Catalyst by Michael Knaggs Page A

consulting her notebook. “I would have made a note if any of the houses had been unoccupied.”
    â€œSo someone might have moved out immediately after the killings,” said David. “Killed the boys and ran away… ” But he seemed unable to link the fact to anything relevant. “Anyway, worth checking, I suppose. Could you find out who the vendor is and the timing and stuff?”
    â€œOkay, I’ll try to get the info for the meeting at four.”
    â€œWell, don’t kill yourself, I don’t suppose it’s going to lead anywhere but it’s a loose end we could do with tying up. In the absence of any actual leads, loose ends start to look quite attractive, don’t you think? Anyway, we haven’t finished our constitutional yet. Let’s keep going and see if we can scrounge a cup of tea from somewhere. Might as well cash in on the euphoria.”

    George and Irene Holland pulled into the huge car-park at Cullen Hall at just after 10.00 am that same morning. They were on their two-weekly shopping trip from their home in Meadow Village, just a mile and a half away. They regarded this fortnightly event as a sort of raid, the aim being to get in and out as quickly as possible with a minimum of human contact.
    George was sixty-five years old, a retired school teacher. Slightly less than medium height, he was a little overweight due to – he was quick to explain – ‘the natural slowing down of his metabolism’. He was dressed trendily in blue jeans, checked shirt and casual jacket and his open friendly face sported a small neatly-trimmed goatee beard. His head was naturally bald except for a semicircle of hair round the back at about ear-level which he fashionably removed with un-guarded clippers every other week.
    He opened the boot of the Fiesta and Irene lifted out the shopping bags. Irene was the same age as her husband, but looked ten years younger. She was petite and pretty with a trim little figure that most women half her age would die for. Her fair hair, though thinning a little now, retained most of its natural colour with only the slightest hint of grey visible in places.
    â€œMorning, lovely day.”
    They both looked up in surprise at two smiling women walking past them, and instinctively looked around to make sure they were the target for the greeting.
    â€œYes, beautiful,” said Irene, smiling back when it was clear that they were. The women passed by and George and Irene looked at each other with eyebrows raised in astonishment.
    â€œWell, that’s a first,” said George. “They must be tourists.”
    â€œPerhaps they are,” said Irene, pointing to a line of coaches parked in front of the entrance to the shops. “The place looks like it’s back in business.”
    They went into the mall with its impressive marble floors and columns, fountains and sculptures. The place was bustling with people, in contrast to previous visits. They made their way towards the Food Hall at one end of the complex, past large groups of shoppers moving around together visiting the High Street retail stores; clearly day trippers from the coaches outside. The collective mood was relaxed and happy.
    As they waited with a full trolley at the Tesco check-out, they chatted amiably to a couple about their own age who were behind them in the queue.
    â€œI’m sure I’ve seen you here before,” said the woman. “Do you live on the estate?”
    â€œNo we’re from Meadow Village, just down the road,” Irene replied, “but we come here to shop.”
    â€œOh, Meadow Village. It’s a lovely place isn’t it? We’ve been to the Dog and Duck a couple of times for a meal, haven’t we, Seth?”
    â€œYes, really nice food,” said Seth.
    â€œWe’re very lucky having an excellent restaurant like that in such a small place,” said George. “We tend to take it for