Poppet

Wickes

THE DAYS ARE short this far into autumn and it’s pretty much dark when Caffery gets to the shop at the north end of Bristol. CCTV cameras are trained on the entrance, the tills, with three or four more above the aisles. The store is divided into Decoration/Plumbing/Electrical/Tools. At least two of those categories sit uneasily with Caffery. Even without reading the full report he knows that the things Handel did to his parents involved objects purchased from a place like this.

‘Manager.’ He flashes his warrant card to the security guy. ‘Please.’

He is shown to a small office piled with paperwork. Kieran Bolt is small and clean-shaven with eyes reddened through tiredness. He’s getting ready to go home, and doesn’t look pleased to see Caffery. He squints at the receipt for a few seconds. ‘This is for cash. I can’t give you a name from this.’

‘I don’t need a name,’ Caffery says. ‘I’ve already got that. I’m interested in what else he bought.’

‘What makes you think he bought more?’

‘Seven empty carrier bags.’

Bolt looks at him, startled, then at the receipt again, examining it as if he thinks he must have missed something. ‘Where did you say you were from?’

‘Major Crimes Investigation Unit.’ Caffery watches the manager run through the reasons a police officer might be asking questions about purchases at a hardware store. When he finally looks up again, the wariness behind Bolt’s eyes says he’s thinking National Security, terrorist threat.

‘We just sell the stuff. We don’t ask people what they’re going to do with it.’

‘Nobody’s accusing you of anything. I’m making inquiries, that’s all.’

The manager is easy to read; he’s anxious, he’s going to bend over backwards to help. ‘I can check the till receipts – if he used a credit card for anything else it should come up. But if he paid cash …’

‘That’s OK. We’ll find him on the CCTV.’

Bolt clasps a hand to his forehead.

‘Problem?’

‘No. No – absolutely no problem. It’s just …’ He checks his watch. ‘No – I’ll make a quick phone call and you’re fine. I can stay with you.’

Bolt is saying it’s going to take for ever to trawl through the footage. There are eight cameras dotted around the store, they keep twenty-one days’ worth of recordings, at a guess, and they’re open seven till eight, Monday to Saturday – and six hours on Sunday.

‘It’s OK,’ Caffery says. ‘You will get home tonight. I promise.’