This good-looking stranger had picked the worst possible day to strike up a conversation with her.
‘Dickhead road-tested it and said it was— hey, mate watch out,’ he said as an older male walking down the aisle fell onto him. Consequently, he pushed Stacey even harder against the window.
‘God, I’m so sorry,’ he said, touching her arm. ‘Are you okay?’
Stacey nodded and turned away, cutting off any contact between them. Right now she just wanted to be in her nice, small, familiar flat.
Two stops later, the male got off the bus. Stacey sighed with relief. Maybe on another day she might have been interested in engaging in conversation, but only negative thoughts were running around in her mind.
She allowed her generous bottom to readjust itself now it had possession of the double seat. Only two more stops and she’d be home herself. Into the shower, a frozen pizza for tea and some warm, comfy pyjamas. She’d probably share a few more poisonous posts, comment on another couple and then immerse herself in World of Warcraft for a couple of hours before bed.
The tension began to ease from her body as she stared at the night ahead.
The woman behind pulled on the metal topper of Stacey’s seat to raise herself to a standing position. Stacey followed suit. It was her stop too.
She reached for her handbag on the seat and felt around, but her fingers knew just a second before her eyes registered the truth.
Justin Reynolds’s laptop was gone.
SIXTY
‘You sure this guy is gonna still be here?’ Bryant asked as they reached the Derbyshire Constabulary in Ripley.
The force was responsible for an area of around 1,000 square miles, with a population of just under 1 million. It was split into two: the more rural north covering the Peak District, and the more urbanised east and south encompassing the city of Derby itself.
The glass-fronted building was the Operational Support Division and housed the Road Policing Unit, Air Support and Armed Response, as well as Uniform Task Force.
‘He said he’d wait,’ Dawson said as Bryant pulled the car to a stop.
‘Yeah, and we said we’d be here by half past seven,’ Bryant observed.
The first half of the fifty-six-mile drive had passed quickly using the M6 toll road but a build-up around Burton-on-Trent had added forty-five minutes to their journey.
They sprinted across the car park. Bryant’s hand was on the door.
‘Hey, you after me?’ said a voice from behind.
They both turned to see a man standing beside a Ford Sierra, smoking a cigarette.
They walked towards him.
‘You had until I’d finished this one and then I was off,’ he said, throwing the cigarette to the floor, demonstrating just how close they’d been.
‘Thank you for waiting,’ Dawson offered, quickly.
‘You the guy I spoke to on the phone?’ he asked.
Dawson nodded and held out his hand. The detective inspector they knew as Wilson returned the handshake.
The man bore an uncanny resemblance to Boris Johnson, Bryant thought as the fringe of his unruly blonde hair fell over his eyes.
‘So, you got something going on down there in the Black Country you think might be linked to an incident up here?’ he asked.
It was clear to Bryant this conversation was going to take place on the car park. They could hardly complain, given how long he had waited for them to get there.
Bryant allowed Dawson to lead. He was the one who had made a possible connection and contacted the man running the case.
Dawson nodded. ‘Yeah, we’ve got some incidents that are looking like a spurt of hate crimes. Potentially three in a short space of time.’
Wilson shook his head as he lit another cigarette. Bryant remembered the days he’d been a thirty-a-day man. And after four years the occasional pang still took him by surprise.
‘Doesn’t match what we know about the attack on our girl,’ he said.
‘Can you tell us about Shay Chakma?’ Dawson asked, thrusting his hands into his jacket pockets.
‘Pretty girl, from a family well respected in the Bangladeshi community. Parents came here when she was two years old. Two brothers, older, more traditional than Shay. She worked at a call centre for a power company. No bother at all, did her job and got on well with everyone.’
Bryant wondered why Wilson had already decided this was no hate crime. It was beginning to sound like an unprovoked attack to him.
‘Except, her parents had just chosen a husband for her from another Bangladeshi family. Problem is, Shay’s been seeing one of her shift supervisors for the last seven months. Left work on Tuesday night a few minutes late and got two litres of sulphuric acid thrown all over her.’
Bryant was still unconvinced that the incidents were not related.
‘You ever seen an acid attack?’ Wilson asked, suddenly.
They both shook their heads.
‘Only photos,’ Bryant said.
He shook his head. ‘Not the same. I saw Shay twenty minutes after it happened.’ He stared into the space above Dawson’s head.
‘It was like someone had taken a blowtorch to her skin. It was like her face had melted down onto her neck, like an old candle. Witnesses said her face took just seconds to swell up like a balloon and then shrink again. The doctor explained that skin is sixty per cent water, and sulphuric acid doesn’t like water. As the acid interacts the temperature rises very quickly giving the victim a hot sensation, before agonising pain.’
Bryant closed his eyes against the nausea whirling in his stomach.
‘Jesus,’ whispered Dawson.
Wilson returned to the present. ‘Stuff got into her stomach and lungs as well.’
‘Poor kid,’ Dawson said.
Bryant wondered if they were looking at the work of one man. Had their perpetrator widened his net? Travelled to another area to spread his attacks apart?
‘Still could be linked,’ he said.
‘We’re treating it as an honour attack, lads,’ Wilson insisted. ‘We got no other crimes like yours around here, and what with her secret boyfriend and all, we gotta treat it as we see it. We’re focussing this investigation on her family.’
‘But how did they feel about her having a boyfriend?’ Dawson asked.
He shrugged. ‘Didn’t seem too upset by it but I’m not so sure about her older brothers.’
Bryant couldn’t help what his gut was screaming at him even though Wilson’s suspicions were plausible.
There was only one way to be certain.
‘Look, will you just let us speak to her – make sure?’ Bryant pleaded.
Wilson shook his head. ‘Sorry mate, but no can do. May be a blessing in disguise, but Shay Chakma died half an hour ago.’
SIXTY-ONE
Travis was already beside the bed of Mr Dhinsa when she entered. Kim wondered if the man had any idea how hard her colleague had worked to save his life at the roadside.