Page 68 of Silent Scream
I pulled at her body until she lay lengthways in her grave. I stood to the side and threw the shovel down. It caught her on the side of the neck. The pain brought her back to life. She tried to scream but no sound made it past the sock.
Her eyes darted all around, frantic with fear. I raised the shovel even higher and thrust it down as she writhed around the hole. This one worked better. The sound of the blade ripping through flesh met my ears.
The girl was a fighter. She wriggled again. I kicked her hard in the stomach. She began to choke on her own blood. I kicked her again, turning her onto her back.
I concentrated hard. It was a matter of aim. I raised the shovel once more and swung at her throat. The light left her eyes but her lower half twitched.
It reminded me of felling a tree. The cut was made and one more blow would sever it completely.
I launched the shovel from above. There was a sound of metal on bone.
Then the twitching stopped. Suddenly there was silence.
I placed my right foot onto the shovel and then my left, using it like a pogo stick. I jiggled the blade down until I felt it bed into the soft earth underneath her.
Her eyes never left me as I covered her up. In death she was almost pretty.
I stood back from the grave that would go unnoticed amongst the damage from the travelling fair.
The girl had always been eager to help, to be of use to someone, to have a purpose. And now she had.
I stamped down the grass and stood back.
Then I thanked her for keeping my secret.
Finally, she had done something good.
Thirty-Five
‘What do you think, then?’ Bryant asked as she got into the passenger seat.
‘About what?’
‘The doctor and the archaeologist?’
‘Sounds like the start of a bad joke.’
‘Come on. You know what I mean. Do you think they’re—’
‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ she snapped. ‘Half an hour ago you were acting like a little girl and now you’re a gossipy old woman.’
‘Hey, the “old” hurts, Guv.’
‘I’d rather you were applying your limited brain power to the case and not the sex lives of our colleagues.’
Bryant shrugged and pointed the car in the direction of Bromsgrove. Their next stop was to visit with Richard Croft at his office in the high street.
As they headed through Lye, Kim glanced out of the window, unable to rid herself of the image of a fifteen-year-old girl writhing around on the ground, clutching her broken foot, trying to escape the death blow of a blade. That the first two attempts may have cut through flesh, cartilage and muscle to reach the bone without being fatal sickened her.
She closed her eyes, trying to imagine the fear that had coursed through the body of the child.
Kim remained lost in her thoughts until they reached the outskirts of Bromsgrove and the site that had previously housed the Barnsley Hall asylum.
The mental hospital had opened in 1907 with a capacity of 1200 at its busiest and had been home to her mother for most of the Seventies, when she was released into the community aged twenty-three.
Yeah, good call, Kim thought as they passed the residential estate that had been built after its closure and demolition in the late nineties.
There was great local sadness when the ornate water tower was finally demolished in 2000. The Gothic structure fashioned in red brick with sandstone and terracotta dressing had towered over the facility. Personally, Kim had been thrilled to see its destruction. It was the last reminder of a facility that had severely contributed to the death of her brother.
