Adam was still feeling raw when he got into his car and wondered, not for the first time, whether running around town trying to solve a crime—if it was a crime at all—was a good idea.
He realised that perhaps the energy he had devoted to those other “cases” was because his life had been empty at the time. There’d been no real job, no relationship and he’d been living with his mother. The thought of solving a crime was exciting, but maybe it was only exciting when you had the time to do it and nothing to lose.
Now, here he was, trying to ask the most important question he’d ever ask anyone, and instead of being able to say it, he was being called away to question an old man who’d been snubbed for this year’s department store Santa role.
He started the engine, and sat stewing while waiting for the blower to defrost the windscreen. When it finally worked its magic, he reversed carefully out of the space and made his way into town.
Colin huddled in the corner booth of the coffee shop, trying to keep away from the cold wind whistling in through the automatic door that was almost exclusively open. One hand was wrapped around a steaming mug of hot chocolate and the other scrolled through pictures on his phone.
It felt strange, judging people solely on their looks and a few spartan lines about their lives, but such was the way with dating apps.
Things were looking up for Colin. He’d landed a managerial role in a job he cared deeply about, and he was living in a decent enough flat in a nice part of town. But, truth be told, he was lonely.
Since Adam had found Helena, he’d seen less of his friend. Which, of course, was natural. And he was happy for him, but sometimes he wished that after a long day at work, he could come home and lie on the sofa and tell his girlfriend about his day.
So, here he was, scrolling through photos of girls in the hope that one would catch his eye. A few had, already, and they’d exchanged some messages but the chat had quickly died out.
What he really wanted was to meet someone the old-fashioned way—technology free. He wanted someone to catch his eye across the bar, to bump into someone as they pushed through a door at the same time; the pile of papers she’d be carrying would scatter and they’d spend a few laughter filled moments collecting them, their hands brushing on the last sheet.
He’d told this to Adam once.
Adam, in return, had told him that if he’d knocked a load of important papers out of a girl’s hands in real life, she’d call him a couple of choice names, refuse his help, and that’d be that.
He was probably right.
A breeze blew through the coffee shop again, and with it came an unhappy looking Adam.
‘You alright?’ Colin asked, as Adam took the seat opposite him.
‘I was about to ask Helena to marry me when you phoned.’
‘Ah, man. Sorry! You should’ve told me to do one!’
‘It’s okay,’ Adam said, softening. ‘It probably wasn’t the best way to do it anyway. Ben Shepherd, you know?’
Colin didn’t know.
‘Having the ring in the house is making me feel uneasy, is all,’ Adam continued. ‘I just hate all the pussyfooting around.’
‘I hear you. I really am sorry. If I’d known, I would never have called you.’
‘It’s fine, honestly. What have you got?’
‘Barry found out that Tom Little isn’t going to be the Baldwin’s Santa this year?’
‘What?’ Adam was gobsmacked. ‘But he’s as close to the real thing as it’s possible to get.’
‘I know. And apparently it was going to be his twenty-fifth year.’
‘A quarter of a century? A landmark! Have you spoken to him?’
‘No, I thought we’d go and see him now.’
‘You know where he lives?’
‘No, but I know where he works.’ Colin pointed across the street at the pound shop which had taken up the prestigious space once held by M&S.
‘Stonebridge’s Santa Claus to pound shop seasonal drone. What a fall from grace.’
‘Right?’
‘Does Barry know who was going to be the Baldwin’s Santa this year?’
‘I’ll give you three guesses,’ Colin said, as he grabbed his stuff and slid out of the booth.
The Stonebridge pound shop was a depressing place to be at the best of times, but at Christmas it was like walking into the seventh circle of Hell itself. It was heaving with bodies; little old ladies who battered their way through the crowd with walking sticks, stressed-looking mothers with screaming children who wanted every toy they came across, and flustered, middle-aged men who were simply panic buying whatever they could get their hands on.
Adam and Colin fought through the sea of people, searching for old Tom.
They found him, trying to placate a woman whose face was as red as a tomato. Someone, apparently, had taken the last roll of Paw Patrol wrapping paper.
‘We have Peppa Pig,’ Tom said, holding up a roll to show her.
‘And how is that going to help?’ the woman shouted back. ‘My kids only like Paw Patrol. It’s the only thing they watch. So how is this Peppa Pig roll going to work?’
