Stop Dead (DI Geraldine Steel)

presence. Those were the days when another human being actually noticed when he wasn’t around, even if it was just the landlord of his local.
    ‘You alright then, Maurice?’ Bob would call out to him as he stepped through the door. ‘Been off on your holidays?’ and they would both laugh because Bob knew he never went anywhere. Making his way to the bus stop was as much as he could manage. That was before the pub had been taken over and everything had become plastic and ersatz. Maurice never saw or heard of Bob and Mary again. He hoped they were happy in their retirement, but he couldn’t help feeling let down by their departure. For years they had given stability to his lonely existence.

     
    But all that was years ago. He had grown older and crabbier since Bob and Mary had left, his hands curled more tightly with arthritis, his eyes peering through ever thicker lenses. If it weren’t for the free glasses, he would be blind as a bat by now. That would be terrible, cutting him off completely from all human contact, because he was a people watcher. Maurice liked to spin fantasies about strangers he saw in the street, or reading newspapers in the library, in the pub on his weekly outing for a drink, or on the bus home. It was the only way people touched his life these days, unless he had an appointment at the doctor’s, and even then he saw a different doctor every time and recognised none of them. Nothing stayed the same any more. No one knew him, apart from Toby who just stared mournfully at him, thumping his stubby tail on the floor.

     
    Even the beer was different, he thought sourly. For a while he had stopped coming to the pub in a fatuous act of protest, not that anyone would miss a frail round-shouldered little man with a fuzz of grey on his head and a raincoat fraying at the sleeves.
    ‘Just the usual,’ he would say, and then he would have to explain what he wanted to another stranger behind the bar.

     
    Maurice never stayed out late. It wasn’t that home was far away or a difficult journey, just a couple of stops on the bus, but he felt uneasy travelling after dark, wary of the gangs of youths who strutted around the streets at night, off their heads on alcohol or drugs. He would watch them as they staggered along the pavement, two or three abreast, shouting and jeering as though they owned the streets. Observing them from the safety of the bus as it rattled past he felt he should pity them, blasting their brains with a toxic cocktail of chemicals, their lives empty of purpose; but he envied them. They were a bunch of mindless followers, capable of committing acts of unspeakable violence, but at least they had a herd to travel with. He had gone through life doing no harm to anyone, yet he was alone in a hostile world.

     
    A friend might have scolded him for self-pity, but it was hard to reproach himself when life was so unfair. As he stared through the bus window at a group of youths one of them happened to look up and catch sight of him watching. With a flicker of fear Maurice turned his head away and became aware of a woman sitting beside him. He wasn’t bothered about women. When he was much younger he had gone with prostitutes in an attempt to fend off his loneliness, but now he contented himself watching passers-by. Engrossed in gazing out of the window, he hadn’t noticed anyone sit down beside him, but sensing a body next to him, he half turned to see her looking sideways at him. She didn’t drop her eyes when he saw her but continued to watch him out of the corner of her eye. She looked nervous. Emboldened, he stared right back at her.

     
    The woman had shoulder length blonde hair framing a face that was heavily painted with bright red lips and artificially thick eyelashes. He wondered if she was a prostitute or just out on the pull. It was difficult to tell with so much make-up on her face, but he guessed she wasn’t much over thirty. He considered speaking to her but bottled it and turned away. It wasn’t worth the bother. A woman like that would never be interested in him. Looking down he observed her raincoat had fallen open to reveal a tight short black skirt. Turning to look at him, she crossed her legs. With a slight shock he saw right up her thigh, before she pulled her coat closed. He licked his lips, wondering if she had deliberately displayed herself to him.

     
    She leaned back against the seat as though resting. With a shiver of excitement he saw that her eyes