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‘In a recent study it was reported that the US market alone was worth two billion.’
‘Okay, if that’s a cold reading, what’s a hot one?’ Kim asked.
‘That’s when the psychic has prior knowledge or contact with the subject.’
‘And what—’
‘Inspector, I don’t wish to hurry you along but…’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘We have taken quite a bit of your time.’
‘I’ve enjoyed chatting but I really must get back to the day job. Hard enough trying to work amongst this bombsite.’
Kim knew she had to leave but she had so many more questions, so much more she wanted to learn.
The answer slapped her in the face.
She had an idea that could be a solution to both of their problems.
THIRTY-FOUR
Stacey turned to the next job at hand. Do some digging around the disappearance of Rose Foster’s son.
She typed in the details from the boss and refamiliarised herself with the case.
Fifteen-year-old Bradley Foster had been riding to school with his friend Josh Adams, as he always did. His mother claimed there was nothing out of the ordinary. He’d done his half wave from the gate before setting off with his friend.
From Josh’s point of view, they’d been riding together on their way to school when Bradley called out to race to the end of the woods. Not unusual. They’d often punctuated the three-mile journey with short races. Bradley had sped off, and while changing gear Josh had slipped his chain, forcing him to get off the bike and reattach the chain before making chase. He’d exited the woods to see a white Transit van pulling off the pavement and speeding away.
He’d found it a bit strange, also that his buddy hadn’t waited for him. It was only when Bradley was nowhere to be seen at school that Josh remembered the white van and raised the alarm.
Extensive searching had been carried out for weeks with hundreds of volunteers coming out to help. Not one thing was found and the team was eventually broken up and reassigned. Just over a year after his disappearance, his clothes, bike and a patch of blood had been found at the northern edge of Cannock Chase.
Cadaver dogs were utilised but hadn’t come up with anything. Obvious new mounds in a half-mile radius had been checked but nothing further had been found. No similar incidents had been reported by other police forces, so the DCI heading the case had concluded that Bradley was buried somewhere on the Chase but was unlikely to be found. The case was still active but everyone had accepted that Bradley Foster was dead.
From what Stacey could see, the investigation had been thorough and well-managed. There was nothing untoward, and all officers appeared to be above reproach.
She was about to start a short report when the boss walked in the door.
‘Where’s Penn?’ she asked by way of a greeting.
‘He’s just—’
‘Right here,’ Penn said, a few paces behind.
‘Good,’ the boss said, taking off her jacket.
She looked accusingly at the empty coffee machine, but Bryant was already en route to fix that particular problem.
‘Just checked out the Bradley Foster case, boss,’ Stacey said, getting in first. ‘All in order. Nothing doing.’
‘Told you,’ Bryant said, emptying the water into the back of the machine.
The boss ignored him and looked towards Penn. ‘John Doe identified and the family informed?’
‘Done,’ Penn answered.
‘Care to elaborate?’ asked the boss.
