Blood Atonement by Dan Waddell Page A

adopting a helpful smile. Foster flashed his ID.
     
    ‘Morning, ladies,’ he said, before making his introductions.
    The elderly one was named Yvonne, the younger
    lady Maureen. We’re here about Katie Drake.’
    We were wondering when you might come,’ Yvonne
    said, eyes wide with what Foster presumed was shock. ‘It’s just terrible. Horrible. We’re devastated. We thought about closing the shop for the day, but then we thought that Katie would have wanted us to open.’
    Was she supposed to be working today?’
    Maureen, a brassy redhead wearing a thick layer of
    make-up, nodded vigorously. ‘She did Mondays and
    Wednesdays. She should have been in today. We have three on normally. Two out front serving customers and one at the back sorting the carryin, usually helped by Trevor. It was her turn to be out back. We’ve not had time to ask anyone else to come in.’
    Her voice quavered. She was about to burst into tears.
    Yvonne threw an arm around her.
    ‘Is there a kettle?’ Heather asked. Why don’t you put
    the closed sign up for a few minutes and I’ll make us all a brew?’
    The women nodded.
    ‘There’s a kitchen through the back,’ the elderly one
    said.
    The younger one turned the sign on the back of the
    door and flicked the bolt.
    ‘So did Katie work this Monday?’ Foster asked.
    Yvonne nodded. ‘She did, yes. Only the morning. She
    wanted the afternoon off to shop for Naomi’s present and a cake. I was on, Maureen wasn’t. Katie was in the shop with me. Steph - she does a couple of days a week, too came in to fill in as Trevor was off.’
    ‘How did she seem?’
    ‘Her usual self really.’
    And what was “her usual self”?’
    ‘Friendly, good with the customers, helpful, polite. Her acting career wasn’t going too well — “stalled” was the word she used — and I think she liked getting out of the house and doing some work, meeting people.’
    ‘She used to joke about it,’ Maureen replied, with a
    smile. ‘She used to say, “I’m paying my debt. I do the voice for all these adverts for horrible companies that treat people like dirt and sell useless things. Working here is my penance.’”
    Foster watched as Heather returned with a tray bearing
    four mugs of tea. She put them down beside the till on
    the counter.
    He continued. ‘So you got no sense there was anything different in her life? No new events, incidents or anything like that?’
    The women looked at each other for a few moments.
    ‘No,’ the elderly one said.
    ‘Not at all,’ Maureen echoed.
    ‘She didn’t mention the fact she was seeing someone?’
    They raised their eyebrows so high it looked as if they
    might leap from their heads. ‘Was she?’
    Again, the pair glanced at each other.
    ‘Did you know that, Maureen?’
    “I didn’t know that, no,’ Maureen replied. ‘I’m surprised.
    Katie used to joke about it. She used to say, “I’ve had it with men. They’re nothing but trouble. A woman needs a man like a fish needs batter and chips.’”
    The two of them laughed.
    ‘Oh, we’ll miss her,’ Maureen said. Her eyes began to
    moisten.
    Foster let them drink some of their tea. There was a
    loud rap on the door behind him. He turned to see a large man with unkempt hair and burgeoning beer gut, wearing an anorak over a navy V-neck jumper and white shirt and
    a pair of grey slacks. Foster guessed he was in his late thirties. He looked agitated.
    ‘It’s Trevor,’ Maureen announced, and went over to
    unlock the door to let him in.
    The man stepped in, wiping his feet furiously on the
    floor despite the fact it wasn’t raining outside and there was no mat to wipe them on.
    ‘Hi, Yvonne,’ he said to the elderly woman, eyeing
    Heather and Foster warily before looking away. Are they
    here about Katie?’
    ‘Hi, Trevor love,’ Yvonne replied. ‘Yes, they are. They’re investigating her death.’
    Trevor gazed directly at Foster. ‘I wish I could get my
    hands on the bastard who did it,’