A small smile tugged at her lips as she heard the familiar tap, tap, tap on laminate.
She hated bringing negativity home. Her best friend had had enough in his few short years.
‘Hey, boy,’ she said, leaning down to rub at his head. Barney jumped up, trying to press his head even closer into her hand. She took off her jacket and lowered herself to the ground.
‘Come here, you little terror.’ She laughed as he jumped all over her legs.
As usual the dog walked behind her. The Border collie was busy rounding her up towards the food cupboard.
He sat and looked up at her expectantly.
As she looked down his full tail swished across the floor. She smiled and reached into the cupboard. She took a teeth-cleaning chew and asked for his paw.
He gave his left then his right then his left again, doing a little dance that never failed to raise a smile from her lips.
He took the chew and trotted proudly to the rug in the lounge, the place he always took his booty.
As she filled the percolator jug, she knew that she would never be without him.
But even his enthusiastic welcome had failed to lift the cloud for more than a few minutes.
She had tried to convince herself that it was her current case.
She hated this stage of a new investigation. It was the most frustrating part, getting to know her victim, trying to get inside the mind of the killer.
Some clues came from the life of the victim and others came from their death. So far, other than a complete dickhead for a boyfriend and a break-in attempt at her home, there was very little of Jemima’s life to pick apart. She’d only been back in the country for a short while and it was unlikely she’d made any new enemies in that time. Unlikely but not impossible.
Waiting for the clues of her death was like being stuck in the middle lane of the motorway at rush hour. You look for different ways to go but you’re just not moving anywhere.
Kim tried to superimpose the photo she’d seen of Jemima at the Lowes’ home on top of the bloody, battered mess that she’d been left with.
There was so much about this murder that was personal. Her instinct was telling her that Jemima had not been some random woman taken with no thought or care. Her killer had wanted her for a reason.
Kim applied her usual logic of deeds done past, present or future. Jemima appeared to be no threat to anyone. She wasn’t involved in any project that was going to harm or threaten anyone. Her present was equally vanilla. Although Kim thought that if she’d been able to collar Roach for it and get away with it, she might be tempted. Any loss to the human race, women in particular, he was not. But the more she pictured the viciousness and passion that had gone into the attack, the more certain she became that he was not their man.
Which left only Jemima’s past – and that’s where they would begin tomorrow.
She knew it wasn’t the only thing bothering her.
It was the bloody commendation that was at the core of her misery, for more reasons than one.
Kim disliked public recognition for doing her job. Yes, it had been a hard and trying case, and yes she had eaten, breathed and slept the investigation. But that’s what she’d signed up for and receiving a piece of paper in front of a few hundred people was not what had prompted her application to the police force.
The commendation meant little to her but would have meant everything to Keith and Erica. The irony was that the ceremony was to be held on the anniversary of their deaths.
This time of year brought forth many cherished moments of her time in their care, but it also prodded at a day that, when recalled, had the power to bring her to her knees.
Kim did what was second nature when memories from her past threatened to overwhelm her.
She turned to work and opened the file of a man named Bob.
Nineteen
Oh, Mummy, I remember a little girl named Lindsay. She lived just down the street with her two daddies.
I found it strange that she had two and I had none. Her daddies were named Maxwell and Clint. You showed me my birth certificate when I asked. And my daddy’s name was ‘unknown’. You convinced me we didn’t need one; that families were made of all different types of people and some families didn’t have a mummy and some families didn’t have a daddy. And like everything else I accepted it.
One of Lindsay’s daddies dropped her at our house one day. She was such a pretty little girl. Her hair was blonde and curly, natural curls that constantly invaded her face.
She had an adorable little head shake to dislodge the unruly curls from her eyes. I remember her eyelashes. They were long and black, framing eyes that were as blue as the summer sky. Her cheeks were rosy and round and she had happy lips. That’s how I’ve always remembered them, Mummy, as happy lips because even when she was frowning her lips looked like they were having fun.
I liked her, Mummy, and you liked her too.
I was so excited when she came for tea that night. It was the very first time and I couldn’t wait. She was dressed in a bright yellow frock that reflected her golden hair. She wore brilliant white stockings that made her legs look like chubby little tree trunks. Her white buckle shoes were finished off with polka-dot bows that matched the one in her hair.
She was excited and so was I.
We played so nicely at first. A game that you chose. We giggled and chuckled and you smiled at us both. Oh, Mummy, how I loved to see that smile.
You left the room to make our tea. It was going to be sausage, egg and beans – my favourite.
Lindsay nudged me and I fell over. I giggled as I nudged her back. Within minutes we were wrestling all over the floor. We were laughing and playing, our dresses and best clothes were getting creased and ripped, but we didn’t care. We were too busy laughing to notice.
You stepped back into the room and the look on your face had changed. I knew I’d done something wrong.
You called Lindsay’s father to collect her and she never came back again.
You always made my friends leave, Mummy, and now I must do the same.
Twenty
Kim had read through the file before she’d taken Barney for his nightly walk.
The humidity of the night had dissuaded her from the drive to the Clent Hills. Even with all the windows down, the small car was like a Dudley furnace working overtime.
She wasn’t sure Barney was all that bothered about where they walked. A field was a field and his nose went into overdrive picking up the new scents wherever they went. Owner projection, she considered, made her think Barney preferred a car trip to the local beauty spot.
He plonked himself on the rug in the middle of the room while she returned to the paper explosion at the dining table. Her mind had been busy as they’d walked the park.
Yes, Bob appeared to be a mystery but surely not an unfathomable one. Many questions were rattling around in her head.
Why that particular reservoir – did it hold any significance? Was Bob a fisherman? Had the locals known him? Why had it been so important to hide his identity? Were his stomach contents important? What about the items found in his pocket… what help could they get from some pound coins and a raffle ticket?
There was nothing remarkable about Bob. He was an overweight middle-aged man who had been found on the edge of a reservoir. He was an average guy that no one seemed to have missed, but he was something to someone and that was what bothered her. If nothing else he had been someone’s son.