Page 49 of Deadly Cry
Stacey sat back and looked at the key dates.
How stupid do you think I am?Sean Fellows had asked her and seeing the dates spelled out she understood what he meant.
Would he really have raped again so soon when he’d already been questioned by the police?
Forty
‘Okay, Keats, time’s a wasting,’ she said, stepping through the automatic doors to the morgue for the second time in less than twelve hours. And every hour that passed was an hour that six-year-old Archie was in danger.
Kim and her colleague had spoken little in the car, after he had succeeded in pissing her off before they were even out of the station car park.
‘Well, that was a sensitive way to speak to Alison,’ Bryant had said once they were in the car.
‘It was what she needed to hear.’
‘You really think she’s gonna help us out after that?’
Kim had shrugged. If she was the woman Kim thought she was, she’d put her ego to one side and get involved. Whatever Alison told herself, her passion lay in analysing events and people. It reminded her of former athletes turning to coaching. There were few who didn’t wish they were still competing.
‘Pretty sure you’ve pissed Stacey off too.’
‘Jesus, Bryant, are you the feelings police this morning?’ she snapped, turning slightly in her seat.
‘You working on any project at the minute?’ he asked, shooting her a sideways glance.
‘None of your damn business.’
Bryant had got the message and focused on his driving.
Truth was she did care about people’s feelings. Up to a point. There was a six-year-old boy missing and they needed all the help they could get, but she wasn’t going to explain that to her colleague, who appeared much calmer walking into the morgue in full daylight.
‘Aah, as I suspected and I was right,’ Keats said, turning from the sink with a triumphant smile on his face. She wasn’t sure who he had been in a secret battle with, but she was pleased he’d won.
‘I thought it might be you instead of Penn this morning, so I took the liberty of getting it done early. It’s not the same with you peering over my shoulder. At least when Penn is breathing down my ear it’s because he appreciates the artistry.’
‘Of what?’ Kim asked, leaning against the spotless stainless-steel counter.
He thought for a moment. ‘It’s the difference between a seven-course tasting menu and a sandwich.’
She turned to her colleague. ‘Hear that, Bryant, Keats is calling me a—’
‘You’re the sandwich,’ he clarified. ‘Penn observes the process, asks questions, learns from the expertise. You, on the other hand, like to grab and go.’
‘Hey, I ask questions too.’
‘Not about the process, only about the results.’
It was on the tip of her tongue to add that knowing the process did not aid her in finding the killer, but she kept her mouth closed. Keats was clearly testy, and she was pleased she didn’t have to sit through the post-mortem.
She rubbed her hands. ‘Okay, what we got?’
‘Absolutely nothing,’ he said, reaching for his clipboard, ‘that is going to help you.’
‘Someone’s glass is half-empty, isn’t it?’ she asked.
‘You already know the cause of death. Her neck was broken just like Katrina. There was no sexual assault and she appeared to be in reasonably good health.’
‘Toxicology?’
