Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
One ass cork removal, coming right up
REED
Andrews takes one of the two visitor chairs instead of sitting behind his desk, gesturing for me to take the other. “Okay, kid. Let’s go one by one with this shit.”
I guess he got his jollies dicking me around enough in the breakroom, and is gonna get right to it.
However, I don’t love how he’s decided to sit with me instead of opposite sides of his desk like we normally do when reviewing case information.
He waits until I’m looking him dead on before beginning. “When we first spoke about potentially using Lila as a source, do you remember what you told me about her?”
“Yeah. Age, race, family, employment, how we met. The basic shit. Why?”
“As you know, that information was verified like we do with all potential CIs.”
He pauses for a breath, giving me just enough time to notice the pinch of tension in my shoulders. Although it’s fitting for him to call her a CI, I hate thinking of Lila that way. Nine times out of ten, confidential informants are criminals.
Andrews continues dragging out his prelude. “Everything checked out. And her finances looked good too. Basic check of her phone history and the standard fare. All was clear.”
What the fuck is he tap dancing around? “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.”
“We received new information that contradicts one of those details. While this discovery is almost certainly unrelated to the case, I told the team I’d inform you. I didn’t want you blindsided should it come up in discussion at tomorrow morning’s debrief.”
“Appreciate that. But spit it out.”
His expression remains solemn as he removes a thin folder from a pile on his desk. Without opening it, he hands it to me.
I take it, casting him a frustrated glare. “If you were gonna make me read it myself, you could have saved us both time by starting here.”
No response from him as I flip open the folder. It’s a printout of an email from an INTERPOL agent.
Quietly, I mumble the introductory message.
“Special Agent Andrews, please find attached the information requested on your person of interest, Lila Kent. Apologies for the delay. This was missed initially since the agency of record hasn’t digitized all its files from that long ago.
Not sure if it’s relevant to your investigation, but wanted you to have it regardless. ”
I cock a brow at Andrews, then turn to the next page.
“I read the report while you were out with Lila this afternoon,” Andrews explains. “I didn’t call you right away because I figured it might hurt your efforts with her.”
While glossing over the formal bullshit at the top of the report, I mutter, “Good call. I made good progress today. She’s done hiding and agreed to spill everything when I get back.
” I exhale as I dive in, trying to decipher the handwriting on the report from more than twenty years ago. “Where the hell is Bishop Middleham?”
“Small countryside town in England near Sedgefield. It’s old mining country. Lots of nature reserves and old quarries.”
“Birdwatching?” I ask, only partially kidding.
“Back then, birders flocked from all around to an old quarry where some rare birds were nesting.”
“Knew that off the top of your head, did you?”
He does a one-shoulder shrug. “I was curious enough for a web search.”
A lazy grin tugs at the corners of my mouth. “I knew Lila’s been a birder for a long time, but she must have been only six or seven when this was—”
My jaw drops when I get to the meat of the report. “Wait. Suspicious death inquiry. You’re telling me this was a homicide investigation?”
A cocktail of panic and outrage seizes my heart, shoving it into my throat. “Did they seriously consider Lila a suspect in a murder? For fuck’s sake, she was a child.”
Andrews takes a sip of coffee, remaining perfectly still. “So was the victim.”
That socks me in the gut.
A child dying is horrific on its own. Murdered? Far worse. But why the fuck did they think Lila was responsible?
Face buried in the report, I strain to decipher the script of someone with questionable motor function in their dominant hand. “Okay, so the victim is Zara Kent, age seven. Obviously related to Lila.”
I glance at him, then back to the report, not expecting an answer. Most likely, all the information he has is in my hands.
The next page of the report is a narrative from the first officer on scene, or Constable, as they call it. Although the format is different from what we use in the States, it’s easy enough to follow. Shitty handwriting aside.
After skipping past the formal protocol bullshit at the top, my eyes speed through the details.
As the report unfolds, my chest progressively tightens until my lungs may collapse under the strain.
At approximately 1122 hours, I attended the location of Bishop Middleham Quarry following reports of a female having fallen from a cliff. Upon arrival, I proceeded to the base of the north-east ridge, where I observed a female lying supine and unresponsive.
