‘Bloody hell,’ Stacey whispered as the link took her to an investigation of the facility which was founded in the early seventies to treat people with development disabilities, emotional disorders and autistic-like behaviours.
The centre openly used aversive therapy, ran contingent food programmes, used long-term restraints and solitary confinement, sensory deprivation and GED shocks as forms of ‘treatment’.
Even though there had been six deaths since it was founded, the centre prided itself on being pioneers of behavioural treatment. There were numerous accounts of food being used or withheld as a reward and punishment for behaviour. Forced wearing of a helmet that restricted vision and hearing for extended periods of time. Patients being provoked into a behaviour so they could be punished. Humiliation techniques like being forced to eat like a dog or sleep in a kneeling position.
Stacey remembered watching a documentary on the treatment of prisoners at Guantanamo Bay. If the same conduct were applied there, it would spark world-wide outrage. And this was being done to kids.
Stacey shuddered, thanking God there were no such facilities in the UK. It was disturbing enough that a new branch of Exodus had made it across the pond.
She clicked into their website and punched in the number which was answered on the second ring.
‘Exodus Plus, Lorraine speaking, how may I help you?’
The voice was perky, friendly and Stacey could almost hear the smile on the woman’s face.
‘Hi, I’m Detective Constable Stacey Wood from West Midlands Police. Just checking it’s okay for my boss to meet with Charles Stamoran.’
‘In connection with?’
The smile in the voice was gone.
‘A current investigation.’
‘I’m sorry, but Mr Stamoran is busy,’ she said, ending the call.
Stacey stared at her own phone. ‘What the hell was that about?’
TWENTY-NINE
‘Go ahead, Stace,’ Kim said, putting the phone on speaker.
‘You’re not getting in there, boss,’ Stacey said. ‘He’s not free to speak and won’t make an appointment until the end of the month.’
‘Okay, Stace, we’re just pulling up now. I’ll get back to you,’ Kim said, appraising the building. ‘Hmm…don’t want to speak to us, eh?’
‘Have they already met you, guv?’
‘Not funny,’ she said, getting out of the car.
The office was the end building on a trading estate, which looked like it had been a small café at some point in its past. The sign above the door simply said Exodus with a plus sign; no explanation, no description and certainly no kerb appeal. The windows on both floors were blocked by venetian blinds that were closed. But for the two cars out front, a Jaguar and a Corsa, the place would have appeared empty and unused.
As she approached the door, she noted one single security camera. The door was locked but an intercom system was fixed to the wall. She pressed the call button.
‘Exodus,’ said the singsong voice.
‘Detective Inspector Stone and Detective Sergeant Bryant. I believe my colleague called ahead.’
‘Your colleague was informed that there was no one available and that hasn’t changed in the three minutes since I ended the call.’
‘It is regarding an active investigation,’ Kim clarified in case she didn’t understand.
‘Doesn’t make him any less busy.’
Kim wasn’t warming to Lorraine. ‘He can’t spare us just a few minutes?’
‘It’s a no for the third time. Please step away from the front door.’
Kim took a step backwards.