Well, you should have. Anyway, I was sorry to hear about it. How've you been?'
"I won't pretend it's been easy,' she said.
He paused, looked out of the window and watched the rain spatter against it in the breeze. 'I happen to think the death of your mum is the one that feels the most profound.
The body that carried you, brought you into the world, reduced to dust. You never get over that one -- you just learn to live with it.' He turned back to face her.
She nodded. "I know what you mean.'
Her face was pale, severe even. The eyes, usually lined with kohl and dancing with energy, anger, humour were hollow and lined with stress.
'Is everything OK?' he asked.
She smiled again but he could see there was little genuine about it. 'Just not feeling great. Loads of stress, loads of grief, loads of stuff to mull over. I didn't think it would hit me this hard. I seem to have lost a bit of faith in my judgements and myself. I'm all over the place, to be honest with you.'
He looked at her for a while. It had been his plan to moan about Harris and being sidelined on this case, rant about the absurd amount of cotton wool he was being wrapped in. In light of Heather's woes, it didn't seem that important any more. Her life was a mess and she was working through it. He'd been doing that for years. Look where he was. Part of him felt he should try to persuade her to get herself signed off sick, go somewhere warm where she could get away from it and recharge. 'Look at me,' he might say, 'this is what happens when you close yourself down.' But there would be little point. The job had pulled her in and then tightened its tentacles. It was like that. You tried to make the world a safer place; you poured your life into your work, even if it meant your own went to the wall.
What happened between you and Barnes? Didn't that work out?' he asked.
She shook her head. 'Not really. No fault of his. When my mum died, I didn't fancy the idea of a new relationship.
An ex got in touch to express his condolences and, you know, the familiar, the devil I knew, seemed preferable to . . .'
Her voice trailed away.
Foster sensed some regret, as if she wasn't convinced.
Wish I hadn't sent you along to see him yesterday. Must have been awkward.'
'Not really,' she said. 'I'm glad you did. It was nice seeing him. I wasn't very fair but I think he understands.' She paused, looked out of the window. 'He's a nice bloke.'
That's enough Agony Aunt crap, Foster thought. 'Come on,' he said. 'Let's get cracking'
They climbed out and hurried the short distance to the shop. As Foster pushed the door, a bell rang inside. The place was empty of customers but teeming with bric-a brac: books, CDs, a few toys and racks of unwanted clothes. At the counter two women, one elderly, the other in her thirties, stood talking in hushed voices. One of them glanced irritably at Foster and Heather as they entered, before adopting a helpful smile. Foster flashed his ID.
'Morning, ladies,' he said, before making his introductions.
The elderly one was named Yvonne, the younger lady Maureen. We're here about Katie Drake.'
We were wondering when you might come,' Yvonne said, eyes wide with what Foster presumed was shock. 'It's just terrible. Horrible. We're devastated. We thought about closing the shop for the day, but then we thought that Katie would have wanted us to open.'
Was she supposed to be working today?'
Maureen, a brassy redhead wearing a thick layer of make-up, nodded vigorously. 'She did Mondays and Wednesdays. She should have been in today. We have three on normally. Two out front serving customers and one at the back sorting the carryin, usually helped by Trevor. It was her turn to be out back. We've not had time to ask anyone else to come in.'
Her voice quavered. She was about to burst into tears.
Yvonne threw an arm around her.
'Is there a kettle?' Heather asked. Why don't you put the closed sign up for a few minutes and I'll make us all a brew?'
The women nodded.
'There's a kitchen through the back,' the elderly one said.
The younger one turned the sign on the back of the door and flicked the bolt.
'So did Katie work this Monday?' Foster asked.
Yvonne nodded. 'She did, yes. Only the morning. She wanted the afternoon off to shop for Naomi's present and a cake. I was on, Maureen wasn't. Katie was in the shop with me. Steph - she does a couple of days a week, too came in to fill in as Trevor was off.'
'How did she seem?'
'Her usual self really.'
And what was "her usual self"?'
'Friendly, good with the customers, helpful, polite. Her acting career wasn't going too well -- "stalled" was the word she used -- and I think she liked getting out of the house and doing some work, meeting people.'
'She used to joke about it,' Maureen replied, with a smile. 'She used to say, "I'm paying my debt. I do the voice for all these adverts for horrible companies that treat people like dirt and sell useless things. Working here is my penance.'"
Foster watched as Heather returned with a tray bearing four mugs of tea. She put them down beside the till on the counter.
He continued. 'So you got no sense there was anything different in her life? No new events, incidents or anything like that?'
The women looked at each other for a few moments.
'No,' the elderly one said.
'Not at all,' Maureen echoed.
'She didn't mention the fact she was seeing someone?'
They raised their eyebrows so high it looked as if they might leap from their heads. 'Was she?'
Again, the pair glanced at each other.
'Did you know that, Maureen?'
"I didn't know that, no,' Maureen replied. 'I'm surprised.
Katie used to joke about it. She used to say, "I've had it with men. They're nothing but trouble. A woman needs a man like a fish needs batter and chips.'"
The two of them laughed.
'Oh, we'll miss her,' Maureen said. Her eyes began to moisten.
Foster let them drink some of their tea. There was a loud rap on the door behind him. He turned to see a large man with unkempt hair and burgeoning beer gut, wearing an anorak over a navy V-neck jumper and white shirt and a pair of grey slacks. Foster guessed he was in his late thirties. He looked agitated.
'It's Trevor,' Maureen announced, and went over to unlock the door to let him in.
The man stepped in, wiping his feet furiously on the floor despite the fact it wasn't raining outside and there was no mat to wipe them on.
'Hi, Yvonne,' he said to the elderly woman, eyeing Heather and Foster warily before looking away. Are they here about Katie?'
'Hi, Trevor love,' Yvonne replied. 'Yes, they are. They're investigating her death.'
Trevor gazed directly at Foster. 'I wish I could get my hands on the bastard who did it,' he said in a flat monotone that belied the ferocity of his statement, though his face had reddened. What sort of animal could do that?
And take a young girl, too.'
Foster introduced himself and Heather. 'Let me go and hang my coat up and use the loo,' he muttered. 'I'll be right back.'
After he disappeared, Yvonne leaned in towards the two detectives. 'Trevor works here full time, though like the rest of us he isn't paid. He's not really up to taking a proper job. He's had a few problems, you see. We're a bit worried how he's going to take all this because he was very close to Katie.'
What sort of problems?' Foster whispered.
Well, he had a job in an office somewhere and had a nervous breakdown after his mother died. They were very close. So he had to give the job up and he's never been back. He gets incapacity benefit and spends his time with us.'
'Does he work here all week?'
'Every day apart from Tuesday. He takes that off in lieu of Saturday'