‘Does this place run twenty-four hours?’ he said.
‘Yes – we run two shifts with an hour after each for a thorough cleaning,’ said Penrose. ‘The offices are manned overnight as well.’
Gavin watched as two men in navy security guard uniforms and yellow vests appeared at the end of a row and walked in the opposite direction, their focus on the next shelves in line.
‘What about at night? Do you maintain the same levels of security at all times?’
‘We have to, detective.’ Penrose shoved his hands in the pockets, his gaze determined as he warmed to his subject. ‘Food safety is a major focus for businesses like ours. The entire cold chain is dependent upon our suppliers and ourselves maintaining high levels of service so that all this food arrives fresh at its destination. No-one gets in here without the same rigorous health and safety checks you went through as a visitor.’
‘So if someone was found sneaking around…’
‘But they wouldn’t. That’s my point.’ Penrose pointed to the large steel doors that blocked off the far end of the cold warehouse. ‘Even the delivery drivers can’t access this place. Those doors are operated by a security system that only our employees have access to. The drivers stay by their vehicles at all times during the unloading and loading process – that’s as much about their own safety as food security – and all of our employees undertake stringent security checks. We simply can’t afford for the food to get contaminated.’
‘Could your security system be breached, or could someone tamper with it? Or perhaps…’ Gavin realised he sounded desperate, and clamped his mouth shut.
‘It’s a different world from a decade ago.’ Penrose gave him a rueful look. ‘We don’t just have to worry about the old threats such as E-coli forming naturally in food that isn’t stored correctly – now we have to ensure we can mitigate any risk of bio-terrorism, too.’
Gavin sighed, ran his gaze over the lines of enormous shelving units once more, then thanked Penrose and turned to leave.
Reaching his car after discarding the protective clothing and signing out at the distribution centre’s reception desk, he pulled out his mobile phone and pressed the speed dial.
‘Guv? I don’t think this is the place. We’re back to square one.’
Chapter Thirty-One
Kay shielded her eyes against the glare from the late morning sun and watched as a camera crew set up a new scene a few hundred metres away along the tree-lined lane.
The abandoned refrigerator truck had been removed by Harriet’s team late on Tuesday afternoon under cover of a protective tarpaulin, and only a remnant of blue-and-white crime scene tape fluttered pathetically from the trunk of a sycamore tree at the entrance to the track.
Kay fought her way through the undergrowth and picked at a knot in the plastic tape until it loosened, then tore it away and wrapped it around her fingers as she wandered back to the road.
She lifted her eyes from the asphalt to see Devon Sharp walking along the lane towards her.
‘Are they going to film the whole route from the last drop-off?’ she said.
‘Yes – they’ll edit it into a shorter sequence but I want to catch as many familiar landmarks for locals as possible.’ He stopped beside her and peered back at the camera crew. ‘I’m hoping that’ll help jog people’s memories.’
‘What about the CCTV footage we’ve got from the antiques shop?’
Sharp shook his head. ‘Might be too much information at the moment, until we know who that is. Especially given the situation with the drugs.’
A man in his early twenties holding a microphone on a long pole stood next to a refrigeration truck that Adele Marchant had loaned them for the purpose of the reconstruction. He looked bored, resting his weight on one foot while he rubbed the back of his leg with his scuffed shoe.
In front of him, the older cameraman leaned against the driver’s cab, pointing out the proposed angle along the lane he wanted the driver to take. He nodded, edged away and laughed before gesturing everyone away from the shot he wanted as he lifted the camera to his shoulder.
Kay frowned. ‘Anyone would think the way those two are carrying on that they’re filming a bloody commercial instead of the last moments of someone’s life.’
‘To them, it’s just another job,’ said Sharp, shoving his hands in his pockets. ‘Come on, let’s wait over here while they film this part so we’re not in the shot.’
He led the way over to a shallow lay-by, turning his back to the blackthorn hedgerow.
As Kay joined him, she heard the buzzing of bees, the air thick with sweet pollen. A tractor engine moved back and forth beyond the hedgerow, the scrape of machinery reaching her ears as it passed by with a hay baler lowered to the earth.
The countryside was still bursting with life at this time of year, contrasting starkly with the reminder that two men had lost their lives in such a horrific way.
She sighed, watching the truck drive past before someone yelled “cut” and the camera was lowered once more.
‘Do you want to move on to the next location?’ she said after the driver pulled over to the side of the lane to await further instructions.
‘Let’s speak to the reporters first,’ said Sharp. ‘At least that way we can answer any questions they’ve got as we go along rather than waiting until the end. It might help us tweak the planned footage if we think we’ve overlooked something.’
