Page 82 of Deadly Cry
‘Most?’ Kim pushed.
‘We had the odd couple that were worse than the rest, were a bit more specific but that was ten years ago.’
‘And what did you do with those letters?’
‘Burned them and gave them the respect they deserved.’
‘And did you tell Nicola about them all?’
‘Most of them, but there was no point making her even more paranoid.’
‘And you’re sure—’ Kim’s words were cut off by a ringing phone, but not the one next to the water bottle.
Kate sprang to her feet and glanced towards the kitchen.
‘Sorry, got to get that: client phone.’
Kim stood and suddenly remembered Kate’s reaction when they first arrived.
‘Your first thought on seeing us was that something had happened to Tyra Brooks. Do you have reason to suspect that something might?’
There was no hesitation as she opened the door to let them out as the phone in the kitchen continued to ring.
‘No, Officer, no reason at all.’
Kim opened her mouth to question that point, but two things happened: the door closed in her face and her phone began to ring.
‘Charming,’ Bryant noted as they headed for the car.
‘Stone,’ she answered.
‘Marm, it’s Craig Harris, FLO at the Webb-Harvey home.’
He was an officer she’d worked with years before and was a good match for this home.
‘Go on,’ she said, unable to stifle the ridiculous hope that Archie had turned up safe and sound.
‘It’s Robyn, Marm, she’s absolutely raging and is demanding you come here right now.’
‘Fuck,’ Kim said, ending the call.
Not normally one to respond to other people’s demands, in this case she’d make the exception. She instructed Bryant to head to the Webb-Harvey home.
She now had some explaining to do.
Sixty-Seven
Kate tried to push down her rage as she stared at the phone that had stopped ringing and now started again. She knew the number well; he really should know better than to call her. That wasn’t how they did things. She considered returning to her yoga session, but there was no way the downward dog on a chair position was going to relieve the tension that had now built in her shoulders.
The visit from the police had unnerved her, as had the conversation about Nicola Southall. Not least because it had reminded her of what could have been if only the woman had been made of sterner stuff.
Kate had brokered an initial deal on Nicola’s behalf of £1,400 per episode with a guaranteed 100 episodes a year and a repeat fee. It was a nice deal and they had celebrated together with a glass or two of the bubbly stuff. Kate had celebrated even harder alone once she saw the direction they were taking Nicola’s character. Good characters make decent money, but hated characters make a lot more.
Every daytime show wants an interview, every newspaper wants a story and every magazine wants a photoshoot with the most heinous characters being portrayed on the small screen.
And Kate had been poised to start making big money from interviews and personal appearances. She’d been ready for them both to milk the exposure for every penny it was worth.
She’d learned the hard way not to overshare with her clients. She’d made the mistake of talking to Nicola about her ideas. The minute she’d unveiled her plans, the woman had folded under the pressure of the abuse.
