Dead Stock

by Rachel Ward

  Rachel Ward is a best-selling writer for young adults. An avid reader of detective fiction, The Ant & Bea Mysteries is her first crime series for adults. Rachel is married with two grown-up children, and lives in Bath.

  First published in Great Britain by

  Sandstone Press Ltd

  Dochcarty Road

  Dingwall

  Ross-shire

  IV15 9UG

  Scotland

  www.sandstonepress.com

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form without the express written permission of the publisher.

  Copyright © Rachel Ward 2018

  Editor: K.A. Farrell

  The moral right of Rachel Ward to be recognised as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  The publisher acknowledges subsidy from Creative Scotland towards publication of this volume.

  ISBN: 978-1-912240-42-5

  ISBNe: 978-1-912240-43-2

  Cover design by David Wardle at Bold and Noble

  Ebook Compilation by Iolaire Typography Ltd, Newtonmore

  This book is dedicated to my dad, David Neish (1932-2018) and to my mum, Shirley, who looked after him with kindness and compassion until the end.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Nobody was around to see the car draw to a halt on the road bridge. There was hardly any traffic on the Kingsleigh bypass and the occupants waited, engine off, until there were no headlights carving a path through the darkness below them.

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Now.’

  They got out of the front seats and helped their passenger from the back. He was unhelpfully heavy but they managed to prop him up. His head and torso flopped onto the parapet.

  ‘Are you sure he’s dead?’

  ‘Yeah. I’m sure. But if he isn’t, he soon will be.’

  They heaved his legs up, so he was lying along the top.

  ‘One, two, three . . .’

  It didn’t take much force to tip him over and off.

  There was an eerie silence for a second or two, then a sickening noise – a thud, a crack – as he hit the tarmac of the hard shoulder, the sort of noise you’d never forget.

  ‘That’s it. All done. Let’s get out of here.’

  1

  ‘All staff to the staffroom, please. Morning huddle starts in three minutes.’

  The voice was female, but it wasn’t Anna or Kirsty or any of the other staff Bea recognised. She sighed and checked her make-up again in the mirror. The megalashes were in place. Her eyebrows were pencilled to perfection. Her lippy was just the right shade of pillar box. But she got no satisfaction from her reflection. First day back after three days off over a disappointing New Year, and she wasn’t feeling it.

  ‘Morning huddle?’ she said to Eileen, who was running a brush through her hair at the mirror next to her.

  Eileen still wasn’t officially talking to her, blaming Bea for her son, Dean, getting the sack from Costsave, but she managed a grunt, and, ‘It’ll be something to do with the new manager.’

  ‘Oh yeah. He starts today, doesn’t he? George Prentice, Anna said. From Swindon.’

  ‘Swindon.’ Eileen said the word like it was something particularly unsavoury she’d found in the gutter. She put her hairbrush in her bag and slouched out of the room.

  Bea sighed again. She wished Dot was there. They could have had a proper gossip. Things hadn’t been the same at work since Dot had been on sick leave with a broken hip. She was well on the way to recovery and was likely to be back, at least part-time, soon. But not today. Bea would have to deal with the new regime on her own.

  She put her make-up bag away and walked along to the staffroom. All the usual faces were there: Bob-on-Meat – Dot’s not-so-secret admirer – Eileen, Kirsty, Joe, Anna. Bea couldn’t help thinking about those who weren’t there: Dot, of course, but also Ginny, murdered on her way home from Costsave’s get-together in the pub, as well as the man who had murdered her.

  She was wondering whether to fight her way into the room or stand on the edge, when someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned round to see Ant grinning down at her.

  ‘All right, Bea?’ he said. ‘Have a good New Year?’

  ‘Yes, thanks, Ant. You know, quiet.’

  ‘Night in with Queenie?’

