‘It’s definitely her then?’ Harriet asked, unscrewing a bottle of water.
‘Yes, our victim is Ashley Reynolds.’
She shook her head with what appeared to be genuine sadness, but there were no tears.
‘I suppose we were all the last ones to see her,’ she observed, switching from the emotional reaction to a factual assessment. Clearly not a woman who bothered with false sentiment.
‘She was killed within fifteen minutes of leaving the community centre,’ Penn told her.
‘Oh goodness,’ Harriet said, covering her mouth as though the short timescale made the situation even worse. ‘How awful. Was it a robbery?’
‘No.’
‘Well, I can’t imagine any other motive. Ashley got on with most people.’
‘But not all?’ Penn asked.
She shrugged. ‘Everyone at practice thought she was wonderful.’
‘But not you?’ he asked, hearing the ‘but’ in her voice.
She smiled. ‘Officer, I am a naturally suspicious person. I can’t help it. I’m always wary of people who are too nice.’
‘Why’s that?’ he asked.
‘Because everyone has flaws. There’s always balance. Everyone has shades of grey.’
‘But not Ashley?’
‘Too nice. Always calm, always pleasant, always unruffled. No shouting, no snapping or…’
‘Not even at you?’ Penn asked.
Her brain made the journey from A to B to C with lightning speed. ‘Ah, you’re not here because I was one of the last people to see her alive. You’re here because there was friction between us?’
‘Was there?’
‘Am I a suspect?’ she asked, frowning, although her voice held amusement as though this was a story she’d be cheerfully recounting later.
‘By your own admission, no one had an issue with Ashley except you,’ he said, avoiding the question.
‘Hardly an issue. Well, certainly not by my standards. She made a decision that I didn’t agree with.’
‘This was a few weeks ago?’
‘Last week,’ Harriet corrected.
‘But you still weren’t talking to her?’ Penn asked.
‘I hold a grudge, Officer. That’s one of my negative traits. But that doesn’t mean I’m capable of killing someone, and if I’m the best suspect you’ve got, you really are up a creek without a paddle.’
Penn instinctively knew she was telling the truth. He’d always been reasonable at reading people and this woman was transparent. She hadn’t tried to fool him with crocodile tears, and she’d been frank about her own shortcomings. It struck him that Harriet wasn’t the person to ask for an honest opinion if you really didn’t want one. If she’d done it, she’d probably hold up her hands and say yes, it was me.
Realising his time here held no further value, he pushed back his chair.
‘Have you spoken to her brother though?’ Harriet asked as she followed his lead and stood.
‘Should we?’ he asked, pausing.
