Tony Hill u Carol Jordan 08 - Cross and Burn

just before the ring road, when he pulled off into an out-of-town development packed with the traditional selection of carpet warehouse, fast-food outlet, discount sofa store, white goods and computer emporia and a sprawling DIY megastore. For a brief uncomfortable moment she was right behind the BMW. She hung back while he parked in a distant area of the car park then watched as he jinked through the lines of parked cars to arrive at the DIY store entrance. He paused to retie his shoelace, and as he set off again, she could see he had a slight but noticeable limp. Just like Tony.
    ‘Yes,’ Carol hissed triumphantly. She left the Landie in the first available slot and ran after him. By the time she made it through the door, he’d vanished from sight. She hurried up to the aisle that bisected the shelves at the midway point and walked briskly along, scanning in both directions as she went.
    She spotted him in the locks and home security section, checking padlocks and chains. It was a terrible cliché, but she supposed clichés only reached that status because there was truth in them. She turned down the next aisle, then came up behind him, pretending an interest in brass and chrome door furniture. He didn’t turn his head. He selected a heavy padlock and started walking towards the rear of the store. Carol followed, keeping her distance and constantly ready to turn aside and examine whatever was on the shelves.
    He was making for the trade counter, she quickly realised. Even though this was a different chain from the store she used for her own building requirements, they all had a similar layout. Taylor clearly knew his way around, making straight for the doorway that led to the timber-cutting area. He must be ordering or collecting made-to-measure wood, she thought. She found a vantage point where she could keep an eye on the doorway without looking suspicious, and stared unseeing at a catalogue of bathroom fittings.
    Time trickled past, but Taylor didn’t reappear. At first, Carol wasn’t concerned. She knew from experience that it could take a while to straighten out a customer’s requirements, especially if several different pieces were being ordered. But after ten minutes, she began to feel uneasy. This wasn’t right.
    At last, after twelve minutes had passed, she walked into the timber-cutting area. Behind the counter, a man in company livery was going through a sheaf of paperwork, comparing it to a computer screen. Another assistant leaned against a rack of different woods, deep in conversation with Gareth Taylor. Fuck. Carol crossed to a bin of scrap wood and rummaged through it, as if she were looking for something in particular. She pulled out a piece of plywood, pretended to check something on her phone, tutted and replaced it, then walked out. Fuck.
    She returned to the bathroom fittings, cursing herself for her lack of patience. All she’d had to do was wait, but she couldn’t even do that. Tony’s words echoed in her head. ‘We all make mistakes, Carol. Sometimes they’re more expensive than others.’ She pushed him to one side in her head, hoping this wasn’t going to be one of the truly expensive ones.
    Another fifteen minutes crawled by. And then the man from behind the counter appeared in the doorway, reaching above his head to grasp a metal shutter. Galvanised, Carol hurried over as he hunkered down to padlock it shut. ‘Are you closed?’
    He looked up at her. ‘Aye. We close at half five. If you want some timber cutting, you’ll have to come back in the morning.’
    ‘Damn,’ she said. ‘I wondered – is there a loading entrance here, so I don’t have to trail my wood through the store?’
    The man straightened up. ‘Not officially, like,’ he said. ‘But we’ve got a roller shutter at the rear for deliveries – we let people drive round and load up.’
    She turned away, hollow with anger and disappointment. Not only had she made Taylor suspicious, she’d lost him. He’d clocked that she was taking an interest and he’d shaken her off. He could be anywhere now, doing anything. And she had nothing on him except a limp and Tony’s theory based on a dead wife. Even Bronwen Scott would struggle to make something out of that.
    Carol trudged to the exit, all her earlier exhilaration gone. Maybe she should call Paula and the pair of them could work out what to do next. But the way things were going, if justice was going to be served, Carol wasn’t going to be the