by Rachel Ward
He stopped advancing, and Bea stopped too. They faced each other.
‘You’ve got to keep it shut,’ Tank said, and he ran his finger and thumb along his lips, zipping them up. His forehead was glistening with sweat. He was worked up, thought Bea . . .or maybe something else.
Then, suddenly, he turned on his heel and started jogging away, across the middle of the rec. She was hot and sticky under her arms and across her back, and her breathing was fast and uneven. It was only now that she realised how very scared she’d been. But she wasn’t the only one. The edginess, the threats, it all added up somehow, in a way she didn’t quite understand, but there was one thing she was sure of.
‘What is it, Tank?’ she said to herself. ‘What are you scared of?’
She and Goldie set off around the edge of the park, but the back of Bea’s neck was prickling, imagining someone following her and she kept turning around. Tank had reached the other side of the park now. He’d caught up with the old man with his trolley, who was out with the papers again. He stopped running and walked alongside him. They seemed to be chatting. Well, thought Bea, he’s got more conversation out of the old chap than I managed. Perhaps he will do the right thing, after all. Let’s wait and see.
Her ears picked up the now familiar whine of the milk float and, sure enough, she saw it disappearing down the road as she and Goldie headed for home after a quick circuit of the rec. As they approached number twenty-three again, Goldie started pulling on her lead. Now Bea could see there was something on her front step. The dog liked the look of it, or maybe the smell. ‘Oh no you don’t,’ Bea said, reining her in.
As they got nearer, Bea’s stomach lurched. It was unmistakeably a severed head. A tabby cat’s head, lying on a bit of paper.
She was sure it hadn’t been there when she set off. Goldie had trotted past without a reaction on the way out. She looked around again, but there was no one in the street, or at any of the windows in the neighbouring houses.
She didn’t want to touch the head, wanted nothing to do with it, but she couldn’t leave it there. She hurried Goldie round the side of the house, let her into the kitchen and emptied some biscuits into her bowl. Then she shut her in and returned to the front step.
She bent down and took a couple of photographs, then steeled her nerve and got out a clean poo bag, putting her hand inside, and gently moved the head so she could see the paper underneath. There was a message scrawled on it: KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT.
It was a crude attempt to scare her, but it was working. She remembered what Tom had said. It can be a prelude to other sorts of violence. The hand that wielded this knife could do the same to her. The sick person behind all this knew where she lived. Had been there only minutes ago.
She wondered what to do. This was a clue. It might be the thing that led the police to the culprit, but if she called the police now, she’d have to tell Queenie. She’d only just started getting her confidence up. This would shatter it again. And whoever it was would see the car coming to the house. They attack vulnerable people. How could she leave Queenie open to this? How could she risk it?
She photographed the grisly item, then, using the bag, picked up the poor, sad head. She made herself look at it, cradled in her palm and sitting on black plastic. Its eyes were open a little, as was its mouth. It was caught, frozen forever, in a moment of fury. She started to retch, turning away from her hand, trying to breathe in some cold, calming air and get herself under control. When she looked back, the dry heaving started again. She drew up the sides of the bag and knotted the handles together. She put the bag inside the dustbin, resting on top of a bin bag, and shut the lid.
She went back into the house. Queenie was up now, padding about in her dressing gown.
‘All right, love? I’m making porridge,’ she said.
Bea thought of the hideous parcel in the bin and started to heave.
‘Bea! What’s up?’ said Queenie.
‘Nothing. I just . . .I don’t want breakfast.’
Bea ran out of the kitchen and spent some time in the bathroom, kneeling in front of the loo, wondering if she was really going to be sick or not. Eventually, the feeling subsided and she went back downstairs.
‘Have some tea, at least,’ said Queenie. ‘I’ve put an extra sugar in.’
Bea sat down and gingerly sipped at the tea, while her mother watched her like a hawk. Bea prayed she would have the sense to leave her in peace and, thankfully, she did.
‘Are you still going out tonight?’ she said, when Bea had got dressed in her work clothes and was about to set off.