‘Okay.’
A small crowd gathered beside the sound engineer, a select group of journalists who were invited by the media relations team to attend the reconstruction and give a personal account of proceedings, rather than rely solely on the finished product.
Kay recognised Jonathan Aspley from the Kentish Times at the back of the group, the reporter holding his phone to his ear while he watched them approach.
He held up his hand in recognition, ended the call and broke away from the group.
‘Detective Hunter,’ he said, phone held out in front of him. ‘Does this reconstruction indicate that you have no suspects in the killing of Carl Taylor or Will Nivens?’
Six other reporters turned away from the sound engineer, their interest piqued.
Kay took one look at the eager faces, forced herself to remain calm and gave Jonathan a small smile.
‘Not at all, Mr Aspley. As you know from previous investigations you’ve covered, we have to gather as much evidence as possible to present a case to the Crown Prosecution Service. This reconstruction is simply a way to convey to the general public how important their contributions may be if they recall seeing Carl or Will in the last hours of their lives.’
‘Well done,’ Sharp murmured out the corner of his mouth. ‘Right, ladies and gentlemen. Two more questions, and then we must move on to the next location. Suzi?’
‘Was Carl Taylor having an affair?’
Kay bit back a snarl at the sight of the tabloid reporter.
Suzi Chambers had a reputation for sensationalism, something that had backfired on more than one occasion. Somehow, the woman had always managed to fight her way back, and it seemed she was once again seeking to use a murder investigation to further her career.
She heard Sharp take a deep breath before answering.
‘I’d expect a little more professionalism, even from you,’ he said. ‘Next question.’
Suzi’s smile faded as her shoulders dropped, evidently disappointed not to get the reaction she’d been seeking.
Kay shot her a glare, then listened as Sharp explained to a reporter from the local TV news station about what the police hoped to gain with the public’s help.
That done, the group dispersed to their cars.
She sighed as she followed the detective chief inspector back to his vehicle, and hoped the rest of her colleagues were having better luck with their endeavours.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Barnes looked up from his mobile phone screen as a woman in her late thirties hurried across Jubilee Square to
where he hovered beside a wooden bench.
The sound of her heels clacked over the decorative pavers laid by the borough council during the refurbishment several years ago that reflected the sun’s heat.
Barnes ran his finger around the collar of his shirt as she drew closer, already missing the air-conditioned incident room.
The woman’s navy skirt and matching jacket were made from a lightweight material, and she wore a cream blouse underneath. Noticing his gaze, she reached up and removed a name tag pinned above her left breast, tucking it into her handbag.
‘Mrs Luxford?’
‘Charlotte, please.’ She gestured to the bench. ‘Thanks for not coming to the office, Detective Barnes. I don’t think it would have gone down well, given that I’m still in my probationary period with them.’
‘How’s the job going? Are you enjoying it?’
She forced a smile. ‘I could do without having to work Saturdays. It’s money coming in though, that’s the main thing. Have you been through a divorce, detective?’
‘Once. That was enough.’
‘Exactly. I want what’s best for our daughters but it doesn’t mean I want to depend on Steve’s income to bring them up. Hence working for the estate agents. It’ll do for now.’ She placed her handbag between them, wrapping the leather strap around her fingers. ‘So, what did you want to talk to me about?’
‘We’re investigating the death of a man who was found murdered and left in a car––’
‘The man found at O’Connor’s place?’ She wrinkled her nose, her gaze moving to a group of teenagers who meandered past. ‘Yes, I heard about that. Steve put an offer in on the place a few weeks ago.’
‘He’s put in a lower offer since.’
Charlotte’s eyes snapped back to him, her mouth dropping open. ‘Really?’
‘You seem surprised.’
‘Well, it’s… unusual, isn’t it? I mean, I can’t imagine anyone wanting to buy a car from that place.’
‘Do you think your husband might be of the belief that if a new owner goes in there, things will pick up again?’
She bit her lip. ‘It’s possible, I suppose.’
‘Did you have any involvement in the last used car business Steve ran? The one over at Thanet?’
‘No.’ A smile almost appeared at the side of her mouth. ‘I was pregnant with our eldest at the time. He only ran it for a year anyway, and then had the opportunity to buy the car wash business.’
‘Why did he change to doing that?’
‘Steve has a short attention span, detective. He got bored and fancied a change. It’s the same this time around, I would imagine – three years is the longest I’ve known him stay in one place.’ She choked out a bitter laugh. ‘It’s why marriage didn’t suit him – or being a responsible parent.’
Barnes shifted in his seat to better see her face. ‘Charlotte, I need to ask you – do you have any suspicion that Steve might’ve been involved with anything illegal?’
