He looked at the car clock, then his watch yet again. Another song. Twenty-five minutes. Then half an hour. What the hell are you doing in there? In a flash of temper, he punched the steering wheel boss — and winced in pain.
He would give it another five minutes, he decided.
How long does it take to get a bag of cat litter?
It was coming up to 3.50 p.m.
Finally, losing his patience, he decided to go and find her.
2
A tall, ginger-haired employee, with a badge that read Tim, blocked his path.
‘I’m afraid we’re closing in ten minutes, sir,’ he said courteously.
‘I’m just going to help my wife with a bag of cat litter,’ Niall said.
‘Oh, of course, that’s fine, sir,’ he said, stepping aside. ‘The cat litter’s down aisle two.’
Niall entered the vast interior, which was thinning out. There were lines of customers at each till, and more at the self-checkout area to his right. But Eden wasn’t among them.
He saw another member of staff, a woman with long brown hair. ‘Excuse me, where do I find aisle two?’ he asked.
She offered to take him, but he asked her to just direct him.
He hurried down an aisle of dairy products, with books and DVDs to his right, towards the rear of the store, barging past a woman with a small child who shouted something at him. Waving an apology, he turned right at the deli counter, as directed. He made his way past several aisles, glancing down each one, and finally came to the one marked Pet and Animal Supplies.
It was empty, like all the others.
He strode down it to the fast-diminishing queues at the checkout tills. No sign of Eden — what on earth was she doing?
Increasingly irked now, he strode up and down the deserted aisles of the store. Stopping in front of Cereals, he pulled out his phone and called her.
‘This number is currently unavailable, please try later.’
Turn your bloody phone on.
A big, tubby security guy swaggered towards him, radio clipped to his chest, a bunch of keys hanging from his belt, like a gaoler’s. An amiable but no-nonsense face. ‘I’m sorry, sir, we’re closed now. If I could ask you to make for the exit.’
‘I’m trying to find my wife,’ Niall replied. ‘She came in over half an hour ago and I can’t find her anywhere.’
‘She’s not at the checkout?’
He shook his head.
‘Want me to put a request out on the tannoy?’
‘If you wouldn’t mind. Maybe someone could check the toilets in case she’s sick or something?’
‘Your wife’s name is, sir?’
‘Eden — Eden Paternoster.’
‘Eden, as in garden of?’
Niall nodded.
The guard spoke into his radio.
Moments later, Niall heard, through the tannoy, ‘Would Mrs Eden Paster-Noster please go to the customer service desk at the front of the store, where her husband is waiting.’
Niall didn’t bother asking him to correct the announcement.
The guard indicated for him to follow. ‘I’ll have someone check out the toilets, sir. Can you give me a description of the lady?’
‘She’s thirty-one, five seven, shoulder-length brown hair, wearing a pink-coloured top and white shorts.’
Deadpan, the guard led Niall through to the front, stopped near an employee who was stacking tins of beans on a shelf and spoke into his radio. Then they walked on, bypassing the checkout counters and the news stand, and stopped at the customer service desk over to the right of them. There was a small blue-and-white podium a short distance away with two large computer monitors. Both showed empty aisles.
‘We’ll take a look at the whole store, sir,’ the guard said. He worked a toggle on a control panel to the side of the desk. Aisle after aisle appeared, with just a few members of staff who were restocking shelves. No Eden.
The last customers were now going through the checkout desks. Niall could see the self-checkout tills were empty.
The security guard’s radio crackled. He listened briefly, then turned to Niall. ‘There’s no one in the toilets, sir. You are sure she came into this store?’
‘Yes, absolutely.’
The guard asked an employee at the customer service desk to put out a Code Six call. Moments later, her voice rang through the tannoy.
‘This is a colleague announcement for all managers — Code Six in progress.’
Several employees materialized over the next couple of minutes. Seven, Niall counted.
The guard spoke to them. ‘This gentleman’s wife is missing. Age thirty-one, shoulder-length brown hair. She’s wearing a pink top and white shorts. Name of Mrs Eden Paster-Noster. Please do a sweep of the aisles.’
‘Paternoster!’ Niall corrected him this time.
‘Apologies. Mrs Eden Paternoster,’ the guard told them.
As they all hurried off, the guard turned to Niall. ‘She couldn’t have left the store?’
‘Well, she knew where I was parked.’
‘She didn’t go to Marks and Spencer, maybe, or McDonald’s?’
‘Not unless either of them sells cat litter.’
Again, no smile.
‘She didn’t leave just as you came in, and you missed her, sir?’
Niall shrugged. That was possible. Maybe he was making a huge fuss over nothing. He tugged his phone out of his pocket, checked just in case there was a text or WhatsApp from Eden, then dialled her again.
And, again, it was unavailable.
‘They both shut at four too?’ Niall asked.
‘M and S, yes. Not McDonald’s.’
Five minutes later, all the employees doing the sweep of the store had returned. Eden wasn’t on the premises.
Niall thanked them and had a sudden feeling that he was being a total idiot. What if the guard was right and he had missed her somehow, Eden coming out as he’d gone in?
He walked swiftly back through the emptying car park towards the dusty, black BMW convertible. Even though he’d put the roof up and was sure he’d locked it, he peered through the window when he reached it.
She wasn’t in the car.
3
Roy Grace pulled his Alfa Romeo coupé into the largely empty car park across the rural road from Ford prison, in West Sussex, shortly after 4 p.m. The Detective Superintendent was dressed in weekend casuals, jeans, T-shirt and a light jacket. He’d deliberately chosen to come at the weekend to make this a private visit, and had pulled a favour from the Governor, whom he was friendly with, to ensure this wasn’t recorded as official business. Grace suspected there was going to be a very good reason why he wouldn’t want his boss, Assistant Chief Constable Cassian Pewe, to know about this visit and quiz him on his purpose, as he surely would have done if it had been during work time.
Police officers rarely felt comfortable doing prison visits, knowing that if they were unlucky enough to be there when a riot happened to kick off, they’d be the first target for the inmates. It didn’t matter how you dressed, you could be as casual as you liked, your job was ingrained in your skin as potently as cheap aftershave. Most cons could smell you a mile away. Copper. Scum. Pigs. Filth.
He had come out of curiosity, after receiving a handwritten letter a while ago from his disgraced former colleague Detective Sergeant Guy Batchelor.