Cambridge Blue - Alison Bruce [85]
Two tall stools were tucked under a tiny breakfast bar; he grabbed one and climbed on it to inspect the tops of the units. He then checked inside each separate appliance, and even in the pots of odds and ends under the sink. He only wished he knew what, if anything, he hoped to find.
It was ten minutes later before he started on the food cupboard. He guessed Lorna had eaten out a lot, or maybe hadn’t eaten much at all; her cupboard catered just for breakfast and snacks. One shelf was filled with tins of soup, and not just plain old Heinz Tomato like his own kitchen boasted. There were at least a dozen upmarket varieties, from asparagus to lobster bisque. He lifted and shook each can, and when he was content that each was still unopened, he moved on to the rows of spreads arranged on the shelf below.
Most of the jams were also unopened and stood with their labels neatly facing forwards. The two jars of peanut butter, one crunchy and one smooth, told a different story. Their inner sides were scraped clear, so that only a few spoonfuls remained at the bottom of each. Behind the peanut butter was the familiar fat-cheeked shape of a Marmite jar. People either loved it or hated it, but Lorna must have been in the ‘loved it’ camp as she had three jars of the stuff on the go. Goodhew picked up the first jar: liquorice-coloured stains streaked the black glass. He unscrewed the yellow plastic lid and glanced inside: just Marmite with a couple of flecks of butter.
He replaced the lid and noticed the seal was gone from one of the other two jars. He felt a kick of excitement as he snatched up the used jar at the rear, which was altogether too clean looking. He unscrewed it quickly, noticing it felt light enough to be almost empty. Under the lid was jammed a ball of cotton wool.
When he was a kid, his mum had kept cotton wool in the top of vitamin bottles. He had never understood why, but now he sensed he’d find tablets in this jar too.
There weren’t many of them, he estimated about twenty. And they weren’t all the same, but a mix of red capsules and torpedo-shaped pills. He replaced the cotton wool and returned the jar to its place at the back of the shelf.
He ran his gaze along the shelf below. The lid of a vinegar bottle protruded from behind a coffee jar. He pulled it out and immediately saw the liquid was clear. He removed his glove and dripped a splash on to his finger. As soon as it hit his tongue he smiled. Jackpot.
Later on, he’d wonder how different things would have been if he’d just replaced the bottle and left. But he couldn’t have done that.
Not really. Not when the rest of the flat beckoned him. He checked the bedroom curtains, making sure the heavy red velvet overlapped to seal in the light. Then he used his torch to search the room. Her wrought-iron bedstead had been stripped of its sheets. Her stereo stood beside the bed, accompanied by a stack of a dozen CDs. He ran the beam of torchlight down their spines. The last one was The Best of Blondie; the rest were modern chart compilations.
He moved his torch around the room and went over to Lorna’s wardrobe. The door creaked as he opened it. He stopped and listened. Had he heard something else too? No, he’d just been in the house too long. Time to leave.
‘In a minute, in a minute,’ he whispered to himself, and shone his torch into the cupboard.
Most of her clothes still hung from the rail, though some had fallen off. He knelt to check the bottom of the wardrobe. Then froze. He heard a creak on the stairs, then a whisper. Shit. There was only one option; he clicked off his torch and felt his way into the cupboard. From somewhere near the landing a woman’s voice hissed, ‘I’ll start in the bedroom.’
Goodhew pulled both doors to within an inch of shutting. Above his head, clothes swayed and the hangers click-clacked against each other. Footsteps entered