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Katie Hawne’s home was just a few miles away from Lye on the outskirts of Pedmore.

Stacey had phoned ahead to the landlord, who was waiting outside the premises.

It still amazed Kim how quickly the detective constable had bounced back. Only a couple of months ago she’d been a shell of her former self after her ordeal at the hands of Terence Birch. There was no question that she had returned to her previous level of performance, and Kim’s trust in her had been restored.

‘DI Stone and DS Bryant,’ Kim said, showing her ID.

‘Derek Hudson, owner and landlord,’ he responded, leading them into a small corridor. There were three doors, and he paused at the one on the left.

‘What’s happened?’ he asked before putting the key in the lock, as though entry was dependent on information.

‘Not at liberty to share right now, Mr Hudson,’ Kim said, nodding towards the door.

‘Is she dead?’

‘Any reason you’d ask that?’ Kim shot back, growing impatient.

‘Rent’s due in two days, that’s all.’

Kim said nothing and continued to stare at the door.

He opened it and went inside.

‘Good tenant?’ Bryant asked, following him in.

‘Ideal, to be fair. No noise, no complaints, no late-night visitors.’

‘And you’d know that how?’ Kim asked.

He pointed across the hall. ‘My place.’

Kim was unsure if she found that reassuring or ominous.

‘Not my type, so you can get that out of your head. She’s a nice girl, but I prefer a bit more meat on the bones and miles on the clock. I run a decent place.’

For some reason Kim found herself believing him as he pushed the door to the living room open.

At first glance, the apartment looked clean and well decorated.

‘How long has she lived here?’ Kim asked.

‘Just over two years. Pays her rent on time. Called me once about a faulty boiler. I sorted it the same day, and other than small talk in passing that’s pretty much it.’

‘Okay, thanks, Mr Hudson. We’ll give you a knock once we’re done. We know where to find you.’

He took the hint gracefully and left them alone.

‘All pretty normal,’ Bryant observed as they moved further into Katie Hawne’s home.

‘Yep, it’s almost like she never stabbed her mother to death,’ Kim observed.

‘The flat, not the situation,’ he clarified.

‘Hmm…not really,’ she said, taking a good look around the living room.

A comfortable and functional sofa, a fashionable minimalistic coffee table, a plastic plant in the corner, a smart TV, candles, scatter cushions, a matching throw.

‘Guv, you’re seeing stuff that isn’t there.’

‘Accurate assessment exactly. What you got on your fireplace at home?’

‘Holiday photo of me, Jenny and Laura taken about seven years ago.’

‘What you got on the walls?’

‘Currently pictures of the Highland cows that Jenny loves.’

‘How about your coffee table?’

‘Some weird crystal and pebble thing Laura bought us from—Oh, got it.’

‘Two years she’s lived here, and I can’t see one personal item.’

‘But that aside, what exactly are we hoping to find?’ Bryant asked. ‘Some kind of confession that backs up the knife in her hand and the blood-soaked clothing? I mean, do we really need anything else?’

‘A reason. Whatever their relationship was like, it endured for twenty-five years, so why did it end today?’

Bryant shrugged as they headed into the kitchen. The room was small and boxy, but the space had been used wisely with drawers and cupboard space in every available spot.

‘Same in here,’ he observed.

No fridge magnets, no silly ornaments and no keepsakes. It was more understandable in a small space where there was less inclination to clutter, but it just compounded what they’d already seen.

‘Maybe the bedroom?’ Bryant suggested, stepping across the hallway.

The situation was exactly the same there. A double bed was made with a tartan quilt set. Only one bedside cabinet with a lamp and an alarm clock on it. The wardrobes and drawers revealed tasteful, stylish clothes with little variation. After checking them all, Kim deduced there was not one sequin in sight.

‘You don’t find it strange that she took nothing of her achievements from her childhood home? Not one crown or sash or award?’

Bryant shrugged. ‘I got a certificate for winning first place in the egg and spoon race when I was eight, but I didn’t take it when I left home.’

‘First of all, why do you insist on telling me these things knowing I’m gonna use them against you? And secondly, can you really compare your bean bag race?—?’

‘Egg and spoon,’ he clarified, like it mattered.

‘Tragic that you felt the need to correct me, but what I’m saying is that unlike yours her achievements were notable. You wouldn’t want to take any reminders of that with you? It’s a part of who you are.’

And right now, Kim was struggling to get any idea of who Katie Hawne was. Her home was attractive and stylish, but it wasn’t personal.

‘Back to the kitchen,’ she said, marching across the hall. ‘I want to find the drawer.’

‘Oh yeah, we all have one,’ Bryant said.

Kim’s ‘it’ drawer contained screws, tape, scissors, a broken old doorbell, bulldog clips and all kinds of other things that she had no intention of using but hadn’t yet thrown away.

She started opening drawers as Bryant headed for the cupboards.

‘Ah, got it,’ Kim said, although it wasn’t overly impressive.

It was half empty except for a couple of recent utility bills.

Underneath was a business card. Kim picked it up and frowned, turning it over. The only information on it read Girls’ Club, above a phone number.

‘Bryant,’ she said, passing it to her colleague.

He shrugged and handed it back. ‘Maybe it’s a group that offers advice on how to make a meal out of three ingredients,’ he said, looking in the fridge.

She took the card back and put it in her pocket.

‘Not everyone has a wife they don’t deserve who fills the cupboards and freezer.’

‘Guv, I’m not talking forgot to go to the shops and fill up. I’m talking nothing to cobble together for a snack.’

Kim double-checked. He was right. She didn’t eat that much herself, but she always had the ingredients to throw a quick meal together.

Kim recalled the image of Katie’s protruding collarbone, even more pronounced in the ballgown, and wondered if they were dealing with a bigger issue than an aversion to cooking.

‘Okay, there’s nothing more to see here,’ she said, heading towards the exit.

She crossed the hall and knocked on the landlord’s door.

He answered almost immediately.

‘Okay, we’re done. You can lock up, and don’t reopen to anyone who isn’t carrying a badge.’

He opened his mouth.

‘We’ll keep you in the loop, but just do as we ask for now.’

‘Will do.’

‘One last thing though,’ Kim said, desperate to find out something about Katie Hawne. ‘Are you saying that in the two years Katie lived here, you never saw any visitors come to her door? Not even her mother?’

His eyes widened in surprise. ‘Well, that would have been a shocker. Katie told me her mother was dead.’