Dead Stock

by Rachel Ward

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I need some time off work, but I don’t think I’ve been there long enough to apply for leave, not officially like.’

  ‘Well, you need to check your contract . . .oh.’ Too late, Bea remembered Ant’s problem with reading. ‘I mean, I could check your contract, but if it’s something important I would just ask. They can give compassionate leave – they’ve given some to Anna. What’s it for, mate?’

  ‘It’s just a family thing. No one’s died or anything.’

  ‘Hmm, family stuff. It never stops, does it? Queenie’s lost her benefits, you know. It’s starting to bite.’

  ‘That sucks, man.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘She’s going out a bit more, though, isn’t she?’ said Ant.

  ‘Not really. She was doing quite well for a couple of weeks, but it feels as though she’s gone backwards. Most days, she hasn’t seen anyone, hasn’t been out of the house. It doesn’t feel like we’re getting anywhere.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Bea. I didn’t know. I just thought everything was going great.’

  Bea pinched her lips together and shook her head. ‘When people ask it seems, I don’t know, disloyal to say how it really is. It’s not what people want to hear anyway.’

  ‘I’ll come round, shall I? See if I can help?’

  ‘Yeah, maybe. Not tonight, though. I’m ready for a soak in the bath then bed. Anyway, what were you going to tell me earlier?’

  They were nearly across the rec now. A late-night dog walker was heading towards them. The dog was a thickset terrier type, wearing a studded harness and a collar with spikes on it. It was trotting along quite calmly until it spotted them on the path ahead, then it leapt forward, straining against its harness. As they got closer, Bea noticed that there were strings of drool at either side of its mouth and it was making little grunting noises. She stepped off the path onto the grass, pulling Ant with her. She glanced at the dog’s owner and her heart sank. Peering out under the hood of his coat was the familiar weaselly face of Dean, Eileen’s son, formerly employed in the stores at Costsave.

  ‘Tyson, leave,’ Dean said. His dog’s front legs were off the ground now as it lunged towards Ant and Bea. ‘Leave!’ He yanked on the lead, jerking the dog backwards. Bea started to feel sorry for it.

  ‘You don’t have to do that,’ said Ant.

  ‘Would you like me to let him off?’ Dean sneered. ‘He’s vicious, he is. Needs a firm hand.’

  ‘We all know you’ve got strong wrists, don’t know about your hands, mate,’ said Ant.

  It took a while for the insult to sink in, then Dean’s face darkened. ‘I’m not the wanker here, am I? I’m not the snitch.’

  ‘Leave it, Ant,’ said Bea. ‘He’s not worth it.’

  ‘Leave it, Ant,’ Dean mimicked in a sing-song voice. ‘Cosy, aren’t you? Always thought you were made for each other. No one else’d touch you. Even that granny you shagged dumped you.’

  ‘Right, that’s it,’ said Ant. He let go of Bea’s arm and took a step towards Dean. The dog lurched forward again, with a barrage of frenzied barking.

  ‘Ant!’ Bea screamed. ‘Let’s go. Let’s just go.’

  She wasn’t really expecting him to listen, but he did. He turned away from Dean, grabbed her arm again and started walking away. They could both hear Dean’s grating laughter as they left the rec and crossed the road.

  ‘Thinks he’s the big man strutting around with a dog like that. It’s pathetic,’ said Ant.

  ‘Everyone knows what he’s like. A dog doesn’t change anything, even a nasty one.’ She shivered. They’d rounded the corner of the shops and were at her front gate now. ‘Thanks for walking me back, Ant.’

  ‘That’s okay.’

  ‘You’re not going to go after him now, are you?’

  ‘Nah, you were right the first time. He’s not worth it. I’ll duck down the other side of the rec. You go in now, it’s cold.’

  Bea headed inside. It was only when she was taking her coat off that she realised that Ant hadn’t told her why he needed the day off. Family stuff. Hmm.

  ‘That you, love?’ Queenie shouted from the lounge.

  ‘Yeah, Mum. Who else?’ she replied. ‘Want a cuppa?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ Her mum appeared in the doorway. ‘Is it cold out?’

