Piter Lovsi - Butchers and Other Stories of Crime

Arabellas Answer was first published in Ellery Queens Mystery Magazine, 1984;

The Bathroom in Winters Crimes 5, Macmillan, 1973;

Belly Dance in Winters Crimes 15, Macmillan 1983;

Butchers in Winters Crimes 14, Macmillan, 1982;

Did You Tell Daddy? in Ellery Queens Mystery Magazine, 1984;

Fall-Out in Company, 1983;

How Mr. Smith Traced His Ancestors in The Mystery Guild Anthology, Book Club Associates, 1980;

The Locked Room in Winters Crimes 10, Macmillan, 1978;

The Secret Lover in Winters Crimes 17, Macmillan, 1985;

The Virgin and the Bull in John Creaseys Crime Collection, Gollancz, 1983;

Vandals in Womans Own, 1984;

Woman and Home (as Taking Possession) in Ellery Queens Mystery Magazine, 1982.

The Corder Figure, Private Gormans Luck, The Staring Man and Trace of Spice were first published in this collection.

He had passed the weekend in the cold store of Pugh the butchers. It was now Monday morning. The door was still shut. He was unconcerned. Quite early on Saturday evening he had given up beating his fists on the door and screaming for help. He had soon tired of jumping and arm-swinging to keep his circulation going. He had become increasingly drowsy as his brain had succumbed to the deprivation of oxygen. He had lain on the tiled floor below the glistening carcases and by Sunday morning he had frozen to death.

On the other side of the door Joe Wilkins filled two mugs with instant coffee. It was still only 8 a.m. and the shop didnt open until 8.30. He was Mr Pughs shop manager, forty-four, a master butcher, dark, good-looking with an old-fashioned Clark Gable moustache and quick, laughing eyes that had a way of involving everyone in the shop each time he passed a joke with a customer.

The second mug was for Frank, the apprentice butcher. Frank was eighteen and useful for heavy work. He earned extra money on Saturday nights as a bouncer in Staceys, the disco across the street. When the deliveries came from the slaughterers, Frank would take the sides of beef on his back as if they were pieces of polystyrene. The girls from Woolworths next door often came into the shop in their lunch-hour and asked Frank for rides on his motorbike. Frank got embarrassed when Joe Wilkins teased him about it.

Frank hung up his leather jacket and put on a clean apron. Joe was already wearing his straw boater. He watched the young man struggle awkwardly with the apron strings, tying a bow so loose that it was sure to fall apart as soon as he stretched up to lift a carcase off its hook.

Another heavy weekend, lad?

Not really, answered Frank, taking his coffee and slopping some on the chopping block. Same as usual.

Thats good to hear. Looks as if weve got a busy morning ahead of us.

Frank gave a frown.

Joe snapped his fingers. Come on, lad, whats different this morning, or havent you noticed yet?

Frank looked around the shop. Meats not out yet.

Right! And why not?

Percy isnt in.

Right again. By Jove, I was wrong about you. You ought to be on the telly with a mind as sharp as that. Why spend the rest of your life hacking at pieces of meat when you could earn millions sitting in an armchair answering questions? And now for five hundred and a holiday for two in the Bahamas, Mr Dobson, what do you think has happened to Percy?

Dunno, answered Frank.

You dont know? Come on, lad. Youre not trying.

He could have fallen off his bike again.

Thats more like it, said Joe as he took his knives and cleavers from the drawer behind the counter and started sharpening them. Get the window ready, will you?

Frank put down his coffee and looked for the enamel trays that usually stood in the shop window.

Joe said, Youre probably right about Percy. Hes too old to be in charge of a bike. Seven miles is a long way on a morning like this, with ice all the way up Bread and Cheese Hill and the motorists driving like lunatics. He was knocked in the ditch last week, poor old devil.

Where does he put the trays? asked Frank.

Trays?

For the meat in the window.

Arent they there, then? Joe put down his knife and went to look. Well, I never noticed that before. I suppose he puts them away somewhere. By the time I arrive, theyre always here. Have a look behind the deep-freeze cabinet. Got em? Good. Blowed if I understand why he bothers to do that.

Dust, I expect, said Frank.

Quite right. Wipe them over with a cloth, lad. I used to wonder what he did with himself before we arrived in the morning. Hes in by six, you know, regular. How about that? He must be up at five. Could you do that six mornings a week? And it gets no easier as you get older. Percy must be pushing seventy by now.

What does he do before we get in? asked Frank.

Well, its always spotless, isnt it?

I thought that was because he stays on of a night to clean up after we close.

So he does but theres always more dust by the morning. Percy wipes all the surfaces clean. He puts out the trays, and the cuts from the cold store, and hangs up the poultry, and opens a tin of liver and checks everything against the price list and puts out the tags and the plastic parsley, and the new-laid eggs and the packets of stuffing and bread sauce. I hope youre listening, lad, because I want all those jobs done before we open.

Frank gave another frown. You want me to do all that?

Who else, lad? said Joe in a reasonable voice. Its obvious that Percy isnt going to make it this morning, and Ive got the orders to get out.

He hasnt had a day off since I started last year, said Frank, still unable to believe his bad luck.

He hasnt had a day off in the twenty years Ive been working here. Six in the morning till seven at night, six days a week. And what for? Boys work. He does the work you ought to be doing, lad. No one else but Percy would stand for it. Fetching and carrying and sweeping up. Do you know, hes never once complained to me or Mr Pugh or anyone else. Youve seen him bent nearly double carrying in the carcases. A man of his age shouldnt be doing work like that. Its exploitation, thats what it is.

Why does he do it, then? Hes old enough to draw his pension.

Joe shook his head. He wouldnt be happy with his feet up. Hes spent the best years of his life working in this shop. He was here before Mr Pugh took it over. It was Slaters in those days. Yes, Percy can tell you some tales about the old days. It means a lot to him, working in this shop.

Frank gave a shrug and went to the cold store to get out the small joints left over from Saturday. The cold store consisted of two chambers, one for the chilled meat, the other for the frozen. He opened the door of the chiller and started taking out legs of lamb. He needed to hurry to fill the trays in the window by opening time.

Joe was still sharpening knives. He continued telling Frank about the injustices heaped on Percy. He gets no recognition for all the work he puts in. Blind loyalty, I call it, but there are some that would call it plain stupidity. Do you think Mr Pugh appreciates what Percy does? Of course he doesnt.

Hes never here, is he? contributed Frank, who was becoming quite skilful at fuelling Joes maledictions against their employer.

Thats a fact. To be fair to Mr Pugh, he has to look in at the market and collect the meat from the slaughterhouse, but that shouldnt take all day. It wouldnt hurt him to show his face here more often.

Frank gave a sly grin. It might hurt someone else.

What do you mean by that? asked Joe, taking offence.

Well, you and me. We dont want the boss breathing down our necks, do we?