She ended the call and looked to Bryant, who was shaking his head.
‘Looks like we were wrong and you were right, guv, about it being a man,’ he offered.
She snorted as she got into the car. ‘Don’t count my chickens too soon, Bryant, because at this stage who the hell knows anything?’
Seventy-Three
The house of Stuart Hawkins lay behind the Timbertree pub at the mouth of a council estate lodged between Cradley Heath and Belle Vale, Halesowen.
The house had net curtains that were mismatched but appeared clean. The cul-de-sac was small with a thin road separating two rows of properties. With no driveways, parking space was at a premium.
Bryant had parked the car in the turning circle at the closed end of the road.
Kim was about to knock on the door when it opened. The man exiting was tall and dressed in navy overalls, with a clear plastic sandwich box tucked under his arm and a set of car keys positioned in his hand. The initial surprise at the near collision was replaced with a frown.
‘Mr Hawkins?’ Bryant asked quickly.
He nodded, but the puzzled expression remained.
Bryant introduced them.
He made a point of looking at his watch. ‘I’m due to start my shift at—’
‘It’s about Ivor Grogan,’ Kim said.
She had his attention. He hesitated for a second before stepping back into the house and holding open the front door.
The hallway led past a lounge and into the kitchen. What had previously been two rooms had been knocked into one and dressed as a dining room.
Stuart Hawkins placed himself on the other side of the breakfast bar and let go of his sandwich box.
‘We understand your daughter had an incident with Ivor Grogan,’ Kim said.
His jaw tensed and his nostrils flared. ‘You mean she was sexually assaulted by the sick scumbag bastard?’
Yes, that as well, she thought, but her description of the event had been intentional. She had wanted to see his reaction.
‘He was found not guilty?’ Kim asked quietly.
‘Only because of the involvement of the hypnotherapist.’
Kim was confused for a second, but she quickly caught up.
‘How old is your daughter, Mr Hawkins?’
‘Thirty-four now,’ he responded. The fatigue in his voice spoke volumes.
‘Recovered memory?’ Kim asked.
Stuart Hawkins nodded. ‘His defence made all kinds of claims of false memory syndrome or some such shit.’ He paused. ‘I mean, if you were gonna give yourself a false memory, would it really be one like that?’
Kim had to agree that he had a point; however she knew that there were professionals out there who had been entrusted with the safety and well-being of members of the general public and somehow used that to their own advantage. She had almost been destroyed by one such person.
‘Trouble is, the memory is there now with no resolution. Ella can’t get justice for what was done to her. She wishes she’d never visited the hypnotherapist, and don’t even get me started on reporting it to the police.’
‘What prompted Ella to go to the therapist in the first place?’ Kim asked.
‘She couldn’t come to terms with the loss of her mother. She was fifteen when Trish died, and I could have probably handled it better. Ten years later she’s still sleeping around, shoplifting, drinking heavily and even she didn’t know why. After a few months with a psychologist he suggested she visit the hypnotherapist. About a year later she recalled the details of the assault.’
‘May I ask…?’
‘She was eleven years old, and it happened at the swimming baths,’ he stated matter-of-factly. Kim realised he still dealt with it as though it had happened to someone else. If he considered the detail of what he’d just said in relation to his child, she assumed he wouldn’t be quite as calm.
‘How is she now?’ she asked.
‘Still sleeping around and drinking heavily if you want the truth. Before she recalled the memory she was doing it and didn’t know why, and now she’s doing it to forget what she found out. A bit fucked up, don’t you think?’
‘Do you think it will make any difference to her that Ivor Grogan is dead?’ Bryant asked. His identity had been announced on the news the previous evening.
He shook his head. ‘Not to her, but it does to me and before you ask, no it wasn’t me that got him. If I had I’d admit it and do the time. Happily.’
‘Mr Hawkins, that’s—’
‘You got kids?’ he asked Bryant suddenly. ‘Girls?’
‘One,’ Bryant answered.
Stuart nodded. ‘Then don’t pretend to disagree with me because you’ve got your work clothes on.’
He turned back to Kim.
‘Inspector, if I’d done it I’d be able to look my child in the eye again. I’d shake the hand of the man who did. I’ll bet he’s a father too, and he showed more guts than me.’
Kim heard the bitterness. And the guilt. Had Stuart Hawkins exacted revenge for his daughter while also assuaging his guilt? He hadn’t been able to prevent the assault on his child and he had been less than perfect when he’d lost his wife.
The same person had killed both Ivor and Larry, of that she was sure… but the man in front of her had motive only for Ivor.
Kim felt the phone vibrating in her back pocket as Stuart Hawkins picked up his lunch box.
She nodded her thanks and headed back out the door.
‘What’ve you got, Stace?’ she answered.
‘The name of a social worker you might like to meet,’ Stacey answered.
‘Dealings with Graham Studwick?’ Kim clarified.
‘Yeah, boss, the one that took him away when his mum died.’
‘Good work, Stace. Send it to my phone, and keep digging on the name. We need all the information we can get.’
Bryant appeared beside the car as she ended the call.
‘Didn’t really give us a lot, eh?’ Bryant said
‘What it does tell us, Bryant, is that Ivor Grogan had been getting away with abusing kids for years.’
Seventy-Four
Tracy knew that she’d been drugged again. The thing had given her a drink. She had refused, and then his face had changed. The gentle eyes had been suffused with rage and his jaw had been set.
She had felt the danger as he had taken steps towards her, but still she had refused to drink.
He had moved behind her and yanked her head back so quickly that Tracy thought her neck would snap. Her mouth had fallen open with shock and that had been the only advantage he’d needed.
She could feel the drug travelling around her bloodstream, injecting its lethargy into her flesh. The muscles in her body felt as though they were dissolving away from her bones. Every ounce of her strength had been zapped, and she could barely lift her head.
Through the haze she heard the bang of the door above. Her heart hammered in her chest. She knew she couldn’t fight him with her muscles melting away.
She wondered if she could find the strength to talk to him, beg for her life. Had Jemima begged for hers?
Tracy wanted to scream out that she had tried to help, but knew he would answer, Not quickly enough.
And he would be right.
The tears were hot and salty as they fell onto her cheeks, and she knew she was crying for both of them. They’d been children, stupid little children who could never have imagined the repercussions of their actions. That their one act of mindless cruelty could impact him so heavily, that the jibes and laughter could shape the person he would become.
And yet they had done the same to her.
But she had been the one, the only one that had tried to help him. She had understood him even then, had known how it felt and had wanted to end his pain.
The injustice of the situation added bitterness to Tracy’s throat. She knew she was still going to die.
She gulped back the tears. She knew that she shouldn’t displease him. The expression on his face and the rage that had exploded from his pores were not things she wanted to see again.