‘Yeah, planning to, but I’ll come home first and change,’ said Bea. ‘What are you up to today?’
‘Think I’ll go and ask about that job.’
‘Great. Tell me how you get on later, then.’
‘I will.’
‘And, Mum . . .’
‘Yes?’
Bea wanted to warn her, but what would she warn her about exactly? To keep the door locked? To watch out of the window and report anyone suspicious? Queenie already thought the outside world was a dangerous place. If Bea said anything now she might stay inside for another six years.
‘Nothing. Love you.’
Queenie put her hand up to Bea’s face and cupped her cheek. ‘Love you too, Bea. You take care today. Come home if you feel ill, or, you know, tired.’
‘I’m fine, Mum. See you later.’
She tried not to think about the gruesome little parcel as she hurried past the bin. Once onto the rec, she spotted someone on the path ahead, walking away from her and recognised Dean with Tyson beside him. Dean. Was it him, after all?
She hurried to catch up, and shouted his name. He stopped and turned round and Bea squealed as the dog lunged towards her. She backed off onto the grass and looked past the dog, straining and whining, to Dean. He seemed edgy, looking left and right and only glancing at her.
‘What do you want?’ he said.
For a moment, she couldn’t think of anything to say. She pulled her coat more closely around her.
‘Cat got your tongue?’ he said, and Bea felt the nausea rising again. She was sick with the thought of the severed head. Sick with the certainty now that Dean was behind it. Sick at the thought of his hands holding a knife. Scared, too, but she wasn’t going to try not to show it.
‘That your idea of a joke, Dean? Leaving bits of animals on people’s doorsteps?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ He stuck his spotty chin forward in a gesture of defiance.
‘Yes, you do. I don’t care about your and Tank’s threats. I’m ringing the police. This has gone too far. You’re dangerous, you are. You’re sick.’
‘You shouldn’t accuse people of things, Bea. And you shouldn’t poke your nose into other people’s business. Haven’t you learnt anything?’
They were facing each other with the dog in between them.
‘If your business is stealing people’s pets and torturing them,’ said Bea, ‘then I will poke my nose in and nothing you can do will stop me.’
Dean’s eyes narrowed, making his face more weaselly than ever.
‘I haven’t stolen anything – not like your mate, Ant, and his nasty, thieving family – and I don’t do anything to animals, but I’m telling you something for your own good. Stop poking around and keep your mouth shut.’
‘I’m not scared of you or your mate,’ said Bea, but in truth, she was rattled now. Scared for herself and scared for her mum. Queenie had got the better of Dean once, but Bea sensed that the wound of that humiliation had been festering inside him. That boil was ready to burst.
‘Don’t come near me again and don’t go near my house,’ she said, and turned on her heel and stalked away as confidently as her wobbly legs would allow.
29
The front of the store was coned off when Bea got to Costsave.
Of course, the sight of a line of yellow cones acted like a beacon, and staff were gathering ther
e on their way in to have a look. Heart thumping in her chest, Bea joined the cluster.
There was blood streaked down the plate glass door. At the bottom, on the ground, something was covered by a couple of sheets of plastic. Neville was standing in front of it. Without his clipboard, he looked strangely naked. He clearly didn’t know what to do with his hands. He had one tucked awkwardly inside his coat, like Admiral Nelson and the other was flapping oddly at his side.
‘Carry on inside, everyone,’ he was saying. ‘We’ll get this cleared up and open the store when the police have been. Until then, get your uniforms on and wait in the staffroom.’
People were reluctant to move.
‘Go on. Go on. There’s nothing to see here.’ His Adam’s apple was bobbing up and down in distress.
There clearly was something to see. Thankfully, the heap was too small to be human.
‘What is it, Neville?’ said Bea. ‘Is it another—’
At that moment there was a volley of flashlights. Kevin, the photographer from the Bugle, had squeezed in next to Bea and was taking pictures.
