children to back up her caution. The notorious Mary Bell had probably been overtaken in the public’s memory by the two boy killers of little Jamie Bulger, but there were other cases that didn’t receive such notoriety where children had committed spine-tingling crimes.
She had to talk to Celia Davies again.
Frank Ross pulled up outside the dry cleaning shop in the latest shopping development to hit the market town of Banbury, and climbed out of his car. His jacket – which could definitely have benefited from the services the shop had to offer – was slung on the back seat, and he’d long since ripped off his tie and rolled up his shirtsleeves, which hid his hideously greasy cuffs just right.
He cursed the heat as he walked to the shop door and opened it, a cheerfully tinkling bell above making him wince. He’d tied one on last night, and still had the headache to prove it.
A man appeared from the back and approached the counter that was the single piece of furniture in the tiny store and smiled a greeting. He was, Frank knew from his preliminary notes, forty years old, although he looked older. Tall, thin, fair, he looked at Frank a shade uncertainly. Probably because he wasn’t used to seeing people come into the shop without something in need of steam-cleaning draped over an arm.
‘Can I help you, sir?’ he asked cautiously. He knew Frank wasn’t a regular, so couldn’t be here to pick up some clothes either. And in spite of the Winnie-the-Pooh face and figure, there was something faintly menacing about the man.
Frank showed him his ID and Marty Warrender nodded with relief. ‘Oh, right. I was expecting you. This is about Billy, yeah?’
Frank nodded. ‘You live next door to the Davies on the right, as you go into the village from the main road?’
Marty Warrender nodded gloomily. ‘Yeah. I was shocked to hear what happened, yesterday, when I got home, like. June told me all about it. June’s the wife. I couldn’t believe it. I just couldn’t believe it.’
Frank smiled wearily. Warrender was the third neighbour he’d had to track down at work today, and all of them were saying the same thing. What was not to believe?
‘Did you know Billy well?’ Frank went straight into it. The sooner he’d finished with everyone on his list, the sooner he could clock off and head for a pub. The bitch from Thrupp wouldn’t know how long it had taken him, and if he managed to get through by three, he could even get a few bets down on the gee-gees.
‘No, not really. He wasn’t a friendly sort, and he wasn’t at home much anyway, to tell the truth. Always off on that bike of his. Had a friend somewhere, he used to practically live there. I knew him to say hello to, and that, but that’s all. We’ve only lived in Aston Lea two years.’
Frank nodded. ‘You see him that day at all? You’d have left for work, when? Eight?’
‘Half past. We don’t open till nine, and it’s an easy commute. And no, I didn’t see Billy. He’s usually been picked up by the school bus by then.’
‘He didn’t go to school that day,’ Frank said flatly. ‘Do you come home for lunch?’
‘No, the wife packs me sandwiches, like. Cheaper than eating in a café.’
‘So you didn’t go home at all during the day?’
‘No. Like I said, first I heard of it was when June told me when I got home. About six. We close at half five, see. Gives people time to drop off stuff from work, if they don’t have time in the morning or in their lunch hour.’
‘And have you ever heard Billy Davies arguing with anybody? Seen him get into any fights, or heard anybody threaten him?’
‘No, not him. More likely the other way round,’ Marty Warrender said, then looked appalled. ‘I mean, I don’t want to speak ill of the dead or anything,’ he added hastily. ‘It must be horrible for the Davies family and all that,’ he trailed off lamely.
‘I understand. We’re getting reports from lots of sources that Billy was
She had to talk to Celia Davies again.
Frank Ross pulled up outside the dry cleaning shop in the latest shopping development to hit the market town of Banbury, and climbed out of his car. His jacket – which could definitely have benefited from the services the shop had to offer – was slung on the back seat, and he’d long since ripped off his tie and rolled up his shirtsleeves, which hid his hideously greasy cuffs just right.
He cursed the heat as he walked to the shop door and opened it, a cheerfully tinkling bell above making him wince. He’d tied one on last night, and still had the headache to prove it.
A man appeared from the back and approached the counter that was the single piece of furniture in the tiny store and smiled a greeting. He was, Frank knew from his preliminary notes, forty years old, although he looked older. Tall, thin, fair, he looked at Frank a shade uncertainly. Probably because he wasn’t used to seeing people come into the shop without something in need of steam-cleaning draped over an arm.
‘Can I help you, sir?’ he asked cautiously. He knew Frank wasn’t a regular, so couldn’t be here to pick up some clothes either. And in spite of the Winnie-the-Pooh face and figure, there was something faintly menacing about the man.
Frank showed him his ID and Marty Warrender nodded with relief. ‘Oh, right. I was expecting you. This is about Billy, yeah?’
Frank nodded. ‘You live next door to the Davies on the right, as you go into the village from the main road?’
Marty Warrender nodded gloomily. ‘Yeah. I was shocked to hear what happened, yesterday, when I got home, like. June told me all about it. June’s the wife. I couldn’t believe it. I just couldn’t believe it.’
Frank smiled wearily. Warrender was the third neighbour he’d had to track down at work today, and all of them were saying the same thing. What was not to believe?
‘Did you know Billy well?’ Frank went straight into it. The sooner he’d finished with everyone on his list, the sooner he could clock off and head for a pub. The bitch from Thrupp wouldn’t know how long it had taken him, and if he managed to get through by three, he could even get a few bets down on the gee-gees.
‘No, not really. He wasn’t a friendly sort, and he wasn’t at home much anyway, to tell the truth. Always off on that bike of his. Had a friend somewhere, he used to practically live there. I knew him to say hello to, and that, but that’s all. We’ve only lived in Aston Lea two years.’
Frank nodded. ‘You see him that day at all? You’d have left for work, when? Eight?’
‘Half past. We don’t open till nine, and it’s an easy commute. And no, I didn’t see Billy. He’s usually been picked up by the school bus by then.’
‘He didn’t go to school that day,’ Frank said flatly. ‘Do you come home for lunch?’
‘No, the wife packs me sandwiches, like. Cheaper than eating in a café.’
‘So you didn’t go home at all during the day?’
‘No. Like I said, first I heard of it was when June told me when I got home. About six. We close at half five, see. Gives people time to drop off stuff from work, if they don’t have time in the morning or in their lunch hour.’
‘And have you ever heard Billy Davies arguing with anybody? Seen him get into any fights, or heard anybody threaten him?’
‘No, not him. More likely the other way round,’ Marty Warrender said, then looked appalled. ‘I mean, I don’t want to speak ill of the dead or anything,’ he added hastily. ‘It must be horrible for the Davies family and all that,’ he trailed off lamely.
‘I understand. We’re getting reports from lots of sources that Billy was
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