Silent Scream: An edge of your seat serial killer thriller (Detective Kim Stone crime thriller series Book 1) (16 page)

‘
G
ot any of those mints
, Bryant?’ Kim asked. She’d used and balled up three wet wipes to clean her face, neck and hands but, psychological or not, the lingering aroma of beer and onion would not go away.

He reached into the side compartment of the driver’s door and offered her a fresh packet. She took one and popped it in her mouth.

The menthol aroma blazed a trail right down to her lungs.

‘Jesus, do you need a licence for these?’ she asked, once her right eye had finished watering.

‘Consider the alternative, Guv.’

She took a good hit of the sweet and looked out of the window as they approached Bromsgrove town centre. Bryant took a right past the old union workhouse which had operated until 1948.

Although only ten miles from Stourbridge, it was like entering another world.

The area was first documented in the early
ninth century as Bremesgraf and had grown up around farming and nail making. Staunchly Conservative, the affluent, rural population was primarily white British, with four per cent ethnic minority.

‘Are you kidding me?’ Kim asked as they turned off Littleheath Lane. Houses along this stretch of Lickey End started at seven-figure prices. Tall hedges and long driveways protected the houses from view. Known as 'the banking belt', the area accommodated the corporate professionals with easy access to the M5 and M40. Not the natural habitat of a local MP.

The car stopped at a walled garden separated by a wrought-iron gate.

Bryant wound down the window and pressed the intercom button. A distorted voice answered and Kim couldn’t be sure if it was male or female.

‘West Midlands police,’ Bryant said.

There was no reply but a low thunk signalled the electronic gate sliding behind the left hand wall.

Bryant drove through as soon as the gap was wide enough.

The gravel drive led them to a redbrick courtyard and a two-storey farm house.

The property was L-shaped and Kim could see a detached garage block behind that would have eaten her house for lunch. Despite the mansion space for the vehicles, two cars were parked on a gravel patch to the right of the property.

An open canopy porch trimmed the building and planters holding bay trees were set at regular intervals.

‘You wouldn’t want to give all this up without a fight, eh?’ Kim asked.

Bryant pulled up outside the front door. ‘He’s a witness, not a suspect, Guv.’

‘Of course,’ she said, getting out of the car. ‘And I’ll be sure to remember that when I question him.’

The door was opened before they reached it. Before them stood a male Kim guessed to be Richard Croft.

He wore cream chinos and a navy blue T-shirt. His greying hair was damp and a towel rested around his shoulders.

‘Forgive me, I’ve just jumped out of the pool.’

Of course. She had that very same inconvenience all the time.

‘Nice cars,’ Kim observed pleasantly nodding towards an Aston Martin DB9 and a Porsche 911. There was a space in between.

Kim saw two CCTV cameras perched on top of the building.

‘Security overload for an MP?’ she asked, following Richard Croft into the hallway.

He turned. ‘Oh, the security is for my wife.’

He turned left and they followed through double glass doors into what Kim assumed was one of the lounge rooms. The ceiling was low and supported with thick beams that had been expertly restored. Caramel leather sofas and mauve walls lightened the space. French doors led to an orangery that appeared to run the entire length of the house.

‘Please, take a seat while I arrange for some tea.’

‘Oh, how civilised,’ Bryant said as Richard Croft left the room. ‘He’s going to make us tea.’

‘I think he said he would
arrange
for some tea. I’m pretty sure that means he isn’t making it.’

‘Marta will be along in a moment,’ Richard Croft said, re-entering the room. The towel had gone and the hair had been combed revealing more grey hair around his temples.

‘Your wife?’

He smiled, revealing teeth that were just a little too white. ‘Heavens, no. Marta is our live-in. She helps Nina with the boys and the house.’

‘And a very lovely house it is too, Councillor.’

‘Richard, please,’ he offered, magnanimously. ‘The house is the love child of my wife. She works hard and expects to relax in a comfortable home.’

‘And she does what exactly?’

‘She is a human rights barrister. She defends the rights of people you may not particularly wish to spend time with.’

Kim got it immediately. ‘Terrorists.’

