Dead Stock

by Rachel Ward

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘In that crowd, in that craziness, I was looking for you. I was worried about you.’

  ‘Were you?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Bea was glad it was dark, so he couldn’t see her expression.

  ‘Bea?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  As she turned her face his mouth met hers, and just for a moment she forgot how cold and tired she was. She forgot everything until, by her side, Goldie gave a little whine and when Bea broke away from Jay and looked down she could see that she was shaking.

  ‘I’d better get her indoors. She’s been in that bloody garage for twenty-four hours, need to get her into the warm and give her some biscuits.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Jay. ‘Sure.’

  ‘It’s been a long day, Jay. Thanks for . . .well, everything.’ She followed the path round to the back of the house. As she did so, she glanced over her shoulder. Jay had already turned away and crossed the road.

  ‘Here she is!’ Queenie rushed over to Goldie. Bob stood in the lounge doorway behind her. ‘Oh my goodness, we were so worried about you!’ She ruffled the dog’s neck and ears. ‘What’s this on her? Look at these marks.’

  In the light of the kitchen, Bea could see dark patches on Goldie’s legs and side.

  ‘She’s been kept in a garage, Mum. I reckon it’s oil.’

  ‘We’ll have to give someone a bath, won’t we?’ said Queenie. ‘But not tonight. She looks shattered.’

  Bea thought she looked pretty normal, standing in the kitchen wagging her tail gently, but she wasn’t going to argue. She herself was definitely shattered and couldn’t imagine wrestling a dog into the bath and out again in this state.

  ‘Just give her legs a little rub with a soapy flannel for now, Bea,’ said Queenie.

  Bea thought of her nice, soft bed, a microwaved beanbag owl and an extra blanket on top of her duvet. She sighed. ‘What did your last slave die of?’

  ‘Bea!’ Bob barked. ‘That’s enough cheek.’

  Bea’s jaw dropped open and she stared at him with disbelief. ‘What?’

  Bob looked quickly at Queenie, who also appeared gobsmacked. If she doesn’t back me up, thought Bea, I’m out of here. I’d rather sleep under a bloody hedge than be bossed around by Bob-on-Meat in my own home.

  ‘Bob,’ Queenie said, firmly, ‘it’s getting late. Bea and Goldie are home now. I think it’s time to say goodnight.’

  Little bright spots appeared in Bob’s rosy cheeks. He knew he’d overstepped the mark. ‘Right. Right.’ He put his coat on. ‘I’ll be off. I’m glad you’re both okay. Are you in tomorrow?’

  ‘No,’ said Bea. ‘I’m off until Monday now.’

  ‘Okay. See you then.’ The door stuck a bit as he was closing it, so he gave it a tug and it slammed.

  ‘Ouch,’ said Queenie.

  ‘It’s just the door, Mum. I don’t think he was angry.’

  ‘He didn’t mean anything, you know, Bea.’

  ‘Didn’t he? He’s getting very cosy here. Is that what you really want?’

  Queenie blinked rapidly. ‘I don’t know,’ she said eventually. ‘I don’t know what I want.’

  ‘It’s too late for all this,’ said Bea. ‘I’ll put some biccies in her bowl, and let’s all go to bed.’

  ‘Mm. Bea—’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Come here.’ Queenie opened her arms, inviting Bea in. Tired as she was, Bea couldn’t refuse. They had a hug and as they stood together, Bea felt exhaustion overcoming her. Her head sank onto her mum’s shoulder.

  ‘I’ve got to go to bed, Mum, or I’ll fall asleep standing up.’

  She was hoping for a deep and dreamless sleep, but she’d gone past that point. Even Arthur’s gentle purring couldn’t lull her off. Wide-eyed and awake, she told herself, ‘It’s over.’ She repeated the words, like a mantra, and felt herself starting to drift off again. And then she heard the noise.

  The rattle of metal against metal, somewhere outside. A slight sighing sound. The side gate, she thought. Someone’s let themselves into the back. Her senses were working overtime now, straining to pick up any other sound, but all was quiet. Had she imagined it?

  But then, a muffled woof from the kitchen. And again.

  Goldie knew there was someone outside too.

  41

  Bea sat up. Should she wake up Queenie? Ring the police?