  You’d know if you went out, thought Bea. If you tried. Family stuff. She took a deep breath. ‘Hang on,’ she said. ‘I’ll just chip the icicle off my nose, then I’ll tell you.’

  5

  Bea tried not to think about ghosts as she walked into Anna’s office the next morning, but it was difficult. She hung her coat on the hook behind the door and sat at Anna’s desk. Facing her was a framed photograph of Anna’s two cats, staring at the camera with cool amber eyes. Bette and Joan, or was it Joan and Bette? One of them was a little bit thinner than the other, but she didn’t know which was which. The body that she’d found could have been either of them.

  She turned in her chair a fraction and reached forward to switch on the computer. Two pairs of eyes seemed to follow her. She looked back at the photograph. ‘Sorry, ladies. Just for today,’ she said, and turned it face down on the desk.

  While the computer fired up, Bea riffled through Anna’s stack of post trays. There were a few papers in the one labelled ‘Filing’, so Bea picked them up and headed for the grey cabinets behind her.

  As she searched the staff records to put away some training requests, she realised her fingers were resting on the file for Ginny, her fellow cashier, who had been murdered a couple of months before. Someone had written ‘Closed’ under her name label, and this made Bea feel sadder than ever. Was that it? Was that all Costsave did when one of their staff members died?

  She finished the filing, settled back at the desk and looked at the email inbox. She made some notes and soon had a list of things that needed actioning. She took it through to George and put it in her in-tray.

  ‘Do you need anything, George?’ she said. ‘Cup of tea?’

  George looked up from her screen. ‘Oh, bless you. No, I’m fine. Just working through the sales figures, doing a departmental analysis, looking for where we can do better.’

  ‘I’ll leave you to it, then,’ said Bea. ‘I’m just updating the leave request folder for Neville to look at.’

  ‘Good, good.’ George wasn’t really listening. She was already looking back at the screen.

  Right, thought Bea, back in Anna’s office. Unless Neville comes bothering me, the coast’s clear. In fact, she could call up the current screens, including those for the shop floor, to keep an eye out for Neville. Bea kept that window open in a corner of the screen, then started to search the stored footage for the night before poor Joan was found in the cardboard bay.

  She quickly identified the camera that covered the cardboard storage cage. Working backwards, she soon discovered that the body was dumped between twenty to and ten to six in the morning. There it was, the body quite literally thrown onto the heap of broken down boxes at 5.46, flying through the air and landing unceremoniously where Ant had found it.

  Frustratingly, although the cage itself was in full view, the area around it wasn’t, so all Bea could see was two gloved hands sticking out of dark coat sleeves flinging the body out of a plastic bag, which clearly had the Costsave logo on the side. It was impossible to tell if the hands were male or female, but several things occurred to Bea. Why empty the body out of the bag? Why not leave it in there? Why deliberately come into the yard to dispose of the body? Why use a branded Costsave bag? Was it a deliberate choice or just what was to hand?

  She thought about the time. A quarter to six. Had the culprit broken into the yard somehow, or were the gates open that early? Easy to find out, and the other cameras may give a better view of the suspect. She picked her way through the footage on various cameras. The main gate into the yard was opened at half past five. So the cat killer didn’t need to break in, but did have to be careful not to be seen.<
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  Bea couldn’t find footage of the killer coming through the gate. She scrolled back and looked again. ‘Come on, come on,’ she said to herself.

  There! A figure coming through the gates at 5.43. Bea froze the film, then went back a few seconds and played it again.

  It was hopeless. While the first CCTV image had been pretty clear, this was too distant and terribly grainy. Whoever it was kept their hood up and their head down. All she could tell was that it was someone carrying a bag. She tried enlarging the image, but that didn’t help.

  She let the video play and saw her suspect leaving the yard at 5.47, but all she got was the impression of someone’s back – a thigh-length coat with a hood, dark trousers and possibly boots of some sort, although they could be heavy shoes. She scrolled back to the best image she could find and stared at it. She was still staring when Neville walked into the room. She’d been so wrapped up in what she was doing she hadn’t noticed him leaving his post on the shop floor.

