by Rachel Ward
Julie paid in cash, as usual. As Bea handed over her change, she fought the temptation to catch hold of her hand, have a closer look at her ring finger. It was odd – but it was none of Bea’s business, was it? The little family set off for the exit, Mason holding onto the trolley. He glanced back as they passed the newspapers and magazines and Bea caught the glint of his top lip, wet with snot again.
Five o’clock approached and it was dark again beyond the big plate glass windows at the front of the store. The women on her shift got changed in silence. The door to Ginny’s locker was slightly ajar. Everybody noticed. No one wanted to shut it.
‘Shall we walk together again?’ Dot asked. ‘Ant wants to.’
‘Yeah,’ said Bea. ‘I’ve got to buy Queenie’s tea on the way out, though.’
‘We’ll wait out front.’
Bea went back onto the shop floor and straight to the fish section in the frozen food cabinets. She picked out a packet of breaded cod fillets and then walked to the meat aisle labelled ‘Sausages, Bacon and Pork’. Unfortunately, it was within sight of Bob-on-Meat, who was still on duty at the fresh meat counter at the back of the store. He noticed her as he was chopping up bones on the board at the back next to the bacon slicer. The cleaver sat easily in his big hand. As he brought the blade down onto the carcass, splinters of bone and flecks of flesh danced and scattered.
He tipped the smashed up chunks into a bag, placed it on the scale and then printed off a price label. ‘There you go, Madam. That’ll make lovely stock.’
‘The best,’ his customer said, putting the bag in her trolley. ‘Thanks, Bob.’
With no one else waiting, Bob called out to Bea. ‘Here, you don’t want that packaged stuff, you want some of mine.’
Bea winced, replaced the packet of branded bangers and went up to Bob.
‘Late one tonight, Bob?’ she said.
‘On till eight,’ he said, ruefully. ‘I’ll miss half the football. I’m recording it, but it’s not the same.’
‘Nemmind.’
‘Yeah, but I wanted to, well, make sure Dot got home okay. I don’t like the thought of her walking on her own. Or you either,’ he added hastily.
‘It’s okay, Bob, we’re both walking with—’ Bea stopped conscious of a crack opening up in the thin ice beneath her feet.
‘Walking with . . . ?’
‘With Ant. Ant’s walking us home.’
‘Oh. Him.’ Bob’s face darkened, like his own personal cloud had moved overhead and cast a shadow. He made a visible effort to pull himself together. ‘What can I do you for anyway, love?’
‘I was just going to get some ordinary sausages.’
Bob pulled a face. ‘You don’t want that pap,’ he said, nodding to the cabinet. ‘Women like you need proper meat.’
‘What would you recommend?’
‘These ones. A nice thick sausage, all pork, bit of black pepper. How many, love?’
‘Four. Two each.’
He placed the sausages on a layer of plastic on the scales, printed the label and put them in a bag. Then popped a couple of slices of bacon in with them. When Bea took it from him, the price was ludicrously low, half what it should be.
‘Bob?’
‘Shh,’ he said, and winked at her. ‘Mates’ rates.’
‘Ta, but—’
‘Off you go. Give my regards to Queenie.’
‘Thanks, Bob. Goodnight.’
‘Night, love.’
Bea paid at the self-checkout and joined Dot and Ant outside.
‘Get a move on, slowcoach,’ said Ant. ‘I’m freezing to chuffing mintballs here.’
They headed across the car park.
‘So, are you going to work on the case this evening?’ Ant asked Bea.
‘Yeah.’
‘We could join you.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Bea. ‘Queenie isn’t all that comfortable with company.’
‘She knows me though, Bea, doesn’t she?’ said Dot.
‘Yeah, but—’
‘But she doesn’t want oiks like me in her house,’ said Ant.
‘It’s not that, Ant. She’s . . . you know . . . she has trouble . . . ’
‘It’s all right. I’m only teasing.’
‘Anyway, you can’t blame her, can you?’ said Dot. ‘I mean, you’re only just house-trained.’ Ant tipped back his head and barked like a dog.
