Nine things on it.
Tinned soup. Batteries, the small ones. Bread. A tube of the cream for his hands. Washing powder. Teabags. Two tins of cat food. Light bulbs. A birthday card.
That is the unusual combination. That is what Judge Clathorne could not make sense of from a security camera.
It is a shopping list. It is a perfectly ordinary shopping list for a man of a hundred and one who lives on his own on Sallow Lane.
Every item on it is crossed through.
At the bottom, in capitals, underlined twice: PAID.
ITEM 2. THE SAME LIST, THE OTHER ONE.
There are four of them.
I found the first in the pocket of his coat in the March, when I took it to be cleaned for him.
The others came later, out of the same coat and out of a drawer, and they are all nearly the same.
Four lists, four sets of crossings-out, four times PAID in capitals at the bottom.
