‘Actually, Kev, I received a powerful spell from a high priestess that can turn a grown man into a raging dickhead – but looks like someone else got to yer first.’

Dawson held his stomach and offered mock-laughter.

‘Guv,’ Bryant called over his shoulder. ‘The kids are playing up again.’ He turned back to the two of them and wagged a finger. ‘You two just wait until your mother gets home.’

Kim rolled her eyes and sat at the spare desk, eager to begin. ‘Okay, Bryant, hand out the statements. Kev, get the board.’

Dawson took the marker pen and stood next to the whiteboard that occupied the entire back wall.

While Bryant divided up the paperwork she talked through the events of earlier that morning.

‘Our victim is Teresa Wyatt, forty-seven years old, highly respected principal of a private boys’ school in Stourbridge. No marriage or children. Lived comfortably but not lavishly and had no enemies that we’re aware of.’

Kev noted the information as bullet points beneath the heading of ‘Victim’.

Bryant’s phone rang. He said little before replacing the receiver and nodding in Kim’s direction. ‘Woody wants you.’

She ignored him. ‘Kev, make a second heading, “Crime”. No murder weapon, no robbery, so far no forensics and no clues.

‘Next heading, “Motive”. People are normally murdered because of something they have done, something they are doing or something they are going to do. As far as we know, our victim was not engaged in any kind of dangerous activity.’

‘Err ... Guv, the DCI wants you.’

Kim took another gulp of the fresh cuppa. ‘Trust me, Bryant, he likes me better when I’ve had coffee. Kev, the post mortem is at ten. Stace, find out everything you can about our victim. Bryant, contact the school and let them know we’re coming.’

‘Guv ... ’

Kim finished her drink. ‘Calm down, Mum, I’m going.’

She took the stairs to the third floor two at a time and knocked lightly before entering.

DCI Woodward was a heavyset man in his mid-fifties. His mixed race origins gifted him smooth brown skin that travelled up and over his hairless head. His black trousers and white shirt were crisp and creased in all the right places. The reading glasses on the tip of his nose did little to disguise the tired eyes behind them.

He waved her in and pointed to a chair, giving her a full view of the glass cabinet holding his model car collection. The lower shelf housed a selection of classic British models but the upper shelf displayed a history of police vehicles used through the ages. There was an MG TC from the Forties, a Ford Anglia, a Black Maria and a Jaguar XJ40 that took pride of place at the centre.

To the right of the cabinet, fixed firmly to the wall, was a photograph of Woody shaking hands with Tony Blair. To the right of that was a photograph of his eldest son, Patrick, in full dress uniform, right before he was deployed to Afghanistan. He had been clothed in that exact same uniform for his burial fifteen months later.

Woody ended the phone conversation and immediately picked up the stress ball from the edge of his desk. His right hand clenched and relaxed around the clump of putty. Kim realised he reached for it a lot when she was around.

‘What do we have so far?’

‘Very little, Sir. We were just outlining the investigation when you summoned me.’

His knuckles whitened around the ball but he ignored the dig.

Her eyes wandered to the right of his ear, to his current project on the window sill. It was a Rolls Royce Phantom and construction had not progressed in days.

‘You had a run-in with Detective Inspector Wharton, I hear?’

So, the jungle drums had already been busy. ‘We exchanged pleasantries over the body.’

There was something about the model that didn't look quite right. To her eye the wheel base looked much too long.

He squeezed the ball harder. ‘His DCI has been in touch. A formal complaint against you has been lodged and they want the case.’

Kim rolled her eyes. Couldn’t the weasel fight his own battles?

She fought the urge to reach across and pick up the Rolls Royce to rectify the mistake but she contained herself.

She slid her eyes along and met the gaze of her commanding officer. ‘But they’re not going to get it, are they, Sir?’

He held her gaze for a long minute. ‘No, Stone, they are not, however a formal complaint does not look good on your file and quite frankly I'm getting a little bit tired of receiving them.’ He swapped the ball to his left hand. ‘So, I’m curious to see who you’re buddying up with on this one.’

Kim felt like a child being asked to choose a new best friend. Her last performance review had highlighted only one area of improvement; playing nice with others.

‘Do I get a choice?’

‘Who would you choose?’

‘Bryant.’

The ghost of a smile hovered around his lips. ‘Then yes, you get to choose.’

So, there was no choice at all, she thought. Bryant provided damage limitation and with the neighbouring force sniffing at her backside Woody wasn’t taking any chances; he wanted her in the care of a responsible adult.

She had been on the cusp of offering her boss a little advice that would save him hours of dismantling the rear axle of the Rolls but quickly changed her mind.

‘Anything else, Sir?’

Woody put the stress ball back and took off his glasses. ‘Keep me updated.’

‘Of course.’

‘Oh, and Stone ...’

She turned at the door. ‘Let your team have some sleep now and again. They’re not all charged via a USB port like you.’

Kim left his office, wondering how long it had taken Woody to come up with that little gem.

Five

Kim followed Courtney, the school receptionist, through the hallways of Saint Joseph’s on their way to the office of the Acting Principal. From behind, Kim marvelled at the woman’s ability to move so swiftly in four-inch heels.

Bryant sighed as they passed classroom after classroom. ‘Weren’t these just the best days of your life?’

‘No.’

They turned into a long corridor on the second floor and were led into an office with a discoloured oblong on the door where the name plate had already been taken off.

The male behind the desk stood. His suit was expensive and his tie was a sky blue silky number. The flat black colour of his hair indicated it had been recently dyed.

He offered his hand across the desk. Kim turned away, examining the contents of the walls. Any certificates or memorabilia containing the name of Teresa Wyatt had already been removed.

Bryant accepted the extended hand.

‘Thank you for accommodating our request, Mr Whitehouse.’

‘You’re the Deputy Principal, I understand,’ Kim noted.

He nodded and sat. ‘I will be stepping in as Acting Principal and if I can be of any assistance in the investigation ...’

‘Oh, I’m sure you will be,’ Kim interrupted. There was something disingenuous about his manner. Too well rehearsed. The fact he had already moved into Teresa Wyatt’s office and removed all traces of her existence was distasteful to say the least. The woman had been dead for less than twelve hours. She guessed that his curriculum vitae had already been updated.

‘We’d like a list of all staff members. Please arrange for them to be available to speak with us in alphabetical order.’

The set of his jaw indicated that he didn’t respond all that well to instruction. Kim briefly wondered if that was the case with all women or just her.

He lowered his eyes. ‘Of course. I’ll have Courtney arrange that for you immediately. I’ve made available a room down the hall that will more than meet your needs to conduct the interviews.’