ready.’
‘Thank you, Marcus, much appreciated.’ Garrod returned to his van outside the building.
‘Do you mind if I do this order, Sergeant?’ asked Dew. ‘It’s our busiest time of day.’
Dexter half-looked up from her notes. ‘Go ahead.’
‘Will that be all then, Detective Sergeant?’ Doyle asked.
‘Not quite.’ Dexter turned to McCain, ‘How did Patterson get home usually? Bus or tube?’
‘Not sure to be honest. Bus I think. I know he came in on the bus. I suppose he had a pass.’
Dexter nodded. She had briefly entertained the idea that there might have been security video footage of Patterson at the nearest tube station. She discounted the idea as unlikely: in any case, she doubted whether London Transport kept archived surveillance camera footage for more than a few days. She had drawn a blank.
A van drew up beside her. Bartholomew and Ray Garrod climbed out. Along with Marcus Dew, they began to load the van with meat. The Garrods heaved pig carcasses effortlessly.
‘I think I’m done,’ Dexter said to Doyle. ‘If you could fax me that list of stall holders to this number, I’d appreciate it.’
‘We certainly will.’
Dexter became aware of a man staring at her: an unnerving, flesh-stripping gaze.
‘Wake up, Ray. Haven’t you seen a lady policeofficer before?’ Marcus Dew said to the man.
Broken from his reverie, Ray Garrod wrenched his eyes from Alison Dexter. ‘Ah have seen some bit of one I think,’ he said before moving away to the rear of the van.
‘Don’t worry about old Ray, Sergeant,’ Dew said, noticing her interest. ‘He’s harmless enough but he’ll never win Mastermind.’
Dexter felt an inexplicable sense of uncertainty for a second. She looked at the old-fashioned butcher’s van then back at Ray Garrod. Bartholomew lumbered past carrying a pig carcass under each arm. He stared through her. Something seemed to flicker in his black eyes. For a millisecond, Dexter thought it was fear.
It was an odd moment: one that she couldn’t rationalise. Suddenly, she wanted to be somewhere else. Dexter thanked Gavin Doyle and hurriedly left the building, glancing over her shoulder as she walked out under the high stone arch of the exit. Ray and Bartholomew Garrod were standing completely still watching her leave.
Dexter returned to her car in Charterhouse Street. Something had unsettled her: maybe it was the smell of meat and death that pervaded the place, maybe it was the strange staring eyes of the Garrods. Maybe it was something else. Something subliminal: a connection that the conscious mindhadn’t quite made. Something she had seen.
Dexter climbed into her car and locked the door. She sat looking towards Smithfield, uncertain how to proceed. After a minute, she saw the Garrods’ van turn down Hayne Street: she watched the strange, ancient vehicle trundle down the incline. It stopped directly in front of her car as it indicated right to make the turn into Charterhouse Street. Ray Garrod sat in the passenger seat, he seemed to be shouting something excitedly to his brother. He hadn’t noticed her. Dexter stared in fascination at the odd pair then allowed her eyes to drift along the side of the van to the text printed there:
‘Garrod and Sons, Family Butchers, Norlington Road, Leyton, E10.’
Dexter felt a sudden shock of excitement.
Brian Patterson worked at Smithfield. Brian Patterson lived in Francis Road Leyton. Francis Road runs parallel to Norlington Road. The Garrods’ shop is on Norlington Road.
Dexter immediately started the engine and swung out into the traffic behind the Garrods’ van. She felt detached from the moment, unsure of where her thoughts were pushing her.
The Garrods buy meat from the stall at Smithfield where Patterson worked. At least one of the Garrods is fucking peculiar. Jesus Christ. Had they driven Patterson back to Leyton after work onthe day he vanished? But who were the Garrods and what motive could they have for killing
‘Thank you, Marcus, much appreciated.’ Garrod returned to his van outside the building.
‘Do you mind if I do this order, Sergeant?’ asked Dew. ‘It’s our busiest time of day.’
Dexter half-looked up from her notes. ‘Go ahead.’
‘Will that be all then, Detective Sergeant?’ Doyle asked.
‘Not quite.’ Dexter turned to McCain, ‘How did Patterson get home usually? Bus or tube?’
‘Not sure to be honest. Bus I think. I know he came in on the bus. I suppose he had a pass.’
Dexter nodded. She had briefly entertained the idea that there might have been security video footage of Patterson at the nearest tube station. She discounted the idea as unlikely: in any case, she doubted whether London Transport kept archived surveillance camera footage for more than a few days. She had drawn a blank.
A van drew up beside her. Bartholomew and Ray Garrod climbed out. Along with Marcus Dew, they began to load the van with meat. The Garrods heaved pig carcasses effortlessly.
‘I think I’m done,’ Dexter said to Doyle. ‘If you could fax me that list of stall holders to this number, I’d appreciate it.’
‘We certainly will.’
Dexter became aware of a man staring at her: an unnerving, flesh-stripping gaze.
‘Wake up, Ray. Haven’t you seen a lady policeofficer before?’ Marcus Dew said to the man.
Broken from his reverie, Ray Garrod wrenched his eyes from Alison Dexter. ‘Ah have seen some bit of one I think,’ he said before moving away to the rear of the van.
‘Don’t worry about old Ray, Sergeant,’ Dew said, noticing her interest. ‘He’s harmless enough but he’ll never win Mastermind.’
Dexter felt an inexplicable sense of uncertainty for a second. She looked at the old-fashioned butcher’s van then back at Ray Garrod. Bartholomew lumbered past carrying a pig carcass under each arm. He stared through her. Something seemed to flicker in his black eyes. For a millisecond, Dexter thought it was fear.
It was an odd moment: one that she couldn’t rationalise. Suddenly, she wanted to be somewhere else. Dexter thanked Gavin Doyle and hurriedly left the building, glancing over her shoulder as she walked out under the high stone arch of the exit. Ray and Bartholomew Garrod were standing completely still watching her leave.
Dexter returned to her car in Charterhouse Street. Something had unsettled her: maybe it was the smell of meat and death that pervaded the place, maybe it was the strange staring eyes of the Garrods. Maybe it was something else. Something subliminal: a connection that the conscious mindhadn’t quite made. Something she had seen.
Dexter climbed into her car and locked the door. She sat looking towards Smithfield, uncertain how to proceed. After a minute, she saw the Garrods’ van turn down Hayne Street: she watched the strange, ancient vehicle trundle down the incline. It stopped directly in front of her car as it indicated right to make the turn into Charterhouse Street. Ray Garrod sat in the passenger seat, he seemed to be shouting something excitedly to his brother. He hadn’t noticed her. Dexter stared in fascination at the odd pair then allowed her eyes to drift along the side of the van to the text printed there:
‘Garrod and Sons, Family Butchers, Norlington Road, Leyton, E10.’
Dexter felt a sudden shock of excitement.
Brian Patterson worked at Smithfield. Brian Patterson lived in Francis Road Leyton. Francis Road runs parallel to Norlington Road. The Garrods’ shop is on Norlington Road.
Dexter immediately started the engine and swung out into the traffic behind the Garrods’ van. She felt detached from the moment, unsure of where her thoughts were pushing her.
The Garrods buy meat from the stall at Smithfield where Patterson worked. At least one of the Garrods is fucking peculiar. Jesus Christ. Had they driven Patterson back to Leyton after work onthe day he vanished? But who were the Garrods and what motive could they have for killing
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