Frozen by Lindsay Jayne Ashford

He was being condescending.
    â€˜Happy now?’
    She bit her tongue, realising there wasn’t much else she could do.
    *   *   *
    When Megan got home she flicked on the hall light and hung up her coat. As she did so something caught her eye. On the shelf above the hall radiator was a display of shells brought back from Borth. She had arranged them in three groups, each with a piece of driftwood behind it. But someone had re-arranged them: the shells were all together at one end of the shelf and the three pieces of driftwood at the other.
    Had Emily done it? Megan frowned. It was more than a week since her niece’s last visit. Surely she would have noticed before now? She hastily re-arranged the shells and the wood, feeling slightly uneasy. Tony was the only other person with a key. Had he been sneaking around while she was at work? She couldn’t imagine why. He’d cleared out his stuff months ago. Perhaps it was time to get the locks changed. The image of Tina Jackson on the mortuary slab leapt into her mind and she shuddered.
    *   *   *
    Delva Lobelo hadn’t enjoyed her supper very much. Whenever she was on a late shift she had to decide between venturing into the city centre to eat in a restaurant or going to the BTV canteen.
    Either way she usually ended up eating alone, so it was a straight choice between good food eaten in public or lousy food eaten in private. She usually went to the canteen because it was less hassle. Being stared at by curious members of the public made her feel like an animal in a zoo.
    Tonight the canteen menu had plumbed new depths. The top layer of the vegetable lasagna would not have looked out of place wrapped around the wheel of a mountain bike and the cheesecake tasted like toothpaste.
    Delva took the lift back up to the newsroom. Her stomach felt heavy and her waistband was uncomfortably tight. It had been a nightmare of a day and she found herself wishing away the next three hours, longing for home and bed.
    Before she reached her desk she saw something on it that made her feel sick. It was another pastel-coloured envelope. Someone must have put it there while she was in the canteen. She spun round, her eyes scanning the rows of empty desks. The only other person in the room was the night sub. Delva strode across to the other woman’s desk.
    â€˜Jane – did you put this on my desk?’
    â€˜No – what is it? Not another pervy letter?’
    â€˜Looks like it.’ Delva’s eyes were blazing as she ripped it open. ‘Oh my God … look at this!’
    â€˜Bloody hell, Delva, that’s appalling. I mean, this is something else, isn’t it? That’s a Polaroid photograph – not something he’s cut out of a magazine.’
    â€˜Did you see anyone come in here while I was in the canteen?’
    â€˜No. I nipped out for a sandwich but I was only gone ten minutes or so.’
    Delva marched down the stairs to the front desk.
    â€˜Have you let anyone other than staff into the building over the past hour?’
    The security guard was a scrawny, elderly man and Delva towered over him. Her abrupt manner took him by surprise and he stared blankly at her for a moment before glancing at the visitors book in front of him.
    â€˜Er, no. Not since twenty-five to seven.’
    â€˜Who came in then?’
    â€˜A guest for the programme: Stuart Booth. You know – you interviewed him about the turkey rustlers.’
    Delva sighed impatiently. ‘I know who he is. Look, is your boss still in the building?’
    â€˜Er, I shouldn’t think so, no. Shall I check for you?’
    Delva took a deep breath, trying not to lose her temper. ‘Yes, if it’s not too much trouble.’ She barked out the words and the man fumbled with his walkie-talkie, turning his face from her withering gaze.
    â€˜Hello, Frank? Has Dave Simon gone home?’ The walkie-talkie squawked a reply