Half-Baked Theory

There was just something about the way he trundled into the freezer, pulling that cool-box behind him like carry-on luggage.

Do cool boxes even go in the freezer? I rewound the tape, and watched him again. He didn't look round to see if anyone was watching, or glance in the direction of the camera. I couldn't put a finger on it. Call it a copper's hunch. Your Honour, he just acted too innocently... The search for his girlfriend, Maggie Thorogood, continued. All the while, that clip played over in my mind. We'd interviewed him already, of course. He pulled the right faces: shock (What?! Maggie's missing?!) grief (not Maggie! Oh Maggie, Maggie!) Even guilt (if only I'd stayed with her...) Your Honour, he was just too devastated... Albert Fleet was a study, that's what it was. His actions couldn't have been more convincing if he'd rehearsed them. One thing I've learned: listen to your hunches. Follow up on them. It's always worth following a thread. The brain is weird and mighty. It picks up on things the rest of you misses, and it pecks at you, tapping on the window and pointing. I had a chat with his supervisor. "Oh, no..." she frowned at the footage. "There's no need for him to take that into the freezer. We keep snacks in those..." It was a thin thread to go on, but that's what you do. There's a specific kind of mind drawn to this job. Namely: nosy, irritating pricks. Like me. The kind of person who just won't let little details go. We checked his car for blood, or traces of it. Nothing. We interviewed his colleagues at the factory, and we did turn up one interesting nugget: he'd been working someone else's shifts. Nothing changed on the rota. He clocked in as Pete Stanley, and swapped his red beanie for Pete's grey cap. Pete got paid for the work. But Albert didn't work in Fillings, and he didn't do nights.

His car was clean was because it was his mum's car. His own had been bleached and taken to a scrapyard just after Maggie disappeared.

So what was he doing, in the wrong department of a meat pie factory, in the dead of night?

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Word count: 366

(NB. This excludes the title, subtitle, and author's note.)

Submitted on Thursday 10th October at 22:22

Disclaimer: Any similarity to any person alive or dead is purely coincidental.

The story behind the story: You can probably spot the inspiration behind this one! It is of course, wildly unrealistic. I'm sure, looking like that, he'd have been arrested on sight!

This is for Marie Sinadjan's Spooky Bingo. I've gone with Cursed Cooking/Food Horror.

A Year of Stories: I'm writing (and submitting, here) a story every day this year. This continues my 284 daily micro-fiction story streak since 1st January.

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