‘I should think so. If you’re speaking to me, you should definitely be speaking to him.’
‘Did she say something to you about him?’
‘She didn’t have to. I saw them with my own eyes, a couple of weeks ago. I was late leaving the pub as my bike had a puncture. Normally, I pass Ashley just fifty metres up the road, but thanks to the puncture, she was much further along, and she wasn’t alone.’
‘Go on,’ he said, wishing he’d stayed seated. This was by far the most important part of their conversation.
‘Ashley had already described her brother as an Onslow lookalike, so I didn’t have to guess who she was with.’
Although Penn had never watched the old popular sitcom Keeping Up Appearances, he did know that the name Onslow had become synonymous with a scruffy, overweight layabout.
‘It was clear they were arguing, and he poked her in the shoulder, forcing her to take a step back. I carried on and pretended I hadn’t seen them, but I stopped a bit further along to look back. She was handing him something from her purse.’
‘She was giving him money, you think?’
‘I assume so. Neither looked happy to see the other.’
The boss had said that Daniel claimed the two of them rarely spoke.
‘Did she ever mention it to you after?’ he asked.
‘I don’t think she saw me.’
Penn was confused. The pub was on the left and so was the pavement. Harriet would have been riding her bike right beside Ashley and her brother.
‘How could she have missed you?’
‘The two of them were back from the road. You know that spot where the house burned down?’
Penn knew the spot well. It was the exact same place Ashley had been murdered.
Twenty
The approach to the Stout property was very much in keeping with the appearance of the woman herself.
‘Wipe that smile off your face,’ she warned Bryant.
‘I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist. If Stacey had taken the bet, I’d be a tenner better off right now.’
Her colleagues had known that the insufferable woman’s whispered comment about her daughter would pique Kim’s interest. And now she’d put her mind to it, she could vaguely recall a little girl present at one of their run-ins, aged nine or ten with matted blonde hair, an unwashed face and a dirty finger rammed up her nostril.
What had intrigued Kim was why the girl had got a mention at all.
Bryant’s enjoyment soon left him as they made the final ascent to the property along a narrow lane with hedgerows growing wildly on each side. His pleasure lessened further every time a protruding branch hit the side of his car. The road was unadopted, and various attempts had been made to fill the craters that would cause any vehicle a bouncy ride with makeshift rubble.
The so-called road led onto a courtyard with the farmhouse to the left and various outbuildings scattered around. Everywhere she looked there was evidence of a way of life gone but not forgotten: old and rusted machinery and tools protruded from buildings or leaned against walls as though waiting for the heyday of farming to return.
A figure appeared out of the farmhouse, which looked like it hadn’t been touched in the years since Kim had last been here. It could have been mistaken for a derelict building.
‘Hello, William,’ Kim said, fully aware this was the youngest of Martha’s two boys. She calculated that William had to be early thirties while his older brother, Martin, was closer to forty. Last she knew, both sons still lived at home with their mother.
William was dressed in wellington boots, dirty jeans and a good three layers on his top half. Although no longer actively farmed, the acreage they owned still needed to be maintained.
‘How’s my mum?’ he asked with a deep frown.
‘Contrite and remorseful,’ she said.
‘Yeah, I bet she is. What’s she saying?’
