Deadly Cry (DI Kim Stone #13) - Angela Marsons Page 0,42

help us out after that?’

Kim had shrugged. If she was the woman Kim thought she was, she’d put her ego to one side and get involved. Whatever Alison told herself, her passion lay in analysing events and people. It reminded her of former athletes turning to coaching. There were few who didn’t wish they were still competing.

‘Pretty sure you’ve pissed Stacey off too.’

‘Jesus, Bryant, are you the feelings police this morning?’ she snapped, turning slightly in her seat.

‘You working on any project at the minute?’ he asked, shooting her a sideways glance.

‘None of your damn business.’

Bryant had got the message and focused on his driving.

Truth was she did care about people’s feelings. Up to a point. There was a six-year-old boy missing and they needed all the help they could get, but she wasn’t going to explain that to her colleague, who appeared much calmer walking into the morgue in full daylight.

‘Aah, as I suspected and I was right,’ Keats said, turning from the sink with a triumphant smile on his face. She wasn’t sure who he had been in a secret battle with, but she was pleased he’d won.

‘I thought it might be you instead of Penn this morning, so I took the liberty of getting it done early. It’s not the same with you peering over my shoulder. At least when Penn is breathing down my ear it’s because he appreciates the artistry.’

‘Of what?’ Kim asked, leaning against the spotless stainless-steel counter.

He thought for a moment. ‘It’s the difference between a seven-course tasting menu and a sandwich.’

She turned to her colleague. ‘Hear that, Bryant, Keats is calling me a—’

‘You’re the sandwich,’ he clarified. ‘Penn observes the process, asks questions, learns from the expertise. You, on the other hand, like to grab and go.’

‘Hey, I ask questions too.’

‘Not about the process, only about the results.’

It was on the tip of her tongue to add that knowing the process did not aid her in finding the killer, but she kept her mouth closed. Keats was clearly testy, and she was pleased she didn’t have to sit through the post-mortem.

She rubbed her hands. ‘Okay, what we got?’

‘Absolutely nothing,’ he said, reaching for his clipboard, ‘that is going to help you.’

‘Someone’s glass is half-empty, isn’t it?’ she asked.

‘You already know the cause of death. Her neck was broken just like Katrina. There was no sexual assault and she appeared to be in reasonably good health.’

‘Toxicology?’

‘Has been sent off, but I don’t expect anything earth-shattering to come back on that score.’

Kim crossed her arms and waited.

Keats raised an eyebrow. ‘What are you waiting for?’

‘The reveal, Keats. You’re like a good crime novel: you always save something for the end.’

‘Inspector, I have nothing interesting to offer.’

‘Well, I know that, Keats, but what about the body?’ she quipped.

‘There is nothing more to add. My official report is already in your inbox, so I’ll thank you to leave me in peace until circumstances dictate that we shall meet again.’

Kim glanced at Bryant, who shrugged in response.

There really was nothing else.

She moved towards the door, feeling as though there were questions she needed to ask.

Keats had listed all the similarities between the murders of Katrina and Louise. Her mind’s eye travelled back to the bullet-point list on the wipe board.

She stopped walking as the automatic doors opened to let her out.

‘Scratches?’ she asked, turning. ‘You noted deliberate scratch marks on Katrina’s skin?’

Keats shook his head. ‘None on Louise. Clean as a whistle.’

Kim frowned as she left the morgue.

A subtle difference to the first murder was the absence of something. What did that mean?

So had she learned something after all?

Forty-One

Penn knew Stevens Park well. It wasn’t a huge expanse of space. There were no undulating hills to climb or hidden lakes and beauty spots. The entire length of it was fringed by a dual carriageway that ran from Quarry Bank to the border of Lye.

The rest of its exterior was hemmed in by industrial buildings and a housing estate that adjoined every other perimeter.

This was not a country park where one went for a peaceful stroll amongst a stolen patch of nature. It had few facilities and was popular with local dog walkers, which was how Penn knew it.

When Jasper had been a toddler, they’d had a small dog, some kind of mixed-breed terrier. His parents had assumed that Jasper would be a lonely child and wanted him to have something to love. And love it he had. They all had until the day Mutley had gone off