Chapter 8

‘I'm not convinced it was Katie reliving the experience,' Kim said as they headed down the next-door neighbour's path.

Katie no longer lived at the family home, so it was more likely the shrine was the work of a proud mother. A bit much? Perhaps, but Kim held no judgement for how people spent their free time as long as they weren't hurting anyone else. If Sheryl Hawne enjoyed reliving Katie's glory years, where was the harm?

There were few people who would envy her own happy place of the garage floor surrounded by oily bike parts, so to each their own.

They would see what made Katie tick at her flat, once they'd spoken to Sheryl's neighbour.

‘Rosie Kemp?' Kim asked, holding up her ID to the woman in her early seventies who answered the door.

‘Are they ready for another cuppa?' she asked, looking towards the crime scene.

‘Not quite yet,' Kim answered, having been made aware that Rosie Kemp was the incident ‘hen'. Every suburban crime scene had one old lady, sometimes two, who was quick to offer tea, biscuits and often sandwiches.

‘Oh, okay,' Rosie said, disappointed.

Every mother hen enjoyed being useful to the attending police officers, and it was widely appreciated. Given their desire to get involved, the hen was often the most knowledgeable about the immediate environment.

‘Well, come in anyway,' she said, stepping to the side.

The house was the same layout as its neighbour, and Kim headed to the kitchen. Ten or so mugs were upended on the sink drainer; returned, refreshed and ready to go again.

Kim introduced herself and Bryant. ‘May we ask you a few questions about Sheryl Hawne?'

‘Of course,' Rosie said, switching on the kettle, which went into boil mode almost immediately. Oh, she was a keen one. Even the kettle was on permanent standby.

‘We're fine, Mrs Kemp,' Kim said, taking a seat at the table. Bryant followed suit.

‘Please call me Rosie,' she said. She turned off the kettle and sat down.

‘Would you mind telling me about your neighbours?'

‘What would you like to know?' Rosie asked cagily.

Ah, they'd got a canny one here who wasn't going to answer open questions. The answers to those were often the most revealing.

‘How long had Mrs Hawne lived here?' Kim asked, taking another route.

‘I'd say about fifteen years. The wee one was six or seven when they moved in, I think.'

Kim waited for more.

Rosie waited for another question.

‘Was there a Mr Hawne?'

‘Not that I ever saw.'

‘Did she ever mention him?' Kim asked.

‘And when would she have done that?' Rosie asked, crossing her arms. For a moment, Kim forgot who was questioning who.

‘Maybe over coffee, passing the time of day in the street, chatting over the garden fence?'

‘Oh, I must be the first neighbour you've spoken to,' Rosie said with a knowing smile.

‘Does that matter?' Bryant asked.

‘Not really. I just thought you might have spoken to people with kids the same age as Katie.'

‘Go on,' Kim urged.

‘Well, they made more of an effort with her than we did. Our two were long out of the nest, so short of the occasional hello, me and Edmund, God rest his soul, had little to offer her. She was a young thing with a little kid so…I mean, we sent them a Christmas card but that's about all.'

‘And what would the other mums in the street have told us?' Kim asked.

‘That Sheryl Hawne was rude to the point of being anti-social. There's not one person in this street ever stepped foot in that house.'

‘Why not?' Kim asked, realising that Rosie was a woman who needed many prompts. Although with the best will in the world, Rosie couldn't swear to the fact that Sheryl never had any visitors.

‘Kept everyone at arm's-length. Some of the moms tried to arrange play dates with their kids, but she always said no. She always said Katie had lots of allergies, that she was a sickly child, but I always thought that made no sense.'

‘Why's that?'

‘Well, she'd have been around all them other kids at school and at the pageants. So the local young moms took the huff and stopped asking her.'

‘They knew Katie did pageants?'

‘Only cos I mentioned it. I'd see them out back practising, but you'd never have known it out front. Whenever they went off to these events, Katie would be wearing normal clothes and Sheryl would have a suitcase, even if they were back the same day. She didn't like anyone knowing her business.'

So, Sheryl was secretive about a hobby they did together. Maybe Katie had been a sickly child and the mother hadn't wanted the ridicule that came with the pageants.

‘Would you say they were close?' Kim asked, although the scene next door said otherwise.

‘Well they were always together. I saw them out there one time when Katie was around twelve and she was giving her mom some lip. Typical pre-teen stuff. She didn't want to practise any more, but Sheryl was pushing her to get it right. Katie started to take the mickey and do it badly, which was just making Sheryl angrier. I sneezed and Sheryl caught me watching. She took Katie inside and they never practised outside again.'

‘Any other issues between them that you know of?' Bryant asked.

‘Oh, they sure had some rows. Loud shouting, horrible insults. I did consider calling you lot once or twice, but Edmund, God rest his soul, said that it wasn't our business to interfere. I'd had some right humdingers with my two over the years, and I wouldn't have appreciated you lot turning up every time I lost my temper and told them off.'

‘Did things ever get violent between them?' Kim asked.

‘I'm tempted to say no to get myself off the hook for not calling you, but honestly I wouldn't like to say. Sometimes there were noises like stuff hitting the wall…but like I say, I don't know for certain.'

Oh, for the love of the ‘don't get involveders'. How many incidents could have been avoided by making one phone call? Shouting, screaming, things hitting the wall definitely warranted a welfare call to the police. Edmund, God rest his soul, had called that wrong, Kim thought.

‘I'm assuming to have moved out of the home, Katie must have got herself a job. Any idea where?' Kim asked.

‘I know she was out working as soon as she turned sixteen. A couple of years later she moved out. She was doing cleaning, I think. A lot of working but not much socialising.'

‘You didn't see people coming to the house? Friends? A boyfriend?'

Rosie shook her head. ‘Not for either of them.'

‘And I assume Katie still visited after she'd left home?'

‘Oh yes, she did the duty visits.'

‘Duty visits?' Kim queried.

‘You know the one visit each month on the same day for just a couple of hours. Duty visit. Just a coffee, a meal. Enough to maintain contact, that kind of thing.'

Every time Rosie opened her mouth, Kim became more confused.

Regardless of what had happened in her childhood, Katie had moved out of the home. She had a job, her own place, and she'd developed a routine and a level of contact that she could maintain.

So, what the hell had happened to change all that?