  ‘No, I went to the pub with my friends. They’re all at uni. It was . . .I dunno . . .it was all right.’ She couldn’t face telling him that they didn’t have much to talk about these days, that the squad they’d called the Four Musketeers at school seemed to be the Three Musketeers and Bea nowadays.

  Ant pulled a face.

  ‘At least my night was better than that guy they found on the bypass,’ said Bea. ‘Awful.’

  ‘Yeah, I heard about that. Do you know who it was?’

  ‘No, no one does. Such a sad thing. Anyway, how about you? How was your New Year?’

  ‘Had a great time. Got wrecked, snogged the face off a girl,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah? Who’s the lucky lady?’

  He looked a bit shamefaced. ‘I don’t actually know.’ Bea’s elegant eyebrows shot up. ‘The details are a bit hazy. I’d had an absolute skinful.’

  ‘Did you get a number?’

  ‘Nah, and I’ve lost my phone and all. Woke up on my bedroom floor about teatime on New Year’s Day with empty pockets and big gaps in my memory. Must’ve been a good night. Still feeling a bit rough, though. Should be off sick really.’

  Bea sniffed. ‘Self-inflicted wound. No sympathy here.’

  ‘Ha, you’re just jealous. Wonder what the new bloke’s like.’

  They’d shuffled into the room and found a place by the back wall. It was getting quite crowded now. Bea stood on tiptoe and looked towards the front, where Neville, the deputy manager was standing, clutching his clipboard to his chest. There was a woman beside him, thirty-something, in a rather expensive-looking jacket. Her make-up was immaculate and her shoulder-length blonde hair was cut in a sharp, smooth bob. She was looking round, scanning the faces in front of her. She was smiling, but the smile didn’t quite reach her slate grey eyes.

  ‘Reckon the new bloke’s a woman, Ant,’ Bea said.

  ‘Really?’ said Ant, just as Neville tucked his clipboard under his arm and clapped his hands vigorously together.

  ‘Okay, everybody, a bit of quiet please,’ he said. He waited for the noise to die down, then, ‘Welcome to the start of a new year at Costsave. And welcome to our first –’ he looked nervously at the woman standing beside him, who nodded encouragement, ‘– our first huddle.’ He ignored the ripple of tittering. ‘I’d like to introduce our interim manager, Mrs Prentice, who would like to say a few words. Mrs Prentice.’<
br />
  ‘Thank you, Neville. It’s George Prentice, actually. I’m not a great believer in titles. We’re all equal here. I’m very happy to be managing the Kingsleigh store. I know that last year was a difficult time for you, but I don’t want to dwell on the past. It’s a new year. This is a new start for me and for you. I’ve had a very clear brief from HQ. This store has the potential to be the top performer in the region, if not the whole country, and I’m going to make sure we fulfil that potential. I want every customer to be a happy customer. Every conversation is an opportunity to sell. You’ll find I’m very hands on –’

  ‘Steady,’ said Ant, under his breath.

  ‘Shut up,’ Bea hissed.

  ‘I’ll be there with you on the shop floor, in the stores, in the delivery yard, morning, noon and night. I want to see you smiling and I want to see you selling. I’ll be reporting today’s sales figures at tomorrow morning’s huddle.’ She checked her watch. ‘Okay, the store opens in five minutes. To your stations. Let’s make today a good day.’

  She swept out of the room, closely followed by Neville and Anna, leaving the staff agog at what they’d just seen and heard.

  ‘What do you reckon?’ said Ant.

  ‘Pretty impressive,’ said Bea. ‘I don’t think she’ll stand any nonsense.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about.’

  ‘Come on, Ant. You’ll be all right. What are you on today?’

  ‘Paracetamol and Red Bull.’

  ‘No, what job are you on?’

  ‘Outdoors. Trolleys, bins and recycling. Do you know how cold it is out there?’

  ‘Fresh air’ll do you good.’ She looked at Ant’s dull, spotty skin and bloodshot eyes. ‘Well, kill or cure.’

