Page 90 of Twisted Lies
She’d collected the hire car and then popped to Tesco, in Cradley Heath, to pick up a few bits and pieces and drink a cuppa in the café. She didn’t enjoy working from home, even though she loved her little house in Quarry Bank. It was her own little sanctuary after a day amongst people and noise, but without the chaos of the day, it was just a quiet place to be.
She’d removed the neck collar issued by the hospital early afternoon and then taken a long bath, which had helped ease the aching in her bones. She’d spent the rest of the day reading forensic examination reports offered as evidence at Nick Morley’s first trial, and then progressed to piecing together the investigation. In truth, after the initial delay in finding the remains of Trisha Morley, the officers hadn’t put a foot wrong. The ulna and the radius bones from the forearm had been in good condition and the teeth – two molars and a central incisor – had all been quickly identified as Trisha’s. Nick Morley had been arrested the same day.
Frost was only sorry there hadn’t been more of Trisha Morley to bury.
Her article had been submitted to Fitz, who had made a couple of small changes before authorising it. After which she’d headed out to collect the hire car.
She sipped the last of her coffee as the barista came from behind the counter and began collecting used cups.
She took out her phone and clicked on her earlier article and was both surprised and gratified to see over three hundred comments. She scrolled through them and couldn’t help the smile that pricked at her mouth. After weeding out the trolling comments, she was pleased to see the tide was turning in public opinion just within the scope of her articles. On Monday, the first article had received far fewer comments and had been fifty-fifty in opinion as to whether Nick Morley had killed his wife or if some random stranger had wandered onto his property and committed the crime.
But now the comments were a good ninety per cent against the barrister, and with one article left for tomorrow, Frost was happy with the result. If nothing else, she had got Trisha’s name out there. She had reminded the public that a woman had lost her life. She had taken the spotlight away from Saint Nick and his cronies.
She couldn’t say it had left her unscathed. She knew she was a pesky fly in their ointment, a shadow being cast on the halo they were shining around Morley’s head. She knew she had poked a bear and that bear had retaliated last night at the traffic lights. But she also knew she wouldn’t be bullied into backing off.
‘Okay, enough,’ she whispered to herself, grabbing her bag. The supermarket café had totally emptied, and the staff were mopping the floor. It was time to go home.
She had to admit that the short trip out had exhausted her. She guessed her body was still reacting to the shunt, but her mind was wired. Just seeing those comments. It might be a drop in the ocean, but it was a drop nonetheless.
She paid quickly for her woeful basket of groceries and headed out to the car.
For a moment, she’d forgotten that she wasn’t looking for her beloved Audi and instead was driving a Toyota Corolla.
She threw the carrier in the back of the car, any thoughts of a late tea already forgotten. She wanted to get home and get started on the article for tomorrow, where she would cover the trial.
She also resolved that she’d reply to Fitz’s last text message, checking on her, as soon as she walked in the door.
The journey from Tesco to her home was barely a mile, but it was long enough. The Toyota felt like more car than she needed compared to her own Audi, which she’d learned today was going to be off the road for at least two weeks.
‘Bastards,’ she whispered to herself as she parked the car. She was probably as pissed off at not having her car as she was about the fact she’d been hurt.
Priorities, she thought as she slid the key into the door lock.
The door began to open before she turned the key.
As she pushed lightly on the glass panel, her heart dropped into her stomach.
The door widened to reveal the whole of her living room. Her voice was barely a whisper as she asked:
‘What the fuck has happened here?’
Seventy-Nine
‘Nope, you’re not having another one,’ Kim said as Barney crawled along the floor towards where she sat on the sheet in the garage. Damn dog knew she’d only handed him a small carrot once he’d come in from the back garden. Trust her to get a dog that understood portion control.
‘Maybe later,’ she said, ruffling his head.
His tail swished the floor once before he lowered his jowls onto his front paws and closed his eyes.
‘Tough day, eh, mate?’ she asked, thinking about her own day.
The majority of the journey back from Stratford-upon-Avon had been spent on the phone, initially to Woody to explain what they’d learned from Amelia, and then ten minutes later a call had come from Superintendent Wexford, wanting to confirm what he’d already been told by Woody.
She’d wondered what action might be taken against Amelia, but Kim wasn’t sure what crime she’d actually committed. She hadn’t knowingly taken sensitive information and handed it over. She’d been duped. Slowly and cleverly.
She supposed Amelia wasn’t the priority for UKPPS right now. Their attention and resources were directed at how to deal with the fact that every address housing a member of the witness protection programme was in the hands of a crazed killer. Except he wasn’t, she corrected herself. He was methodical, intelligent, creative and strategic. There was nothing about him that was crazed.
‘What does he want?’ she said out loud.
