The open door led straight into a dark, poky kitchen with a small north-facing window. The wall cabinets were plain and square and badly painted. Two doors still bore the old wooden frontage, as though someone had realised part way through that their efforts to update or modernise were a total waste of time.
An Aga took up most of the wall opposite the window. Kim had no idea if it was functional as the top was a storage area for an electric kettle and tea canisters. A bean-stained camping stove sat next to it. A black plastic bin dominated the corner, spewing burger wrappers and pizza boxes all over the floor. The smell of stale refuse was a slight improvement on the overpowering odour of damp that weaved through the house.
She turned to Fiona, who was shadowing right behind them. ‘If you don’t mind giving your address to Travis,’ Kim said. ‘We may need it later.’
Fiona looked surprised, but began dictating it to Travis, who opened his leather folder.
Of course Fiona didn’t live here. It wouldn’t look like this if she did. The woman was clean and smart and wouldn’t tolerate it. Hell, she didn’t even want her shiny red Jaguar getting too close in case it caught something.
Kim took the step down into the lounge that could have been the heart of the home with the original features that were expensively emulated in modern homes. The brick fireplace and oak beams were lost amongst the mismatched furniture and heavy patterns that jarred against each other. The room was lit by a single naked bulb glaring yellow from the middle of the room.
The pleasant space had been filled with heavy, dark furniture from at least seven or eight different decades. The walls were dripping in pictures of farm animals and brass horseshoes mounted on leather strips.
The three seater sofa was purple with worn patches on the two end cushions. The back of the seat rose up to a fan shape in the middle. Foster family two had owned one back in the late eighties.
Mr Cowley stepped past three techies working by torchlight as he entered the lounge from the other end, leaving what looked like some kind of utility room.
‘Mr Cowley, good to see you again,’ she said, stepping forward. Kim could sense Fiona behind her but she continued speaking directly to him. ‘Thank you for your permission in swabbing Billy’s hands. I’m sure we’ll be able to put this shooting matter to bed shortly.’
Kim heard Fiona’s sharp intake of breath. He hadn’t told his daughter he’d given his consent.
As soon as Fiona had careered off the hospital car park, Kim had called Mr Cowley direct to reach him before his daughter did and obtained his permission.
‘The forensic technician should be with him now.’
He nodded in her direction. He didn’t look at his daughter but his gaze narrowed. She could see his hand fidgeting in his trouser pocket.
‘Your daughter mentioned that you remembered some details about your son’s accident,’ she said. ‘Not least that you actually witnessed it,’ she added.
Again he nodded. The fidgeting in his pocket continued.
‘So, could you tell us exactly what you saw, Mr Cowley?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I was putting out the rubbish, and I saw Billy messing with the gun over by the bar. I called out to him…’
‘Slow down,’ Kim said, having already learned three key facts: firstly, the rubbish was still in the kitchen and hadn’t been put out in days, possibly weeks; secondly she could smell the alcohol on his breath, and finally, he wanted to get this story out as quickly as possible.
Before he forgot what he was supposed to say, Kim thought.
Travis took a seat on the stained sofa, and she silently applauded his bravery. Until she realised exactly what he was doing. A memory threatened to bring a smile to her face but she kept it in check. He hadn’t forgotten everything.
‘So, you were putting out the rubbish?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, we always just leave it outside the front door.’
That explained the healthy looking rodent she’d seen outside.
‘And what drew your attention towards Billy?’ she asked.
She wasn’t sure his son over by the cowshed would be too far out of the ordinary.
‘I don’t know. I think it was that he was holding the gun.’
‘It’s a rifle, isn’t it?’ she asked.
Normal hardware for a farm.
‘Yes, he was turning it around and I remember thinking…’
‘So, you stopped to watch him because he was holding the gun or twirling the gun?’ Kim asked, slowing him down. The script was scrolling through his head and he was eager to follow it. She didn’t enjoy the harsh line of questioning but she needed to distract him from the autocue in his mind.
‘I think he was just holding it but I thought something was going to…’
‘You thought that from your son just holding the gun?’ she questioned. Mr Cowley was far too eager to get to the accident part. ‘Is he not to be trusted with a gun?’
The man ran his hand over his bald head.
‘No, no, it’s not that,’ he said, defensively. ‘It just looked strange,’ he said, getting flustered.
Kim had no choice but to capitalise on his confusion. She turned to the side so that Travis was in her peripheral vision.
‘Shall we go outside and take a closer look at where it happened?’ she asked. It wasn’t Mr Cowley’s reaction she sought. It was the slight nod from Travis she was after.
Fiona led them out of the lounge, through the kitchen and back outside.
‘So, you were standing here?’ she asked, pausing right in front of the open doorway.
‘Yes, as I said. I was putting out—’
‘The rubbish. Yes, I know,’ she finished for him, while pointedly looking around for the missing rubbish bag.
‘And Billy was over by the barn?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ he said, as his pocket began to move again.
‘And he was holding a shotgun?’ she said.
‘Yes.’
‘And a shotgun is how long?’
‘About two feet,’ he answered. ‘Maybe a little more.’
Kim looked around. Her eyes fell on a thin piece of stump wood.
‘May I?’
Mr Cowley nodded and stole a quick glance at his daughter who watched pensively, arms folded.
Kim placed the piece of wood against the wall. She brought her foot down and cracked it.
She picked up the longer piece. ‘About this long?’
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘Could you just remain where you are, Mr Cowley?’ she asked.
He nodded.
She walked towards the area where Billy had been standing.
Travis was now right behind her.
She lowered her voice, so only he could hear.
‘So, Billy’s twirling the gun and manages to shoot himself in the back of the neck. Let’s see how that works out, shall we?’
She began twirling the stick like a baton.
‘So, the trigger would be about here?’ she asked Travis.
He nodded. She looked around for something to mark it.
‘Lipstick?’ he asked
‘Have you met me?’ she shot back without looking at him.
She reached down and retrieved a piece of slate from the ground, praying that the fat rat was long gone. She scored the wood and put her finger on the groove.
‘Are they watching?’ she asked.
‘Oh yes,’ Travis said.