Neville held his hands up in front of his face and made a sort of yelp. ‘Get him away!’
Bea turned to Kevin. On his other side, Eileen looked like she was about to do some damage with her handbag.
‘You’d better go,’ said Bea.
‘I’ve got a perfect right to be here. It’s in the public interest,’ Kevin said.
‘It’s private property,’ Neville squeaked. ‘You have no right.’
‘That’s it,’ said Eileen. ‘Bea?’ She grabbed one of Kevin’s elbows and nodded to Bea to take the other one. Caught by surprise, they walked Kevin backwards through the car park. After a few yards he shrugged them off.
‘All right, all right, I’m going. I’ve got my shot anyway.’
He hotfooted it towards his car, then stopped and started taking more pictures as a police patrol car cruised in and pulled up near the front door. Tom and Shaz got out and started talking to Neville.
One of them lifted the sheet of plastic and they both peered underneath. Bea craned round and got a glimpse of a little tawny-furred corpse, front legs stretched out. Even at that distance, Bea could see that there was something missing. It was a cat’s body, all right, but there was a hole where the head should be.
‘Oh no,’ Bea murmured, under her breath.
‘Jesus,’ said Ant, joining the crowd next to Bea. ‘Another cat?’
‘Yeah, looks like it,’ said Bea.
‘Okay,’ said Tom, ‘we need a statement from the person who found this. The rest of you can clear the area.’
‘Do you want me to clean the window in a minute, Nev?’ Ant asked.
‘Yes. When the police have finished.’
Bea tried to catch Tom’s attention. ‘I need to talk to you.’
‘Not now, Bea. You can see I’m busy.’
‘I know, it’s just that, well, you’ve got a body without a head and I know where the head is.’
George joined everyone in the staffroom while they were waiting for the police to give them the all clear. She came into the room looking shaken, flanked, as usual, by Anna and Neville.
‘Obviously, we’ve had a bad start to the day,’ she said. ‘I’m told it will only be a few minutes and then we can prepare to open the store as normal. And that’s what I want you to try to be today. Normal. We can’t let one sick individual spoil things for our customers or ourselves. I don’t know why we’re being targeted, but if any of you have any ideas or any information at all, you must come forward and speak to me or to the police. Make no mistake, we will catch the person responsible.’ She looked around the room. ‘Now, the notices,’ she said, trying to brighten the tone of her voice. ‘The Valentine’s display is looking brilliant. Well done to Eileen and to all of you. As we get nearer the day, remember to plug the dinner for two deal, if you can. A main, a side, a dessert and a half-bottle of Prosecco for ten pounds. It’s a good deal any time of the year, but we can really push it now.’
‘Don’t see Smelly Reg going for it,’ said Eileen in a low voice, causing a little ripple of sniggering in those near enough to hear her. George looked across sharply at that part of the room. Eileen shrank down a little and looked at the carpet.
‘The ‘Last Chance to Buy’ display is going very well. We need to make sure it’s kept neat and tidy, but we’ve already shifted a good proportion of, let’s face it, quite unlikely goods. It just shows what we can do when we work together.
‘I’m going to be honest with you guys, takings are likely to take a hit over the next few days, so let’s sharpen up. Let’s be the best we can be. Come on, let’s get some energy going!’ She started jogging up and down on the spot, no mean feat in heels.
The Costsave crew looked at each other with bemusement.
‘Come on, everyone. Let’s get the blood flowing!’
She’d put her tablet down on the floor and was whirling her arms round now. People at the front were starting to join in, at first self-consciously, and then with some gusto. The movement spread to the back of the crowd. Bea bobbed up and down a bit on her toes, while Ant flung himself into it as much as the space would allow.
‘Oh God, Ant, look at Neville,’ said Bea.
Standing awkwardly immobile next to George, Neville was still clutching his clipboard and looking like a very frightened rabbit in the headlights.
‘Come on, Nev. Join in!’ Ant hollered.
Neville sent some daggers in Ant’s direction, but managed a painful, agonised sort of jig for a few seconds before George put them out of their misery.
