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A smear of red was on the edge of the kitchen counter, and I didn’t need to get any closer to know what that was, but I moved, going further into the room.
Nausea churned in my stomach, but I had to keep a professional cool. I couldn’t let it out, even though the very thought that she might be somehow hurt made my skin crawl with anger.
A bright pink handbag was on the floor, surrounded by its scattered contents. A Chapstick, a purse that I recognised as Lottie’s, a few receipts, and a packet of Jelly Babies.
Even without the purse, the sweets would have been enough to identify the owner of the bag.
“Is there anyone else who has access to this house aside from you?” I asked, bringing my radio close to my mouth. I called in the discovery and received an affirmative response as Steph’s eyes widened.
“Yes. Shane. Shane Solomon. He’s my friend. I was staying with him after I separated from Declan.”
“And he can access the house without you here?”
She nodded. “He has a key. Oh, do you think something’s happened? He wouldn’t hurt her!”
“A neighbour saw Charlotte come in but not leave,” Jamie said, walking in. “Another heard some shouting from this general area, then about ten minutes later, saw a brown sedan leaving the garage. Nobody else.”
I swallowed.
Rage.
It tickled under my skin.
Like an uncomfortable jumper I couldn’t get off.
Steph drew in a breath. “That’s the kind of car Shane drives,” she whispered.
“Do you know his plate by any chance?”
She shook her head. “I don’t, I’m sorry.”
I looked at Jamie. “I need a plate for a brown sedan owned by Shane Solomon. Ten minutes ago. Put out an ABP.”
Jamie’s features hardened, and he nodded, moving off to another room.
Steph’s chest heaved, and she reached out for the banister. I grabbed her arm and lowered her down to sit on one of the stairs, and she tried to smile at me, but it fell off.
I didn’t want to ask.
But I had to.
“What’s your relationship with Charlotte?” I asked her.
“Friends. You saw that at the wake. Her and Ash are really my only friends,” Steph said, somewhat sadly.
“So, you wouldn’t be surprised if she was here?”
“Well, yes. I’ve never explicitly invited her over, but to be honest, she strikes me as a ‘drop in’ kind of girl if she wants to check on you.”
Wasn’t that the truth?
“Would she have a reason to check on you?”
“Yes. I had a disagreement with Alan Sumpter yesterday in the coffee shop. She was there and we spoke after. I suppose it’s reasonable she might have stopped by.”
To check on her.
Accuse her of murder.
