Chapters (156)
- A DATE WITH DEATH
- Also by Mark Roberts
- A Date With Death
- Copyright Page
- Contents
- The Past
- 1977
- Day OneWednesday, 1st December 2021CatoptrophobiaFear of mirrors
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- 8
- 9
- 10
- 11
- 12
- 13
- 14
- 15
- 16
- 17
- 18
- 19
- 20
- 21
- 22
- 23
- 24
- 25
- 26
- The Past
- 1979
- Day TwoThursday, 2nd December 2021OneirophobiaFear of dreams
- 27
- 28
- 29
- 30
- 31
- 32
- 33
- 34
- 35
- 36
- 37
- 38
- 39
- 40
- 41
- 42
- 43
- 44
- 45
- 46
- 47
- 48
- 49
- 50
- 51
- 52
- The Past
- 1980
- Day ThreeFriday, 3rd December 2021MonophobiaFear of being alone
- 53
- 54
- 55
- 56
- 57
- 58
- 59
- 60
- 61
- 62
- 63
- 64
- 65
- 66
- 67
- 68
- 69
- 70
- 71
- 72
- 73
- 74
- 75
- 76
- 77
- 78
- 79
- 80
- 81
- 82
- 83
- 84
- 85
- 86
- 87
- 88
- 89
- 90
- 91
- 92
- 93
- 94
- 95
- 96
- 97
- 98
- The Past
- 1982
- Day FourSaturday, 4th December 2021ThanatophobiaFear of Death
- 99
- 100
- 101
- 102
- 103
- 104
- 105
- 106
- 107
- 108
- 109
- 110
- 111
- 112
- 113
- 114
- 115
- 116
- 117
- 118
- 119
- 120
- 121
- 122
- 123
- 124
- 125
- 126
- 127
- 128
- 129
- 130
- 131
- 132
- 133
- 134
- 135
- 136
- 137
- About the Author
- An Invitation from the Publisher
Wren sat down, drew the hands that knew how to make mischief under his thighs and fixed his entire attention on a dark spot on the opposite wall, where a tiny patch of old paint had long since flaked away from the plaster.
His father stooped to get into his eyeline.
‘Edgar’s not coming in today, Wren. That’s why he’s not here. He’s got diarrhoea and vomiting. He couldn’t possibly come in to work in that condition. Think of the hygiene implications.’
‘Oh, noooooo…’
The rumble of machinery on the floor below the administration offices moaned through the tiny room.
‘When’s he coming back?’ asked Wren.
‘When his condition gets right. When he no longer has diarrhoea and vomiting, he has to stay away from work for at least another two whole days, otherwise he’d be a health and safety hazard. Do you understand me?’
Wren absorbed the information, felt the heat and ice of anxiety collide into a ball of sorrow.
‘He’s going to be away for ages, isn’t he, Dad?’
‘Days, days…’
‘Then I want to go home.’
‘I think that’s wise, Wren. Later. I can’t just drop everything now and take you home. I have to reorganise the skinning platform around Edgar’s absence. It’ll most likely be during my lunch break.’
‘I don’t like change.’
‘I know you don’t, son.’
‘Can I go and see him?’
‘He’s not well. He needs to recover in peace and quiet.’
‘Peace and quiet! Peace and quiet! How do you know he’s sick?’
‘He made a telephone call in to the main office. We know he’s sick. He’s not a malingerer.’
Wren jumped up, flailed his arms.
‘Take me home. This place is nowhere without Edgar.’
‘Later. I’ll take you home as soon as I can. But until then you’ll have to wait here in my office. Not everyone in the abattoir is as nice as Edgar McKee. You understand?’
‘I understand, Dad. I’ll be a good boy.’
‘And, Wren. One last thing. Thank you for holding it a little bit together and not having a complete meltdown out there in front of my men.’
‘No, Dad. Nobody heard me screaming. They were wearing ear defenders and the machinery was working well.’
67
9.45 am
Cole recalled asking Clay, why? and her answer, maybe it’s just the stuff that killed the cat. Normally open and as available as it was humanly possible to be, Clay had issued a statement to him by email. Planning was going ahead for the liaison with the perpetrator, and was awaiting a rubber stamp from the chief constable and his team. Armed officers were on call and, like every other police officer in the operation, they were all undercover. She was off limits for the whole of Friday morning but more about that would be revealed before the day was done.