‘Shh, for goodness’ sake.’
‘I’ll ask Queenie about you two coming round. She might actually enjoy it. It won’t be tonight, though.’
‘Fair enough. What are you going to do tonight?’
‘Reckon I’ll go through my lists again. I could text you if I come up with something.’
Ant’s shoulders rounded a little. Bea could feel him withdrawing.
‘Oh, sorry. Texting’s no good, is it?’
‘No good to me. Send me a picture. Or just ring,’ he said.
‘Yeah.’
They were nearly at Bea’s house.
‘You are going to Dot’s, aren’t you? I mean, you will walk Dot right to her house,’ asked Bea.
‘Yeah. Course.’
Both Ant and Dot couldn’t look each other in the eye, and Bea was sure he was planning to keep her company further than her front door.
‘It’s just that . . . I shouldn’t tell you this, but Tom said that Ginny was hit with a hammer or something like it.’
‘Oh God.’ Dot’s hand went up to her mouth.
Ant whistled and shook his head. ‘That’s gross. That’s really sick,’ he said. ‘When did he tell you? During your interview?’
‘No.’ God, why didn’t she just say yes? What was wrong with her? ‘He just came round for a chat, last night after work.’
Ant narrowed his eyes. ‘He came round to yours? Your house?’
‘Yes.’
‘After work, that must have been pretty late.’
‘Yes, he’s . . . he’s a friend, Ant. We were at Cow Lane together.’
‘There must have been two hundred kids at that school. You don’t invite them all round to yours every night, do you?’ he said.
‘No, course not. He’s a friend, okay? Okay?’
‘Not really.’ Ant was increasingly agitated – hopping from foot to foot, flailing his arms around. ‘He’s not human, Bea. He’s a pig.’
‘That’s a disgusting thing to say. He’s just a bloke, a nice bloke, who happens to be a policeman.’
‘No one “happens to be a policeman” – he chose to join up. He chose to put that uniform on. He’s one of them.’
‘Don’t be so stupid. They’re not the enemy.’
‘They are in my house. That’s exactly what they are.’
Dot put a hand on his arm. ‘That’s enough, Ant. Calm down.’
‘I just don’t get it,’ he said. ‘How anyone could be friends with someone like that.’
Bea started walking away from them. ‘We don’t all have your fucked-up view of society. Some of us think the police are there to keep us safe.’
Ant let out a kind of snort, and Bea kept walking. She was only a few yards from her front gate.
‘Night, doll,’ Dot called out to her.
She turned around. ‘Night.’
Nothing to Ant. He was only a year or two younger than her, but boy oh boy, did he need to grow up, Bea thought. She wondered again about what went on when Dot closed the front door behind them. What was she doing with such an immature kid, young enough to be her grandson? She could picture her with someone like Bob, cuddled up on the sofa together watching Antiques Roadshow or Gardener’s World or something. They’d be good together. But Ant?
‘Fish today, Queenie,’ she called out as she went through the kitchen door. ‘Get the oven on. Bob-on-Meat says hi. He only charged me half price for the sausages for tomorrow.’
‘Ah, Bob. We used to see him down the club, every Friday. Seems like a lifetime ago. What’s his Fiona doing now? She went to uni, didn’t she?’
>
Queenie made the tea while Bea put their fish and chips in the oven. They chatted happily while they waited for it to cook, enjoying the smells wafting from the cooker. For a few minutes, it felt reassuringly normal, chewing over other people’s lives, the day-to-day gossip that oiled the working of the day. When the food was ready, they took their plates into the lounge to eat in front of the telly and somehow the spell was broken. There was another report on the news about Ginny’s murder. The post-mortem had been completed but the results weren’t going to be released until the inquest opened.
‘It’ll be the funeral next,’ said Queenie. ‘Have they got a date yet?’
‘I dunno,’ said Bea. ‘Don’t think so.’
She looked at the food that remained on her plate and put down her knife and fork.
‘What’s up, love?’
‘I can’t eat it.’
‘Not even the fish? Give it here, then.’
