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She waited for him to apologise for hitting the wrong button and revenge would have been served.
‘You might want to get on your way towards Gornal.’
She was upright and alert. This wasn’t a retaliatory prank.
‘You got something for me.’
‘I have, Inspector.’
She threw the quilt to the other side of the bed.
‘Just one question. Is this one dead?’
‘Oh yes. This one is definitely dead.’
SEVENTEEN
It was almost 5.15a.m. when Kim pulled up at the cordon in Upper Gornal. Situated south of Sedgley, the area had been the target of three bombs by the German Luftwaffe during World War II, but no buildings had been damaged, and there were no civilian casualties. There had been many jokes about people from Upper Gornal having the luck of the devil.
She felt not so lucky being summoned at the crack of dawn. After letting Barney outside, she’d made an instant cup of black coffee that she’d sipped while texting Charlie.
Leaving the house so early before their normal routine had taken place meant Barney would be wondering what was going on. Charlie would feed him, walk him and take him home for company.
Still, she didn’t like hurrying off and leaving him. She’d text Charlie again later and make sure her boy was okay.
She showed her identification and ducked under the tape.
Immediately, she got the sensation that she was late to the party.
There was always an initial sense when arriving at a crime scene as to where they were in the process.
Often, there was a respectful buzz as information was being shared for the first time: the circumstances, the timing, the witness details. Everyone was busily conveying information to the next person along the chain.
As she made her way to the scene, there was less chatter, as though everything had already been done.
She found Keats in conversation with an inspector from the traffic division.
He excused himself as he saw her approach.
‘Keats, what the…?’
‘You’ll see,’ he said, walking straight ahead.
This crime scene bore no resemblance to the one she’d visited the previous day. That one had been organised, planned, calm. This looked like some kind of traffic incident.
Her suspicions were confirmed when she saw a crumpled figure in the middle of the road.
As she drew closer, she saw that it was a male wearing jeans and black trainers. His upper half was covered by a navy fleece. His body was formed of impossible angles that in life would have given the best contortionist a challenge.
Pools of blood had dried around him, confirming her suspicion that this scene was already a few hours old.
‘Keats, this is nothing like my case.’
As tragic and horrific as this was, it was clearly a traffic accident and had nothing to do with her. There was no doubt that to sustain those injuries, he’d been hit by something big or something fast or both.
‘Why am I here?’ she asked, wondering if the prank was still being played.
‘Definitely nothing linked to yesterday,’ he said, nodding to his team that the body could be moved. ‘But I still thought you’d want to know.’
