by Jim Bennett
‘Seems about right, yeah'.
‘But what are we saying the motive is? You don’t just get people going around committing murder for no reason'.
‘What about Harold Shipman? He had a good reason for knocking off all those old ladies, did he?'
The man with the newspaper stopped reading at this and cocked his head towards them.
‘You need something?' Mrs McGrath asked him loudly. He gave her a dirty look and went back to his newspaper. ‘And we’ve talked to everyone who might have actually had a motive. If you don’t know the why, you’ve got to focus on the what. Who had the opportunity, and this lad did. Could have been her who he was doing the job for too. What did the rozza say, time of death between 3.15 and 6? Either one could have done it after he’d finished'.
Julie shook her head. ‘She said she called the paramedics at around 5.30. She said he was still there when they arrived and then I heard them leaving when I got up at 8. Not sure about the plumber though'.
‘There you go then. Worth a conversation with him at least'.
Julie gave a theatrical sight for effect. ‘How are we going to find him? I didn’t get the licence plate or anything'.
‘You’ll have to talk to her over the road and ask. The miserable one'.
‘Again, the woman who is the primary caregiver for her severely disabled husband out of the goodness of her own heart'.
‘Why do you keep telling me what she does?’
‘Because you keep calling her miserable'.
‘I’m not saying she doesn’t have a good reason to be'.
‘And why do I have to talk to her?' The memory of the altercation at the fete was very fresh in Julie’s mind and she didn’t expect that Mrs Sinclair would have forgotten either.
‘Had a bit of a falling out a few years ago about a conifer tree'.
‘What a surprise. How do you fall out who lives on the opposite side of the street to you about a tree?'
‘Bloody ugly thing it was. Couldn’t look out the front bedroom window without seeing it. You can go round when we get back and then we’ll go to the plumbers first thing tomorrow. The office is probably closed now, bit late in the day', she said, looking at her watch. ‘Can talk to a few of the other neighbours tonight too. Who else on the street looks a bit dodgy to you? What’s his name, always chatting up the ladies’.
‘Brian at number 30'.
‘Put him on the list'. Julie said, wondering if she should now be taking notes. ‘Actually, it wouldn't hurt to speak to the rest of the neighbours as well. See if any of them are hiding anything’.
Julie inwardly groaned. Not that she knew from previous experience, but she was sure that one sure fire way to get on your neighbour’s bad side is to casually accuse them of murder.
She put the top back on the bottle and returned it to her coat. ‘That’s enough of this’, she said sternly, ‘we can have a bit more when we’re done for the night'. Mrs McGrath said, taking Julie’s silence for agreement. At some point in this mad endeavour, the decision had been that she would be included in these investigations indefinitely. She didn’t exactly mind, but it would have been nice to be consulted.
‘It’s too late to go about knocking on people’s doors'. Julie protested.
‘Better chance of catching them at home in the evenings. That’s how the Jovies work'.
‘Who sorry?’
‘Those neat religious types that are always turning up uninvited'.
‘You mean Jehovah’s witnesses?’
‘That’s what I said'.
‘People aren’t going to want to talk to you if you bother them after being at work all day’.
Remarkably Mrs McGrath conceded the point. Julie felt disproportionately elated at winning this small battle with the curmudgeon. ‘Alright then, we’ll do that tomorrow too’.
‘Oh wait, I forgot', Julie said, suddenly remembering, ‘I’ve got work tomorrow, sorry. We’ll have to do both on Friday instead. The plumbers and the conversations with the neighbours. If there’s not enough time I’ll come with you on Saturday morning'.
Mrs McGrath threw her arms up in the air theatrically. ‘Should we just wait until there’s another murder?’
‘If anyone gets murdered between now and then, I promise that I’ll hold myself accountable'.
Mrs McGrath glared at Julie. She must have realised that she wasn’t going to change her mind because she said nothing. She folded her arms and turned her attention to the countryside streaming past the window.
When Julie arrived for work the next day, she wasn’t able to get through the entrance. Thankfully she had been paying attention, otherwise she would have collided head first with the two bags of sand blocking the gap in the hedges. She groaned at the sight of them remembering Mr Peg’s winning ‘Backdoor Beaches' scheme before driving her car as far down the layby as she could and proceeding on foot.
