Paul Gitsham - The Last Straw

“Without going into specific details about the case we’re working on, I wonder if you could identify the checkout assistant who served this customer last night. We have some questions that we need to ask them.”

“Of course, I’d be pleased to help. Let me see.” Taking out a small pair of reading glasses, the manager stared intently at the till receipt.

“Let me just look up which colleague dealt with this customer.” Turning to his PC, he clicked the mouse a few times before rapidly typing out a series of numbers onto the keypad.

“Aha. Kevin Peterfield. He was logged onto the till.”

“Is Mr Peterfield working today?”

A few more clicks of the mouse and Patel nodded.

“Yes, he started his shift about three hours ago. Would you like him to come in?”

“Yes, if you wouldn’t mind. Hopefully it shouldn’t take too long.”

Patel picked up his phone, asking for someone to find Peterfield.

The two men passed the next couple of minutes in silence. As he concentrated Hastings became aware of the low-level hum of background noise surrounding him. Through the walls he could hear the tannoy system announcing three-for-two offers. Strange that they hadn’t put an announcement over the speakers for Peterfield, he mused. As if reading his mind, Patel motioned with his head towards the shop floor.

“There’s no point putting out a tannoy announcement for Kevin. Unless he’s nipped off to the bathroom he should be sitting right at till number seven. Quicker just to walk down and collect him.”

Hastings nodded and the two men settled back into silence. In the background, Gary could hear the whine of an electric motor and muffled voices shouting instructions. Probably a forklift in the warehouse, he guessed.

A few moments later, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in!”

A nervous-looking youth entered the room. Seeing Hastings, his eyes widened in curiosity, then worry when Hastings was introduced. For his part, Gary forced a smile. According to the manager, the kid was under eighteen. Why then did he look as if he could pass for Hastings’ much older and bigger brother? He had to be six feet three and the five o’clock shadow that coloured his jowls looked a lot thicker than Hastings’ fine stubble. Hastings shaved daily but rather in hope than expectation; once a week would probably have been sufficient.

“Don’t worry, Kevin, you’re not in any trouble. Take a seat. I just have a few questions about a customer that you served.”

“Sure, anything I can do to help, Officer.”

Even his voice was deeper and older-sounding than Gary’s.

“According to the till receipts, last night you served this woman. Do you remember her?”

Hastings slid a headshot of Clara Hemmingway across the desk. Peterfield looked at it for a few seconds.

“Yeah, definitely. I can’t remember the time, but I definitely remember her.”

Hastings nodded encouragingly.

“What can you remember about her? Anything unusual? You must see hundreds of customers each shift — why do you remember her?”

Peterfield shifted in his seat, looking a little embarrassed. He glanced at Patel, who smiled tolerantly. He could probably guess why the teenager remembered her.

“Well, I remember her because she was kind of pretty, you know. It’s a long shift and all the faces blur together after a while, but a couple stick in the memory.”

“Fair enough. Anything else that you can remember? Anything at all? You never know how useful the smallest detail might be.”

Peterfield blushed a bit, mumbling, “Yeah, she was wearing a bit of a low-cut top. You could see loads. And she had a tattoo on her tit…sorry, breast.” He looked at Hastings, who remained stony-faced. “It was a rose or something. Left one, I think.”

Well, that confirmed the ID, thought Hastings. The photo he’d shown Peterfield had been a headshot.

“Thinking back, what can you remember about her? What else was she wearing? Was she with anybody else?”

“I can’t remember what else she was wearing.”

Hastings hid a smile; typical seventeen-year-old lad. No way was he going to remember what Hemmingway was wearing below the waist. There was only one thing that was going to stick in his mind after such an encounter.

Screwing up his eyes as if to remember, Peterfield leaned back slightly in his chair.

“She was on her own, I do remember that. Trolley not basket. I think she used carrier bags rather than bags for life. She used her card, Chip and PIN. Hang on… Her name on the card was Clare or something.”

“That’s great, Kevin. Can I take your details in case I need to speak to you again?”

The boy nodded, probably figuring that a chance to see her again in a line-up was better than nothing.

After Peterfield had left, Patel turned to Hastings. “Well, Officer, if there is anything else that we can help you with, please don’t hesitate to let us know.”

It was clearly meant as a dismissal; it was after all a busy time of the day.

Hastings thought briefly, should he ask Patel to canvass any other members of staff for any other witnesses? It was probably better not to, he decided. This was Hemmingway’s local supermarket; she was likely to be a regular customer. People might well get confused about the time or day that they had seen her and muddy the waters. Of course, there was one thing that didn’t get confused and that was CCTV. A quick look to check that she was alone and that the times matched and he was done, he decided.

“There is one more thing.”

Patel barely repressed a sigh.

“Do you have CCTV for the night in question?”

“Yes. The store is covered in cameras. We will have many hours of footage.”

Hastings decided to take pity on the man.

“I’ll speak to my guv to see if we need to pull in everything. In the meantime, could we just have a quick look to see what time she arrived and left and if she was on her own?”

Patel had clearly decided that there was no point arguing and that the sooner he co-operated, the sooner he could get rid of Hastings.

Motioning Gary out of his office and back down the narrow corridors, Patel led the young PC to another large, darkened room. In it sat a security guard, his eyes glued to a bank of half a dozen monitors, each with four changing views of the shop floor, car park and ‘backstage’ areas.

Finding footage of Clara leaving was easy. The time stamp on the receipt clearly showed the time that she completed her transaction and locating it took seconds on the digital security system. She certainly had done a big shop, Hastings noted as she struggled out of the door, laden down with multiple bulging carrier bags. Her skimpy top did nothing to hide her cleavage from the overhead cameras, much to the delight of the bored guard, he imagined. He noted the time: 22:34h. One minute later than the time on the till receipt. Seemed about right, he figured.

“We can follow her backwards all around the store as she does her shop, if you like, but it’ll take some time to set up the different feeds,” offered the security guard, clearly welcoming the distraction.

“I’ll keep that in mind and see what the guv says — just don’t erase the footage. For the time being I just want to see what time she entered.”

“No sweat, sonny. Can you give us a clue? It’ll be quicker than just running the tape backwards ’til we find her.”

Hastings looked at Patel.

“How quick do you think she could fill a trolley like this?”

Patel pursed his lips thoughtfully, clearly caught up in the investigation despite himself.

“Realistically, I’d say a minimum of twenty minutes, plus about seven or eight minutes to put it through the till.”