11
‘This is doing my head in,’ said Bea. ‘All of it. Spreadsheets, lists, maps, timelines. It’s too much.’ She had eighteen men on her list and names for only eleven of them. ‘The thing is, the killer needn’t necessarily have been in the store or the pub. They could have been roaming the streets outside, looking for a victim. The common element might not be Costsave after all.’
‘So, we’re looking for anyone, anywhere? That’s impossible. Unless you’re the police,’ said Dot.
‘Yeah, it’s impossible. But I keep wondering if there’s a sort of pattern. When you think about the girls being followed, then Emma, who was a customer, and then Ginny, who was staff – it feels like it’s all coming closer to Costsave. I think the killer has a link to the store. What if he is on my list? It’s worth looking at, isn’t it? But even that’s too much.’
‘So, that’s what we’re here for,’ said Ant, as they walked past the newsagents, the only shop open on the High Street this early. ‘To take some of this on.’
‘But you can’t. I mean . . . ’
‘You mean, I can’t tweak your spreadsheet. ’Cos I’m stupid. Yeah, fair play, but I can look at CCTV footage – that’s just watching telly, right? I’ve got a fucking degree in that. Or I can take some of your suspects and see what I can find out about them.’
‘That’s it!’ said Dot. ‘Why don’t we split up that list of yours? Each takes three or four people.’
‘O-kay,’ said Bea, thinking on her feet. ‘We’d have to be careful who had who, though. Like, no offence, but I couldn’t really have you investigating Bob, for example, seeing as you know him so well.’
‘Knew him. Once,’ said Dot. ‘But point taken.’
‘So how are we going to do this?’
‘I’ve got my list here.’ Bea rummaged in her pocket. ‘Okay, you could do Gavin and Neville, Dot. Poke about, see what you can find out about them.’
Dot nodded.
‘And you could do Bob and maybe Lee from the Leisure Centre. Do you ever go in there?’
Ant pulled a face. ‘Nah. But I suppose I could do.’
‘So that leaves Kevin the photographer, and Dave the creep.’
‘You shouldn’t do Dave the creep – he’s hit on you before,’ said Dot. ‘You don’t want to follow him around. He might think you’re encouraging him.’
‘So why don’t I do him, if you show me who he is on the CCTV?’ said Ant. ‘In fact, give me all the ones outside the store. I’ll use my contacts.’ He winked.
‘Who are your contacts?’
‘It’s better that you don’t know.’
‘Okay,’ she said, dubious. ‘So, are we sorted? I’ll do Kevin and Dean from Stores. We’ll work on our people and report back tomorrow lunchtime?’
‘That doesn’t give us very long.’
‘How long do you think it will be before the psycho attacks someone else? How long have we got?’
‘Good point.’
In the locker room, Bea looked in the mirror. She hadn’t worn the megalashes for a few days now, had hardly put any make-up on. It had seemed disrespectful somehow, to be tarting yourself up when one of your friends had died. Like they didn’t matter. She had to admit, though, that she looked pretty rank this morning. Without make-up, her eyes almost disappeared – they became piggy little things sitting above big pouchy cheeks.
Beside her, Dot drew on a cupid’s bow in bright, red lippy, while further along Eileen dragged a comb through her hair
‘You look fab, Dot,’ Bea said. ‘Love that colour on you.’
‘Thanks, babe. Got to look good for my public. You can borrow it if you like. You look tired, darlin’. Not sleeping?’
Bea groaned. ‘God, when anyone tells me I look tired, I feel ten times worse.’
‘Sorry, babe. I didn’t mean—’
‘No, it’s all right. I do look tired. I gotta fix this.’ She started rummaging in her bag and took out her make-up basics; foundation, concealer, eyeliner, mascara, lipstick, blusher. Then she set to work. A couple of minutes later she looked more like herself again.
She was zipping up her make-up bag when the dark vertical slit of Ginny’s open locker caught her eye.
‘I’m sorry, girls, I’m going to have to do it.’
