Read Online Brock And Kolla - 09 - Spider Trap by Barry Maitland - Free Book Online
Authors: Barry Maitland
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faces.’
‘Yes, but . . . This one’s a girl, and this one. It wasn’t a girl.’
‘You’re sure about that?’
‘Well, I assumed . . .’ She put her hand over the lower part of Dee-Ann’s face.‘I just don’t know. It could have been any of them.’
Magdalen came in with the coffee tray, which she placed on the table at her mother’s side.While Adonia poured, her daughter picked up the photos and thumbed through them. She paused over the two girls, Kathy noticed. ‘You recognise any of them, Magdalen?’ she asked.
‘Me? Why should I?’
‘Maybe visiting your grandmother? If they come from around there.’
‘No.’ She tossed the photos back and took a pack of cigarettes from the mantelpiece.
‘Not in here, darling.You know your father . . .’
Magdalen bit her lip and put them back.‘Yes, sorry.’
‘It was the violence that really upset me. I mean they found the car the next day, undamaged. The other detective said that’s often the case with joy-riders. And I didn’t care about the money and credit cards. So why did they have to be so violent?’
Her daughter sat down beside her and put a protective arm around her shoulders.
‘Oh . . .’ Adonia put a tissue to her eyes.‘I’m sorry, I’ve gone soft in my old age.’
‘I think you’ve been incredibly brave, Mrs Roach,’ Mahreen said, and glanced at Kathy, who added, ‘Yes. That sort of thing is always very hard to come to terms with, for you, and for your family.Your husband must have been very upset.’
‘Yes ...’She hesitated.‘Yes,of course.’
Kathy noticed that she was fingering a gold chain with a golden heart pendant at her throat.‘You said that they pulled the pendant from your throat. That must have been frightening too.’
‘Oh yes!’ Adonia looked wide-eyed, and her fingers froze.
‘But you got it back?’
‘Thank goodness. It was very personal—my husband gave it to me when Magdalen was born. I found it later under the floor mat in the car. They must have dropped it when they drove away.’ Adonia took her daughter’s hand.‘And the doctors say I’ll make a full recovery. So really, I was lucky. But suppose it had been my mother instead of me. It could so easily have been. She wouldn’t have survived.’
The press liked Brock, Kathy could see that. They liked the slightly rumpled look, the way he scratched his white cropped beard meditatively as he considered a question, and the edge of dry humour that was never far away, even on such a case as this. It made a change from the close-shaved, close-mouthed men who usually briefed them.
With growing interest in the mysterious finds on the waste ground, Brock had invited them and their telephoto lenses down from their helicopters and their observation posts on the footbridge and the far embankment, down to the crime scene itself, now almost entirely stripped of snow and vegetation, gridded with bright pink tapes and dotted with three large tents.
‘A third area was located this morning by Marlowe,’ Brock said,and a black labrador was led forward by its handler.‘Marlowe is a cadaver dog, with specialist training in HHRD—Historical Human Remains Detection.’ Brock waited while they wrote it down.‘He works with archaeologists as well as us.You could say he’s got a PhD in old bones. He detected this morning’s finds through two feet of frozen ground.’
The photographers formed a scrum around the dog,lights flash-ing.Marlowe accepted their interest with philosophical detachment, live humans apparently exciting him far less than dead ones.
‘So far we’ve recovered a human fibula, a tibia, a pelvic bone and a bone from either a hand or a foot from that site.’
‘Are you saying three separate corpses?’
‘It’s not possible to be sure at the moment. The remains have been extensively disturbed, most probably by animals.’
‘Or schoolboys,’ someone quipped. It was a notion that had been absorbing a lot of police attention, the
‘Yes, but . . . This one’s a girl, and this one. It wasn’t a girl.’
‘You’re sure about that?’
‘Well, I assumed . . .’ She put her hand over the lower part of Dee-Ann’s face.‘I just don’t know. It could have been any of them.’
Magdalen came in with the coffee tray, which she placed on the table at her mother’s side.While Adonia poured, her daughter picked up the photos and thumbed through them. She paused over the two girls, Kathy noticed. ‘You recognise any of them, Magdalen?’ she asked.
‘Me? Why should I?’
‘Maybe visiting your grandmother? If they come from around there.’
‘No.’ She tossed the photos back and took a pack of cigarettes from the mantelpiece.
‘Not in here, darling.You know your father . . .’
Magdalen bit her lip and put them back.‘Yes, sorry.’
‘It was the violence that really upset me. I mean they found the car the next day, undamaged. The other detective said that’s often the case with joy-riders. And I didn’t care about the money and credit cards. So why did they have to be so violent?’
Her daughter sat down beside her and put a protective arm around her shoulders.
‘Oh . . .’ Adonia put a tissue to her eyes.‘I’m sorry, I’ve gone soft in my old age.’
‘I think you’ve been incredibly brave, Mrs Roach,’ Mahreen said, and glanced at Kathy, who added, ‘Yes. That sort of thing is always very hard to come to terms with, for you, and for your family.Your husband must have been very upset.’
‘Yes ...’She hesitated.‘Yes,of course.’
Kathy noticed that she was fingering a gold chain with a golden heart pendant at her throat.‘You said that they pulled the pendant from your throat. That must have been frightening too.’
‘Oh yes!’ Adonia looked wide-eyed, and her fingers froze.
‘But you got it back?’
‘Thank goodness. It was very personal—my husband gave it to me when Magdalen was born. I found it later under the floor mat in the car. They must have dropped it when they drove away.’ Adonia took her daughter’s hand.‘And the doctors say I’ll make a full recovery. So really, I was lucky. But suppose it had been my mother instead of me. It could so easily have been. She wouldn’t have survived.’
The press liked Brock, Kathy could see that. They liked the slightly rumpled look, the way he scratched his white cropped beard meditatively as he considered a question, and the edge of dry humour that was never far away, even on such a case as this. It made a change from the close-shaved, close-mouthed men who usually briefed them.
With growing interest in the mysterious finds on the waste ground, Brock had invited them and their telephoto lenses down from their helicopters and their observation posts on the footbridge and the far embankment, down to the crime scene itself, now almost entirely stripped of snow and vegetation, gridded with bright pink tapes and dotted with three large tents.
‘A third area was located this morning by Marlowe,’ Brock said,and a black labrador was led forward by its handler.‘Marlowe is a cadaver dog, with specialist training in HHRD—Historical Human Remains Detection.’ Brock waited while they wrote it down.‘He works with archaeologists as well as us.You could say he’s got a PhD in old bones. He detected this morning’s finds through two feet of frozen ground.’
The photographers formed a scrum around the dog,lights flash-ing.Marlowe accepted their interest with philosophical detachment, live humans apparently exciting him far less than dead ones.
‘So far we’ve recovered a human fibula, a tibia, a pelvic bone and a bone from either a hand or a foot from that site.’
‘Are you saying three separate corpses?’
‘It’s not possible to be sure at the moment. The remains have been extensively disturbed, most probably by animals.’
‘Or schoolboys,’ someone quipped. It was a notion that had been absorbing a lot of police attention, the
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