  She slid her legs out of bed and into her Disney princess slippers, then wrapped her dressing gown round her and tied the belt.

  Downstairs, the dog barked again.

  Bea walked onto the landing. There was another sound – the rhythmic grumble of Queenie snoring. Let her sleep, thought Bea. I’ll sort this out.

  She tiptoed down the stairs, carrying her phone. I need a weapon, she thought, and went upstairs again. She couldn’t think of anything to grab and ended up brandishing the loo brush. It wouldn’t do any damage, but she’d have the element of surprise.

  She crept downstairs and opened the kitchen door. The usual doggish fug hit her nose. She’d missed it when Goldie was away. The dog was already on her feet and padded towards her. She bent down and whispered, ‘Is there someone there, Goldie?’

  There was a curtain across the window of the kitchen door, and Bea was grateful for it, queasy at the thought of someone being able to see in. She and Goldie stood in the dark room together, and waited. Bea couldn’t hear anything except for Goldie’s panting, and the thudding of her own blood in her ears – her heart was racing.

  This is stupid, Bea thought. She flicked on the light and then her whole body jerked as someone tapped gently on the kitchen door. She went and stood near.

  ‘Who is it?’ she said. There was no answer, just another series of taps. Bea felt anxiety stabbing at her insides. ‘Who is it? I’m not opening up if you don’t say.’

  There was a pause. Then, ‘It’s me. Ant.’ The voice was muffled. It didn’t sound like Ant, and why would he be so weird?

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Open up. I’ll tell ya.’

  She could slide the curtain back, but the glass in the window was frosted – all she would be able to see would be a shape. She started to move the bolt across, then stopped. She rang his number on her mobile and listened. The screen showed that it was ringing but she couldn’t hear it. It wasn’t Ant outside. It was someone else.

  ‘It’s too late,’ she said to the door. ‘I’m not opening up. Come back in the morning.’

  ‘I just want to talk to you.’

  She moved away from the door and that’s when there was another noise, an insistent scratching or scraping sound, like fingernails on a chalkboard. ‘What the—?’

  The sound seemed to be working its way around the window in the door. And then suddenly, it stopped. The curtain moved as someone lifted the glass away and a hand came through, under the curtain and reached for the bolt. Above the hand was the end of the sleeve of a Barbour jacket.

  Bea swore, and at that moment she heard Ant’s voice. ‘Bea? Is that you?’ He’d finally picked up the phone. ‘Eddie’s here,’ she squealed. ‘He’s breaking in.’

  ‘Shit. I’m on my way. Call the cops.’

  The door was opening. Bea dropped her phone and grabbed a knife from the kitchen drawer.

  ‘Out!’ she yelled at Goldie and ushered the dog into the hall, aware of someone entering the kitchen. She followed Goldie and tried to slam the hall door shut, but it wouldn’t close; the intruder had put his foot in the way, and Bea could feel his weight pressing against the other side. She grunted with the effort of holding her ground.

  ‘Bea? What’s going on?’ Bea couldn’t look over her shoulder, but could picture Queenie leaning over the banister.

  ‘Call the police, Mum!’

  ‘No!’ shouted the man on the other side of the door. ‘If you call the police, I’ll kill you.’

  He seemed to find a surge of energy as he shouldered the gap wider. Bea yelped again and Goldi
e barked louder.

  ‘Mum! Call them! He’s going to kill us anyway!’

  Her slippers slid on the parquet as the intruder rammed his shoulder into the door. She tried to recover her position, but it was too late. He was through. The force of the door knocked her over. As she tried to slither back onto her feet she got a proper view of him. It was Eddie, all right, and there was a cold, grey steeliness in his eyes that made her throat constrict.

  He dived at her and squeezed the wrist of the hand that held the knife. His thumb dug into soft flesh. It was excruciating. Bea dropped the knife and watched in despair as it clattered onto the floor.

  Now Eddie caught her under her arms and hauled her onto her feet. She felt something against her throat. The ‘something’ dug in, the blade of a knife pressing into her skin.

  ‘I’ve got one too,’ he said, his mouth close to her ear. ‘Shouldn’t carry one if you’re not prepared to use it. Where’s your mum?’

  ‘Upstairs.’

  ‘Tell her to put the phone down.’

