats didn’t reveal anything below the jawline.

  He didn’t.

  Lisa Bywater’s eyes filled with tears, giving Dawson his answer about the identity, but he needed a verbal confirmation.

  ‘Mrs Bywater, is this your brother, Luke Fenton?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Mrs Bywater, I…’

  ‘Yes, it’s him,’ she said as the tears began to fall from her eyes.

  ‘Okay, thank you, that’s all we need you…’

  ‘Just one minute,’ she said, with a voice full of emotion.

  Dawson took a step away. Some relatives wanted to imprint the features of their loved ones into their memory, lifeless or not. Others wanted to say a silent, final goodbye.

  Lisa Bywater raised her right hand into the air and punched her brother square in the face.

  Chapter Forty

  ‘She did what?’ Kim asked, as Dawson relayed the events at the morgue.

  ‘Punched him, boss. Like she proper meant it. I got her outside, she shrugged me off and left.’

  Kim recalled the true nature of the man’s injuries.

  She closed her eyes as she spoke into the phone. ‘Dawson, don’t tell me his head…’

  ‘No, boss, it was attached.’

  She was silently grateful for small mercies.

  But what the hell was that punch about?

  ‘Okay, Dawson, head back to the station and see what you can find out about this woman and child. Someone has to know them.’

  He agreed and ended the call.

  Immediately her phone rang. It was Keats and she absolutely knew what this conversation was going to be about. But she hadn’t known the bloody woman was going to punch a corpse.

  ‘Stone,’ she answered.

  ‘John Doe,’ he said.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘That victim you asked me to look into who was genitally mutilated. It was a John Doe case and remains unsolved to this day. Six years ago and the victim has never been identified.’

  ‘Beheaded?’ she asked, hopefully.

  ‘No, and I’m sure I would have remembered that small detail and told you yesterday.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘A shoe, Inspector, was found in the woods. It was never proven to have had anything to do with the case, but I have one further note of interest.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘The mutilation was coarse and amateurish and clearly performed by someone who had not done such a thing before.’

  She remained silent and waited for anything further.

  Silence.

  ‘Okay, thanks, Keats. It was good of you to look.’

  But it had helped her not at all.

  She put her phone back in her pocket and realised her colleague was still looking her way.

  ‘She punched him in the face?’

  Kim nodded, still not quite believing what she’d heard from Dawson.

  ‘She sure did and now we’re gonna go find out why.’

  Chapter Forty-One

  Lisa Bywater wiped at her eyes and vowed it would be the last time he would ever make her cry. She had shed enough tears over that bastard but she hadn’t been prepared for the emotions it was going to bring back to the surface seeing his dead body.

  It had been bad enough when he’d put that one-word post on Facebook, despite her privacy settings and the deliberate misspelling of her last name.

  All night she’d been agitated and hadn’t even been able to tell Richard why. She had shared nothing of her childhood with her husband. He knew her parents were dead and she had an estranged brother. All true. She hadn’t lied but she hadn’t told the whole truth either.

  When she’d seen his face, she’d been unable to help herself. Even in death he looked smug, victorious.

  Well no more, she vowed, taking out her phone. He would control her life no longer.

  She scrolled down to the contact called ‘Taxi’ and keyed in a quick message.

  He’s dead. You’re safe now.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  ‘She actually punched him in the face?’ Stacey asked, shocked at the events at the morgue, but even more surprised that her new colleague had struck up a conversation with her of his own accord. ‘So, what did yer do?’

  ‘Not a lot I could do. It ain’t like she hurt him and I could charge her with a crime. Thing is, she burst into tears before she did it so I’ve got no clue what was going through her mind.’

  Stacey realised this was turning into an actual conversation.

  ‘So, the boss send you back to help out?’ she asked, wondering if she was seeing a change in the man.

  He nodded as he switched on his computer.

  ‘Okay, I’m expecting the phone records through for Luke Fenton any minute now and the boss wants me to do some digging on the guy found at Redland Hall.’

  ‘Not our case,’ he said, without interest.

  ‘Yeah, but I’ve
still got to…’

  ‘Sorry, got my own stuff to do. Trying to track down this woman with a kid and a birthmark so…’

  His words trailed away confirming he was going to be no help at all.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Kim found herself back in Bilston for the second time in one day.

  ‘You really think she’s going to let us in after pulling that caper?’ Bryant asked, as they approached the entrance to the tower block.

  ‘Oh yeah, she’ll let us in,’ Kim said, running for the door as two teenage girls exited.

  They made the journey to Lisa’s apartment in silence.

  Kim had known the woman would not return to work to finish her shift. Despite the strange reaction to the news of her brother’s death, there had been enough emotion bottled up inside Lisa Bywater to cause her to punch a corpse, after bursting into tears, and she wouldn’t want to take all that baggage back to work.

  Bryant pressed the intercom button.

  No answer.

  He pressed it again.

  And again.

  She answered.

  ‘DI Stone and DS…’

  ‘I don’t want to talk to you.’

  Bryant continued. ‘Mrs Bywater, we really need to speak to you about the events at the morgue.’

  ‘Please go away. I have nothing…’

  ‘We’re not going anywhere,’ Kim said, moving closer to the intercom box. ‘And if that means waiting out here until your husband comes—’

  The door opened to reveal Lisa Bywater still dressed in her work uniform.

  ‘Come in,’ she said, without emotion, as she walked away from the door.

  ‘Mrs Bywater, your actions at the morgue were peculiar to say the least. Would you care to explain?…’

  ‘I hate him, Inspector. I think I made that clear earlier today.’

  ‘Your response to his death wasn’t what we’ve come to expect from a relative; however punching a dead man in the face is an extreme emotional response.’