The Third Shadow

Twenty

~~~~~

The second oldest branch of Bracewell's chain, the one in Nottingham city centre, lay halfway along the street which leads from the Royal Theatre to Market Square. A two-minute walk, Marston had assured me as we'd said our goodbyes in the pub doorway. The sun which accompanied me on the short walk was a welcome and refreshing one. Already the streets were beginning to dry from the long recent hours of precipitation.

I wasn't sure what I expected to discover exactly - just another brushstroke in the overall picture perhaps, a help in gaining a sense of the man. 'Ivy' read the sign above the shop window. As seems the fashion these days, the word was presented in lower case and stuck away in a corner, small enough that one had to squint a little to read it from across the street.

That I was hopelessly out of place became obvious immediately on pushing open the door. The three other customers present were all female -  the oldest of them half my age, the youngest perhaps not even a third. Eyes turned in my direction, stared quizzically for several moments, then turned back to the blouses or skirts they'd been examining. Some kind of disco music boomed out of wall-mounted speakers, uncomfortably loud.

As if by magic, a shop assistant had appeared before me, her lips moving inaudibly. She was distressingly young like her customers and had a pierced left eyebrow. There was a welcoming smile though at least.

I inclined an ear a little closer to her mouth, indicated that she hould repeat herself.

"I asked if I could help you sir."

At least, I think this was what she said.

"I'm looking for something for my daughter," I shouted back.

Her lips moved inaudibly once more,  at one point parting just long enough for me to see that her tongue was also pierced. Such a pretty girl too; why on earth would she want to ruin her good looks that way?

"It might be better if..."  I nodded hopefully towards the speakers.

A couple of seconds later, the din had been lowered to a more humane decibel level.

"Something for your daughter..." she prompted as she rejoined me, words which were followed by a questioning pause.

"Yes, it's her birthday next week," I replied. Ellie's birthday is in December in fact. "I was thinking of a dress perhaps."

"Formal evening or light and summery?"

After navigating a minefield of similar such questions - size, length, preferred colours - she guided me to the relevant rack.

"The boss about?" I enquired casually as she flicked through the available options.

She looked at me, hand pausing, the question obviously having surprised her a little.

"Mr Loacke," I added for precision.

A dress was lifted from the rail, hung sideways for better observation. There was a flicked glance back down the shop, the neon sign behind the counter. Through the doorway beyond I imagined some kind of store room alongside a small office perhaps. "Danny's up at the new shop," she replied, looking back at me. "Will be there all week. I could leave him a message if you like."

"No, no, that's all right. I just wanted to say hi."

Her gaze lingered for a moment before returning to the selected dress to the rack, pulling out another. "Now, I know you said she likes red but I just can't help feeling it's a little too strong for this type of garment. Sky blue's all the rage at the moment. One hundred per cent cotton of course. The lace hems are produced locally."

"Lovely," I agreed. Then: "Have you been working here long?"

The shop assistant facade finally crumbled. "Look, are you some type of copper?"

"Not exactly, no."

She didn't seem to hear though. "I've been here three years in answer to your question, and I'll tell you exactly what I told the others. I don't believe it, not for one second. You know - what everybody says, that Lee killed his brother. A complete non-starter." Her face then lightened again, her glossed lips twitching into a smile. "His family meant everything to him. He even called his shops after his gran."

Said with such conviction, it was tempting almost to believe her, to overlook the weight of forensic evidence which suggested he'd thrust a broken whiskey bottle into his brother's chest.

"So... sky blue." Her lips formed a circle around the vowel sound of blue, revealed another brief flash of tongue metal. "A very versatile colour, easy to accessorize.  I'm sure your daughter would love it."

I glanced at the price tag, struggled not to wince.

"Not sure it's her type of thing."

Turning my shoulders, I got out of there as fast as I could. Headed back up the street, past the red Mini Cooper with union jack roof I'd spotted earlier.

*

Back at the hotel I swilled another couple of aspirins down my throat. Threw everything I'd taken out of the holdall back inside.

Down in the foyer, the receptionist was different to the evening before. She was equally as cheerless however: I would have to pay a surcharge, she  informed me, hotel policy being that check-out should have been effectuated more than an hour before. I wondered if unsmiling inflexibility were also part of hotel policy.

It felt good to get back in the van, hear the faint rattle of wine bottles behind as the engine purred into life. The directions Marston had given me would prove reliable.

No wrong turns. Within ten minutes, I was there.

*

The voice which rasped over the intercom sounded somehow weary, as if expecting that nothing good could come of her day.

"Who is it?"

I craned my neck towards the camera lens so that she might see me better, attempted a friendly smile.

"Remember me Olivia? Jim Jacks. It's been a while eh."

There was a moment of silence, one in which she perhaps considered simply ignoring me. Then, with a twitch of some hidden electronic nerve, the condiminium door swung open before me...