Page 54 of Child's Play
‘Hang on,’ Kim said. ‘Before we go in, tell me why you’ve got a face like a slapped arse.’
‘We’re never gonna catch him,’ he answered simply.
‘What are you talking about?’ She could call her colleague many things but defeatist wasn’t one of them.
‘Clearly the two murders are linked. They’ve come one day after the other, so our guy is on some kind of spree. He does one at night and one in the middle of the day. He wants these folks dead, like now. He’s working at speed and we’re having to stick to eight-hour shifts and not more than an hour ago you gave away a quarter of our team. To be honest, our guy couldn’t have timed it any better if he’d tried.’
Thirty-Five
Stacey put the phone records of Belinda Evans to one side. Every number now had a colour except for the call made from the college.
The boss had called and asked her to look up anything to do with symbolism, particularly the letter X.
In addition, she was trying to delve deeper into the relationship between the two sisters.
Stacey wasn’t given to stress normally but her workload sure was growing by the minute. And normally that would not bother her one bit. Most frustrating for her was having to try and do it all inside an eight-hour shift. Over the years she’d managed to regulate her own working practices successfully. She’d learned to prioritise the tasks, learned when to give up on a lead and change direction and most importantly she’d learned when she’d had enough and needed a rest.
More stressful for her was being forced to go home and leave tasks unfinished.
She drummed her fingers on the desk.
She’d also learned how to use the resources available to her.
She clicked on the Skype icon and pressed on the first contact in her address book.
The call was answered after two rings and a familiar face filled her screen.
‘Wassup, Stace?’ Alison said, smiling widely.
‘Back up,’ Stacey said, reminding her that she didn’t have to peer so closely into the camera. It could see her fine.
Alison Lowe, profiler and behaviourist sat back in her seat.
‘Better,’ Stacey said. ‘You busy?’
Alison blew her a raspberry.
Stacey peered closer. ‘Are those pencils in your hair?’
Alison’s hands rose up and felt around her head. ‘Oh yeah,’ she said, taking them out.
‘Writing going well, then?’ Stacey asked.
After the last case they’d worked together, where Alison had found herself dangling from the roof of a thirteen-storey building, she’d decided to take some time away from active investigations and write a book based on her experiences as a behaviourist and profiler. Clearly, some writing days went better than others.
Alison blew her another raspberry.
‘Mature, anyway I need your help,’ she said.
No one had been more surprised than her at the friendship that had developed between the two of them since working together. It had begun with an occasional early morning jog together, the novelty of which had since worn off for Stacey and now consisted of a weekly meeting for coffee or a quick lunch.
‘Shoot,’ Alison said, biting into an apple.
‘Talk to me about branding and symbolism and—’
‘Hang on, which one? They’re different. Branding or stigmatising is when a symbol or pattern is burned into the skin of a living person using a hot or very cold branding iron. A bit like what’s done to livestock. Do you have a victim that’s been actually branded?’
‘No, but I’ve got two victims with an X cut into the back of the neck.’