  ‘Mum!’ Bea shouted, hoping desperately that Queenie had already made the call. She looked up. Queenie emerged from the bedroom with the cordless phone in her hand, held up to her ear. ‘Put the phone down, Mum.’

  Queenie gasped when she saw Bea and her attacker.

  ‘Throw it down here!’ Eddie shouted. ‘Do it!’

  Queenie reached over the banister and dropped the receiver. Part of its plastic cover broke off as it landed on the floor and skittered across the parquet.

  Bea couldn’t bear to look at her mum’s terrified face. ‘It’s all right, Mum,’ she said. ‘Everything’s going to be all right.’

  ‘Get in your room, close the door and stay there!’ Eddie barked.

  ‘No. I’m not leaving Bea,’ Queenie said.

  ‘I just want a word with her,’ said Eddie. ‘Do what I say and no one will get hurt.’

  ‘Mum, it’s okay. I’ll come and find you when it’s all over.’

  ‘Bea—?’

  Eddie jabbed the knife into Bea’s throat. She winced. ‘Do it, Mum. Please.’

  Reluctantly, Queenie backed away into her room. She closed the door but Bea could see there was a little gap left open. Whatever happened next, Queenie would be able to hear. Illogically, this bothered Bea more than the thought of whatever violence was to come. She couldn’t bear the thought of Queenie listening to her being beaten or stabbed or raped. I can’t let this happen, she thought. I can’t let this man ruin our lives.

  ‘What do you want?’ she said, her words rasping against the pressure at her neck.

  ‘I want to know that you will keep quiet,’ he said.

  They were still in the hall, locked together in a bizarre, horribly intimate way.

  ‘Okay,’ said Bea, ‘let’s just sit down and talk about it.’

  He relaxed his grip a little and pushed her into the lounge, walking close behind, like a ghastly three-legged race, except they were linked not by a scarf round their legs, but the knife at her throat.

  ‘Sit down,’ he said. Bea felt the pressure release from her neck. She sank onto the sofa, while Eddie sat opposite her, the knife now pointed at her, no longer touching.

  ‘You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Investigating. Poking your nose into other people’s business.’

  ‘I’m sorry. This is all a mistake,’ said Bea. ‘It was the cats. That’s what I was investigating. I had no idea it was fighting.’

  ‘Perfectly legal fighting.’

  ‘Yes. Okay. Perfectly legal fighting. I only rang 999 because I thought Tank was dying. I still don’t know how he is.’

  ‘We had that under control. Besides, he knew what he was getting into.’

  ‘Did he? When I saw him in the ring, he looked terrified.’

  ‘It was a fight. People get hurt. It comes with the territory.’

  ‘Well, he’s in hospital now, so that’s all right, isn’t it? There’s no need for you to be here.’

  ‘Now you’ve got the dog back, I need to you to promise, swear to me, that you’ll keep quiet.’

  ‘What about? The police know about the fight. I won’t say anything about the dog – I just wanted her back, that’s all.’

  What else? Bea thought. What was he really worried about? And then the penny started to drop. ‘The pub,’ she said. ‘The Wagon and Horses. I didn’t think you’d seen me, but you had.’

  There was a flicker behind his eyes, and she knew she’d hit a bullseye. But even so, she thought, supplying drugs was bad, but was it enough to threaten her like this? There was something . . .something else. Think, she urged herself. Think harder. Think quicker.

  ‘Yes,’ said Eddie. ‘The pub. I need you to tell me that that never happened, that you never saw me, that I wasn’t there.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I promise. I didn’t see you. You weren’t there.’ She was running through the chain of events in her head. Eddie had supplied drugs to Tank and Ken. Ketamine. Where had she heard about ketamine recently? Ketamine. The body on the bypass. Oh my God. It still wasn’t crystal clear, but she had a horrible, sickening feeling she was sitting opposite a murderer, and that no words, no promises from her, would keep her safe.

  Maybe she could keep him talking long enough for Ant to get here. Maybe, if she couldn’t, she could at least make him face the truth.

  ‘The stuff you bought in the pub, you gave it to Ant’s little brother. You gave it to Tank. And you gave it to that poor lad by the bypass too.’

  Eddie shifted in his seat. He was gripping the knife, but he was listening too.