  Ant put on his Costsave-issue thick, padded fluorescent jacket. He added a beanie hat and some gloves before following Bea out of the room. They parted company at the bottom of the stairs – Ant using the staff door to get out into the back yard, and Bea heading for the shop floor and checkout number six.

  She went through her warm-up routine: check and adjust the chair, switch on the terminal and log in, inspect the conveyor belt and keyboard and give them a wipe down, moisturise hands. She was ready for business at the precise moment that Neville reached the front door with his big bunch of keys. First through the door was, of course, Costsave’s most reliable customer. Smelly Reg, there for his cigarettes and today’s Racing Post. Bea watched him shuffle towards her checkout. She wasn’t fond of his musty uncared-for aroma, but, after a few days away from the store, she was strangely pleased to see him. Things were getting back to normal.

  ‘Morning, Reg,’ she said, as he placed his two items on the belt. ‘Happy New Year!’

  ‘Don’t know about that,’ Reg mumbled back.

  Bea beeped his shopping through. ‘Well, the way I look at it, this year can’t be as bad as last year, can it? So perhaps it is a happy one.’

  ‘Hmph,’ said Reg. He dropped his receipt on the floor and shuffled off towards the front door.

  Bea sighed. She could have had a good laugh with Dot about Reg being a ray of sunshine, but checkout five was empty. Come back soon, Dot, she thought. I need you.

  There were only three of them on checkouts to start with, and a steady stream of early birds kept them busy. Her regular customers were glad to see her back, and Bea was glad to see them. There was Norma, with her tartan trolley. And Charles, whose golden retriever always waited outside the front door for him, tied to one of the special D-rings for dogs, with a complimentary bowl of water nearby.

  At lunchtime, Ant wasn’t in the staffroom and, finding no one else to gossip with, Bea put on her coat and went looking for him. She found him by the cardboard cage, where boxes were broken up and stored before being taken for recycling. He had his back to her, and Bea thought he might be having a crafty cigarette, although she couldn’t see any smoke. She was about to give him a serious bollocking for causing a fire hazard, when he spun round.

  ‘Don’t come any closer,’ he said. He stepped towards her and spread out his arms a little, like he was trying to block the view.

  ‘What? Why not?’

  ‘There’s something . . .I found something in there. It’s not very nice.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Ant. I’m a big girl. I can cope.’ She bustled past him and then stopped. The ‘something’ was crumpled up in the corner on top of the cardboard. An old grey painty rag, Bea thought. The paint had smeared on the boxes in front of it. She moved a step closer and realised that it wasn’t paint. It was blood. And the rag wasn’t a rag. It was fur and skin and bone. ‘Oh Jesus.’ She put her hand up to her mouth and turned away, blundering out past Ant.

  ‘I told you, didn’t I?’

  Bea leaned against the rough brick wall, sucking in some clean air, trying not to be sick. Ant joined her, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette and lighting up.

  ‘What is it, Ant? Is it a rat?’

  ‘Think it’s a cat. Was a cat. Used to be.’

  ‘What’s happened to it?’

  ‘I dunno. Thought it might have been hit by a car and crawled in here, but not in that state.’

  ‘It looks . . .’ Bea swallowed hard to fight the bile that was rising up towards her throat, ‘it looks . . .shredded.’

  ‘Mm. Poor little bugger.’ He tipped his head up and blew a long stream of smoke into the cold air.

  ‘What are you gonna do?’ said Bea.

  ‘Do? Stick it in the general waste, I suppose.’

  ‘You should report it.’

  ‘Who to? The RSPCA? Bit late for that, innit?’

  ‘Someone in management?’

  ‘George? I don’t think so. Hello, welcome to your first day here, you don’t know me, but I’m Ant and this is a shredded cat. First impressions count, Bea. I wanna keep this job.’ He stamped out the cigarette stub on the ground.

  ‘It’s just that someone should know about this. For a start, the owner’s going to come looking for that cat.’

