The Girl Who Stole the Apple

‘Course I do. The Jubilee Hotel. Straight out of town. Past an Esso station on the left. Under the railway bridge, then first right. Keep going and you’ll see it on the left just past the church.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Mind you, this isn’t one of her normal working days.’

‘Oh.’

‘Not that there’s a normal working week any more, is there? She’s on a zero hours contract. Ridiculous if you ask me. How can you know where you are if you don’t have regular working hours? Mind you, her mum is a brilliant grandmother. Always having Jake for the day or after school or to stay the night. So if I was you, I’d try the hotel and after that I’d try asking her mother. She lives in Airdale Street.’

Reid thanked her and headed back down the path, muttering. ‘Wish I was on a zero hours contract,’ he said, as he slumped back into the car. ‘At least I’d get paid for every damned hour I work.’

The hotel was only ten minutes away by car, down a narrow lane pockmarked with even more holes than the norm.

Inside it was quiet. Ashcroft and Reid walked over to the reception desk, where a man in a white shirt and black tie was bidding goodbye to a customer. His name badge proclaimed him to be Pavel. ‘Can I help you, sir?’ he said to Reid.

Ashcroft answered. ‘We need to speak to one of your staff, Sinead Parkinson.’

‘She’s not due in today,’ Pavel stated.

‘Then we’ll speak to the manager,’ Ashcroft snarled, as if a receptionist could not possibly answer their questions adequately. He took his role as enforcer pretty seriously. Not that Reid minded. If you owned a dog, you might as well let it have a good bark occasionally.

The manager was a thick-set black-haired man with a moustache. He smelled of cigarette smoke. ‘I ask her to work today. We have a conference. But she texts me and says she cannot because it is half-term.’ He raised his eyes theatrically. ‘She says she is short of money. I offer her extra work. It is arranged. First she says she can. Later she says no!’

‘When did she tell you she couldn’t work?’ Reid said quietly.

‘This morning, very early. I tell you. No warning at all!’

When they went outside again it had started to rain, but Reid barely noticed.

‘So what made her cry off work this morning?’ It was a rhetorical question. Reid was venting his thoughts and his frustration, nothing more.

Ashcroft seemed to understand. ‘Why don’t we try the grandmother? She might know. Maybe they’ve all gone on a day trip. It’s half-term this week. We could check with the neighbours.’

They did check with the neighbours because when they hammered on Mrs Parkinson’s door, there was no reply.

At the fourth attempt they struck lucky. A young woman with bleached hair and a baby slung across her chest answered the door. She introduced herself as Amy.

‘We’re looking for a Mrs Parkinson. She’s not in and we were hoping to speak to her.’

‘Ooh! Done something naughty, has she?’ Amy laughed. The idea of Mrs Parkinson doing something criminal was clearly far too much of a leap to be credible.

She pushed forward past the men and scanned up and down the street.

‘No sign of her car. Must be out.’

‘It’s actually her daughter, Sinead, that we need to locate.’

‘Sinead!’ Another laugh. ‘Now that I can believe. Sinead and her mother are like chalk and cheese.’

Amy went back inside her house and the men followed.

‘Sorry, I just need to put the baby down while she’s asleep.’ She ran up the narrow stairs and was back down again within a minute.

‘I’ve had a thought,’ she said before either of the detectives could ask any more questions. ‘Betty, that’s Sinead’s mother, she was telling me the other day how she hoped to take her grandson to the zoo. Maybe that’s where they’ve gone.’

‘Maybe we’ve struck lucky,’ Ashcroft said. They were back in their car and the rain had almost ceased.

‘Maybe.’ Reid still wasn’t in the mood to take anything for granted. ‘No news on Sinead’s car, I presume?’