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‘Sandra Deakin aka local medium also known as Psychic Sandy.’
Kim heard a sound and realised that the groan in her head had found its way out of her mouth.
FOUR
‘Not a believer in psychics, eh, guv?’ Bryant asked as they headed down the stairs.
‘Have you met me?’ she answered, rolling her eyes.
Bryant said nothing as he buzzed them out of the building.
Although bright, there was a nip in the air as the mid-March temperatures struggled to get into double digits.
‘Don’t tell me you think there’s something in it?’ she asked as they approached the car.
He shrugged. ‘I’ve seen too much stuff to rule it out. I’ve watched shows on TV and there’s things that can’t be explained away by the sceptics.’
‘Cheap parlour tricks,’ she dismissed, fastening her seat belt.
Bryant opened his mouth and then thought better of it, staying silent as they pulled out of the car park and headed towards the home of Sandra Deakin.
Hawne was a residential area approximately one mile from the town centre.
It was just after seven thirty and traffic was starting to build as they passed the site of Halesowen College.
Bryant took a left and then a sharp right through a set of decorative iron gates with a post box on the right-hand side. He negotiated three wheelie bins along the wall to take the last space beside two other cars: an old E-type Jaguar and a Nissan Micra.
‘Nice,’ Bryant said as they got out the car.
He was right. It was nice but not spectacular, and Kim had the feeling of being underwhelmed after the promise of the ornate gated entrance.
They mounted the steps that led from the driveway up to a detached bungalow formed of orange brick and oak-coloured window frames. As she knocked, Kim could see that although the house was set in about half an acre of land, it was overlooked to both the rear and the left side.
The door was answered by a man in his mid-forties wearing jeans and a Weird Fish jumper. His eyes were reddened and numb.
‘Mr Deakin?’
He nodded and moved aside for them to enter without bothering to look at the IDs they’d held up.
She stepped inside. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Stone and this is my colleague DS Bryant.’
He closed the door behind them and pointed to a door on the left.
Kim took a seat on the sofa, and Bryant took a single chair.
‘Mr Deakin, we’re sorry for your loss,’ her colleague offered as the grieving man sat down on the other single chair.
Mr Deakin rubbed at his face before his hands ran through his hair, leaving salt-and-pepper tufts. His chin was rough with stubble.
‘There’s a part of me praying that you’re going to tell me there’s been some kind of mistake, that you’ve got the wrong person, even though she still hasn’t come home. I want you to tell me that she wasn’t really dead, but the officer wasn’t updated before he came here.’
He lifted his gaze to meet hers, waiting.
Kim said nothing.
‘You know, I never knew just how cruel hope can be. It can kick you in the gut repeatedly,’ he said, realising his prayers were not going to be answered.
She nodded her understanding. ‘We will find whoever did this, Mr Deakin.’
