Night Fall by Frank Smith Page A

There’s no open land; there are no deep driveways or large bushes where someone could lie in wait. I suppose someone could have driven up in a car or van, grabbed him and bundled him inside. But if it did happen that way, you’d think there would have been a struggle; that Moreland would have shouted, and someone would have heard. So why didn’t they? How could someone vanish in a street like that? And why him?’
    â€˜All good questions, Molly,’ Ormside agreed, ‘and the sooner we know the answers, the better, so—’ The ringing of his phone cut off whatever it was he was about to say. He picked it up, then covered the mouthpiece with his hand. ‘Paget,’ he whispered. ‘He’s on his way in, so you’d better get on with those notes.’
    Norman Beasley was a heavy-set, red-faced man with a balding head beneath a white cap, and a bulging stomach behind a striped apron. He looked every inch the butcher, Tregalles thought. They were standing outside on the loading dock, where Beasley had insisted they go to talk while he had a smoke. It had begun to rain, and there was a cold wind behind it.
    Beasley sucked deeply on his cigarette. ‘You’re lucky to have caught me here on a Saturday,’ he said. ‘I’m only here because we’ve been a man short since Dennis went missing.’ He picked a thread of tobacco off his lower lip and flicked it away. ‘I still can’t believe the poor bugger’s dead.’
    â€˜You say he was a good worker, got on well with everybody and everybody liked him,’ Tregalles summed up. ‘But somebody didn’t. What about women? Anything going on between him and any of your female workers?’
    Beasley sucked on his cigarette. ‘Not that I know of,’ he said. ‘I’d’ve noticed if anything was going on here. We work pretty closely together, and the two girls in this department are married and have kids.’
    â€˜But this is a big store and there are a lot of women working here. He must have mixed with them as well. Tea breaks and lunchtime? Social activities after work?’
    â€˜Believe me, mate, you’re barking up the wrong tree,’ Beasley said decisively. ‘Dennis wasn’t that sort, and why would he look somewhere else for his jollies with a nice little piece like Joanie waiting for him when he got home?’
    â€˜Fancy her yourself, then, do you?’
    Norman Beasley butted his cigarette and leaned closer to Tregalles. ‘I wouldn’t say no if it was on offer, if you know what I mean,’ he said. ‘You’ve seen her, haven’t you?’
    â€˜No, no I haven’t,’ Tregalles said, ‘but I’ll take your word for it. Ever been tempted? Tried chatting her up?’
    Beasley shook his head. ‘Not that I wouldn’t have liked to,’ he confided, ‘but it would’ve been more than my life’s worth to have tried it on while Dennis was around. Very protective of Joanie he was.’ He paused, and his eyes grew thoughtful as he looked off into the distance. ‘But he’s not, now, is he?’ he said slowly. ‘Around, I mean, and it’s going to be hard for her with those two kids to bring up, so she’s going to need a friend, someone she knows.’ A sly smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. ‘Like they say, it’s an ill wind . . .’
    Tregalles pulled back to look hard at the man. ‘Are you suggesting what I
think
you’re suggesting?’ he asked. ‘The man’s not been dead five minutes.’
    â€˜Which is why she’s going to need some support,’ Beasley shot back. ‘I’m only thinking of her, for Christ’s sake! What do you think I am?’
    â€˜To be honest, Mr Beasley, I’m still trying to work that out,’ Tregalles said. ‘And, since you seem to be more than a little interested in Dennis Moreland’s wife,