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The manager was a Mr Roberts, according to a name badge on his shiny black jacket, yet he asked Terry and Kyra to call him Bob. As they made their way to his office, Terry couldn’t help but wonder why someone would name their child Robert Roberts. Surely that bordered on child cruelty.
On the way to the office, Kyra stopped and nudged Terry.
‘What is it?’
‘Over there.’ She nodded.
Terry looked to where she was staring. By the entrance to the café, a member of staff in the store’s garish green uniform was chatting to Dawn Shepherd.
‘What’s she doing here?’ Kyra asked.
‘Well, she doesn’t live far, and her mother’s shop is just across the parade.’
‘Do you stand and chat to the staff in your local supermarket?’
‘This is my local supermarket, and no, I don’t.’
‘Everywhere we go she seems to be there,’ Kyra pointed out.
Terry couldn’t take his eyes from Dawn. She seemed to be having a very familiar chat with the staff member.
Bob’s office was smaller than Terry’s. There were several boxes around the room and an underlying smell of rotting vegetables coming from somewhere. Bob sat at his desk. He was the older side of fifty, the larger side of fifteen stone and the shorter side of five foot seven inches. His teeth were crooked, and the broken capillaries on his bulbous nose told Terry he took advantage of his staff discount in the alcohol section.
‘We’d like to talk to you about one of your employees, Dominic Griffiths. I believe you knew him as Rupert Griffiths.’
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘An error of judgement on our part, I’m afraid. I hold my hands up and claim all responsibility.’ He literally held his hands up. ‘In my defence, we were very short-staffed last summer. Our hiring policy may have gone out of the window a bit.’
‘Are you saying you wouldn’t have hired him knowing he was an ex-con?’ Terry asked.
‘I’m not saying that at all. We’re an equal opportunities employer, and we take all staff on their merits and ability to do the job. Age, ethnicity and sexual orientation play no part in how we pick out?—’
‘Calm down, Bob,’ Terry interrupted. ‘You’re not giving a statement to the press.’
‘Sorry.’ Bob pulled a tissue from the box on his untidy desk and began dabbing at his forehead. ‘You have to be so careful these days when employing people. It’s more of a box-ticking exercise than whether they have the right qualifications. There are more questions you can’t ask than what you can. What I meant was: Rupert – Dominic – came to us recommended.’
‘By who?’
‘An already established member of staff.’
‘Which one?’
‘Selina Baxter.’
Terry looked up, as he thought. ‘Dyed blonde hair, slim, about five foot five, bright red lipstick.’
‘You know her?’ Bob asked.
‘Do you think we could have a word with her?’
‘Of course. I’ll go and fetch her.’
Bob stood up and left the office.
‘Who’s Selina Baxter?’ Kyra asked.
‘She must be the friend Dawn Shepherd asked to recommend her dad for the job, and I’m guessing she’s the woman Dawn was talking to as we came in.’
‘She’s just coming,’ Bob said, as he re-entered the office.
