The police officer had no idea what information Alexandra was now holding. The thought put a smile back on her face. She had knowledge that could change the woman’s whole life. And she would share it. For a price.
The time that she’d invested in the scheme had yielded better results than she could ever have imagined. She had learned more than she’d ever hoped for, and the time had come for her to use the leverage. All she needed now was to get Stone on the phone and the rest would fall into place.
‘Damn you for making this harder than it need be,’ she whispered to herself as she entered her cell.
Her loyal and obliging cellmate lay on the bed reading a battered Jackie Collins novel.
Emma Mitchell had been an invaluable source of information to her for the last eighteen months.
Emma was what Alex liked to call one of life’s ‘likeables’. Slim and attractive, her physical appearance was non-threatening and non-confrontational. She had a ready smile and a pleasant demeanour that allowed her to fade. Whether intentional or not, it afforded her the luxury of being ignored most of the time, which kept her out of trouble and enabled her to float around listening to conversations and gaining intelligence. Most of which Alex had stored for future use.
‘Out,’ Alex instructed, sitting on her own bed. For her next move, she wanted privacy.
‘Aww… come on – this is just getting juicy,’ she said, waving the book about.
‘Save it for bedtime then,’ Alex said, offering her non-negotiable look.
Emma rolled her eyes, closed the book and sloped off the bed.
Alex waited until she was out of the room before she retrieved the A4 exercise book and pen from beneath her pillow.
For the hundredth time, Alex marvelled at the irony of the life she’d had on the outside: a flourishing career as a respected psychiatrist, a full appointment book, a nice house, a flashy car and more money than she knew what to do with. She had been able to buy anything she wanted, whenever she wanted. And now she had to beg for the most basic of necessities like a notebook and pen.
The book was allegedly her journal, her reflection of events that had led to her incarceration. A necessary part of her rehabilitation. It was nothing of the sort. It was a record of every detail she’d learned over the years about inmates and officers alike. It was her power. It held names, dates, events and most likely her ticket to freedom. It was like currency she’d been saving for a rainy day, and that storm was due to hit later this week.
She shouldn’t be surprised that Stone was getting in her way again. It was all she’d done since the minute they’d met. And for that she deserved every minute of the torture she’d inflicted and intended to continue inflicting. The fact that the woman’s psyche was battered and covered with scar tissue only added to her enjoyment. She knew she had the power to break the detective apart; it was just knowing which particular vulnerability would seal the deal. She looked forward to that day, but for now she just needed to get her to take her call.
And this book was going to help her do just that. Now, which of her assets was she willing to sacrifice to execute the next part of her plan?
She flicked the pages until she was five sheets in and found what she was looking for.
She smiled as a plan began to form in her mind.
Officer Barry Adams always did a cell check at 2.30 p.m., which gave her just ten minutes. Plenty of time.
She retrieved the hairbrush from the table that separated the two beds and placed it on her own bed with the thin metal teeth facing up. She rolled her T-shirt up to her breasts and tucked the fabric under her bra, then lay down on the brush using her own body weight to force the teeth against her skin. She moved around every couple of minutes and repeated the process until her abdomen was sore.
She was finished just in time as she heard Officer Adams call something into the next cell.
She put the brush aside as he appeared at her doorway.
‘Everything okay, Thorne?’
‘Actually, no,’ she said, rising from the bed and moving unsteadily towards him.
‘I don’t feel well. I’m hot and light-headed. I’ve got some kind of rash.’
She stood in the doorway, in full view of ten or more inmates.
‘Here,’ she said, lifting up her top.
Officer Adams moved closer to take a look at the dozens of red spots marking her skin. He put a hand at her waist to steady her.
Three. Two. One.
‘Officer Adams, what the hell are you doing?’ she cried out.
Every head turned their way to see her with her T-shirt lifted up and Officer Adams standing way too close to her with his hand on her waist.
His face reddened immediately as he stepped away from her.
She moved out of sight and spoke quietly.
‘I want a smartphone by six o’clock; otherwise, your attempt to touch me will be a written complaint to Warden Siviter.’
‘B-But I didn’t. I wouldn’t…’
‘Yes, but you’ve already had one report against you. One more and you’re out of a job.’
His face turned thunderous.
A new inmate had accused him of touching her inappropriately during the body search. The complaint had gone nowhere, but a second incident would prompt a thorough investigation. And she had witnesses.
‘Don’t argue, Adams, because you know I’ll do it. A phone by six o’clock.’
She turned and headed back into her cell.
A shiver of anticipation ran through her.
She would be speaking to DI Stone tonight.
Four
Little Peeps was a day-care centre situated just outside Netherton on the road to Dudley. A short walk from Hillcrest School, it served working parents for a pick-up and drop-off service outside of school hours. Throughout the school holidays it remained open for working parents who didn’t have the luxury of grandparents or a family support network.
Bryant drove slowly through the groups congregating close to the premises. Vehicles were parking haphazardly all over the place as uniformed officers struggled to keep order.
‘It’s bloody bedlam,’ Bryant observed, pulling in behind a hastily parked Citroën. The woman gave a half-apologetic wave before hurrying towards the entrance.
‘You wouldn’t have done the same thing with Laura when she was a kid?’ she asked of his only daughter.
‘She’s here for the week, and if you want the truth, I don’t want to let her go back,’ he said, proving her point. Laura had been working away, putting her midwifery degree to good use, for almost eighteen months, and Bryant still felt safer when she was under his roof.
It was a natural reaction, and she couldn’t blame them for rushing to ensure their children’s safety. The shit parking was another matter. Cars had pulled up onto the pavement and were spilling out onto the main road.
The two of them wound their way on foot to the front door, which was opened by a harassed-looking girl in her late teens. Uniformed officers were trying to keep order, but they were dealing with parents who wanted access to their children.
After checking their IDs, the girl guided them through a warren of rooms, all filled with parents exchanging anxious looks while holding tightly to their children.
Kim noted that the age range seemed to span pre-school toddlers to pre-teens.