Bea took a couple of steps towards the locker and pushed the metal door. It stuck in the frame. She pushed harder. The top of the door went into place, but the door bent in the middle, as the bottom failed to move.
‘What the—?’
Bea opened the door again and looked down. There was something there, a bit of card or paper. She leaned over and picked it up. It was a business card. ‘Kevin McKey – photographer.’ His contact details were there, not the ones for the Evening Post. These were his personal email and a mobile phone number.
‘What is it?’ asked Eileen.
‘A card. From that press photographer. He gave it to her at the spinathon.’
Dot shrugged. ‘She was stunningly pretty. You can’t blame him.’
‘Blame him for what?’
‘I dunno. Chatting her up?’
‘Kevin? He’s old, no offence.’
‘None taken, but it doesn’t mean he wasn’t interested.’
‘True. Or maybe it was professional. He wanted to take more pictures of her?’
They looked at each other, each reading the other’s mind.
‘Throw it in the bin,’ said Eileen. ‘She doesn’t need it now, does she? Here, I’ll do it.’ She made to take the card from Bea’s hand, but Bea closed her fingers around it.
‘No, it’s okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll keep hold of it.’
‘What for?’ said Eileen. ‘Do you fancy yourself as a model?’ There was a sneer in her voice that Bea didn’t like one little bit.
She slipped the card into her pocket. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Why not?’
Dot joined in. ‘Yeah, why not, Eileen? Bea could easily be a model. She’s gorgeous.’ She came up behind Bea and ran her hands down her sides, emphasising her curves and tickling her as she did it. Bea buckled forward, squirming and giggling.
‘Get off, Dot, you sex maniac. That’s harassment, that is!’ She turned around and grabbed Dot’s hands to fend her off.
‘Can anyone join in?’
Dean from Stores was hovering just outside the half-open door, looking into the women’s changing room.
‘No,’ said Bea, firmly. ‘Really, really not. I only let my best bitches touch me like that.’ She and Dot let go of each other’s hands and high-fived each other, laughing.
‘Get out, Dean. You shouldn’t be looking in here!’ Eileen shouted at him.
‘Yeah, all right, Mum. You’re all weird anyway,’ Dean said and trudged away towards the staffroom. Bea noticed a magazine sticking out of his coat pocket. It was rolled up, with the back cover facing outwards. It was starting to unwind, though, and she could see the top corner of the front – a bronzed shoulder, a pert bosom, an erect pink nipple. Nice recreational reading. Was that what kept him in Stores most break times?
Big Gav followed them into the room, with Neville trailing in his wake. Immediately, Gav was besieged by people asking for the day off to attend Ginny’s funeral. He held his hands up and flapped them, palm down, to try and suppress the noise. ‘I’ll talk about the funeral in a minute, but first we need to be clear about tomorrow: Halloween. We all know about the trouble last year and we’ve taken steps to prevent that. From today we’re enforcing the “no eggs without ID” rule and Anna will be bringing round signs to stick up at all the tills. And please, be mindful of your personal safety when going home. I’m talking to the women here. Don’t walk home alone. I’m serious about this. I shall be on duty until close of play tomorrow and I want each of you to find me and tell me how you are getting home. If you haven’t got anyone to walk with, Costsave will pay for a taxi for you.’
A ripple of surprise went round the staff. The women made approving noises. Bea was expecting some outrage from the men, but none of them said anything. Ginny’s murder, so close to home, was playing on all of their minds. No one wanted their friends, colleagues, wives or daughters to be next.
‘Right, the store’s looking spookily great, thanks for your efforts. Let’s make it a good one tomorrow.’
A couple of people clapped but the applause petered out almost before it started. They knew what was coming next.
‘Okay, Ginny’s funeral. As you have obviously all heard, the funeral will take place on the second. Neville?’ Gavin turned to Neville to detail the leave arrangements.
‘We will be applying normal rules to leave for that day,’ he said, to howls of protest. He raised his voice above the throng. ‘You must fill in your leave cards and submit them to the office. We will be maintaining full coverage of the daytime shifts. Applications will be dealt with on a first come, first served basis.’