Kim knew when there was no more blood to get from the stone. She thanked him for his time and headed out of the house.
* * *
Her phone rang as she fastened her seat belt.
‘Hey, Mitch,’ she answered.
‘Been told to call you with the GSR results.’
‘Go ahead,’ she said, even though it was a formality. Martha wasn’t denying she’d shot her neighbour.
Gunshot residue consisted of all the particles expelled from the muzzle of a gun following the discharge of a bullet.
‘All clear,’ Mitch said.
‘Wh… what?’
‘No residue on her hands, clothes, jacket, shoes. Nothing.’
‘Did you…?’
‘Yep, we did a nasal swab. Nothing there.’
‘That’s impossible, Mitch. Can you check again?’
‘Yeah, if you want to blow your budget on nonsense. I can tell you now that that woman did not recently shoot a gun.’
Twenty-Two
By the time Kim got back to the station, she had worked through a checklist in her mind and was still confused. What had started as a simple request from Woody was turning into a puzzle where the pieces didn’t match the picture on the box.
Organic GSR lasted on the skin for twelve to twenty-four hours. It could remain on clothing for considerably longer, even surviving several washings. To her understanding, Martha had been detained within an hour of the shot being fired. She’d been found sitting on an upturned barrel outside the kitchen door with the gun at her feet.
Yes, she could have dashed inside and changed her clothes, but she hadn’t had time to scrub her hands long enough to remove all traces from her skin. There was even less chance she’d have been able to remove it from her nasal mucous. Anyway, why would she even try if she was going to make no effort to hide the fact that she’d shot George Hubbard?
Nothing was making sense… which shouldn’t have surprised her with Martha Stout involved, she thought as she and her colleague entered the station.
‘Stand them down, Bryant,’ she said, checking her watch. It was almost seven. ‘Normal time in the morning.’
He nodded his understanding before heading upstairs to the squad room.
There was little more the team could do tonight, and they’d all been at it for twelve hours straight. After informing her of what he’d learned about the fight between Ashley and her brother, Penn had offered to interview Warren Chance about the heated exchange on his way home, but Kim had told him it could wait. Daniel had not voiced any suspicion about the man being capable of such an act, though it was still something that needed to be checked out. His name might make the list once Penn had interviewed him the next day, but there were a few people ahead of him at this point. Gemma Ross was holding on to her hatred of Ashley like a hot-water bottle on a freezing cold day and had made online threats. Robbie Steele, a young kid with more mouth than trousers, wasn’t her biggest fan, and Joe Butler blamed Ashley for losing custody of his children. Even Daniel Reynolds himself was still hovering on the list somewhere. All solid leads but none of which her team could pursue while running on fumes.
Her own energy levels were depleting rapidly, but she had enough in the tank to try and answer one question that was running around her head.
She’d already called ahead to have Martha ready for interview and she didn’t need to hold her team back for this.
* * *
‘Okay, what’s going on?’ she asked, taking a seat in the interview room.
‘Waiting for a decent room. Shit hotel you’re running here. I’ve had a piss. I’ve had my tea. Sarnie was warm, cuppa was cold and there wasn’t enough sugar in?—’
‘Tests say you didn’t shoot that gun,’ Kim said, not in the mood for Martha’s stupidity.
The woman was unperturbed. She shrugged. ‘And I say I did.’
‘That’s not good enough, Martha. I’m not sure you’re aware, but in the police force we like a thing called evidence to tie a person to a crime, and there’s no evidence anywhere near you. Your confession isn’t going to be enough.’