  ‘Unless it’s a stray. I’m just going to get rid, Bea. Easiest way.’ Bea looked at him doubtfully. ‘Honestly, Bea, if it was your pet moggy would you want to see it like this?’

  Bea sighed. ‘Okay, then,’ she conceded, ‘but let me do this first.’ She whipped out her phone and started taking pictures.

  ‘Jesus, Bea, what are you doing?’

  ‘I just want to have a proper record, before you destroy the evidence.’

  Ant held up a warning finger. ‘Evidence? This isn’t a crime scene, Bea.’

  Bea started checking the images on her screen. ‘Looks like this cat’s been tortured and then murdered. If that’s not a crime, what is?’

  ‘It was probably a fox, Bea. Are you going to track it down and charge it?’

  ‘Did a fox throw it in here?’ Bea asked.

  ‘Maybe. I’ve seen a cat chuck a mouse about. And there were those killer whales on the telly, weren’t there, flinging seals about? Perhaps it’s the same.’

  ‘No,’ said Bea. ‘Someone’s done this. It was dumped here.’

  ‘And you’re going to find out who.’

  ‘If I can. They shouldn’t get away with it.’ She checked the time on her phone. ‘Damn. Lunch break’s nearly over.’

  ‘Have you had anything to eat?’ said Ant.

  ‘No. Don’t think I could now.’

  ‘Mm, me neither. Jeez, there are some sick people about, aren’t there?’

  Bea went back to the locker room to hang up her coat, glad to make herself scarce before Ant disposed of the body. As she went back to the checkouts, she tried not to think about it too much, but she couldn’t help remembering the images on her phone and wondering if there was someone in Kingsleigh knocking on their neighbours’ doors at that very moment, asking if they’d seen a grey cat.

  At four o’clock, Bea spotted Neville walking towards checkout six with a young man by his side. The guy was shorter than him. He had his hair drawn back into a bun, and a r
ough beard clinging to his jawline. He should have looked a mess, but he didn’t. He looked as cool as fuck, and Bea’s stomach gave a little flutter as they got nearer and then stopped by her checkout.

  ‘Bea, this is Jay,’ said Neville. ‘He’s going to do some late afternoon and evening shifts. He’s worked in Costsave before, but not this branch, so he knows the ropes, but give him a hand if he needs one.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Bea said. ‘Hi.’

  Jay looked at Bea and smiled. ‘Hiya.’ His voice was lower than she expected, but soft-toned and warm, like he’d just gargled with honey. He reached forward and held his hand out. Bea shook it and it felt rough to her carefully moisturised touch. She looked up at him and noticed his eyes – one blue and one green.

  ‘Wow, your eyes,’ she said, cursing how much she sounded like a fangirl. ‘Like David Bowie. Bet no one’s ever said that before.’

  ‘No,’ he said, his voice deadpan this time. ‘You’re the first.’ Then he winked his green eye, and Bea liked him even more.

  Bea was clocking off at five and during the next hour there was a frustratingly busy flow of customers. She kept hoping for a lull so she could find out a bit more about Jay, but just as she thought there was a gap opening up another bunch of schoolkids with fizzy drinks and crisps, or a desperate parent on a nappy run would make a beeline for her till.

  When five o’clock rolled round, Bea processed her final customer and logged out of her till. Jay was dealing with a rather harassed-looking early commuter, obviously heading home to cook tea for her family – bag of baking potatoes, ready-grated cheddar and a couple of tins of beans. She and Jay were chatting about the body on the bypass and what a shock it had been to see it on the news. It would have been rude to interrupt, but Bea didn’t want to go without saying something. She waited until the baked-spuds-and-beans woman was putting her purse away and picking up her shopping bag, and swooped in.

  ‘Coming back tomorrow, then?’ she said.

  ‘Yeah, I reckon.’ He stretched his arms up above his head and cracked his knuckles. At that moment Ant sauntered along the checkouts and stopped casually near Bea.