Free Murder... Now and Then by Jill McGown Page B

shrugged. ‘Nothing, I suppose. But there you are. That’s the offer. I can’t pay very much, but it’ll be what other sixteen-year-olds are getting.’
    Catherine thought about that, and its implications. ‘ Would you pay me in cash?’ she asked. ‘No forms, or anything like that?’
    His eyebrows rose, and then he mulled the idea over for a few moments. ‘It would save me money,’ he said. ‘But it’s illegal. You wouldn’t be properly insured, you wouldn’t get state sickness benefit if you were ill … and I’d be in deep trouble if I got found out.’
    â€˜But will you?’
    He seemed to be going to refuse; if he had, she would have turned down his offer. But in the end, he nodded. ‘OK,’ he said.
    â€˜I’ll take it,’ she said.
    â€˜Good.’ He smiled. ‘I’ve done you a little plan of how to get to the office from here – it’s just a few streets away. And you will have to look for somewhere else to live, of course. You might be able to find somewhere to share—’
    â€˜No,’ she said. ‘Ill find something on my own.’
    â€˜Rent is high in London.’ She nodded. ‘It’s up to you,’ he said, and stood up. ‘Till Monday then,’ he
    said, and held out his hand.
For the second time, Catherine shook it. For the second time,
    she remembered her manners. ‘Thanks’, she said, and, for the second
    time, she smiled.
But for the first time, she had lied to him.
    Night shift again. And having to face Judy Russell; Bannister didn’t think he could take it. She had had to rescue him from a girl who didn’t come up to his shoulder; he had frozen, when he saw the sheer rage on Annabel’s face. Russell knew it, and he knew it. And the little whore had had the nerve to make a complaint and that had put him in hock to Russell again. Bannister pulled on his uniform jacket his face grim.
    â€˜What’s up, Dave? Russell been giving you a ticking off again?’
    He grabbed the speaker by the lapel and pushed him against the metal lockers, rocking them. Someone grabbed him from behind before he hit him.
    â€˜Come on, Dave!’ said the arbitrator. ‘It was just a joke.’
    He turned. Horton. Bloody Horton. He’d got him into this. He should have been getting the women into the van, but the fat sod was too busy letting them make a fool of him.
    â€˜Sorry,’ said the first, whose lapel he still grasped. ‘I didn’t mean anything by it.’
    Bannister let him go, and shook off Horton’s restraining arm. The others, robbed of their entertainment, began to drift out to get their instructions for the evening; Horton stayed behind.
    â€˜Come on – we’ll be late.’
    A cheap little street-walker showing him up. Making a complaint about him. Bannister slammed the locker door, which merely opened again. He locked it and followed Horton out.
    She’d be sorry. He’d bide his time, but she’d be sorry she messed with him.

Chapter Three
Now: Wednesday, 1 April, p.m. . . .
    â€˜She’s fine,’ said Charles Rule. ‘I’ve just checked on her again. She wants to be left alone for a little while.’
    Holyoak nodded, and thanked Charles and Geraldine for their part in bringing the minister to his opening day, and for their professional services with regard to his stepdaughter.
    Geraldine was Margaret’s doctor; her prognosis in his wife’s regard was not optimistic. But Margaret had known that; that was why she agreed to come back to Britain, though the travelling hadn’t helped her. To Stansfield, to be where Catherine was. And Catherine had been to see her. But only once.
    Holyoak had always kept an eye on Catherine, from a distance. He had tried anonymously to buy his way into Driver’s several times, to be met with resistance from Zelda. He had acquired some shares, but nothing