Page 8 of Twisted Lies
For a split second, she thought Frost was talking about what they were heading towards. She shook herself back to where they’d just been.
She opened her mouth to say something and then remembered whose question she was answering.
‘I believe in our justice system to—’
‘Fuck me, Stone. I don’t even have my notepad out. That was just me asking you a question. One time, just one time, I’d like to have a normal conversation with you.’
‘Well, when you retire, give me a call and—’
She stopped speaking as she caught Bryant’s subtle sideways glance.
She understood the message, and maybe he was right.
‘Okay, my gut isn’t as confident as I’d like it to be that we’re going to secure a conviction,’ Kim admitted. ‘And that stays in this car.’
‘Hardly profound, was it? Trust me, that’s not a headline that’s gonna sell newspapers. So why the doubts?’
Kim stared forward. No way was she answering that one.
After a few seconds, Frost groaned. ‘Bloody hell, Stone, you have some serious trust issues. Okay, I’m concerned too and I’m happy to tell you why.’
‘Please do,’ Kim said, wishing Bryant could travel to Keats as the crow flies to get them there quicker.
‘Okay, the cynic in me wonders what will be different this time around. In fact, I think the CPS faces even more of a challenge on their second crack at it.’
‘Go on,’ Kim said. Frost hadn’t yet said anything she disagreed with.
‘Well, Nick Morley did nothing prior to his first trial. Arrogant bastard thought he was literally gonna get away with murder. And he almost did because of the jury’s perception of him. In the time since, he’s made the most of his image, exploiting the very thing that caused the hung jury in the first place. He’s been hard at work, but there’s no new evidence, so I feel the scales have tipped even further in Morley’s favour.’
And there it was, the reason Kim wasn’t wholly convinced of the outcome.
‘Where the hell are we going anyway?’ Frost asked as Bryant turned the car into the trading estate.
At the top of the estate was a single road that ran straight through, with side roads branching off. There was no activity at the top of the site, so Bryant drove slowly, both of them looking left and right around dilapidated signs listing the names of businesses, many of which were no longer there. There was a time that the small town of Lye had been a thriving hub of small businesses and local shops, but each recession had beaten it down bit by bit and sole traders had been forced to close.
‘Didn’t know this road went this far down,’ Kim observed as the other units began to ebb away.
‘There,’ she said as Bryant followed a slight bend that took them out of sight of the rest of the trading units.
Keats’s van was sandwiched between two squad cars at the entrance to what had once been a lawnmower wholesale warehouse. The property was approximately the size of two football pitches and lay a quarter of a mile away from its closest neighbour.
‘Are we going to a crime scene?’ Frost asked excitedly.
‘We are. You’re not,’ Kim said. ‘Park here, Bryant,’ she instructed, wanting to keep as much physical distance between the reporter and something that didn’t concern her as possible.
Kim turned in her seat. ‘Frost, you stay in this car. I mean it. You dare not move or so help me I’ll—’
‘Okay, okay, keep your bloody hair on. Jesus, you are one uptight—’
Kim got out of the vehicle before she heard the rest, and Bryant followed.
‘Can’t you lock her in?’ Kim asked as they moved away.
‘Thing is, guv, even dogs have to have a window left open.’
She didn’t have time to argue with him as she passed two constables, looking a bit green, standing either side of a middle-aged man who stank of vomit.
‘Here, guv,’ Bryant said, handing her a pair of protective slippers. She put them on and headed through the roller shutter door, the view of which had been obscured by the vehicles.
