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He stood silent until Tanya reappeared and put a document in his hand.
‘Why do you want it?’ Janice asked, finally showing some curiosity.
‘Mrs Sharpe, I’m not convinced your husband lost the bet. It may be nothing so I don’t want to raise your hopes.’
He had to be careful to manage expectations. He had to take a good look at the document in his hand.
‘You think Dad didn’t lose the bet?’ Tanya asked.
Penn shook his head. ‘I don’t think it’s as clear cut as this document suggests. I hope you take some comfort from that,’ he said, looking to the girl’s mother.
She shook her head. ‘Not at all, Officer. I know that you mean well and I thank you for your concern, but whether he lost the house or not makes little difference. The fact he was prepared to is the betrayal.’
Penn nodded and left. There was nothing he could say to that.
FIFTY-FOUR
Lanesfield was a district in the Spring Vale ward of Wolverhampton but lying within the ancient manor of Sedgley. Like many villages in the Black Country, it had grown around the area’s industries. Many houses had been built in the nineteenth century as the coal mines began to appear.
The name originated from the Lane family who had once owned the land, and which was now mainly a residential area.
The postcode texted to Bryant seemed to be taking them towards Goldthorn Hill, where some of the pricier properties of the area lay.
Sure enough, a road cordon greeted them at the bottom of the hill.
Bryant slowed as she lowered her window and showed her ID.
The officer lifted the tape high enough for the car to pass underneath.
Bryant pulled to the left and parked.
No matter how many crime scenes they attended, her colleague never parked behind the ambulance. Given that their attendance ensured the vehicle was never going to leave at speed, it was an unconscious act.
As they walked around the other vehicles, she assessed the property they were entering. The driveway came in straight off the road despite some of the neighbouring houses having gates.
The property appeared to be side on to the road so that the front of the house was facing the neighbour on the right. The gable end had enormous glass windows across its width. Even from the end of the driveway Kim could see some detail of the room beyond, and that it was a dining kitchen.
On a dark night with the lights on, Kim was sure she’d be able to make out what the occupants were having to eat.
With Bryant beside her, she headed up the drive and turned to the front of the house.
She stopped dead.
‘Hell no,’ she said as her eyes rested on a flash of material. She would know that pink tracksuit anywhere.
‘Let me see,’ she said, pushing her way through.
‘Damn it,’ she growled as her gaze took in the brutality of the attack on Victoria Sykes.
Only last night the two of them had stood in the woman’s dressing room. Except then the tracksuit had been pristine, not covered with deep red stains.
‘You know her?’ Keats asked, always attuned to her reaction.
Kim nodded as she continued to survey the scene. The body was just two feet away from the open doorway to her home. Pools of blood had formed to the left of her body, and the slash across the mouth was no less horrific on the third occasion.
When she said nothing, Keats continued, ‘We’re not sure if she was going out or coming back or what time it was at this stage.’
Kim lowered herself to the ground carefully. She placed her face close to the woman’s gaping mouth.
