‘Of course you know what you’re doing,’ he said. His voice was as soft as warm sand upon the skin. ‘You know, you know…’

Friday the 13th – April 2018

FRIDAY THE 13TH – APRIL 2018

There is a bang – plastic hitting wood, a phone being thrown down with some force.

Viola stands swiftly, yanked from her deliberations. Dot stands to attention too, skittering sideways to avoid the blanket that falls from Viola’s shoulders.

Saul curses in the back office and kicks out at something. A table leg? Silence.

Viola barely has time to share a questioning glance with Dot before Saul is there, wresting up the hinged counter and slamming it down in his wake, muttering curses into the stiff collar of his reflective jacket as he zips it up and makes a grab for the door handle.

‘Wait, where are you going?’ Viola chases him, out into the cold air, Dot following, the end of her red lead carried hopefully in her mouth.

Saul stops abruptly on the cobbles and Viola almost crashes into the back of him. She retreats as he turns, his grey face orange in the early light. The sun has pulled itself free of the sea and burned the worst of the fog away. The boatmen will be there soon, retrieving their pots set the night before.

‘They want to know who it is,’ he tells her. He grinds his teeth against his lips, flexes and clenches his papery hands.

‘But that’s their job, isn’t it?’ She trips over her sentences. ‘To find out who it is. Once they get here, start a proper investigation, then we’ll know who –’

‘The body, stupid!’

She feels the spittle of his exclamation land on her face. ‘Oh.’

‘They need positive ID of the body. From me.’

He makes a break for the Land Rover. Viola goes too.

‘But I told you who it is!’

‘And we’re to trust the word of a ginger fucking coycrock, are we?’ He means to hurt her and he does. Viola takes a moment to rebound. Saul gets behind the wheel.

‘But you looked at it yourself,’ she implores.

‘Not the face, I didn’t,’ says Saul. His tone is sarcastic, self-punishing, and now she understands where this fury has come from – he’s messed up. The people on the other end of the line have pointed it out. You’re not a real policeman.

He slams the door.

‘Wait!’

She runs around to the passenger side. She must go with him. He could do anything – move the body, hide it, make it look different. Saul could change the story. Viola scoops up Dot and tries the door. Locked. He starts reversing.

‘Wait!’

She bangs on the window, bringing him to a halt. He leans over and slides the glass across, just enough for them to speak.

‘You stay here,’ he tells her.

‘I need to come too.’

‘Why?’

‘Because…’

He revs the engine.

‘Because…’