  ‘I’d better have a look at the leave requests,’ he said. ‘Then I’ll start on the next period’s rotas.’

  Bea hastily exited the CCTV system. ‘I’m just working on them,’ she said. ‘I’ll be two ticks. Do you want to make yourself a cuppa, then they’ll be ready.’

  ‘It’s not my break period yet, Beatrice,’ he said, settling down at the other desk in the room. ‘I’ll just work here while I’m waiting.’

  Bea tried to collate the requests as quickly as she could, hoping it wasn’t too obvious that she was only just starting them. She handed them over to Neville after eight agonising minutes.

  ‘Thank you, Beatrice,’ he said, sniffing loudly.

  ‘What shall I do next?’

  He looked towards the door, then beckoned to her to come closer. Bea hesitated. Close proximity to Neville was not something that she actively sought.

  ‘What?’ she said.

  ‘Come here,’ he hissed.

  She edged a little closer but kept the desk between them.

  ‘You could look at the CCTV screens,’ he said in a loud whisper. ‘See if you can spot whoever dumped the you-know-what in the you-know-where.’

  Bea felt herself colouring up and tried to suppress a smile. ‘Really? Is it okay to do that?’

  Neville tapped the side of his nose. ‘Only between you and me,’ he said. ‘George doesn’t know anything about it. Anna told her it was her aunt that died. I wouldn’t normally approve of a white lie like that, but in this case . . .’

  ‘Okay,’ said Bea, retreating back to Anna’s desk. ‘I’ll have a go. I’ll let you know if I find anything.’

  She took her time before calling him over to see the blurry figure freeze-framed walking in through the gate. He studied the screen, sucking air in through his teeth.

  ‘I don’t like it,’ said Neville. ‘I don’t like it at all. Let’s keep it under our hats.’

  At lunchtime, her stint in the office over, Bea settled on the sofa in the staffroom. She got out her cheese and pickle sandwich and packet of crisps, and reached for the current copy of the Kingsleigh Bugle. It was nearly five days old but, in the absence of any of her favourites to chat to, it would give her something to flip through.

  unhappy new year, tragedy of the body on the bypass

  Mystery surrounds the identity of a body found at the side of the main Bristol to Bath road in the early hours of New Year’s Day. Police have confirmed that it was a man in his twenties but have not yet released any further details. The road bridge over the bypass is a well-known local suicide spot, and nearby residents voiced fears this week that the bridge had claimed another victim.

  Suicide is the biggest cause of death for young men aged under 45. If you’ve been affected by this article, the Samaritans are available 24 hours a day . . .

  The news had been on Bea’s Twitter feed first thing on New Year’s Day. She’d seen that the bypass was closed and read eyewitness reports of a body being found as she’d sat up in bed and scrolled through her phone. Her own New Year celebrations had left her feeling a bit down, but this was something else. It had seemed such a grim start to the year.

  She put the paper down for a moment and opened her crisps and took a big one from the top. The salt and vinegar flavouring stung the inside of her mouth. She probed the offending area with her tongue and found an ulcer lurking there. She’d had to cover up a rash of spots on her forehead this morning with extra thick concealer. Good grief, her whole body was erupting. Maybe it was a winter thing, or perhaps she was run-down. She noticed one of the adverts on the front page of the Bugle: ‘New Year, New You. Reveal your inner glow with a chemical peel at the Kingsleigh Beauty Bar. 10% off with this advert.’ Peel it all off and start again, she thought.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Neville coming into the room and heading in her direction. ‘Mind if I—?’

  Bea smiled wanly and moved her handbag onto the floor, allowing Neville to sit down.

  ‘Interesting morning,’ Neville said, as he opened the lid of his Tupperware box. Bea glanced across. It contained a brown sandwich and some brown apple slices and a little heap of brown raisins. She was reminded of watching Gardeners’ World with Queenie a few weeks before and discussing why anyone would bother to build their own compost heap.

  She realised Neville was looking at her looking at his lunch. ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Interesting morning in the office. Not too taxing for you?’

  ‘Oh, yes and, um, no. I enjoyed it.’

