‘Damn it,’ she said. This bastard was clever. She stepped away and moved back into the garden to ensure she did nothing further to impede any evidence collection.

She climbed up on the swing set as she heard sirens speed up the drive and stop at the front door.

She looked over the fence to see that the ground on the other side formed a steep bank that led down into the back end of a trading estate. Beyond that was a housing estate that was a warren of streets, gulleys and dead ends.

A bit like this bloody case, Kim thought as she got back down to the ground.

Kim slowly walked the line from the broken fence panel to the rear door looking to the left and the right.

She came to a stop four feet away from the police officer.

‘How are you doing, today, Marm?’

Kim opened her mouth to ask him how the hell he thought she was doing when she recognised him as the constable Bryant had spoken to the other day. And he was doing exactly what he'd been told to do, which was engage her in conversation.

Kim rolled her eyes, shook her head and headed to the front of the building. Bryant stood out front watching as the rear doors of the ambulance closed.

‘Well?’

‘Still breathing, Guv. The knife’s still in him. Paramedics don’t want to remove it until they get a look at what its holding together. Perversely, it might be the intended murder weapon that’s currently keeping him alive.’

‘Oh, the irony,’ she said, sitting on the stone steps.

‘And here comes the help,’ Bryant said as a Vauxhall Corsa came to a screeching halt on the gravel. The woman they knew to be Marta got out of the car. Her face was devoid of colour.

‘What ... what ...’

Kim remained sitting but Bryant moved towards the young girl.

‘Mr Croft has been seriously injured. You need to contact his wife and advise her to get to the hospital as quickly as possible.’

She nodded and stumbled inside.

Two more squad cars squealed into the drive, followed by the SOCO van.

‘I dunno,’ Bryant said, as Kim got to her feet, ‘coppers are like buses. One minute there’s none and then ...’

‘Sergeant Dodds,’ said a burly officer with his hands inside his stab vest. Bryant took him to the side to explain the scene while Kim grabbed the first SOCO officer that got out of the van.

‘Follow me,’ she said, without introduction. She travelled around the side of the house and took the tall blond male to the bottom of the garden. She pointed behind the tree.

‘Broken fence panel is the perimeter breach.’ She pointed to the back door. ‘That’s the point of entry.’

‘Got it, Marm.’

She walked back to the front of the house to be greeted by Marta holding out a mobile phone.

‘Mrs Croft would like to speak to you.’

Kim took the phone. ‘Yes.’

‘Detective Inspector, I understand from Marta that there is considerable damage to my home.’

‘Not as much as there is to your husband.’

‘I’d like a further explanation as to what you are doing at my property. I specifically requested you were to be removed ...’

‘Russells Hall, if you’re interested,’ Kim said and switched off the phone.

She handed it back to Marta as Bryant exited the property.

‘Ready?’ he asked.

She nodded and they headed back to the car at the end of the drive.

‘You building bridges with Mrs Croft, eh, Guv?’

‘Oh, we’re just growing closer and closer all the time,’ Kim said dourly.

‘Where to now, Guv?’

‘Hollytree Estate,’ Kim said quietly. It was a task that could no longer be avoided. ‘We’re about to ruin one family’s day.’

Fifty-Seven

Bryant wound the car through the maze of small streets to the triangle of high-rise buildings at the centre. The estate comprised a total of 540 dwellings with two key gangs responsible for instilling the required level of fear into the residents.

The ‘Deltas’ were a group of young men who hailed from the Dudley postcode. The 'Bee Boys' were from two streets over, where the Sandwell postcode began.

Bryant parked the car next to the playground. Although the area held a swing set, a see-saw and a few benches, the park had not seen a child in decades. It was known as ‘The Pit’ and it was where representatives from each group met and settled ‘business’. To Kim’s knowledge three bodies had been found in The Pit in the last two years and there had been no witness to any one of them.

By Kim’s count, almost seventy properties had a direct view of the area and still no one saw a thing.

Their access into Swallow Court was unfettered. Police presence, although unwanted, was not restricted. The community was closed off from the outside world and crimes that took place within the enclave were resolved in the enclave. Gang leaders were safe in the knowledge that any ordinary citizens would never speak openly to police.

‘Oh Lordy,’ Bryant offered, placing a hand over his nose. Kim had taken a good deep breath before entering the middle block. The foyer was dark and smelled of urine. The area was small and windowless. Two blown bulbs had not been replaced and the only source of illumination was one square ceiling grid shielding a yellowed strip light.

‘What floor?’ Kim asked.

‘Seven. Stairs?’

Kim nodded and headed to the foot of the stairwell. The lifts in these blocks were notoriously faulty and if they got stuck between floors it was unlikely anyone was coming to help.

Knackered or left for dead? It was an easy choice.

By the third floor Bryant had counted seven syringes, three broken beer bottles and two used condoms.

‘Now, who said romance is dead?’ he asked as they entered the lobby on the seventh floor. ‘Right there, Guv,’ Bryant said, pointing to flat 28C.

A fist mark was evident in the middle of a door that was opened by a girl Kim guessed to be three or four. She didn’t smile or speak and sucked juice from a baby bottle.

‘Rhianna, ger away from the fucking door,’ called a female voice.

Bryant stepped forward, moving the child out of his way. Kim stepped around her and closed the door.

‘Excuse me,’ Bryant called as they stood in the dingy corridor. ‘Police ... can we ...’

‘What the hell ...’ they heard amidst a commotion of activity.

‘Already smelled it,’ Kim called, walking past Bryant into the lounge. The curtains were closed but didn’t quite meet in the middle.

A girl with hoop earrings and a pasty expression stood and wafted the air with her hands. The atmosphere was thick with the smell of weed.

‘What the fuck yer doin in ‘ere? Yo ‘ain't got no right ...’

‘Rhianna invited us in,’ Kim said, almost tripping over a rocker holding a newborn. ‘We’re here to see Brian Harris.’

‘It’s me dad. He’s abed.’

It was after eleven thirty.

‘So, you’re Melanie’s sister?’ Bryant asked.

‘Who?’ she asked, with a sneer.

Kim heard a door open down the corridor. A half-dressed male headed towards them, raging. ‘What the fuckin’ hell yo doin?’

‘Mr Harris,’ Bryant said, affably, standing in front of her. He held up his warrant card and introduced them both. ‘We’re just here to talk to you about Melanie.’

He stopped short and frowned.

Kim was beginning to think they were at the wrong address. But Melanie had clearly inherited her height from her father. He stood over six feet tall. Every one of his ribs was evident and the waistband of his jeans rested around his skinny hips. His scrawny arms were busy with DIY tattoos.

‘What’s the little bitch done now?’ he said, looking over the back of the sofa. Kim followed his gaze. A dark brown Staffordshire bull terrier lay panting in a cage meant for a large Yorkie. Its teats were distended and red. A cardboard box next to the cage held four puppies snuggled close together. Kim couldn’t tell if the eyes on the puppies were yet open but they’d been removed from the bitch for a reason.