Walking up towards the garden centre, Julie saw that the massive bags littered the drive. So encumbered was the narrowed tarmac that at one point, she had to turn sideways in order to squeeze through. She reached the greenhouse and Mr Peg was nowhere to be seen. Mike was sitting at the small table in the staff room eating an apple.
‘Hello’, he said when he saw her, with a concerned smile. ‘Everything all right with the police? Sorry for not saying much, not very good with the rozzas. You want to talk about it?
Julie dropped her bag on the table. She filled the kettle and turned it on. ‘I’m fine', she said, not wanting to go through what had happened with Jack. ‘But what on Earth’s going on here? I thought we’d got rid of the sand'.
‘Mrs Wilkin’s order? That got rid of the two that we had, yeah'.
‘What do you mean the two that we had?'
‘Mr Peg was so encouraged by how quickly we got our first customer that he decided we needed some more sand as soon as we could get it. Problem is that he was worried about getting a flood of orders and not being able to fulfil them because we didn’t have the product. So what you’re seeing here is the result of that winning logic'.
‘What about the rest of the beaches?' she asked. Mike looked at her quizzically. ‘I don’t know, whatever else it is that you’re putting into these gardens to make them look like beaches instead of a lawn covered in sand'.
‘The sand’s it. Oh no, I tell a lie, each Backdoor Beach comes with a complimentary bucket and spade. But that’s all’.
‘So you’re just arriving at the people’s houses…’
‘Person’s house. Remember we’ve only had one customer so far'.
‘Of course. Arriving at this person’s house and distributing a bloody great load of sand over their garden'.
‘And even then, I’m not really doing that. He sent me with two of those bags and Mrs Wilkin garden was the size of a postage stamp. I spread around the first one and even then, it was a foot deep in some places. But the lorry had unloaded the bags and left me there so there wasn’t much I could do with the other one. I tried to push it to one side of the garden. Bloody heavy though. I didn’t have much luck. I had to leave it blocking one side of her french doors'.
Julie laughed and put a cup of tea in front of him. ‘And I thought I’d pulled the short straw doing sales'.
‘Mrs Wilkin was very nice about it. Bless her, I don’t think she’s all there. She probably thinks that she’s at Bournemouth seafront in 1982 or something'.
‘Well there you go then, at least we have one moderately happy customer. Where’s Mr Peg?'
‘Out the back with the peace lilies. Said that he needed to think out the next part of his strategy'.
‘Can’t he just get the sand company to come and pick it up?’
‘Why would he? He ordered it on purpose. He doesn’t realise that no one else thinks this is a good idea'.
‘Aside from his one existing customer of course’.
‘And there’s the problem. The lunacy of Mrs Wilkin has convinced him that people would be interested if we publicised it more. H
e was talking about radio adverts this morning. I at least managed to make him cancel the repeat order until we get rid of the stuff that we’ve got'.
Julie laughed. ‘It’s good to have you back', Mike said, becoming awkward all of a sudden. ‘I er… well I missed you, truth be told Julie'.
‘Oh…',
‘Only a few days that you were away for and I saw you yesterday at Thorneywood, I know. But still. Sorry, is it alright that I’m saying that?’
‘No, yes of course'.
‘I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything'.
‘It’s fine, honestly'.
‘Because I know we have to work together, but I just really like talking to you'.
‘Mike…',
‘Sorry I’ll stop now'.
‘I’ve missed you too Mike. Talking to you, I mean. I’ve missed your company'. She was surprised to find that she really meant it.
He looked shocked for a few seconds and then he gave her a smile. His face was so wide that it went on for days, stretching from ear to ear. He looked down at his cup of tea.
‘It would be nice… if we could see each other outside of work. Sometime soon maybe. A drink, or something to eat?' He peaked up at her to gauge her reaction, his face still turned to the table.
‘Yes… I think I’d like that.How about Saturday night?'
‘Okay then', he said, looking pleased with himself. ‘8 oclock? We can go to the Italian on the market square?'
