He shrugged. ‘Just wanted to check on you. You know, how mates do.’
She didn’t try to keep the disbelief from her face. ‘Dow treat me like a donkey, Kev. We are many things but we ain’t mates.’
‘Stace, I just—’
‘For the third time, what do you want?’
He put the teacake down and fixed her with a stare.
‘Stace, I am an arsehole. We both know that’s true, but what happened earlier…’ His words trailed away as he shook his head and looked back at the teacake.
It took Stacey a moment to catch up. She couldn’t believe it was still on his mind. He was right when he admitted to being an arsehole; but he wasn’t a nasty arsehole. He often gave the impression that nothing penetrated his cocky exterior but sometimes, just occasionally, something got through.
‘Oh, Kev, ignore me. I didn’t mean anything by it.’
‘So, why say it?’ he asked. ‘You know there’s not a racist bone in my body.’
She shrugged. ‘Sometimes your arrogance needs a bit of a shake, Kev. You think you have all the answers all the time. It riles me, because you leave no room for improvement.’
‘Huh?’ he said, as he reached again for the teacake.
‘Everything changes over time; things grow, adapt, learn and become more. Except you. You’re the same person I met two years ago.’
He offered her a chewy smile. ‘But don’t you love me just the way I am?’
‘No, Kev, I don’t,’ she said. ‘Because I think you can be more.’
She watched as the top of her teacake disappeared completely. He rubbed his hands together above the plate to dust off the crumbs.
She touched her own cheek to demonstrate the ones he’d left behind. He brushed and they were gone. A smile bubbled somewhere within her. Sometimes he really was just like a little boy.
‘What was it like, Stace?’ he asked suddenly. ‘What was school like for you?’
She was about to brush him off with a flippant comment until she saw the humour in his eyes had been replaced with gentle curiosity.
‘Difficult, Kev,’ she said, honestly. ‘I was surrounded by two different types of people. People that were horrible to me because of my colour and people that were overly nice to me because of it, trying to prove to themselves and to me that it didn’t matter. Often expecting gratitude because they “didn’t care”,’ she said, sighing. ‘Anyone who is different in any way is fair game for the bullies.’
These were not memories she wanted to relive. Suddenly she remembered something.
‘Weren’t you the fat kid?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘Oh yeah.’
‘So, to some degree you get what I mean,’ she said. ‘So, what did you do?’
‘I lost weight,’ he said, quietly, as a measure of understanding came into his face.
She raised her eyebrow in response. No amount of weight loss would have changed the colour of her skin.
‘Got it,’ he said, smiling. But not before she saw the wave of sadness pass over his features.
But, as pleasant as his impromptu visit was, she was eager to get back to Justin Reynolds’s laptop. She took a quick look at her watch.
‘Bloody hell, Stace. You been taking subtlety lessons from the boss?’
‘No, I didn’t mean…’
It was exactly what she’d meant and he knew it.
‘So, we’re all good?’ he asked, sincerely.
‘Yeah, Kev, we’re fine,’ she answered.
‘Okay, see you tomorrow,’ he said, tapping her right shoulder.
She didn’t respond, as he was already out of earshot.
As far as Dawson was concerned racism was as simple as a black-and-white negative; racist or not, bigot or not. To explain the shades of grey that existed between the two extremes would take far too long. And right now she just didn’t have the time.
She opened the laptop lid and the log in screen flashed into life.
It suddenly occurred to her that many people used the name of a loved one instead of their own.
She tried variations of Justin’s birthday and his mother’s name.
Nothing.
She tried Justin’s dates with the name of his father.
Nothing.
She tried Justin’s dates with the name of his sister.
Still no joy.
Suddenly she looked around to find the café had emptied around her. Priscilla was busy with a mop and bucket.
Finally, she tried his sister’s name and the date of her death.
She sat back as the screen flashed into life.
Bingo. She was in.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Every light shone from the farmhouse, guiding their path to the rest of the parked vehicles, and once again highlighting the squalor and filth of the property. Rusted pieces of machinery were propped against the walls of the outbuildings. A pile of straw covered in excrement sat ten feet away from the side of the house. Half-opened bags of cattle feed were strewn everywhere.
A cordon stretched from the drainpipe on the side of the farmhouse to a tree at the end of the gravel drive, approximately ten feet from the bloodstain where Billy Cowley had been shot.
Kim cringed as she saw a well-fed rat scurry unashamedly across the mud towards the old barn.
‘Even though it’s a shit hole, Travis, I’d like to know why they’ve paid no rent for so many years,’ Kim said, with disgust.
‘Yeah, not even a token amount,’ he agreed, as they headed towards the cottage.
Unsurprisingly, Fiona was waiting for them at the front door.
They had been held up by a poorly parked taxi collecting a very frail, elderly man. By the time she’d managed to exit the hospital, Fiona was long gone and had certainly made it home in time to feed her father the story she wanted him to tell.
Her red Jaguar was parked at the very edge of the property as though she didn’t want it contaminated.
Kim could understand it. She counted six other vehicles: four ranging in age from seven to fifteen years, and two techie vans. Kim recognised the brogues of a masked technician named Ben who had worked on many of the cases she’d been involved in.
‘Hey,’ she said, standing beside him as he took fresh evidence bags from the rear of the van. ‘Anyone being obstructive?’
He removed the mask and smiled. ‘Just attentive,’ he said, nodding towards the doorway.
Yeah, she could believe it.
‘Special attention to the fibres, if you can, Ben,’ she said, remembering Doctor A’s recent discovery.
‘No probs,’ he said, as she headed towards the house.
‘That was quick,’ Kim said, as she stepped past the scowling woman into the home.
‘You can’t just—’
‘Yes, we can,’ Kim answered. This woman had obstructed the investigation enough. The warrant had been served while they were at the hospital and Fiona Cowley knew who they were. There was no need for further explanation, and Kim was in no doubt that this woman knew more than she was letting on.