Tom apologised, despite not having done anything wrong, and when she sighed and turned her back, he raised a middle finger in her direction. He just about managed to get his hand to his nose, turning the rude salute into a passable impression of a scratch. She gave him the evil eye and made her way towards the exit.
Tom picked up a pile of mince pie boxes and started to stack the depleted shelves.
‘Mr Little,’ Adam said, approaching him through the crowd. ‘Would it be possible to have a few minutes of your time?’
‘I’m a bit busy,’ he said, looking over his shoulder. ‘What can I help you with?’
‘We have a few questions we’d like you to answer.’
‘I’m behind schedule here. Can you tell me what you’re looking for and I can guide you to an aisle?’
‘It’s about Gerald Agnew.’
He dropped the mince pie boxes at the mention of the name, and turned to give the boys his full attention.
‘I’ve got a break in about twenty minutes. It’s a short one, mind. Meet me out the front.’
He emerged twenty-five minutes later, his blue shop vest replaced with a heavy overcoat. His thick, white hair was combed to the side and his bushy beard bobbed with each step he took. He nodded curtly at them and led them to a side street, where he pulled a cigarette packet out of his pocket and lit up.
Watching the only Father Christmas you’ve ever known inhale from the toxic stick was an odd sensation, and a little bit of Adam’s childhood died with the flicker of the lighter.
‘Shame about poor Gerald,’ Tom said. ‘He was an annoyance round town, always asking for money and that, but freezing to death is no way to go.’
‘He didn’t freeze to death,’ Adam said. ‘He was killed.’
Tom looked sceptical.
‘That’s not what it said in the paper. Anyway,’ he glanced at his watch, ‘I know the two of you—what you get up to. What’s this got to do with me?’
‘How did it feel being canned from the Santa gig?’ Colin said.
‘Canned? God, you boys watch too much American TV. Look, I’d had a good run at it.’
‘But you expected it to be you again this year, right?’
‘Well, I assumed I’d be picked again, yes. Baldwin was making all the right noises, but in the end, he chose Gerald.’
‘And how did you feel about that?’
‘What do you want me to say?’ He laughed. ‘I was annoyed, naturally.’
‘Decent money being Santa,’ Colin said.
‘Not to mention the kudos,’ Adam added. ‘Making loads of kids happy. To go from that, to having to deal with the likes of that woman who treated you like a slug on the bottom of her shoe. That must sting.’
‘I know what you’re trying to get me to say, but you don’t know the half of it.’
‘You must’ve been angry.’
‘Yeah, alright, I was angry. Happy? How would you have felt? You’re the king of Christmas for all those years and now you’re having to stack shelves for hours on end, at my age. I was angry, alright? But not with Gerald.’
‘Baldwin?’
Tom nodded. ‘I always thought Kyle Baldwin was a stand-up guy. His father had been, so I thought his son would follow in the same mould. Sure, I’d heard the stories of how he treats some of his workers and stuff like that, but he was always dead on with me. And then I hear that he’s gone and hired Gerald. Second hand. Didn’t even have the cajones to tell me to my face. Got that bimbo secretary of his to do it for him.’
‘So, what did you do?’ Adam asked.
‘What did I do? I did what every self-respecting Northern Irishman does when faced with a hardship—I went to the nearest pub and had a drink, bitched about it a lot and then I moved on.’
‘And that’s that?’
‘That’s that,’ he nodded. ‘Look, I know you two see yourselves as mini-Sherlocks. I’ve read the papers. You’re good, better than that idiot Whitelaw. But I doubt there’s a case here. Gerald was your classic drunk. If he didn’t freeze to death, like the papers said, his liver probably gave up on him. It’s no way to go, but it’s not like it he didn’t bring it on himself.’
‘There’s a Santa gig going now,’ Colin said.
‘Aye, he’s been on the phone to me, ol’ Kyle. I told him he could shove the Santa job up his…’
The end of the sentence was left unfinished, as Tom’s manager chose the opportune moment to find him and remind him that break was over and his shift was due to start again.
Tom nodded at them, and told them that they were wasting their time. He wished them a Merry Christmas and then followed his boss back to work.
‘I think if I’d actually heard Santa say the word “arse” then, it would’ve ruined my Christmas,’ Colin said, as they left the side street.