‘So, what are you thinking about our Italian stallions?’ Bryant asked.

‘Not sure,’ she answered as he took a shortcut to bypass Brierley Hill High Street. The lunchtime traffic would slow them down on their way to Cedars Retirement Home and Keats had been clear. Short and sharp but definitely clear.

She had tried to call him back, but the call had gone straight to voicemail, so she had no clue what they were heading towards or what connection it had to their current case. It was a retirement home; people died.

‘You think he did it?’

She shrugged. ‘Junior is angry on his dad’s behalf, and yet Angelo is surprisingly calm. He doesn’t know the name of the nurse, and we have no way of proving or disproving his story.’

‘You think Angelo made it up?’ Bryant asked.

‘Could have, just to deflect the attention of the initial complaint. Vanessa made no mention of a counter complaint, and if there are no other witnesses we may never know. What I do know is that we have two members of the same family involved in horrific incidents in the space of twenty-four hours, and one person who issued a direct threat. Let’s be honest, Angelo Mancini wouldn’t be the first person to try and steal stuff from a hospital.’

‘But he’d never done anything before,’ Bryant offered.

‘That they know of,’ she said. ‘He may not have been caught.’

‘Well, his colleagues seem to support him. That was a good-looking weed in that plant pot,’ he observed, drily.

‘Yeah, no expense spared to bring him a token of their affection. Who’d he piss off to receive that?’

‘You did seem to take an instant dislike to Angelo Mancini,’ Bryant said.

‘Did you just get here?’ she queried. ‘I take an instant dislike to everyone I meet.’

‘True. Okay, let’s rephrase and say you seem to be unwilling to give him the benefit of the doubt.’

Kim opened her mouth and closed it again. Yes, she had to admit there was something about the man she didn’t like. He was too calm about the situation, showing no emotion at all, and yet she knew him to be capable of high emotion after issuing a direct threat in the first place.

She put it out of her mind as Bryant pulled into the grounds of Cedars Retirement Home in Tividale, an area at the north-west corner of Rowley Regis, nestled between Oldbury and Dudley.

The facility was a purpose-built red-brick building not far from Rattlechain Lagoon. Kim remembered asking Keith and Erica to take her to Rattlechain Lagoon after hearing mention of it at school. It had sounded so exotic and adventurous.

Keith had explained to her that the nickname came from the Rattlechain Brickworks, where in the 1890s, a marl hole, a clay pit, was created which had subsequently been used as a disposal site by local factories. For thirty-two years, industrial waste like white phosphorus and other toxic chemicals had been tipped unregulated and unrecorded into the lagoon, leading to its status as a hazardous waste site.

Kim hadn’t wanted to visit after that, and she guessed Sandwell Council had snapped up the land for the care home at a very reasonable price, enabling them to erect a brand new building.

Kim idly observed that the yards of net curtain negated the point of having such expansive windows. Surely designed for the residents to look out.

Inside the front door was a square space with a glass partition on the right-hand side.

Kim held up her badge to the young, flustered woman behind the desk.

The buzzing of the door lock sounded, and she pushed through.

A green-clad carer was waiting on the other side.

‘Follow me, please,’ she said, quietly walking through a large, bright, airy room to the left and passing a dining room that was being set for lunch. The aroma of tomato and garlic wafted through towards her, and a short line of eager diners was already forming.

The chatter stopped as they traversed the distance. Even the less interested residents appeared to be following their every move. And if they knew nothing they knew as much as she did. She still had no clue what she was doing here.

The carer stood at the patio doors and pointed.

‘I’ve been told not to step—’

‘It’s okay,’ Kim said, opening the door. Whatever it was, Keats wouldn’t want unnecessary people in the area.

The garden stretched the entire length of the building and was a mixture of patio areas, trees, shrubs, planters and a brick path.

Kim followed the path around a raised vegetable garden and saw Keats standing behind a bench that looked onto a collection of bird feeders.

‘Keats,’ she said from a few feet away.

He didn’t turn.

‘Keats,’ she repeated.

No response, even though he wasn’t currently engaged in conversation with anyone else.

‘Keats, what the hell is going?…’

‘Oh, sorry, Stone, I thought we were only answering each other on the third time of trying,’ he said, referring to his attempts to call her.

‘I was interviewing a witness,’ she snapped.

‘Who I presume is alive and well, unlike this poor soul who is not and requires your urgent attention.’

Kim walked to the front of the bench and placed her hands on her hips.

The woman appeared to be mid- to late-seventies, average build, wearing a flower-covered dress and a cardigan. Her left wrist held a delicate gold watch, and a locket hung around her neck. She wore tan-coloured tights in flat comfortable shoes.

Her head lolled to the side, and her eyes stared out straight in front of her.

‘Okay, Keats, give me a clue why I’m here,’ she said.

‘Her name is Phyllis Mansell. She’s seventy-six years old. She rises at 7 a.m. every day to swim for half an hour in the on-site pool. She spends most of her day chatting to other residents and makes cups of tea for the staff. She organises coach trips to the seaside and calls the bingo numbers on a Saturday night. She’s never smoked, is not a heavy drinker and comes outside every day at 12 to feed and watch the birds.’

‘Blimey, Keats, you her pen pal or something?’ Kim asked, still unsure why he’d called them.

‘This lady had no serious health issues, was fit and sprightly and yet here she is. Dead.’

‘But you’ve not even examined her yet to determine cause of death,’ Kim noted.

‘I know, are you impressed right now?’

‘Not sure impressed sums up how I’m feeling about you right this—’

‘Oh, and these little blighters here might have given me a clue,’ he said, taking an evidence bag from his jacket pocket.

She took what appeared to be an empty bag from his hand.

‘Looks like they got away,’ she said, turning it over.

He passed her his glasses. ‘Look closer.’

She put them on and held the bag up to the light.

‘Fibres?’ she asked.

‘At least half a dozen of them, found on her lips.’

Kim glanced back at the body. The fibres on her lips were blue, matching nothing on her person but potentially similar to the ones found around the neck wound of Cordell.

Kim now understood the reason for the call and the absence of staff outside.

‘You think she was murdered and that it was someone here? That this is linked to the murder of Doctor Cordell?’

‘That’s your job, not mine but the gardens appear to be enclosed.’

‘Okay, Bryant, tell the manager no one leaves and we want access to their CCTV. Now.’