Heart Of A Spider - Season 1 - Episode 18

Episode 4 years ago

Heart Of A Spider - Season 1 - Episode 18

“Could you please follow me? I need to ask you a few questions.”

Kendal escorted the girl inside the shop well away from the hounding media.
The girl started to tremble. Her eyes quickly turned red. She buried her face in her hands a full
two seconds before breaking out into uncontrollable sobs.

“It’s okay. This isn’t your fault.”
Looking up at Kendal the girl exhaled. She appeared to relax slightly. Though her face looked
tense and her shoulders were slumped, her eyes were drying.

“Is your boss here yet?” asked Kendal.
“No Sir, not as yet.”
“Sir makes me sound old.”
Claire walked over chuckling. She needed to clamp a hand over her mouth to stop.
“That’s enough out of you, partner.” Kendal grinned knowing his plan to relax the girl further
seemed to have the desired effect. “May I call you Trish?”

The girl looked a little-taken-a-back.
“It’s on a plastic name tag next to the register. Seeing how you’re not wearing one, I’ve put
two and two together and assume you forgot to wear it.”

“Please don’t let my boss know. She expects me to wear it.”

“Your secret is safe, however, I think you should put it on. Judging by the commotion outside your boss might have arrived.”

Trish flashed a tense look before sprinting for her nametag, pinning it to her shirt.

“Do you have any idea why there’s a manhole in the ceiling above the change cubicles?”
asked Kendal when the girl returned.

“No. They might be new. I’ve only been working in the shop for a week.”


A woman wearing a grey skirt and white shirt pushed her way through the crowd of
onlookers. She stepped into the shop, a furious expression on her face. Marching across the floor
to the counter she glared at the girl.
“Trish, I demand you tell me what’s going on and who these three people are?”

The girl burst into tears again, hiding behind Claire.

“Who are you?” asked Kendal focusing on the woman.

“I’m the owner of this shop. I’m not happy. Young lady, do you have any idea how much
money I’m losing? I have a good mind to sack you.”

“Don’t do it,” urged Kendal. He glossed over the formalities, explaining the situation in ten
words.

His statement melted Trish’s boss’ hardened heart. Her shoulders slumped. She even
plastered a caring smile on her face. Before her mood changed Kendal aimed his questions at the
owner.

“Why is there a manhole cover in all three cubicles?”


The woman walked to the change rooms to study each one in turn. Turning to face Kendal she
wore a frown.


“I’ve no idea. They weren’t there three days ago.”

Walking back to Trish she reached to comfort the young girl by draping her arm over her
shoulders.

“Sweetheart, it’s ok. I apologize for my outburst. Detectives, this is my daughter, Trish.”
“We’ve met,” answered Kendal. “Have no fear over the escape. They won’t be back. You can re-open your shop now if you like.”

“Thank you. I’m Barbara.”

The group shook hands. A few more questions were asked before the shop re-opened.

The moment Kendal stepped outside the shop he was immediately peppered by camera
flashes and lightning questions. He confidently stood facing the reporters. When he spoke, poise
and sophistication were written on his face.

“There is no comment at this time. Thank you.”
“Come on detective, you have to give us something,” stated a female reporter. She was
dressed to impress in light blue pants and a white blouse. She looked tall and reeked of
professionalism. “The public has a right to know. Is this robbery and the rumour of an escape
married?”

“Any rumours you may have heard should be acknowledged as hearsay. The shop is open for
business. I’ve no further comment.”
“Is the escapee dangerous?”

Kendal whirled around on his toes as if he changed his mind and about to give the media what they wanted to hear. He waved them away, re-entering the shop.
“Sugar, Trish apparently grew concerned about the guard’s, shall we say, ‘lack of appeal.’
She questioned Burrows. He told her to go away. She rang her mother then she rang the police.”
“It’s quite an achievement for a fifteen-year-old. Claire, escort the girl out the back to the tearoom and grab a statement from her, I’ll be checking out the cubicles.” He beckoned Barbara over.

“How long have you owned the shop?”
“Two months. I inherited the place from my brother when he died.”

“Condolences to you and your family,” whispered Kendal.

“Don’t bother. He was a jerk, a real idiot.”
“Sounds like you didn’t get along?”
“Have you ever heard the saying, ‘black paws on a white dog?”

“I can’t say I’ve heard that one before. It sounds rare.”

“He was rare alright, a nut case, a real slime ball. He never spent money and he treated people
in such a way it’s embarrassing just to think about it.”

“I can conjure up a picture. Is the shop a success?”

“No. What’s it got to do with this mess?”
Kendal shrugged. “Have you a ladder I can use?”

“Yes, it’s out the back in the tea-room.”
Kendal found the aluminum ladder and forced the manhole cover in the middle cubicle to
open slightly.


“Will this take long?” asked Barbara, glancing at the faces of the shoppers looking their way.
“No.”

Kendal forced the manhole cover to the fully open position. To aid, in his search, he used his
mobile phone by shining its inbuilt light into the roof. He grabbed the knotted rope and watched it
unravel to the floor.

Claire emerged from the tea-room in time to see her partner dusting himself down.