Page 65 of Deadly Cry
Fifty-One
‘Her name is Nicola Southall,’ Bryant said to everyone who was suddenly looking his way.
‘Friend of yours?’ Kim asked.
He shook his head. ‘Never met her, but she’s pretty well known.’
She exchanged a glance with Keats who shrugged in response. For once the two of them were on the same page, and Bryant was out in the cold. For someone who was pretty well known, two-thirds of their collective had no idea who she was.
‘She is… was an actress, appeared in one of the big soaps about ten years back, not sure which one now but the missus watched it. Loved the soap but hated her.’
‘Why?’ Kim asked. The blonde bob framed a pleasant, attractive face with clear, smooth skin.
‘She played a kidnapper. Stole someone else’s toddler cos she couldn’t have kids of her own. I only remember it because I had to tell Jenny to calm down every time this woman came on the screen. Some folks get really involved.’
Kim knew that some people viewed soaps as though they were watching real-life events; that the incidents unfolding were actually happening in a street or square somewhere. She didn’t think Bryant’s wife was as susceptible to that level of disbelief.
‘It was an incendiary storyline, guv,’ Bryant said, as though reading her thoughts. ‘It was aimed at every parent’s worst nightmare. Imagine someone broke into your place and took Barney—’
‘I get it, Bryant; I’m just not sure what relevance it has here.’
‘Agreed,’ Keats said, in harmony with her for the second time. She considered asking for his rectal probe to take his temperature. Clearly, the man was unwell. He continued, ‘Same manner of death as both Katrina and Louise.’
Kim already knew. While Bryant had been talking, her gaze had sought any obvious wound or injury before checking out the angle of her neck.
The woman was dressed in dark jeans, trainers, a lilac T-shirt and a thick woollen cardigan; a satchel-type handbag had been dropped to her left.
‘Strange,’ Kim said, placing her foot near the satchel.
Bryant followed her gaze.
‘These are normally worn across the body,’ she said, picturing Stacey back at the office constantly lifting it over her head. That would also be the logical way to wear it if you were going off for a walk in the woods as her attire suggested. The murderer wouldn’t have needed to remove it to break her neck, so what was it doing off her person?
‘Has it been photographed?’ Kim asked.
Keats nodded.
Bryant took out a pen and held it towards her. She used it to nudge the bag aside and touched the ground beneath it. The flattened patch was dry. The rain had started around eleven when they’d been at the Stevens Park search site, meaning Nicola Southall had been dead for at least three hours.
‘I’d estimate between nine and eleven,’ Keats confirmed.
Kim understood the havoc the elements could wreak on evidence collection. Since the killer had left the body, the breeze had increased, bringing heavy rain and evidence dispersion. Kim surveyed the ground around them: valuable evidence – a hair, DNA – could be somewhere right there. She could be standing on a link to their murderer, the person who was holding Archie, and she didn’t even know it.
She used the pen as carefully as possible to dislodge the catch on the satchel. The bag opened easily.
Kim looked up at Bryant, who was watching from above.
‘The bag is already open,’ he said, echoing her thoughts.
‘Ah, just the man,’ Kim said as Mitch approached from the path.
‘Oooh, got me feeling like a rock star with that greeting,’ he joked, coming to stand beside her.
‘Well, Bon Jovi, can you empty and bag this first?’ she asked. ‘I think our killer has touched it.’ Which meant she didn’t want to interfere with it any more than she needed to.
Mitch opened his bag and took out a white sheet of fabric. In seconds, his gloves were on and he was expertly moving the satchel onto the sheet, so that anything of interest could be collected.
He avoided the catch and opened the bag, laying out the contents: a small purse; a tiny manicure kit; three receipts and a pack of mints.
