He exhaled a snort of smoke. "Like I got the option, you mean?"
"What's your side of the story? I've heard theirs. You couldn't deny pilfering the goods, I understand. You were caught with them. Red-handed, as it were."
He reached for one of the pipe-cleaners and wound it round his index finger, the cigarette between his lips and his glance directed at the half-assembled spider on the table. He reached for a pair of wire cutters and snipped a second pipe-cleaner in half. Each half became a leg of the spider. Glue served to hold the leg to the body, and he meticulously applied this from a tube.
"Malik's make it sound like grand larceny or something? Jeez, it was less than two boxes of the stuff. Thirty-six jars in a box. It's not like I broke the bank. And anyways, I didn't take straight mustard or jelly or sauce, did I, which might've cocked up some major punter's big order. I mixed it all up."
"Creating a variety pack. I get it."
He shot Barbara a black look before giving his attention back to the spider. It had an authentic-looking segmented body created out of differing sizes of sponge. Glancing at it, Barbara wondered idly how the body segments were attached to one another. With glue?
With staples? Or had young Mr. Ruddock used wire? She looked for a spool of it on the table, but in addition to the spider paraphernalia, the surface was a jumble of insect books, unfolded newspapers, half-melted candles, and tool boxes. She couldn't see how he managed to locate anything on it.
"I was told that Mr. Querashi sacked you. Is that the story?"
"I guess it is if that's what you've heard."
"D'you have a different version, then?" Barbara looked for an ashtray but didn't see one.
Trevor shoved an empty custard carton in her direction.
Its insides were gritty with ash. She added to this.
"Whatever," he said.
"Were you sacked unfairly? Did Querashi act too quickly?"
Trevor looked up from the spider. Barbara noticed for the first time that he had a tattoo beneath his left ear. It was a spider's web with an unpleasantly realistic-looking crawlie picking its way towards the centre. "Did I kill him because he gave me the sack? That what you're asking?" Trevor worked his fingers over the spider's pipe-cleaner legs, plucking at the covering until it resembled hairs. "I'm not stupid, you know. I seen the Standard today. I know the police are calling this a murder. I figgered you'd be round to poke at me, or someone like you. And here you are. I got a motive, don't I?"
"Why don't you tell me about your relationship with Mr. Querashi, Trevor?"
"I nicked some jars from the labelling and packing room. I worked in shipping, so it was dead easy. Querashi caught me and sacked me, he did.
And that's the story of our relationship." Trevor gave a sarcastic emphasis to the final word.
"Wasn't that risky, pinching jars from the packing room when you didn't work in the packing room?"
"I didn't nick them when anyone was there, did I? Just a jar here and a jar there during breaks and lunch. And just enough to have something to flog in Clacton."
"You were selling them? Why? Did you need extra money? What for?"
Trevor pushed himself away from the table. He went to the window and thrust back the curtains.
Lit by the day's pitiless sun, the room displayed cracked walls and hopelessly shabby furnishings.
In spots, the rug on the floor was worn through to its backing. For some reason, a black line had been painted onto it, dividing the sleeping from the working areas.
"My dad can't work. And I got this stupid wish to keep the family off the streets. Charlie helps by doing odd jobs round the neighbourhood, and sometimes Stella gets hired to baby-sit. But there's eight of us here and we get hungry. So Mum and I sell what we can at the market square in Clacton."
"And the jars from Malik's became part of what you could sell."
"Tha's right. Just part of the lot and at a cut-rate price. I don't see that it did any harm anyways.
It's not like Mr. Malik sells his jellies and stuffs round here. Just to posh shops and snooty hotels and restaurants."
"So you were actually doing the consumer a favour?"
"Maybe I was." He leaned his bum against the window sill and played with the cigarette in his mouth, turning it with his thumb and index finger.