today?” Lucy asked.
“I am,” Beth replied, pulling the door shut and slipping the key into the ignition. “Someone has to give Mrs. Fusserman her morning biscuits and wheel Mr. Moore into the garden.”
“But you look tired.”
“Me? I’m fine.” She glanced back toward the house and imagined Bob in there, thinking that he was getting away with everything. “Don’t worry, sweetie-pie. Mummy’s gonna make sure everything’s okay and -”
Hearing a siren over her shoulder, she turned just in time to see a police car shooting past the end of the street with its lights flashing.
“What does that mean?” Lucy asked.
“I’m not sure,” Beth replied with a frown, “but I guess your aunt Jane has to be somewhere in a hurry.”
***
“I love you,” Caitlin’s voice whispered into Joe’s ear as he slept.
***
A crow landed on the roof of the Monument bar and looked around for a moment, its beady eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of food. A moment later, as a man cried out below, the bird took off again, soaring high into the cold morning sky.
***
“Hey,” Jane said, rushing from the car as soon as it had stopped. Reaching Greg, the bar owner, she found he was sitting on the ground with his back against the fence and his head in his hands. “Greg?” she continued, crouching in front of him. “Greg, can you hear me? Where is she?”
He sobbed something unintelligible.
“Greg,” she said again, putting a hand on his shoulder, “for God’s sake, I need you to tell me where she is.”
After a moment, Greg lifted his face and looked at her, but it was clear that he was in a state of advanced shock. Tears were running down his cheeks and his trembling mouth was half open, as if he was trying to speak but the trauma had gripped his soul and wouldn’t let go. He was a big man usually, the kind of guy who could throw pretty much anyone out of his bar, but right now he seemed crumpled and small, as if some part of him had collapsed in on itself.
“Where is she?” Jane asked, more firmly this time. “Greg, talk to me!”
“I’ll look around the back,” Alex said, hurrying past and making his way along the alley that ran down the side of the building.
“I…” Greg whimpered. “She…” Before he could say another word, his gaze seemed to lock, as if he was frozen in place.
“Jane!” Alex shouted. “Get over here!”
“Don’t move, okay?” Jane told Greg as she got to her feet. “I’ll be right back.” Spotting movement nearby, she saw that a few concerned locals had already gathered. “Margaret, Denise,” she continued, “could one of you just sit with Greg for a moment? Maybe get him a glass of water.”
“Of course,” Margaret replied, hurrying over, “but what’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure yet,” she said, turning and making her way along the alley. “Hopefully nothing,” she added under her breath as she turned the corner and saw Alex leaning into one of the large plastic bins round the back of the building. “What is it?” she asked.
“Exactly what he said it was.”
Stepping closer, Jane peered into the bin. She froze as soon as she saw a pair of legs poking out from under a pile of black sacks.
“Oh, sweet Jesus,” she whispered, as she reached the bin and looked inside. Sure enough, there was a bloodied arm poking out from under some other sacks. “This looks really fresh.”
“There were a few flies around a moment ago.”
“Have you taken a look at the face yet?” she asked.
Alex shook his head, before reaching into the bin and taking hold of one of the sacks. Slowly, cautiously, he lifted it to one side, exposing the battered and beaten face of Mel Armitage, the woman who’d been working late shifts in the bar for the past few years. Her eyes were closed, but there were enough thick knife wounds around her neck and throat to make the situation clear. Blood had pooled in the creases of the black sacks beneath her body.
“There are
“I am,” Beth replied, pulling the door shut and slipping the key into the ignition. “Someone has to give Mrs. Fusserman her morning biscuits and wheel Mr. Moore into the garden.”
“But you look tired.”
“Me? I’m fine.” She glanced back toward the house and imagined Bob in there, thinking that he was getting away with everything. “Don’t worry, sweetie-pie. Mummy’s gonna make sure everything’s okay and -”
Hearing a siren over her shoulder, she turned just in time to see a police car shooting past the end of the street with its lights flashing.
“What does that mean?” Lucy asked.
“I’m not sure,” Beth replied with a frown, “but I guess your aunt Jane has to be somewhere in a hurry.”
***
“I love you,” Caitlin’s voice whispered into Joe’s ear as he slept.
***
A crow landed on the roof of the Monument bar and looked around for a moment, its beady eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of food. A moment later, as a man cried out below, the bird took off again, soaring high into the cold morning sky.
***
“Hey,” Jane said, rushing from the car as soon as it had stopped. Reaching Greg, the bar owner, she found he was sitting on the ground with his back against the fence and his head in his hands. “Greg?” she continued, crouching in front of him. “Greg, can you hear me? Where is she?”
He sobbed something unintelligible.
“Greg,” she said again, putting a hand on his shoulder, “for God’s sake, I need you to tell me where she is.”
After a moment, Greg lifted his face and looked at her, but it was clear that he was in a state of advanced shock. Tears were running down his cheeks and his trembling mouth was half open, as if he was trying to speak but the trauma had gripped his soul and wouldn’t let go. He was a big man usually, the kind of guy who could throw pretty much anyone out of his bar, but right now he seemed crumpled and small, as if some part of him had collapsed in on itself.
“Where is she?” Jane asked, more firmly this time. “Greg, talk to me!”
“I’ll look around the back,” Alex said, hurrying past and making his way along the alley that ran down the side of the building.
“I…” Greg whimpered. “She…” Before he could say another word, his gaze seemed to lock, as if he was frozen in place.
“Jane!” Alex shouted. “Get over here!”
“Don’t move, okay?” Jane told Greg as she got to her feet. “I’ll be right back.” Spotting movement nearby, she saw that a few concerned locals had already gathered. “Margaret, Denise,” she continued, “could one of you just sit with Greg for a moment? Maybe get him a glass of water.”
“Of course,” Margaret replied, hurrying over, “but what’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure yet,” she said, turning and making her way along the alley. “Hopefully nothing,” she added under her breath as she turned the corner and saw Alex leaning into one of the large plastic bins round the back of the building. “What is it?” she asked.
“Exactly what he said it was.”
Stepping closer, Jane peered into the bin. She froze as soon as she saw a pair of legs poking out from under a pile of black sacks.
“Oh, sweet Jesus,” she whispered, as she reached the bin and looked inside. Sure enough, there was a bloodied arm poking out from under some other sacks. “This looks really fresh.”
“There were a few flies around a moment ago.”
“Have you taken a look at the face yet?” she asked.
Alex shook his head, before reaching into the bin and taking hold of one of the sacks. Slowly, cautiously, he lifted it to one side, exposing the battered and beaten face of Mel Armitage, the woman who’d been working late shifts in the bar for the past few years. Her eyes were closed, but there were enough thick knife wounds around her neck and throat to make the situation clear. Blood had pooled in the creases of the black sacks beneath her body.
“There are
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