Baby Love Read Online Free PDF Page B

He’d do the talking.
    Laura Kenyon, bolstered by pillows, was sitting up in a four-poster bed that was covered in candyfloss. Netting and drapes, actually, but Powell didn’t do soft furnishings. He did know Laura looked like a princess, the fairytale kind. Stick a
petit pois under her mattress and she wouldn’t get a wink of sleep. She’d had none last night. There were coffee-coloured smudges under double-glazed eyes. She didn’t even try to stifle a yawn.
    Given Laura’s fragile state, Powell tried to cover the main points first; mop-up sessions would follow. It appeared Laura was grabbed from behind as she walked home from a friend’s house in Fair View, half a mile from the rape scene off
the Alcester Road. The attacker dragged her through a gap in the wire fencing, then down the slope to the abandoned rail line.
    “What time was this, Laura?” he asked.
    “I kind of lost track, sorry.”
    He let it go for the moment, concentrated on physical details of her assailant. He was taller and heavier than her – she was probably a size eight – but she couldn’t estimate by how much. He’d put some sort of bag over her head
and tied her hands behind her back. And threatened to kill her if she screamed.
    “What about the voice, Laura? Young? Old? Any accent?”
    She shook her head. “The mask... Everything was muffled.”
    And she’d been so terrified she could barely breathe. He had a knife. And scissors. As with the other victims, he’d further violated Laura by hacking off her pubic hair. For Laura it was almost the worst moment in an ordeal that had
lasted... how long? Powell still hadn’t got a fix on the timings. The triple-nine had come in at 5am after she’d dragged herself up to the wire fence and been spotted by a shift-worker. She’d either left her friend’s house way too
late to be walking home alone or she’d lain around down there for hours.
    “You’re doing really well, Laura.” There was a warm smile in Carol Mansfield’s voice. Powell had forgotten she was there.
    He asked Laura if the attacker had said anything before fleeing.
    “He warned me not to move. Said he’d cut me. He untied my hands. Ordered me to close my eyes. Removed the bag...”
    Powell pounced on what that could mean. “And you saw...?” The prompt came out more like a prod.
    The tears that had threatened throughout coursed down her cheeks. “I was scared. My eyes were closed. I was tired... So very, very tired...”
    And she fell asleep? Powell found that hard to believe. Unless she’d been on the jolly juice. “Were you...?”
    “That’s enough for now.” Martha Kemp’s voice brooked no argument. Hands tucked under her armpits, she’d listened to every word from the foot of the bed. Carol Mansfield thought the woman would be better occupied
comforting her daughter. Laura was in bits.
    They were at the bedroom door when Mansfield turned. “Just one thing, Laura. Did your attacker take anything? An earring, perhaps?”
    “No.” A trembling hand shot to her earlobe. “No. I wasn’t wearing any.”
    The answer was quick. Too quick? “You’re sure?” Mansfield asked.
    “She’s sure,” Kemp spat. “Look at her. Don’t you think he took enough?”
    Mike Powell was behind the wheel. He wanted another look at the crime scene and it was always good to keep the guys on their toes. It was a bit stop-start; traffic was generally slow through Moseley on farmers’-market
Saturdays. He glanced at his passenger. Carol Mansfield was dabbing her nose with a tissue. As well as the sniffs, her eyes were streaming. He hoped to God he’d not come down with it as well. Aside from the cold, he reckoned she was well fit. He
liked his women with curves. He preferred petite blondes and Mansfield was tall and very dark but at least she wasn’t lippy. Like Morriss.
    “What were you going to ask Laura, sir?” There was a blank look on his face. “You didn’t get the question out. Ma Kemp called time.”
    Of course.