As he reviewed the clip he’d just taken, the frame swept across a ground-floor window in a small block of new flats set back from the road.
He played the clip again, noting that something had either fallen from the window or was dropped right before it was pulled shut.
Penn retraced his steps and crossed the road. He reached the window and looked to the ground. A still-smoking cigarette end stared back at him.
More interesting was the fact it had fallen onto a small pile of similar butts.
He found it unlikely that he could be that lucky, but it was worth a knock on the door.
Ten
The foot spa was sandwiched between two charity shops in Cradley Heath High Street.
A customer in her early fifties was just on her way out as they entered the shop, leaving the premises empty except for the woman behind the front desk.
‘Gemma Ross?’ Kim asked, showing her identification as Bryant closed the door behind them.
‘That’s me,’ she said, frowning.
‘Would you mind closing up for a bit while we have a chat?’ Kim asked, nodding towards the door.
‘Of course,’ she said, stepping out and heading for the door.
Kim took a moment to appraise both her and her surroundings and found the place pretty much matched the owner. Both looked tired and a little sad. Everything about Gemma screamed functional, from the comfortable trousers to the Crocs on her feet and the untidy bun holding back her hair. Likewise, the equipment and furnishings looked clean but worn and old. The town itself had been dying for decades, and Kim could only wonder how she managed to keep her business afloat. She wasn’t getting rich off it. That was a fact.
‘How can I help?’ Gemma asked, pointing for them to use the sofa reserved for waiting customers.
Both she and Bryant sat as the shop owner pulled up a stool from one of the foot stations. Kim couldn’t help but imagine the volume of nail clippings and dead skin cells that had landed on its surface. She shook the thought away and focussed on the woman waiting for her answer.
‘We’re here about Ashley Reynolds,’ Kim said, choosing not to mention why.
An injection of granite was pumped into Gemma’s features. ‘What about her?’
‘You don’t like her very much.’
‘I hate the fucking bitch. What of it?’
‘Yes, we gathered that from your Facebook messages.’
Gemma shrugged. ‘Has she finally seen them? Good. She really called the cops on me?’
‘What’s she done to you?’ Kim asked, choosing not to add any details until she had the full story.
‘Stole my man, the homewrecking whore.’
‘Daniel?’
‘Yeah, Daniel. He left me for her. She ruined my life, and I intend on making her life a living?—’
‘You don’t blame Daniel at all?’ Kim interrupted, wondering why it was always the woman that got the blame.
‘He’s a man,’ she said as if that explained it all.
Did the woman think that men were genetically formed without the ability to say no and therefore they were excused from blame?
‘Tell me what happened,’ Kim urged her, wondering whether Daniel was as wholesome as she’d first thought. The list of suspects was growing, but he was still very much on it.
‘He was my everything. We met at college. It was instant. I knew that we were going to spend the rest of our lives together. We were madly in love, both besotted with each other. We survived attending different universities. It was long distance for four whole years, and we still knew we were meant to be. We were about to get engaged – I know he was about to propose. And then he met her.’