  ‘He was another fighter, wasn’t he? Someone else you were “helping”. Except that he overdosed and to cover it up, you tipped him off the bridge to make it look like suicide.’

  He was clutching the handle of the knife so tightly, his knuckles were white, and he was staring at the ground.

  ‘I’m right, aren’t I?’ Bea said, and now he looked at her, and there was a coldness in his eyes, a chilling blankness. And she knew that it was all over. There was no more time to be bought. He was going to kill her.

  She started to stand up, to make a run for the door. Eddie lunged forward, thrusting the knife towards her. Bea screamed at the same time as Goldie issued a throaty growl that was almost a roar. The noise made Eddie look down and as the dog sprang up towards his face, he slashed at her throat.

  ‘Nooo!’

  In a blind rage, Bea grabbed the nearest object – a large china dog, one of a pair on the mantelpiece – and launched herself across the room. She smashed the ornament onto the back of Eddie’s head. He tipped forward and fell on top of the dog.

  ‘Get off her, you fucker!’ Bea shouted and hauled him over to one side. He didn’t react – no sound, no movement, his body limp in her hands. Confident he wasn’t about to attack her, Bea turned her attention to Goldie. Blood was seeping through her fur from the wound at her neck. She was grizzling quietly.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Bea soothed. ‘It’s going to be all right.’ But she wasn’t at all sure it was. There was a lot of blood. It was all over her hands now and leaking onto their beige carpet.

  ‘Is he dead?’ Queenie was standing in the doorway.

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t care. He stabbed Goldie, slit her throat.’

  ‘Oh my God, no! Bea, what are we going to do?’

  ‘Ring the vet. We need to get her seen as soon as we can.’

  Bea held her hands to Goldie’s neck, not knowing if she should try and press the wound in some way to stop the bleeding or if that would just hurt the dog more. She shifted a little where she was kneeling, eased Goldie’s head onto her lap and gently stroked her body.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘There’s a good girl.’

  ‘I’ll ring the vet and get some towels,’ said Queenie, but her hands were shaking and she could barely dial.

  Eddie was still out cold on the carpet next to Bea. He seemed to be breathing, but to be honest, Bea didn�
��t care if he was or not. Shards of pottery littered the floor around him.

  ‘Mum?’ she said. ‘I’m sorry about the pot dog.’ Tears welled up now as she struggled to speak. ‘I know it was special . . .’

  ‘Don’t worry about it now.’ She left the room and when she came back, she put a folded towel under Goldie’s head on Bea’s lap. ‘How’s she doing?’

  They both looked at Goldie. She was quiet now. Her eyes were closing. Bea could feel where the dog’s blood had soaked through her dressing gown and pyjamas.

  There was a sound outside, someone hammering on the front door, then the side gate banging against the wall of the house. Moments later, Ant burst into the room.

  ‘Bea! Are you all right? Jesus, you’re covered in blood! What the fuck happened here? Have you killed him?’ He was wild-eyed and hyperventilating. Bea reckoned he was about to keel over.

  ‘It’s all right, Ant. Sit down for a minute. We’re all right, but the dog’s not.’

  Ant was clutching onto the back of the sofa, chest heaving. ‘He was round ours, looking for her. Broke the lock on the garage. What a lowlife. Have you . . .did you . . .kill him?’

  At that moment, Eddie groaned a little and moved his head from side to side.

  ‘He’s alive,’ said Bea. ‘But he doesn’t deserve to be. Ant, don’t let him get up. Sit on him or something.’

  ‘Got it. Should I look at Goldie, though?’

  Bea shook her head. ‘I don’t think there’s much you can do. We just need to get her to a vet. We need someone with a car.’

  Ant sank down onto Eddie’s legs.

  ‘I’ve rung Bob,’ said Queenie. ‘But the vet should be here soon.’

  The sirens were getting louder now. Soon the house was full of people in uniform; paramedics, Tom and Shaz, and the on-call vet, who happened to be Xiao. Bob turned up too, with Dot in tow.

  ‘Dot? What are you doing here?’ said Bea.

  ‘I had to come,’ she said. ‘I was so worried about you all.’

  ‘Coming through!’ They all looked towards the door to the lounge now. Xiao, grim-faced, was carrying one end of Goldie, wrapped up in a blanket. Shaz held the other end. They all gasped.