Page 77 of Silent Scream
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 earlyninth 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 wouldarrangefor 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.’