‘Okay then’, Julie replied, allowing herself to smile. They sat in silence, neither of them sure what to say next. It was on the verge of becoming awkward when a voice said ‘excuse me', a bit too loudly from inside the main shop. ‘I’ll go’, Julie said, pushing the table against Mike so she could extricate herself from the small room.
Standing before the till was a man of about middle age. If his pinchy features were anything to go by, he looked like he had already worked himself up into a state. This was fairly impressive, given that he was standing in a garden centre by himself.
‘Sorry, we’re not open until 10, but you’re free to wait outside until then'.
‘I don’t want to buy anything', he said angrily. ‘I want to return something'.
‘Oh right’. Julie looked down to his hands and saw that he wasn’t carrying anything. ‘Well that’s no problem. Is it still in your car? We can help you carry it in if you like'.
‘I couldn’t get it in my car because it’s two fucking tons of sand’.
The smile on Julie’s face became fixed. ‘Could I take your name please?'
‘Wilkin. Bob Wilkin. Although it’s my poor old mum that you duped into buying the stuff from you. Carol Wilkin’.
'And just to confirm, you are wanting to return your Backdoor Beach?'
'What the bloody hell is a Backdoor Beach?
'The product that your mother bought?'
He looked at her blankly for a few moments. 'You mean the sand?'
‘Why don’t I go and get the manager'.
She found Mr Peg in the rear yard with his head in his hands. As ever, he had the vacant look of someone who lives in their own little world.
‘Mr Peg?' Julie said. He didn’t immediately look up and she wondered whether he had actually managed to nod off. When she put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it slightly, he looked up. ‘There’s a man who wants to speak to you Mr Peg. It’s Mrs Wilkin’s son. He wants to talk to you about returning the beach'.
‘Returning the beach?' he said, as if this was an exestential question. ‘It’s a way of living Julie, a state of mind. Did you make it clear to him that he can’t return a state of mind?'
‘We didn’t get round to that, no’.
‘Well can you go back in there and make him see sense please?’
‘He’s quite upset. I don’t think that would help much'.
Mr Peg got to his feet looking very agitated now. ‘Really Julie, this is why I employ people. I have much more important things to be thinking about than dealing with customers right now'. He paused on the spot, waiting to see if Julie would take the lead and leave him alone.
‘If you want to tell me what the returns policy is, I’m happy to go and relay the information?'
He looked at her like she was losing her mind. ‘How many times do I have to say it? It would be the equivalent of asking for your money back after a profound religious experience. It’s priceless'.
Julie hoped that Mr Peg would get all of this nonsense out of his system before they went inside and talked to Mr Wilkin. Otherwise she was sure the old man was very likely to get a thump. She thought about giving him a quick slap herself. Not only for her own gratification but also to knock a bit of sense into him.
When it became clear that Julie wasn’t going to act as his champion, Mr Peg walked back towards the garden centre with his employee following behind him. They found Mr Wilkin standing next to the counter where they had left him. Even in the few moments that he had been kept waiting, his anger had intensified. His fists were now clenched at his sides and as soon as he saw the pair entering through the back doors, he moved to confront them.
‘Are you the manager?' he said before Mr Peg could speak.
‘Yes I am', Mr Peg said proudly which given the current state of affairs was absolutely at odds with reality.
‘What are you going to do about this fucking sand?'
‘If you could perhaps explain why it is that your mother is unhappy…', Mr Peg started before the angry man interceded.
‘Listen, I don’t want any of your salesman bullshit. I want you to get over to my mum’s house this afternoon and get rid of it'.
‘I’m not sure your mother would thank us for that sir', Mr Peg said, still smiling politely. Mike joined them, still holding his cup of tea.
‘And this must be your hatchet man', Mr Wilkin said pointing angrily at Mike. ‘If he’s got enough time to drink tea then he’s got enough time to fix my mum’s garden'.
‘Let’s not be hasty’, Mr Peg said, holding his hands up. ‘Does your mother really want to give up her new lifestyle? Have you talked to her about it?’
‘If by her new lifestyle, you mean not being able to go out into her garden, then yes. I think she’d very happily give it up'.
