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Kim looked to Bryant, who shrugged in response. He was as bewildered by the whole thing as she was.
They had a dead body with no obvious signs of violence. They had a location that might or might not be a crime scene. No witnesses, no obvious cause of death and no real proof that any crime had been committed.
‘What now, Inspector?’ Keats asked.
‘Probably about time we all got to work and solved this thing.’
FOUR
It was almost lunchtime when Kim finally rested her backside on the edge of the spare desk.
Since returning to the office, she’d spoken to the hospital, confirmed the man’s death, gained his identity and details, and despatched Inspector Plant to inform the family.
She’d also replied to Woody’s shouty text message about her sudden disappearance from the earlier meeting. He was somewhat mollified when she explained there had been a body, not a body, and then a body again, and had demanded a full explanation by email. As the hours of the day wore on, she had become more convinced that her boss really was unwell and hadn’t just been trying to avoid the meeting.
‘Okay, folks, our man is thirty-year-old Eric Gould from Colley Gate. Inspector Plant is with the family now, and his personal belongings have been collected from the hospital by Mitch for forensic examination.’ She took a sip of coffee. ‘And before you ask, yes, Keats pronounced him dead a little prematurely, and if that fact leaves this room, someone will be looking for another job.’
Nobody spoke.
‘I’m sure you’re all wondering how that could have happened, and I’m sure Keats is too. Hopefully, the post-mortem will tell us more. Until we’re told any different, Eric is our victim and we want to know exactly what happened to him. It’s clear that he was incapacitated in some way.’ She paused. ‘My biggest question right now is why. It’s safe to assume Eric didn’t put himself into that state or that position. So what’s it all about?’ Kim asked, trying to imagine what it must have felt like for the young man if he’d been conscious.
Had he heard the police officers approaching? Had he thought he was going to be saved? Had he felt hope? Had his mind been unimpaired even while his body was useless to him? She shuddered at the thought. It was like being buried alive – the frustration, the futility. The feeling of trying to make yourself known, of trying to communicate while being talked about as though you were already dead.
‘Stace, get on to his socials. I want to know what kind of man he was.’
‘Will do,’ Stacey said, sliding her notepad over her mobile phone. Despite it being on silent, Kim could see the screen was alight.
‘Do you need to get that?’ she asked, more so that the constable didn’t think these things were going unnoticed.
Stacey shook her head. ‘Getting a lot of nuisance calls, life insurance and stuff. My number is obviously on someone’s database.’
A simple ‘no’ would have done fine. Bryant’s words rang in her ear again, but she had to trust that if Stacey needed anything from her, she’d ask.
‘Penn, head over to Keats,’ she said. ‘He’s going to want to interrogate this one pretty quickly.’
‘On it,’ Penn replied, opening his drawer for a tie.
‘Oh, and don’t even—’
‘Not a chance, boss,’ he answered, assuring her he’d make no mention of the pathologist’s mistake.
Only she was allowed to enjoy that pleasure.
FIVE
Stacey let out the breath she’d been holding, and as she did, some of the tension flowed out of her shoulders.
She allowed her head to fall into her hands and rubbed at her face vigorously, fighting away the fatigue that was like a constant shadow looming behind her.
It was hard to remember a time when her stomach hadn’t been full of anxiety, sometimes so overwhelming that she struggled to force breath into her lungs. Often the fear of not being able to breathe brought forth a panic that made her heart race and her vision blur. She’d taken to reciting the phonetic alphabet over and over in her mind until her breathing regulated. Once that had stabilised, the fatigue would sneak up on her, taking back the energy expended from the fight-or-flight state her body was being propelled into countless times every day.
Tears threatened to spill out, but she gulped them back. She’d been forced to lie again when her phone had lit up. It was an unknown number, which only meant Birch had bought yet another phone after she’d blocked every number he’d used. Lies on top of lies, every single day, which made her feel even shittier. Why hadn’t she spoken to the boss when it all started a couple of months ago, when she’d realised her confrontation with Terence Birch hadn’t done her any good? She thought she’d made it abundantly clear that she had no interest in him and that he should leave her alone. But it only seemed to have made him worse.
She wondered how many times his previous victim, Charlotte Danks, had felt the exact same way she did now. How often, during her ten-year ordeal, had she hoped and prayed he’d just leave her alone? His relentless pursuit of the woman through letters, messages, phone calls and following her everywhere she went had driven her to move halfway around the world. Even prison hadn’t dampened his passion, and within a day of being released, he’d been back to his old tricks.
Stacey’s own experience in the last two months had given her a full understanding of Charlotte’s actions, as her torment seemed to escalate with every passing week. Deliveries of flowers at work had increased. The first few times they’d arrived she’d been alone and no questions had been asked, but she’d since been forced to leave an instruction at the front desk that any further deliveries were to be binned immediately or sent back to the florist. In response to Jack’s questioning gaze, she’d told him that she was being pranked.
Terence must have been watching the florist return the blooms to the van because the deliveries had pretty much stopped. But the constant messaging to her phone and social-media accounts hadn’t. The minute she blocked him, he just found another way to contact her. His most recent attempts were via the post, knowing she couldn’t block that.
