‘I am,’ said Bryant at the same time.
Yeah, that had worked out well for her. From where she was sitting, either one of them would be a disaster. This Gary Flint had managed to aggravate them both.
‘How about I do it?’ Stacey asked.
‘Not a fucking chance,’ Dawson shot back.
Stacey felt the irritation bubble inside her.
‘Well, you clearly cor,’ she observed, as his hand clenched around his pen. ‘He’s managed to rattle you, already.’
‘Sorry, Stace, but you’re not going anywhere near him,’ Dawson repeated.
Stacey bristled at the finality of the statement. He had no bloody right to tell her what to do. Yes, he was a sergeant and she was a constable, and officially he outranked her, but they had never played that way.
‘Kev, I’m a bloody police officer who—’
‘And he is a filthy piece of shit who should be lobotomised and then boiled like a lobster,’ Dawson offered.
‘Bryant?’ she appealed.
He shook his head. ‘I’m with Dawson on this.’
Bloody great, she thought. The one time they decided to agree, it was against her.
She threw down her pen. ‘This is because he’s a racist pig?’ she asked.
They looked at each other and said nothing.
‘You’re trying to protect me against a bigot that hates black people?’
‘Stace, he’s not just a bigot. He’s vicious…’
‘Then where the hell were you when I was five years old, Kev?’ she stormed. ‘Cos there’s nothing more vicious than a group of kids making monkey gestures at you every day.’
The memory still burned, almost twenty years on.
‘Stace, we just don’t want…’
‘Kev, listen to me,’ she said, as Bryant answered his phone. ‘I dow even care about people like Gary Flint. Although I find his views sickening and repulsive, I appreciate his honesty. He cor hurt me because his opinion means nothing to me.’
She picked up her pen and stabbed the desk with it. ‘Do you want to know what really gets my goat?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘It’s all the people who claim they’re not racist and qualify the claim with “my best friend is black” or “my boyfriend’s sister’s partner’s next-door neighbour’s cat is black”. I hate the way people search around their social circle for a token black person on which to pin their declaration. Now that annoys me. Not the overt, mouthy bastards shouting loudly that they’re racist, but the stealthy ones who constantly claim they’re not.’
Kev looked at her aghast. ‘You prefer Gary Flint to…’
‘I prefer people that are consistent in their views and stand for their convictions, however warped they might be. People who refuse to order a Chinese takeaway or won’t use the corner shop for a pint of milk because it’s owned by a Pakistani family. These people are idiots but you can spot ’em a mile off.’
‘Jesus, Stace, not everyone is…’
‘Kev, how did your parents react when the first black or Asian family moved into your street?’ she asked, pointedly.
He frowned and shook his head. ‘They weren’t at all bothered,’ he said.
‘At all?’ she pushed.
‘Well, they were cautious. Understandably.’
Stacey felt the sad smile creep onto her face.
‘Why cautious and why understandably?’ she asked, quietly.
She could see the colour seeping into Dawson’s face as he realised how easily and naturally he had accepted his family’s suspicion of a ‘foreign’ presence. And agreed with it.
Stacey held his gaze for a moment before looking away.
‘No one is interviewing Flint,’ said Bryant.
His words thundered between them.
‘His alibi is watertight. He was at work all night. And as he’s no longer part of Henryk’s investigation, Woody has passed him on to another team to question him about the threats to the family. He wants our focus completely on the assault case.’
Stacey nodded and reached for her handbag.
She had to get out of the office. And she knew where she had to go.
Something had shifted between herself and her colleague. Something she would struggle to define.
As she passed by his desk, she paused.
‘Kev, it’s people like you I fear, way more than Gary Flint.’
THIRTY-ONE
Both Kim and Travis were silent once they got back into the car.
The male victim had been rushed away in an ambulance while the medic was still working to keep him alive. The female was en route to the morgue and the van driver was being checked over in the second ambulance.
Traffic officers had cordoned off the road and got vehicles moving again, while uniforms had begun corralling all potential witnesses. More CID officers had arrived, relieving them, and a specialist RTA investigative team was just a couple of miles out. They hadn’t left until the scene had been in order.
‘You wanna go back to the station?’ she asked, starting the engine.
They had just dealt with a traumatic incident, Travis more so than her.
He shook his head and focussed on a spot of blood on his thumb.
‘You want to pop back for anything?’ he asked.
‘Nah, I’m good,’ she said. She was surprised he’d asked. It was the closest he’d come to being human with her since they’d started this case. Part of her wanted to take this opportunity to address the issues of the past. But now was not the time. Detective Inspector or not, the adrenaline was still surging around his body trying to moderate itself back to normal. What he needed right now was to be left alone. And for once she was happy to oblige.
It wasn’t until she turned into the drive of Donnay Hall, on the outskirts of Bromsgrove, that she offered a little whistle.
It was a property she had passed many times and assumed it was a National Trust site, not a family home. The pristine gravel separated two lush green lawns and appeared to lead directly to the front door that was set at the centre of the Elizabethan mansion.
As she progressed towards it, the trees lining the driveway gave way to an open view of the oversized fountains on either side. Symmetrical dolphins spouted water at each other across the front entrance.
Had Bryant been in the car beside her they would have played their ‘guess the value of the property’ game. Her opening bid would have been a little shy of 8 million.
Jeez, how she missed Bryant.
She briefly considered confessing to the crimes herself if it would end this investigation, and her torture, quicker. With good behaviour, she could be out just before she died.
Kim parked her car between a brand new Range Rover and a motorcycle. Although, Kim knew from one glance it was no ordinary motorcycle.
A man appeared from the side of the house, trailed by two black Labradors. He raised his hand to shield his eyes from the low November sun and then began to move towards them.
There was an assurance in the stride that Kim detected immediately. His casual attire of jeans, jumper and gilet said ‘gardener’. His confidence said ‘Owner’.