Page 7

Kim was always surprised at how quickly a community adjusted to a major event, even a brutal murder on the doorstep.

Only an hour ago there’d barely been standing room at the cordon, but like any good show, the main event had passed. The sirens were no longer sounding, the blue lights were no longer flashing and the stars of the show had left the stage. Only a few stragglers remained to watch the crew take down the set. The rest had returned to their own priorities, which had not disappeared in the face of a brutal murder. She was pleased to note the absence of Tracy Frost. Kim was hopeful that the reporter had turned her attention to the body in the lake and was now someone else’s problem.

Kim signed herself and Bryant back into the house, but didn’t dress in protective clothing. Mitch had been working the scene for a couple of hours, and she had no intention of going near the kitchen. That wasn’t the reason for her visit.

Although the body had been removed, the forensic techie would be inspecting every square inch. Even on a case as cut and dried as this one, forensics would be needed to support the charge in court.

No, her interest lay elsewhere. After Katie’s impromptu performance at the station, Kim wanted to understand the dynamics at play. This time she was here to examine the home.

‘Just about to call you,’ Mitch shouted from the kitchen.

‘Call me what?’ Kim asked.

Mitch shook his head at her poor attempt at humour. ‘First bedroom on the left. Interesting.’

Kim glanced at Bryant before heading up the stairs. As ordered, she headed for the first door on the left.

‘Bloody hell,’ she exclaimed as the door opened.

For a second she considered shielding her eyes.

The sun that had followed another brief shower shone through the window, lighting up a treasure trove of trophies, crowns, tiaras, sashes and rosettes. A three-tier display had been set up covered in ivory silk and arranged so that every trophy and cup could be seen. Each sash had its own hook and hung proudly from the wall above the display.

The other three walls were covered in framed photographs of a little girl wearing all kinds of sparkly, sequinned gowns. All of which Kim suspected were still hanging in the double wardrobe behind the door.

A single seat was placed beside the window.

Kim now understood that the photos downstairs weren’t of a girl playing dress up but of her competing.

Katie Hawne had been a pageant child.

‘Looks like they’re in date order,’ Bryant said, taking a look at the trophies.

‘What years?’ Kim asked, picking up a tiara that was made of cheap plastic and what looked like glass.

‘First one I’ve got is Little Miss Stourbridge in 2006, and the last one was Miss Teen Black Country in 2013.’

‘Seven years?’ Kim queried, looking at all the trophies that had been won during that time.

‘She must have been good,’ Bryant said. ‘Lots of first place and Supreme and Grand Supreme, which I don’t understand but sounds pretty impressive.’

Kim followed his gaze. The journey wasn’t hard to map. The most prestigious titles and the biggest trophies had been won during Katie’s middle years.

‘Is it really possible for a kid to hit their prime aged eight to eleven?’ Kim asked, noting the number of second-place trophies after that age.

‘Never given pageant longevity much thought. I never even knew they were a thing in this country. Laura used to love an American show called Toddlers and Tiaras when she was little,’ Bryant said, opening the wardrobe doors and revealing dresses that appeared to span the whole seven years.

Kim took the seat by the window, which was in pole position to view the whole room. There was no musty smell and no trace of dust. Rather than being an old batch of memories, the shrine was being kept very much alive.

The question was, by Katie or her mum?