‘The acid attack victim?’ she asked.
Bryant nodded. ‘Died of her injuries yesterday. Derby are treating it as an honour killing but see if there’s anyone she upset on social media.’
He turned to Dawson. ‘You’re unusually quiet this morning, what’s up?
‘Still thinking about that scar that Aisha Gupta mentioned. I feel like there’s something there, in the back of my—’
‘What scar?’ Stacey asked, frowning.
‘Aisha said the male who accosted her had a scar, right here,’ he said, pointing to his cheekbone. ‘And there’s something in my—’
‘Justin Reynolds had a scar right there,’ she offered.
‘Who is Justin Reynolds?’ Bryant asked. It wasn’t a name he recognised.
‘That’s it, Stace,’ Dawson said, slapping his hand off the desk as though he was the one that had made the connection.
Dawson turned his way. ‘Teenager that committed suicide a few days ago. Stace and I attended.’
He turned back to Stacey. ‘I can’t see there being any connection but would you?…’
‘I’ll do some digging,’ she said, staring at her computer.
‘Okay, let’s get started,’ he said, reaching for his jacket.
Dawson stood and Bryant tossed him the keys.
‘Start her up and pick a radio station.’
One of the numerous things they’d argued about was Radio One versus Radio WM.
Dawson smirked and Bryant realised just how much managing a team resembled raising a child. Discipline and reward.
‘Hey, Stace, I meant what I said. I was wrong and I’m sorry.’
She offered him a weak smile. ‘And I meant it when I said get over it and move on.’
He stole a quick glance back from the door.
Stacey’s head was resting in her hands.
SIXTY-FIVE
Kim pulled up at the kerb outside Travis’s house and took a deep breath to ready herself for the battle ahead. She had visions of that one breath circulating around the inside of her vehicle and insulating her against her passenger.
Normally he was at the door within seconds of her arrival. She saw the curtain twitch and counted backwards from three.
On one, the door opened but it wasn’t Travis who appeared.
His wife stood in the doorway wearing a cardigan around her shoulders and an anxious expression.
Kim immediately got out of the car as the woman began walking towards her. They met on the drive.
‘Is everything okay, Mrs Travis?’
She shook her head but said nothing as she touched the delicate chain at her neck.
‘No, everything is not okay?’ Kim clarified.
‘No, I’m not Mrs Travis,’ she said as she swallowed deeply and looked around as though she might get caught. ‘Would you step in for a moment? Do you have time?’
Kim tried to hide her confusion. She had seen the man hug this woman every morning. ‘Is Tom inside?’ she asked, following not-Mrs Travis through the tidy box porch.
‘No, he left early. He said there were some things he wanted to prepare for the briefing.’
Kim stifled her irritation that he had not bothered to let her know. Not even a simple text message.
Kim paused on the threshold into the hallway.
‘I’m sorry but what am I?…’
‘I hope you don’t mind, but there is something I think you should see.’
The tremor in the woman’s voice caused Kim to close the door behind her, and follow her into the lounge.
The room was surprisingly stylish, in shades of biscuit and cream. The corner sofa was velour with a couple of scatter cushions. The one-piece sofa ended in a recliner that was occupied by a pleasant-looking woman with brown hair and a striking resemblance to the woman still standing in the doorway.
‘This is Mrs Travis,’ she said quietly. ‘This is Tom’s wife, Melissa. I’m her sister, Carole.’
Melissa smiled at her warmly.
‘You didn’t tell me Frannie was coming today, Carole,’ she said, patting the seat beside her.
‘Sorry, sweetie. I forgot but I just need Frannie to come help me with something in the kitchen first,’ Carole said.
Kim followed her back to the hallway.
‘Frannie is Tom and Melissa’s daughter. Cot death in ’98,’ Carole explained.
Kim felt the sadness growing heavy on her heart as she followed Carole through the house. She hadn’t known. Tom had spoken little of his private life and neither had she.
‘May I ask what?…’
‘Melissa suffers from early onset familial Alzheimer’s Disease. It’s the most aggressive form and can start in the thirties, forties, sometimes even in the twenties. Melissa’s symptoms started when she was forty-three. The normal forgetfulness and difficulty in completing familiar tasks at home.
‘She managed to hide it from Tom for months. Our father had it, you see. He died only two years before Melissa’s symptoms began.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘She knew what was coming.’
Kim had the urge to reach across and touch the woman’s arm. If this condition was hereditary then Carole must be living with the same fear every day.
‘Eventually she could hide it no longer, and Tom returned home one day to find her distraught on the sofa because she couldn’t remember where the kettle lived.’
Kim swallowed the emotion in her throat.
‘He promised her they would get through it. He would be her memory for as long as he could. He devised all kinds of lists, instructions and reminders to help her get through the day.’
Kim said nothing.
‘I wanted you to know,’ she said, gently. ‘I remember when you two worked together before. He respected you. I know you had some kind of falling out, but he’s a good man.’
‘Who hates me,’ Kim observed.
Carole smiled. ‘He doesn’t hate you. He just prefers to pretend he does. He wants to, don’t get me wrong. But there’s a part of him, a part he won’t admit even to himself, that has enjoyed working with you again this week.’
The woman’s eyes were full of emotion.
Kim understood. ‘You love him, don’t you?’
The smile disappeared but the tenderness remained.
She shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t matter if I did. He’s my brother-in-law and Melissa is my sister.’
Kim thought about the awkward embraces she had witnessed at the door each morning.
‘And he loves you too,’ she said.
Her look said that she knew that and it still didn’t make any difference.
‘As I said. He’s a good man.’
Suddenly the leather wallet made sense to her. He wrote everything down. Just in case.
Something else was beginning to make sense to her.
‘Carole, how long ago was Melissa diagnosed?’
‘Four-and-a-half-years,’ she said.
Kim thanked her and headed out before the rage began to show on her face.
She sat in the car for just a minute as that final scene played out in her mind.
Back then she hadn’t had Bryant to rein her back in, calm her down, help her see reason, tell her when she’d acted too hastily.
And it was clear to her now that she had.
Because now it all made sense.
SIXTY-SIX