EPISODE SEVENTY-THREE
Having just had an induction meeting with his
manager, Pran returned to the large
open-plan office and slid into his seat at the desk near Graham’s. They were colleagues, working at the same
level, but already Pran sensed some resentment because of this. Maybe it was because Graham was in his late
thirties, and it had taken him longer to reach the grade that Pran had
fast-tracked to in his last job. But Pran
wondered if he was being paranoid. After
all, Graham seemed to be making an effort to get to know him and put him at
ease.
‘And how’s our line manager?’ Graham asked with forced cheerfulness.
‘Well, as I only started today, she just wanted to explain the routine.’
‘It’s going to be a hectic first week for you.
We’ve quite a few deadlines to meet.’
‘I don’t mind.’
Graham stopped working at his computer, and swivelled to face Pran. ‘Whereabouts d’you live, Pran?’
‘Tunbridge Wells. On a good day it’s
only forty-five minutes on the fast train to Cannon Street.’
‘You got your own place?’
Pran nodded. ‘A flat.’
‘You married?’
This was it. The questions Pran had been dreading. He breathed deeply, preparing himself for the
revelation. ‘No,’ was all he could
manage.
‘Girlfriend?’
This was his opportunity to say “I live with my partner Mark”, as they’d
agreed. But he couldn’t bring himself to
say it.
‘Not at the moment,’ he said, feeling his mouth getting drier.
‘So you live on your own.’
He hesitated, feeling as if he wanted to swivel away from Graham’s probing
stare. Eventually, in a voice that was
almost inaudible, he said, ‘I share with a flatmate. It keeps the cost down.’
But to Graham, this was just polite small-talk, and he returned his attention
to his computer screen. ‘Very
sensible. The prices of places these
days.’
Pran felt deeply ashamed. He could
imagine what Alan would say about his weakness, and he dreaded facing the
inevitable questions from his partner concerning his first day at work.
He cleared his throat, braving himself for a small confession. Perhaps he could just drop a hint to Graham,
leaving him to read between the lines about his relationship with Alan. Oh to hell with it! Why not tell him?
‘Graham,’ he began tentatively, ‘I think I ought to tell you...’
Jenny, their manager, marched up to their desks. A tall, striking blonde, with high cheekbones
and wearing heavy make-up, she could sometimes be intimidating. She often practised being one of the lads, but
only when it suited her.
‘Why break the habits of a lifetime?’ she said, flashing Graham a smile, which
she panned effortlessly to include Pran.
‘It’s time we were propping up the bar.’
Graham grinned at her, then explained to Pran:
‘We invariably go to the boozer after work. To forget that it’s Monday.’
Jenny stared at Pran. ‘It’s become a
ritual. When we’re not working late,
that is. D’you fancy joining us, Pran?’
‘If it’s just for a quickie.’
Graham snorted. ‘And you might have
time for a drink. Talking of which...’
He looked up at Jenny. ‘Have you clocked
that new barman yet? Ooh, duckie!’
Jenny sniggered. ‘I know. He’s a real screamer.’
‘He!’ Graham almost shouted. ‘Don’t you mean she?’
‘You’re right. Talk about camp. Oh blast!
I forgot my laptop. And I’ve got
a budget outline to work on. I’ll see
you over the pub.’
She swept out of the office. Grinning,
Graham turned to Pran and said, ‘You couldn’t ask for a better manager. She’s all right is Jen. Oh, by the way: what were you going to say?’
Pran frowned. ‘When?’
‘Just before Jen come into the office.’
Pran stared down at his keyboard. ‘Oh,
it doesn’t matter...I mean...I can’t remember now.’
*
After drinking too much on Sunday night, Craig had overslept, and was hurriedly
trying to make some coffee and toast before dashing off to open up the chippie,
when the doorbell rang. And whoever was
ringing it was assertive to the point of annoying, the way they kept their
finger on the button. Craig strode out
into the hall and through the door open wide.
‘Yes?’ he snapped. But as soon as he saw
them, he knew they were detectives. They
showed him their ID cards.
‘Mr. Thomas? I’m DI Brooking. This is DS
Browning. Mind if we ask you a few
questions?’
Craig stared at them expressionlessly.
In his mind he had rehearsed his responses, his stock answers, but this
was different. For some reason unbeknown
to Craig, this was no routine burglary enquiry from a low-ranking copper. This was the heavy brigade.
‘What about?’ he asked, after a brief pause.
‘Just a routine enquiry, sir,’ said the sergeant. ‘Can we talk inside?’
Craig nodded and both brushed past him into the hall. He closed the door and showed them into his
untidy combined living room and kitchen.
He gestured towards chairs but they both ignored it and remained
standing. The DI gave Craig a probing,
hawk-like look before speaking.
‘D’you know a Tony Rice?’
Craig paused slightly, as if trying to recall the name, but not overdoing
it. ‘Oh yeah. He turned up at my chippie about six months
ago. Driving a taxi, he was. I hadn’t seen him since I’d been inside. I didn’t know him that well.’
‘But you knew him well enough to nominate him for membership to the Working
men’s Club.’
‘Well, yeah. But that was six months
ago. I ain’t seen much of him since
then.’
Did you go out on Saturday night?’
‘I went to my sister’s. To baby
sit. Soon as I shut the chip shop I got
a cab over there.’
‘What time d’you shut the shop?’
‘Just before nine. I usually get away
before half-past. What’s this all
about?’
The DI ignored the question and let his eyes wander thoughtfully round the
room. The sergeant produced a pen and
notebook, saying: ‘How long did you baby
sit for at your sister’s?’
‘From nine-thirty onwards. I stayed the
night. Maggie – that’s my sister – she
never come home until the early hours.’
‘We’ll need your sister’s confirmation for this. Can you let us have your details?’
Craig swallowed. His throat and lips
felt dry and he needed some water. He
was dehydrated after last night.
‘Yeah...sure,’ he said, keeping his voice steady. ‘But what’s this about?’
‘We’re investigating a murder,’ said the DI, watching Craig’s reaction.
‘Murder?’ Craig almost whispered. ‘Who -
?’
‘Alexander Benton. The bar steward at
your club. He was beaten to death last
night when he disturbed an intruder.’
Craig felt an unreal buzzing in his ears, and the two detective’s faces seemed
to go out of focus, like a dream sequence in a film. His head was swimming and a dizziness
overcame him, so that he had trouble standing upright, and reached a hand onto
the formica table to steady himself.
‘You all right, sir?’ asked the sergeant, in a voice indicating suspicioun.
Craig rubbed his eyes with a finger and thumb, trying to stem the flow of
tears. ‘I can’t believe anyone could
have done that to Alex,’ he said.
‘Everyone loved the geezer. Who
could have done such a thing?’
‘That’s what we intend to find out,’ said the DI, staring hard at Craig.
IN EPISODE SEVENTY-FOUR
Vanessa confronts Jason about the tape recording, and Pran has an argument
with his partner about his first day at work.