‘
Individuals accused of terrorist activity
would be a more politically correct term.’

Kim tried not to let her emotions show but the distaste must have been obvious.

‘Everyone is entitled to make full use of the law, wouldn’t you agree, Detective?’

Kim said nothing. She didn’t trust her mouth to open. She firmly believed that the law was applicable to everyone and so she had to concede that the defence of that same law should be made available to everyone. So, she agreed with him. She just hated the fact that she agreed with him.

More intriguing than his wife’s profession was the total lack of facial movement when the man spoke. Croft’s forehead and upper cheek area had not moved once. For Kim, there was something surreal about the process of injecting a derivative of the most acute known toxin into your own body voluntarily. For a man approaching his fifties, it was positively obscene. She felt she was looking at the waxwork dummy and not the man.

He waved at his surroundings. ‘Nina likes to live well and I’m just lucky that I have a wife that loves me very much.’

The comment probably left his mouth as self-deprecating and with intent to charm. It met Kim’s ears as smug and self-satisfied.

Probably not as much as you love yourself, Kim was tempted to respond – but was luckily prevented by the arrival of a tray being carried by a young slim blonde who also had damp hair.

Kim exchanged a knowing glance with Bryant. Jesus, he and his wife didn’t have a moral fibre between them.

She feared for the two perfectly groomed young boys in the photo on the brick fire surround.

Once Marta had left the room Richard poured the contents of the silver pot into three small cups.

Kim could see no milk and could smell no caffeine. She held up her hand and declined.

‘I’ve been meaning to come and see you to offer any assistance but I’ve just been so busy with my constituents.’

Yes, Kim was sure they insisted he indulge in a midday romp with the hired help. Even the tone of his voice sounded disingenuous. She wondered if she might have found him more believable at the office. But here, amongst the luxury of his surroundings, knowing what he’d been up to, she couldn’t help the wave of revulsion that stole over her.

‘Well we’re here now, so if we could just ask a few questions we’ll be on our way.’

‘Of course, please, go ahead.’

He took a seat on the sofa opposite and sat back with his right foot lifted onto his left knee.

Kim decided to start at the beginning. Every cell of her being detested this man but she would try to ensure that her personal opinion did not colour her professional judgement.

‘You are aware that Teresa Wyatt was murdered recently?’

‘Terrible business,’ he said, without changing expression. ‘I sent flowers.’

‘A lovely thought, I’m sure.’

‘The least I could do.’

‘And you know about Tom Curtis?’

Croft shook his head and lowered it. ‘Horrific.’

Kim would bet her house he sent flowers.

‘Were you aware that Mary Andrews also recently passed away?’

‘No, I wasn’t.’ He looked towards his desk. ‘I must make a note to send ...’

‘Flowers,’ Kim finished for him. ‘Do you recall a staff member named Arthur Connop?’

Richard appeared to ponder for a moment. ‘Yes, yes, he was one of the orderlies.’

Kim wondered just what kind of assistance this man may have offered had he managed to find the time to visit the station, because he wasn’t being all that forthcoming now.

‘We spoke to him earlier today.’

‘I hope he’s well.’

‘He didn’t particularly wish the same for you.’

Richard laughed and reached for his cup of green liquid. ‘People rarely remember their superiors with fondness, I find. Especially when those individuals are lazy. I had cause to reprimand Mr Connop on more than one occasion.’

‘For what?’

‘Sleeping on the job, shoddy work ...’

His words trailed away as though there was more.

‘And?’

Richard shook his head. ‘Just day to day corrections.’

‘What about William Payne?’

Kim saw a slight shift in his eyes. ‘What about him?’

‘Well, he was the other night porter. Did he receive similar reprimands?’

‘Not at all. William was a model employee. You know of his personal circumstances, I assume?’

Kim nodded.

‘William would have done nothing to risk losing his job.’

‘Would you say he was treated more favourably than Arthur Connop?’ Kim pushed. There was something here. She could feel it.

‘Honestly, we probably did turn a blind eye to one or two things.’

‘Like what?’

