Page 42 of Guilty Mothers

‘Tony?’ she asked.

He nodded. ‘It wasn’t something he could join in with. Distance grew between him and his mom.’

‘Ben, may I ask if it was the reason for the divorce?’ Kim asked, hoping she wasn’t overstepping the mark, but he’d been fairly candid himself.

‘It would be easy to say yes, but that would put all the blame on Andrea, which isn’t fair. Still, us growing apart was certainly a factor.’

‘You couldn’t find a way to get involved, to spend some of that time together?’

‘I had no wish to see my little girl parading on stage like a small adult. Those years were short enough as it was.’

‘Okay, Ben, thanks for being open. We’ll be in touch,’ she said, heading for the car.

She couldn’t help wondering how two people could have such opposing views of the same period in time.

‘Ooh,’ she said as her phone vibrated in her pocket. ‘Text from Keats.’

She read his message and then looked at the attached photo.

‘Jeez,’ she said.

‘What?’ Bryant asked, glancing over her shoulder.

‘The foreign body found in Andrea’s throat. Eyelashes,’ she said, holding the phone towards him. ‘A pair of false bloody eyelashes.’

TWENTY-EIGHT

It was the first time Penn had ever visited Sandwell Valley crematorium.

The hexagonal building was fashioned from cream-coloured brick, and it had a distinctive red-tiled roof.

‘This way,’ Tiff said, guiding him towards a dour grey-brick building that was attached to the crematorium and which looked as though it had been tacked on from somewhere else.

A woman in her mid-thirties, wearing a pale blue suit, happened to be walking past the doors as they entered. After showing their IDs, she pleasantly guided them to a side room beyond a cafeteria area which was used for wakes. Before closing the door, she assured them that Doctor Connor would be along shortly.

A call ahead had secured them a ten-minute slot with the pathologist responsible for James Nixon. He wondered if the man would be equally as keen to share his expertise as Keats.

Despite the unexpected turn in the case of Sheryl Hawne, Penn was still happy to be working alongside Tiff. She was a police officer and she’d had a hunch that needed further exploration. A feeling he knew well.

In his early days as a constable, he’d been tasked with overseeing the removal of a five-year-old boy from an alcoholic mother. His only job was to ensure that the situation didn’t get heated or violent during the removal. The mother had been completely co-operative, and the boy had been taken away for assessment. Two weeks later, he learned that the child had been returned and something hadn’t sat well in his gut. After replaying the incident in his mind many times, he’d finally realised the cause of his unease lay in the little boy’s expression when he was being removed. Although scared, he had also appeared relieved.

After a five-minute contemplation of risk versus reward, he had taken action.

There had been a possibility that child services would get annoyed at his involvement, but the reward of them listening and acting had been well worth it. After pleading with them to do a spot-check follow-up, the boy had been found with a black eye and a sprained wrist. He’d been removed immediately, and Penn had learned never to ignore his gut feelings.

‘You ever met this guy before?’ Tiff asked while they waited.

He shook his head. He’d only dealt with Keats since being back at West Mids and, as grizzly as the pathologist could be, Penn enjoyed and respected him.

The door opened, and the doorway was filled with a bear of a man. His white coat strained at the upper arms and had no chance of ever meeting in the middle.

Penn had the sudden vision of this man in the dark, clad in blood-covered overalls, wielding a meat cleaver.

‘Doctor Connor, thank you for seeing us,’ he said, shaking away the thought and standing.

Doctor Connor waved him back down. ‘Always happy to help our friends in the Dudley borough. What do you need?’

Penn wasn’t sure if there was an edge to his voice or not. What he did suspect was that with this man, ten minutes meant ten minutes. As if to prove that point, the pathologist looked at his watch.