I conducted an initial assessment and found no signs of life; breathing and pulse were absent.
I noted a significant deformity to the neck, appearing inconsistent with life and suggesting a fatal injury sustained from a fall.
In my opinion, life was extinct, and as such, resuscitation was not commenced.
I immediately preserved the scene, establishing a cordon using police tape to ensure the integrity of the area and to prevent any contamination of evidence.
Within the immediate vicinity of the deceased, I located a shattered Nikon camera.
This was recovered and bagged as an exhibit (Reference: KP/01).
Paramedics from the North East Ambulance Service attended shortly thereafter and formally confirmed death at 1141 hours.
Prior to the arrival of Detective Sergeant (DS) Mark JEFFRIES, I obtained a brief initial account from the only adult present at the scene. Of note, with her was Lila KENT, twin sister to the deceased.
My eyelids slam shut of their own volition as if the damn things know I don’t want to read another word.
The last line blaring repeats in my mind at a deafening volume.
Lila Kent, twin sister to the deceased.
An ache in the center of my torso resonates to the point of nausea.
Lila’s sister.
Her twin sister.
Died in front of her.
When she was seven.
Hell, I was four when I was adopted. That agony has never left me. Lila was three years older when her sister died. Her wounds must be tenfold.
This poor, sweet, beautiful woman has been carrying this unimaginable burden. For years. All alone.
Yet smiling through it all, refusing to allow her loss to make her as bitter as I let mine make me.
How could this have happened?
Although I’m unsure if I want to read on, I have to know. I expel the sorrow from my lungs and continue reading.
My summary of the facts as reported is as follows.
Moira KENT, an American national, stated that she had escorted the two children to the quarry for the purpose of birdwatching, whilst their parents were playing golf at a nearby course.
KENT disclosed that she suffers from chronic mobility issues (affecting both knees), which significantly restricted her pace.
She reported that the three of them were hiking towards the viewpoint when the two girls ran ahead.
KENT stated she attempted to maintain pace but was physically unable to do so, losing sight of the children as they ascended toward the summit.
KENT stated she reached the summit no more than five minutes later, where she found Lila KENT alone.
She described the child as standing near the edge of the precipice, appearing to be in a state of shock and incapable of speech.
Upon looking over the edge, Moira KENT sighted the deceased at the base of the ridge.
She subsequently carried Lila KENT down the incline to render assistance to Zara KENT, who remained unresponsive.
Moira KENT appeared highly distressed and made several unsolicited statements regarding her failure to keep pace with the children.
Due to the absence of a parent or Appropriate Adult, I did not attempt a formal interview with the lone witness, Lila KENT. I observed that the child appeared in a highly distressed state; she was weeping and making repeated, vague apologies to her aunt.
DS JEFFRIES arrived at the scene at 1202 hours.
I briefed him on my initial findings, specifically drawing his attention to the child’s demeanour and her persistent, unsolicited verbalisations of guilt.
DS JEFFRIES noted these apologies appeared inconsistent with an accidental death, and he directed . . .
The words on the page blur.
I pass the file back to Andrews, struggling to dam the tears and muzzle my sobs.
It’s been years since I’ve had enough emotion to cry. Until now. Even my cloud technique couldn’t delude or protect me from this heartbreak.
I turn my pleading eyes on my mentor. “Would you just tell me what happened after the detective arrived?”
In a tone I’ve heard Andrews use many times with distraught victims, he honors my request. “Of course.”
He returns the file to his desk. “The detective’s narrative explains he initially treated it as an accidental death.
However, due to Lila’s profuse vague apologies, they couldn’t rule out foul play.
She kept saying she didn’t mean to and she was sorry.
Stuff like that. It was all they could get out of her, which came across as more of a confession than grief.
They considered the possibility of sibling rivalry or a disagreement gone wrong. Yada, yada.”
Sibling rivalry with her seven-year-old twin? Give me a break.
I shake my head in disgust. “She was traumatized. Kids say shit like that when they’re upset and scared. Doesn’t make it true.”