Chapter 9
NINE
Sandra was way behind this week. She had the tiny, converted toilet block that was now a one-bedroom Airbnb at the bottom of her list to go clean, but there were no bookings until next month, so she had skipped it every day this week.
It wasn’t as if it would take her long to clean.
Although she was supposed to have checked the last renters had left the day they were due to check out.
She hadn’t got around to it because her mum had fallen and broken her hip, so she’d had to rush up to the hospital with her.
Then in between hospital visits, picking kids up from school and working her day job cleaning at the police station, everything had slipped.
The CID office was empty which meant she could hoover without disturbing anyone.
She hated being in there when the coppers were working.
Even though they were lovely and always chatted to her, she didn’t want to be a bother to them, as they were always so busy.
As she ran the hoover around, she did her utmost best not to glance up at the whiteboard on the wall.
It always had the scariest, saddest pictures of murder victims Blu-tacked to it, and sometimes they gave her nightmares.
She had no idea how the detectives could go home and sleep at night after seeing the stuff they did.
It was even scarier to think that one of them had been a serial killer.
How did that work? How had he got into the job in the first place?
She knew which desk had been his – it was the one that had been cleared of everything and had nothing but a computer sitting on it now.
A shudder ran down her spine; he’d seemed so nice.
Always said hello to her, had even offered her a coffee once when he was brewing up.
Thankfully she’d said no, preferring to be in and out of there as quickly as possible.
How did a monster like that hide away from everyone? She turned around quickly, managing to whack her knee on the corner of a desk, and swore loudly, rubbing it.
Flicking the duster around the mountains of paperwork on the desks, she emptied the bins and sprayed some air freshener around to make the place smell a little sweeter.
It always smelled of coffee in here, which, depending upon the mood she was in, either made her feel sick or crave a milky latte.
Today she really wanted a latte and decided to grab one on the way to go sort out the old toilets down on Rydal Road, in case the woman who owned them decided to do a spot check, and then she’d be in trouble.
Although she doubted that would happen as she lived in Spain, and her only contact with her was by email.
Latte in hand, she walked out of the café and headed down towards Rydal Road.
The council had decided to sell the public toilets, much to all the local residents’ complaints.
She didn’t understand it herself. Why sell off toilets to make a bit of cash?
It wasn’t as if they had sold for hundreds of thousands of pounds.
You would never tell from looking at it now that they had been the place where thousands of tourists had gone to relieve themselves.
It was all wooden cladding and slate with big windows, and it was pretty with lots of potted shrubs and a pea gravel path.
The blinds were still drawn which made her wonder if she had fucked up.
What if the last guests hadn’t left and she’d let them stay here rent-free for almost a whole week?
Fishing the key out of her jeans pocket she hurried up the little path to the front door and let herself in.
‘Hello, is anyone here?’
Sandra called out as she hovered in the doorway. She looked at the shoes on the floor and coats hanging on the hook, her stomach sinking. She’d never had to throw anyone out before. What was she supposed to do now?
‘Hey, I’m coming in, it’s the cleaner.’ Her voice fell flat as she walked into the tiny open-plan-living/kitchen area.
There was a small table with a laptop, microphone and notebooks next to it.
Her stomach was in knots, and the latte she’d been sipping tasted sour in the back of her throat.
The cheeky buggers hadn’t left, they were still here and she was going to be in so much trouble for not coming to check the day they were supposed to have checked out.
There was nobody here right now thankfully.
The bedroom door was wide open, the bed covers were messed up and there were clothes strewn over it.
Just to be sure she knocked on the shower room door before opening it.
That was the same – dirty towels on the floor; the shower was dry, but the glass screen was dirty, covered in soap scum and fingerprints.
Sandra felt as if she was going to pass out.
What the hell did she do now? If she contacted the owner, she would be in deep shit.
She got her phone out and checked the app to see if there had been a last-minute booking, but if there had wouldn’t she be in trouble for leaving the place a mess?
Whoever had rented it would have been in touch with Airbnb to complain about the state it was in, which meant those two women who had booked it for four days hadn’t left, that was the only explanation that made sense.
This was all she needed on top of everything else.
She took out her phone to ring the support line, but she knew that, ultimately, she was going to have to call the cops, because if the guests weren’t here, but their stuff was, where the hell were they?