  They sat in silence.

  ‘Anything in this week’s paper?’ said Neville.

  ‘I haven’t got very far yet.’ She was still reading the lead story on the front page. ‘So sad.’

  Neville leaned sideways slightly, making Bea acutely aware of his shoulder pressing into hers, and read the article. ‘It’s a modern curse, Beatrice,’ he said. ‘Despair among the young. It’s something we’re trying to tackle in our church. We have a couple of very good outreach workers.’ He sat upright again, much to Bea’s relief, and took a bite from his sandwich.

  Bea turned the page, letting her eyes skim over the other news stories. She was somewhat distracted by an odd clicking sound coming from Neville’s jaw. The more she tried to tune it out, the louder it sounded. How his wife hadn’t killed him long ago, she’d never know.

  She carried on flipping through the pages until she got to page six. Then she stopped.

  The headline read, ‘Mystery of the Missing Cats’ and the sub-heading underneath, ‘As three cats go AWOL in a week, people are urged to check their garden sheds for missing moggies.’

  ‘Neville,’ she said, her throat suddenly dry. ‘Have you seen this?’

  She moved the paper towards him so that it bridged the gap between them. They read the whole article in silence. The three cats that were missing were all in the eastern side of town – two tabbies and a ginger one. Two had gone missing on the same night, the third a couple of days later. Their owners had appealed on Twitter and put up notices.

  ‘And Anna’s makes four,’ said Bea. ‘We should tell the police.’

  Neville looked horror-struck. ‘We can’t, Bea. No one must know about the biosecurity breach.’

  Bea worked out that this meant Ant storing the body in the freezer. ‘Well, we could tell them without mentioning that bit. But they do need to know. Anna’s cat was killed with a knife. That was bad enough, but if it’s not a one-off, we’re talking about a very sick individual indeed. They need catching.’

  Neville sighed. ‘You’re right, of course. Do you think we can keep this out of the papers?’

  ‘I don’t see why not. It won’t come from us, will it? So, it would have to come from the police, and they should understand the commercial—’ she searched for the right word. ‘—sensitivities.’

  Neville swallowed hard, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. ‘Someone’s going to have to tell George.’

  6

  The next morning Bea called into the offic
e to see Anna, who was back at her desk.

  ‘Neville had to tell George about Joan yesterday,’ Bea told her.

  ‘Yes,’ said Anna. ‘He rang me. It’s okay. I’m not in trouble. George was really nice about it. About me lying. The police are coming in later to interview me. They’ll want to talk to you too.’

  The police. The Kingsleigh branch of the local constabulary wasn’t exactly massive, so that probably meant talking to community bobby Tom again. The last time Bea had seen him, she’d been upset about his lack of honesty with her. She winced as she remembered calling him something rude. Shitgibbon, to be precise.

  ‘Right-oh,’ she said. ‘Call me up when they’re here. I’d better get back to good old checkout six. I tried to keep everything in order here yesterday, but if I made a mess of anything, you know where to find me.’

  Anna smiled wanly. ‘I’m sure you didn’t make a mess. Everything looks fine today. We should make this formal – that you’ll do office cover when I’m away sick or on leave. Do you want me to talk to George about it?’

  ‘Why not? I like doing it.’

  ‘Once it’s on your CV, it’ll help when you look for jobs elsewhere. Office jobs.’

  Bea wondered if she’d misheard. ‘Elsewhere? Like, leave Costsave?’

  ‘It’s a big old world out there.’

  ‘I like this bit of the world, though. Anyway, it’s good to see you back. Sorry about the—’ She tailed off, not knowing quite what to say, but it was all right. Anna nodded to show that she appreciated the sentiment. Her face was set firm as she reached for the post and her letter opener, but there was a little twitch by the side of her mouth that betrayed the stress she was feeling.

  ‘Don’t be nice to me today,’ she said. ‘I’ll be all right as long as people aren’t nice.’

  Bea understood. She’d felt the same after her dad died. She’d kept things together at school as long as people pretty much ignored what had happened to her. The dam only burst when they said something kind, or tried to give her a hug.