The area was a nature reserve that had once been part of Pensnett Chase, a medieval hunting ground of the barons of Dudley. Like most of the rest of the Chase, it had been gradually turned to industrial use, including coal mining, clay extraction and a brickworks.
Part of the Earl of Dudley’s private railways ran across the area. The collieries and clay pits closed in the early twentieth century but the brickworks and railway only closed in the 1960s.
Some of the ponds had been formed from old clay pits but the three largest reservoirs, Grove Pool, Middle Pool and Fens Pool in the north-eastern part of the reserve, had been constructed by the Stourbridge Canal Company in 1776 and were the largest areas of open water in Dudley. A fourth pool called Foot’s Hole lay to the south-west and was separated from the others by the Dell Sports Stadium.
Kim knew it was a popular spot for fishing and the ninety-two-acre site had been designated an area of special scientific interest.
She looked beyond the first pool to the grass bank that ran between the water and the canal.
‘That’s where he was found,’ she said, pointing.
There were areas one could sit and feel miles away from the built-up industrial area close by and other places where the sprawling housing estate and trade units were clearly within view.
‘Who?’ Bryant asked.
‘Unidentified male with his fingers cut off, a few years ago.’
‘Didn’t Brierley Hill solve that one?’
Kim shook her head. ‘No, Bob is still a guest of the coroner in a cold, dark drawer.’
‘Bob?’ he asked, narrowing his eyes.
‘Not my term, but it’ll do until we find his real name.’
And Kim wasn’t exactly sure how she was going to do that. Her only potential clues had been removed. All that was left was his clothing, the change in his pockets and an old raffle ticket. Dental records were a good form of identification, but you had to know where to start.
There were no family members harassing the police force for progress reports on the murder of their father, brother, uncle. The missing-persons reports would have been searched when the body was first found so no one cared enough about Bob even to file a report.
He appeared to have been missed by no one – and that in itself was enough to burrow under her skin.
‘Ah, bittern,’ Bryant said.
‘By what?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘Bittern the bird. Over there by the tall grass.’
‘Didn’t have you down as a twitcher,’ she said, turning away.
He sighed heavily. ‘Ummm… remind me again why we’re looking at this?’
Kim was about to say, ‘Because no one else was,’ but the thought was cut off by the ringing of her mobile phone.
The number was withheld.
‘Stone,’ she answered.
‘Inspector, it’s Jo. You were here just a little—’
‘Is Jane okay?’ she asked urgently. She had left a card with the ward sister and asked to be informed of any type of development.
‘Yes, she’s fine. No change. Except her name’s not Jane. It’s Isobel.’
‘How do you know?’
‘That’s what her boyfriend told us. He called and is on his way here.’
Twenty-Nine
Stacey stared hard at the computer. Something about the entry of the records for Catherine Evans was not quite adding up.
Her birth certificate was there but new documents out of place always left a trail, no matter how skilfully inserted into the records. And this one was highlighted by a software change.
A different file type had been in use up until the late eighties so if Catherine’s birth certificate had been issued back then it would have been the old file type. It was the one that matched the system upgrade in 1999 prior to the widespread panic over the millennium bug. Software companies had injected the fear of God into everyone and especially the government, local councils and health authorities, hinting that older systems would be unable to maintain date and time facilities once the clock tried to click into a new century, never mind a new millennium.
Worldwide, private companies had sought confirmation and guarantees from suppliers that systems would not fail. Contingency arrangements, business continuity plans and disaster-recovery manuals had all been set up to prepare for the second it switched over.
The whole thing had fizzled out like a damp firework as the anticipated chaos failed to materialise.
Catherine’s birth certificate stated 15 June 1983 but had not been entered on to the system until 2001, when Catherine was eighteen years old.
Fifteen minutes later, Stacey had tracked the issue of a medical card registered to Catherine Evans. Also registered as June 1983 but entered in the late nineties.
Stacey sat back in her chair. The palm of her hand rested on the mouse but her fingers tapped absently.
Why the eighteen-year delay in registering the details?
The words ‘new identity’ screamed in her head. Documents being inserted at a later date trying to look like authentic records hinted at an invented identity. This was not a name change by deed poll instigated by the woman herself. This level of expertise pointed only one way. The state.
Why the hell would Catherine Evans have been given a new identity?
Stacey felt the excitement building in her stomach. She was on to something and she knew it.
She went back to the date of insertion and began to work back from that.
Whatever it was, it would have made the news.
Thirty
Kim stepped into the ward for the second time that day.
Jo smiled as she approached the desk. ‘He arrived a few minutes after I got off the phone.’
‘May I?’ she asked, taking a step away from the desk.
Jo nodded.
A dark-haired male sat beside the bed with his back hunched and his head bowed. He wore a black T-shirt and jeans and was holding tightly on to Isobel’s right hand.
‘Excuse me…’
His head snapped up and she saw a handsome face ravaged by fear and worry. His skin was pleasantly tanned as though he’d been working outside or just returned from holiday. A quick assessment of his height gave her a guessing measurement of one similar to her own five foot nine. He wore hiking boots, adding to her theory that he worked outside. His arm muscles were not overly developed but were definitely used. Light stubble was peeking through his lower jawline.
‘Detective Inspector Stone,’ she said. ‘And you are?’
He offered her a shy smile. ‘Duncan… my name is Duncan Adams and I’m Isobel’s boyfriend.’
Kim looked around. ‘How did you know she was here?’
He coloured slightly. ‘She didn’t text me on Monday night. I always sent her a goodnight message and she would send one back if she could. I sent one but got no reply. I didn’t think too much of it as we were due to meet on Tuesday anyway. When she didn’t turn up I knew something was wrong.’
‘Did you try and call?’ Kim asked.
He nodded. ‘All through the night and when I got no response I rang the police to see if there had been any, umm… incidents. They noted my call and advised me to try the local hospitals. I spoke to admissions who confirmed there was no one under Isobel’s name but an unidentified woman had been rushed into the HDU.’ He nodded towards the nurses’ station. ‘I was put through to Jo who asked me some questions and then I got here as fast as I could.’
‘How did you confirm the woman was Isobel?’ Kim asked.
He pointed to his wrist.
Of course – the scars, Kim realised.
‘How long have you been seeing Isobel?’ she asked.
‘About two months,’ he said.
‘Do you know Isobel’s last name?’
‘Jones. Her last name is Jones,’ he answered emphatically.
Bloody great, Kim thought.
‘How did you meet?’ Kim asked, praying they had met at work.
A smile spread across his face, which lit the affection in his eyes. ‘Believe it or not, I swept her off her feet – or rather knocked her off them. I was hurtling out of the phone shop and she was coming out of Costa. We collided and I’m sorry to say that she got the worst of it. Her coffee was all over the floor and I insisted on buying her another. It was the least I could do.