‘But have you spoken to her about it?' Mr Peg said.
‘The woman is 82. Her entire house is carpeted and she bought a mop last week. She has given up her right to an opinion'.
‘Well then sir', Mr Peg said as if he had won some great victory. ‘Unfortunately we will be unable to process the return unless the purchaser themself is unhappy with the product'.
Mr Wilkin’s face turned white. He closed the gap between himself and Mr Peg. They were much closer now than the norm for polite conversation. ‘Listen to me. I don’t give a shit about anything you have to say to me. That sand will be out of my mum’s garden by the end of the day. If it isn’t, then I’ll be back again tomorrow with a few of my friends. Do I make myself clear?'
Mr Peg raised a digit in the air to make a further point. Before he could, Mr Wilkin grabbed his finger. If the colour of the angry man’s knuckles and the little yelp of pain that came out of her employer were anything to go by, he was squeezing fairly hard. ‘Do I make myself clear?'
Bizarrely, the affront against his person hadn’t seemed to phase Mr Peg. However, Julie said that when his eyes rested on a small signet ring that the man was wearing on his little finger, Mr Peg’s face immediately lost all colour. He gave a feeble nod and Mr Welkin let go of his hand. Before Mr Peg could say anything else, the angry man had stormed out of the shop slamming the door behind them.
‘Fucking hell’, Mike said forgetting himself for a second. ‘That was like something out of a mafia movie'.
‘If a mafia movie involved selling sand to unwitting pensioners', Julie said.
‘Will you both be quiet please?' Mr Peg said angrily. Although both Julie and Mike had both been laughing, they immediately stopped when he spoke, disconcerted b
y how stern his tone was. Usually he just sounded mildly annoyed with them. This was something more. ‘I need a moment to think’. He perched on the edge of one of the benches displaying their summer flower range and put his fingers to his temples. After a few minutes of them all standing around awkwardly, he turned to Mike.
‘Mike, do you think you could get the sand back in the bag? The stuff you’ve already spread around the garden'.
‘Not all of it, but most, yeah. It will probably take the rest of the day though'.
‘Don’t worry about that. Julie, can you give Mike a lift down there?'
‘That’s fine, I can stay and help him if you like?' Julie said.
‘No I need you back here'.
‘It would be easier with the two of us working on it', said Julie. She had no great desire to collect sand all day but the prospect of spending the afternoon with Mike in the sunshine was surprisingly appealing.
‘Someone will have to man the fort. I need to go out'.
They both looked at him incredulously. Neither of them had ever seen Mr Peg outside of the garden centre before. It was akin to seeing a teacher outside of school. Absolutely incomprehensible.
‘I can’t move those bags Mr Peg', Mike said, ‘even if I can get the sand back in them'.
‘Just get the sand back in the bags and I’ll do the rest. Julie, take the spare keys. I won’t be here when you get back'.
‘Okay Mr Peg', Julie began, but he was no longer paying attention to her. Without another word, he stormed out of the front door. A few moments later, Julie and Mike heard an engine and were shocked to see Mr Peg going down the drive on a small red motorcycle. Much like its owner, it looked like it had seen better days.
Chapter Sixteen
For the first time in a long time, Julie had woken up that morning feeling refreshed.
Aside from the drama of the morning, it had been a day devoid of any real stress. Somehow the wine had seemed superfluous for once. Out of herself, Mr Peg and poor Mike, she felt like she had drawn the long straw. After dropping Mike off at Mrs Wilkin’s house, Julie’s working day had largely consisted of her reading a trashy book that she had taken from a rack by the counter and occasionally tidying the shop. She suspected that the few customers that would normally have come in were deterred by having to abandon their cars on the side of an A-road. They had probably rightly concluded that going to the superstore just down the store would be a better use of their time. By the time she had closed the store, Mike hadn’t returned from his impossible task. However, as she had been walking down the drive back to her car, Mr Peg had passed her on his motorcycle. She stopped to speak to him, but he didn’t seem interested. He merely raised his hand as he passed. She reasoned that he must just be feeling stressed about the sand and nothing else.
