Mrs Perry stared at it for long enough, then unfolded her arms and took it between one distorted thumb and finger. It’d be in the bin before they reached the pavement.
‘So she’s learned her lines and trots them out on cue,’ Janet said to Rachel as they got in the car. ‘Any date we care to mention, they were here. All night, she never slept.’
‘In fact they live here,’ Rachel chipped in, ‘24/7, never leave the house, never leave her sight.’
‘If these two turn out to be our shooters we could do the whole family for attempting to pervert the course of justice,’ Janet said. ‘Three generations.’
Bobbins, originally Bobbins Hotel, still had its old pub sign, showing a mill worker standing at a loom. There hadn’t been a working mill nearby for decades.
Snug and Taproom read the stained-glass windows either side of the entrance.
A handful of drinkers were scattered around the snug, a pair of men played darts in the taproom. The central hallway led past the rooms either side to a general lounge bar. There was a corridor off to the left near the bar, a sign pointing to toilets. The rooms were small, with low-beamed ceilings. Nothing like a gin palace, more like a cottage turned into a hostelry.
The woman behind the bar was reading a magazine. Janet noticed her nails, great long talons painted with an elaborate red and black design which, on first sight, looked like they’d been spattered with blood. I’ve been in this job too long, Janet thought.
Rachel explained what they wanted and the woman rang the manager, who said to go ahead – the tapes from previous days were in the office.
‘Were you working then?’ Rachel asked as the barkeep unlocked the office door and they edged in. The place was piled with cartons and folders and bits of broken furniture. The woman threaded her way through to the green metal filing cabinet.
‘Yes, five till twelve.’
‘You know the Perry twins?’ Janet said.
‘Twins?’ She looked up, the tapes in her hand. ‘No.’ No fear in her eyes, Janet saw, more curiosity. Perhaps this wasn’t one of their locals, it’d be a fair way to come from Manorclough and they didn’t have a car, as far as the police had established.
‘They may have been in here that Tuesday. Identical, five foot nine, bulky, blond, tattoos,’ Janet said.
‘I don’t remember any twins. Here you are.’ She found Tuesday’s tape and retraced her steps.
‘You just sign this, here.’ Janet passed her the form, describing the item they were removing.
‘What’s it all about then?’
‘The man found in the Old Chapel, Manorclough, Richard Kavanagh,’ Rachel said.