Driven to Murder by Debbie Young

Author:Debbie Young [Young, Debbie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Boldwood Books

17

THE OLD BAG

Returning to the shop, I waited for a lull in trade before telling Hector the gist of my conversation with the police officer.

‘So, Bob was right,’ he said, frowning. ‘I wonder what there was about the state of her body to make them suspect foul play. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be sending police officers out to take witness statements.’

‘Witness?’ I gulped. ‘Goodness, I hadn’t thought of myself as an official witness. Do you think I’ll have to give evidence in court?’

Hector raised his eyebrows. ‘Could be worse. They could have you down as a perpetrator.’

‘Oh, thanks a lot, Hector. That’s small comfort.’

‘Sorry, sweetheart. Now, who else did you say got on the bus with you that morning?’

‘Just Norma – who would have seen Janice as a fellow campaigner – and Norman.’

‘Wasn’t Maggie Burton on the bus?’

‘Nope. She was out and about. I saw her back retreating down the High Street when I went to join the queue. She definitely wasn’t on the bus.’

‘Okay, that’s her off the hook for all her talk of Janice poisoning her cat. Even if she had been tempted to stage a tit-for-tat assault on Janice, she wasn’t on the bus, so couldn’t have been Janice’s attacker. How about Norman? Did he converse with her at all? I’d expect some argy-bargy if those two were in close quarters for any length of time.’

‘No, he just dashed past her – and me – didn’t even stop to put his bag in the luggage rack, although it looked quite hefty. He kept bumping it against the edges of the seats as he passed down the bus, and then looking annoyed at it, as if he was cross with it for drawing attention to him when he was trying to sidle past us unnoticed.’

Hector stroked his chin in thought. ‘What sort of bag? A shopping bag? A sports bag?’

I frowned. ‘Now that I think of it, it was an old-fashioned canvas zip-up holdall. I remember fearing for its seams, as it was packed fit to bust.’

‘And did Norman return on your bus? Have you seen him since?’

I shook my head. ‘Not that I’d usually cross paths with him. I’m even less likely to now, after our run-in over the shelves. He’ll probably go out of his way to avoid me until the embarrassment fades.’

At that moment, the shop door creaked open. I glanced at my watch. It was the eleven o’clock Billy, on the dot as usual.

‘Morning, Bill,’ said Hector, looking more than usually pleased to see him. ‘Tell me, were you at The Bluebird last night at all?’

Billy frowned and tapped his cheek with a forefinger, then he stuffed his hands abruptly in his jacket pockets. ‘Course I was, boy. Ain’t I always on a Friday night? Darts night.’

Hector’s face brightened. ‘Norman Arch plays darts, doesn’t he?’

‘Yes, but not on my team, praise be, because his aim is rubbish. I often play against him. But not last night I didn’t. Because he weren’t there to play. Done a bunk, rumour has it.

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