‘Great!’ she said. ‘I think we could make this a thing.’
She started clapping, turning slowly and directing her applause around the room. The staff felt honour-bound to clap back, but the noise petered out quickly as Shaz appeared in the doorway and gave George the thumbs up. George then gave everyone a ten-minute warning and she and Neville bustled out of the room.
‘What the hell was that?’ said Bob to Bea, as they walked towards the top of the stairs. He was noticeably out of breath.
‘New methods of management,’ said Bea. ‘You’ve got to give her credit for trying.’
Bob muttered darkly and Bea held back to wait for Ant, who was putting his padded Costsave jacket on, ready to go outside and clean up by the front door.
‘How’s Ken today?’
‘I don’t know. He was still asleep when I left this morning. I rang the school and said he was sick.’
‘How was he last night?’
‘Ha, he was awake until about three and then he crashed out. I rang Stevo when we got home and made him come round and help me. He’s going to look in on him at dinner time too. About time he helped out a bit.’
‘Do you know what Ken took or where he got it from?’
‘He wouldn’t tell us. He was blabbering all sorts of nonsense, but nothing that we wanted to know. If I find the bastard he got it from, whatever it was, they’re in trouble.’
‘Talking about trouble, I hope I’ve done the right thing, Ant,’ Bea said. ‘I told Tom about everything, my conversations with Dean and Tank – their threats.’
‘Don’t see that you had any choice, Bea. If the cat killer’s one of them, they need stopping.’
‘I’m scared, though.’
‘Scared of Dean?’
‘Scared of anyone with a knife and a grudge. I’ve seen what he’s capable of.’ She shuddered. ‘Plus it’s not just him, is it? Tank’s in it as well. Got to be. He openly threatened me.’
‘Yeah, you wouldn’t really argue with him, would you?’
‘I kind of did. Bloody hell,’ said Bea. She stopped walking and pressed her fingers together at the bridge of her nose. ‘I know Dean’s an odious little squirt, but if we’re right, he’s a lot more than that. He’s an actual psycho.’
‘’Scuse me,’ said Eileen. ‘You’re blocking the way.’
As she elbowed her way between t
hem, Ant and Bea stared at each other. Had Eileen heard what they were saying?
‘I think we’re all right, Bea. She’d have said something, wouldn’t she?’ Ant hissed when she’d gone past.
‘Yeah, she doesn’t hold back, does she?’
‘Not so you’d notice. Look, you done the right thing, Bea. Let’s leave the whole cat thing to the cops now.’
30
Just before lunchtime, Bea saw Ant talking to a young woman in the World Cuisine aisle (fajita kits, pizza bases and three sorts of soy sauce). She was dressed in an oversized parka with pink fur around the hood, and black leggings and trainers. It was difficult to tell at this distance, but Ant seemed to be blushing. Ah, thought Bea, it’s the New Year’s Eve girl, the mysterious Ayesha.
She was pleased for Ant, but felt a bit put out that he was nowhere to be seen when she went to the staffroom for her break. She found a seat next to Anna, and rang home to check up on Queenie.
‘Hiya, love. How’s it going?’ Bea could hear the telly on in the background.
‘Okay,’ said Bea. ‘Everything all right at home?’
‘Yes, of course. Just going to watch Doctors and maybe today’s Father Brown, then I’m off to the launderette in an hour or two.’
‘Oh, right. That’s good. I’ll see you later, then.’
‘All right, lovely. You still going out this evening?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Oh, Bea, I put the wheelie bin out. Can’t believe you forgot that.’
Bea’s stomach lurched. ‘You did what?’
‘I put the bin out. Myself.’ There was an unmistakeable note of pride in Queenie’s voice. ‘You’ve been at sixes and sevens since the council changed bin day, but luckily I remembered.’
‘Oh, Mum.’
Tom had told her that he would be round to collect the cat’s head at the end of the day, when Bea could be there too.
‘What?’
‘Have they been?’