Page 10 of First Blood
‘Astra Estate if that’s any good?’ Bryant offered.
Hardly a muscle car that was going to get them there in record time, but it had four wheels and a roof unlike her mode of transport.
‘Go fire it up then,’ she said.
Bryant headed for his jacket, and Stacey followed closely behind.
Her own placement in the doorway blocked DS Dawson’s exit.
‘Not you,’ she said, watching the anticipation fade from his eyes.
‘Go home, get ready for work properly and meet us up there.’
As she headed out of the office she couldn’t help wondering if she’d just made enemy number one. And if so, that was a record.
Even for her.
Chapter Eight
Kim found her right foot pressing down on an imaginary accelerator in the passenger foot well of the Astra Estate. Oh, how she wished he had dual controls, but he’d made sure to observe every speed limit, red light and zebra crossing en route. It wasn’t as if they had a crime scene to get to.
Neither he nor Stacey had asked as to the whereabouts of the younger DS when she’d reached the car and told Bryant to drive.
The four-mile journey to Clent was made in silence, and given the speed her colleague had driven she was surprised when they reached the site before sunset, which in the short days of mid-December never seemed that far away.
The Clent Hills range consisted of Wychbury Hill, Clent Hill and Walton Hill continuing towards Romsley, attracting approximately a million visitors per year.
They had arrived at Clent Hill, the most popular hillwalking summit in the range and had been told to access the climb from Nimmings car park off Hagley Wood Lane.
She got out of the car, glad to be away from the magnetic light-up Rudolph the Reindeer on DS Bryant’s dashboard before the damn thing gave her some kind of seizure.
She made her way through three squad cars, an ambulance and the pathologist van all parked close to the visitor centre and café not yet open. Two police officers were guiding dog walkers back towards their cars.
She followed the trail of yellow jackets as though they were breadcrumbs dropped around the visitor centre and across an open field with picnic benches. Beyond which an officer stood at the end of the path that led into a wooded area.
Inside, the path was more rustic and trodden than originally planned. It wound around fallen trees that had developed into an unofficial playground. Right at the centre was more high-visibility tape than a builder’s construction site.
A diminutive man stepped away from the crowd and approached her. She guessed him to be mid-fifties behind his pointy brown beard.
‘Who are you?’ he asked, peering over the top of his glasses.
She held up her warrant card. ‘Same question.’
‘Joseph Keats, Pathologist.’
‘ID?’ she asked.
‘Really, Inspector?’ he replied, meeting her gaze. She didn’t blink or look away. He opened his jacket to reveal the lanyard around his neck.
‘Where’s Tony?’ she asked of the easy-going, friendly white-bearded man she’d dealt with in the past.
‘Retired,’ he answered, buttoning up his jacket.
Oh, she hadn’t even known he’d been close.
‘And in case you’re interested I’ve transferred from South Staffs, but I’m sure I’m not the person you’ve rushed here to see.’
Rushed, not so much, she thought glancing back at her new colleague.
