‘Bloody hell,’ Travis said as they reached the store, which was awash with brightly coloured garments and accessories.
Kim had always loved the vibe of Handsworth, located north-west of Birmingham city centre. It had become the hub for Birmingham’s Afro-Caribbean community following a post-war demand for both skilled and unskilled workers. But the area had suffered from racial tensions since the sixties, and different riots over the years had damaged its reputation. Despite all that, the carnivals and parades that passed through the community were a celebration of life and joy.
Kim took a deep breath before pushing open the door.
The old-fashioned type bell dinged their arrival above her head.
The explosion of colour continued inside the store, but the clothing was arranged artistically, showcasing each individual piece on the wall with room to breathe. The shop displayed traditional Jamaican women’s wear of dresses and skirts and shirts, mainly constructed of calico. Many of the garments were variations of the green, yellow and black of the national flag while others were infused with flashes of bright red. Kim hated small shops that tried to fill every available inch of retail space in a ‘You will like something you see’ kind of way. These garments said ‘enjoy me’.
She approached the small single till area located halfway down the shop.
A woman in her mid-to-late forties smiled pleasantly in her direction. She wore one of the colour blocked dresses hanging in the window with a traditional headscarf.
The look turned suspicious when she spied Travis trailing behind.
‘Adaje James?’ Kim asked, removing her identification.
The woman tucked her straightened ebony hair behind her ears, revealing a small gold studded earring in her lobe.
‘I used to be. I’m Adaje Sumner now,’ she said, holding up her left hand.
‘Daughter of Jacob James?’
She nodded, slowly.
‘Is there someone else here?’ Kim asked. They needed her full attention.
Mrs Sumner shook her head. ‘Not for another hour or so,’ she said.
‘We really need to talk without interruption,’ Kim said, looking towards the door.
‘Have you found him?’ she asked, softly.
Kim looked again towards the door. This was not a conversation she wanted to start while there was the possibility of customers disturbing them.
Mrs Sumner stepped around the desk, revealing a quad screen CCTV system behind.
She turned the sign on the door to ‘closed’ and slid the bottom bolt.
‘Please, follow me,’ she said, heading to the back of the store.
Kim followed past a row of curtained changing rooms to a door marked ‘Staff Only’ and then left into a small but tidy break room. A square wooden table sat in the centre.
They all took a seat around it.
Mrs Sumner’s fingers laced together.
‘Have you found him?’ she repeated. Her eyes stayed on Kim.
‘Possibly,’ Kim said. ‘But we need to ask you a few questions.’
The woman leaned her forearms on the table as though grounding herself, bracing for impact.
She nodded.
‘Did your father have any old bone injuries?’ Kim asked. Doctor A had established two potential indicators of a positive identification.
‘The bone in his left arm?’ Kim continued.
‘Was broken in a football match in his early twenties,’ she said. ‘It was just after I was born.’
Kim felt the familiar sensation of excitement mixed with dread, as she asked the second question. ‘Any injury to the knee?’ But she already knew the answer.
‘An accident at work in the late eighties,’ she confirmed.
‘And when exactly did your father go missing, Mrs Sumner?’
‘October 17th in ’89.’
‘And it was you who reported his disappearance?’
She nodded. ‘There were only the two of us, officer,’ she said, quietly. ‘My father came from Jamaica in the fifties. The work situation was dire, and he was unskilled. He got a job in a printing factory and worked hard. He met my mother there. They married, and I came along in ’67.’
The woman’s smooth skin belied her forty plus years.
‘I lost my mum in ’77 to leukaemia. There was a street party outside the day she died,’ Mrs Sumner said.
‘A street party?’ Travis asked.
‘Queen’s Jubilee,’ she answered. ‘That left just me and Dad. He carried on working at the printers. Never had one day off sick,’ she said proudly. ‘Right until it closed in ’85. After that he went from labouring job to casual work, unable to find anything steady.’
‘What about when he disappeared?’ Kim asked. ‘Had there been any issues? Anyone he was having problems with?’
‘What are you saying?’ she asked, frowning.
‘We just need to understand events close to his disappearance before—’
‘You have found him, haven’t you?’ she asked. ‘Those two questions have confirmed it or else you’d be gone by now.’
Like many relatives of missing people, Mrs Sumner may have held on to the belief that her father was still wandering around somewhere. There was a thin line between hope and delusion.
‘We think so, Mrs Sumner,’ she said, honestly. This woman had waited long enough, and Kim was suitably convinced they were talking about the same man.
The tears gathered in Mrs Sumner’s eyes but she blinked them away.
‘I had no real hope, if I’m honest,’ she admitted. ‘So many years. As each one passed I tried to remain hopeful, but I knew he would not have stayed away so long. We were very close.’
Kim nodded her understanding.
‘How did he do it?’ she asked, unsure.
It was clear that this woman wanted to know details ? but also didn’t want to hear them.
‘Do what?’ Travis asked.
‘Commit suicide,’ she answered, as though it was obvious.
‘What makes you think your father took his own life?’ Kim asked.
‘Because he left of his own accord. He was depressed; he couldn’t find work. He was in dreadful agony but still he searched for work every day. I’ve questioned myself every day if I should have done more. How could I have prevented it? How did I fail him?’
Kim was caught off guard. This woman had spent more than two decades coming to terms with the fact her father had left her and taken his own life. And now she had the task of opening that wound and salting it.
‘Mrs Sumner… I…’
‘Adaje,’ she said. ‘Please call me Adaje.’
‘Okay, Adaje,’ Kim said, gently. ‘Your father didn’t commit suicide. He didn’t leave you all those years ago, and there’s nothing you could have done.’
Adaje began to shake her head slowly, trying to erase all the questions, regret and blame of the last twenty-seven years.
‘I don’t understand,’ she said, licking her lips. ‘Some kind of accident?’
Kim shook her head. ‘It was no accident, Adaje. I regret to inform you that your father was murdered.’
Travis just about caught her before she fell sideways to the ground.
FORTY-NINE