She moved away as Bryant approached.
‘Nadine Cowley,’ he said, passing her the driving licence. ‘Twenty-one years old and lives in Wombourne.’
Kim took a look at the photo, which she guessed was a couple of years old. The girl’s hair was a mousy brown, and her skin was blotchy and rough. The intervening years had definitely taught Nadine Cowley how to make the most of herself.
‘Can’t see any obvious links between the two women,’ Bryant said.
‘Maybe there isn’t,’ she said. Maybe this was the first coincidence she was actually going to believe.
Two women both killed by a single stab wound within two days of each other. A married woman with a family and a baby on the way, and a young woman with her whole life ahead of her. No, she wasn’t going to buy the coincidence theory. Their killer’s second victim destroyed all they’d learned so far. Until this moment, they had only considered Ashley’s murder to be a personal, isolated attack from someone she knew. Never had they thought it was the beginning of something else. That alone put their investigation back at square one, unless they could find a link between Ashley and the woman on the ground.
Who had Nadine Cowley been meeting in a pub? Someone she didn’t know well. And why had she felt the need to record the conversation?
She hoped that someone at the address she had in her hand would be able to answer those questions.
‘Is that it?’ the landlord shouted as they headed out.
‘For now,’ Kim called back.
‘Can I let them out then?’
Kim walked back towards him. ‘Let who out?’
‘Customers. Some of them were here when she was.’
Kim held back her smile. ‘You kidnapped the witnesses?’
‘Well, gave ’em all a free drink and a mince pie to stay. I watch them cop shows, you know.’
The smile broke free. She’d assumed the man hadn’t discovered the body until the pub was empty. She was impressed that even after he had discovered a horrific crime scene, he’d had the wherewithal to corral any potential witnesses.
‘Nice work, Mick. Give them all another drink and someone will be along shortly.’
As she once again headed back to the car, she reflected that the world sure did need more folks like Mick Hill.
Thirty-Seven
The house in Wombourne was unremarkable. The front garden bore the remnants of autumn flowers but had now accepted the inevitability of winter.
This address was listed as Nadine Cowley’s home, but Kim had no idea who was going to answer the door. Whoever lived here was experiencing their last few minutes of normal before their life changed forever.
The door was opened by a man in his late sixties wearing navy trousers and a grey zipped-up cardigan. At his heels was a tiny white dog with pink paws and ears that looked like it had been dipped in a tin of pink paint, turned upside down and dunked again.
‘Mr Cowley?’
He nodded. ‘Is something wrong?’ he asked as the dog started yapping and lunging at them.
Bryant showed his ID and introduced them both. The brave ball of fluff gave Kim a good dose of side-eye.
‘Take no notice of Ruby – she’s all bark and no bite. My granddaughter’s dog.’ He looked up and down the street. ‘Has something happened?’
‘May we come in, Mr Cowley?’
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Ruby, basket.’
The dog gave them one last look before doing what she was told. The man let them in then pointed towards the door through which the dog had disappeared. The lounge was pleasant and comfortable, if a little dated. A photograph of an elderly lady sat on the mantelpiece. An unlit candle sat beside it.
‘Can I get you something to drink?’ he asked.