‘Well, we knew now and again that William would pop home at night if his daughter was having a particularly bad time or if his neighbour was unable to watch her, but he never left the girls unattended, so we let it slide. I mean, we knew about it but ...’ He shrugged. ‘Would you want to change places with him?’

‘Anything more than that? Arthur indicated ...’

‘Really, Detective. I think Arthur Connop was born bitter. If you’ve met him you’ll know that he is one of life’s victims. Every bad thing in his life has been the fault of someone else and not under his own control.’

‘And earlier today he may have had a point when a car drove into the back of him, leaving him for dead.’

Richard Croft swallowed. ‘And is he ... dead?’

‘We don’t know yet but it didn’t look hopeful.’

‘Oh dear. What a terrible, tragic accident.’ He sighed deeply. ‘Well, in that case there seems no harm in my being completely candid with you, Detective.’

‘Please do,’ Kim said, unable to see the wild horses that appeared to be dragging words from his mouth.

‘Not long before the fire it was brought to my attention that Arthur had been supplying some of the girls with drugs. Nothing hard, but drugs nonetheless.’

‘Why?’ Kim asked, pointedly. If discovered, his actions would have cost him his job, a criminal record and potentially a few months in Featherstone.

‘William was the night shift caretaker, covered by a relief guy for his two nights off. Occasionally Arthur would step in and earn the overtime. Unknown to the rest of the staff, Arthur was spending the first part of his shift at the pub. A fact easily discovered by a group of occupants, who used the situation to their advantage.’

‘They blackmailed him?’ Bryant asked.

‘That's not really a word I'd like to use, Detective.’

As the person in charge of the facility, Kim felt sure it wasn't.

‘Arthur obviously kept quiet through fear of losing his job.’

‘As well he should,’ Kim exploded. ‘He was responsible for the safety of fifteen to twenty girls aged anywhere from six to fifteen. Anything could have happened to those kids while he was gone.’

Richard eyed her quizzically. ‘You condone the behaviour of these girls, Detective?’

No she did not, but she was yet to find one single person to whom these girls had been entrusted that actually gave a shit.

She chose her words carefully. ‘I do not. However, had Arthur been doing his job correctly he would not have been placed in that position in the first place.’

He smiled his agreement. ‘Point taken, Detective. But the girls concerned were not model citizens.’

Kim fought down the sudden rush of anger. The behaviour of the girls automatically made them amoral delinquents with no future or promise. And with role models like Arthur Connop, she was not the least bit surprised.

Kim wondered at Richard's sudden disclosure about Arthur. What did he have to gain?

Richard sat forward. ‘More tea?’

‘Mr Croft, you don’t seem particularly worried that all your old colleagues are dying at an unnatural rate?’

‘By my count there are two murders, one natural death and an accident that may or may not be fatal.’

‘What went on at Crestwood all those years ago?’ she asked, pointedly.

Richard Croft did not miss a beat. ‘I wish I knew, but I was only there for the last two years of the facility’s operation.’

‘And in that time the number of runaways definitely increased, don’t you agree?’

He met her gaze squarely but a flicker of irritation was threatening his measured composure. Her technique had escalated from general to probing. He didn’t like that she was questioning the management of the facility during his tenure.

‘Some youngsters don’t like rules, no matter how well intentioned they are.’

From Kim’s memories the majority of rules were set down for the convenience of the staff and not the occupants.

‘You've spoken about Arthur but how involved were
you
with the occupants of Crestwood?’

‘Not very. I was brought in to make organisational decisions, to operate the facility efficiently.’

His constant use of the word ‘facility’ made Crestwood sound more like a secure unit at Broadmoor than a home for abandoned kids.

‘Mr Croft, do you have any reason to believe that any of your colleagues would have wanted to harm any of the girls?’

He stood. ‘Of course not. How could you even ask such a question? That is a terrible thing to say. Everyone employed at the facility was there to take care of those children.’

'For a monthly salary,' Kim said before she could stop herself.

'And even people that were not,' he shot back. 'Even the pastor could not get through to some of these girls.'

‘What about Arthur?’