He registered the shock that flashed in her eyes, and waited.
Eventually, she shook her head.
‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘Look, I know he probably knows some unsavoury characters – it comes with the trade from time to time, especially at that lower end of the market. I don’t think he’d do anything illegal, though.’
‘Could someone have used him to do something illegal? Blackmail, perhaps?’
‘No,’ she said vehemently, but then her face relaxed. ‘Steve wouldn’t do anything he didn’t want to do. Besides, why would someone blackmail him – and how? Steve might come across as a rough character but all he’s ever wanted is to get ahead in life.’
Barnes let his gaze slip away from her and bit back his frustration.
‘All right, Charlotte,’ he said eventually. ‘Thanks for your time. I appreciate it.’
She nodded, and rose from the bench, then paused and glanced over her shoulder at him.
‘I meant what I said about Steve. He was a crap husband, but he’s no killer, detective.’
Barnes leaned back as she walked away, and checked his watch.
Kay would still be at the crime scene reconstruction with Sharp.
He sighed, then looked up to see Charlotte Luxford disappear around a kink in the road and out of sight.
Somehow, he believed what she said about her husband.
He pushed himself off the wooden bench and unbuttoned his jacket as he turned down Gabriel’s Hill towards the police station.
‘We’re barking up the wrong tree,’ he muttered.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The next morning, Kay pulled her car into a free parking space outside the Kent Police headquarters at Northfleet and hurried towards the forecourt outside the four-storey modern office building.
A concrete framework surrounded darkened privacy glass that overlooked a busy main road sweeping along the north Kent coastline beside Gravesend.
The modern structure was a stark contrast to the red-brick late-1930s building that had housed the police headquarters until the previous year, and there were some detractors within West Division about the decision to move east.
Despite this, most of her colleagues from Sutton Road were enthusiastic about the move.
As Adam had pointed out, visiting here brought with it a different kind of risk for Kay though.
Ever since she and her team had uncovered a corrupt pair of officers working alongside one of the country’s worst people traffickers, she had avoided the place, unwilling to face the unspoken rancour from some who resented her eventual promotion to detective inspector at the expense of once-respected former colleagues.
And so she found herself here on a Sunday morning, hoping to avoid anyone who might take offence at her presence.
She carried a cardboard tray with two large takeout cups of coffee in one hand and swung her bag over her shoulder with the other, depositing her car keys inside as she crossed the concrete path and reached the front doors.
Kay swiped her security pass across a panel set into the wall and hurried up a flight of stairs, following signs for the digital forensics team. Reaching the landing, she made her way along a quiet corridor to the far end and rapped her knuckles against a beech-coloured door with a vision panel set into the wood above the handle.
Moments later, a figure moved into view and she heard a beep before the locking mechanism released.
‘Morning, Hunter.’
‘Thanks for doing this, Andy.’
‘I have no social life. You’re lucky.’ Grey’s mouth twitched as he closed the door behind her and led the way over to a set of six screens.
‘How’re you settling in over here?’ she said, handing him one of the coffees and gazing out of the window. ‘The view’s not much better, is it?’
‘As if I have time to stare out there and daydream,’ he muttered, running a hand through unruly hair. ‘We still haven’t located a box of camera lenses that went walkabout during the move from Maidstone.’
‘Oops.’ Kay took a sip from her takeout cup and pointed at the screens. ‘How did you get on with our CCTV footage – anything useful?’
‘Actually, that’s been one bright beacon of light in an otherwise crappy week, Hunter.’ He waved her to one of two pedestal chairs next to the desk and sank into the other. ‘I’ll start with the bad news first, though. This recording here, the one the antiques shop owner provided, is about as good as we’re going to get – and I’m afraid it’s of no use to you at all.’
Kay squinted at the pixelated image on the first screen and sighed. ‘If this is your idea of progress, Andy…’
‘Hang on – remember I said this week wasn’t all shit. Look at this one.’ He tapped the middle screen and then moused over the controls to zoom in. ‘This is a CCTV camera outside a newsagent in Sittingbourne. This man here walks out of this alleyway and gets onto a moped parked outside the shop. And this is a different angle showing him entering the alleyway at the other end, cl
ose to a firm of solicitors. So, he’s probably—’
‘—the bloke who was watching Helen Taylor.’ Kay’s voice held a note of wonder as the digital forensics expert clicked on a sequence of buttons and a new photograph appeared on screen with greater clarity. ‘That’s perfect.’
A fresh excitement surged through her as she looked from one image to the other, and then her gaze fell on the sequence of numbers displayed at the bottom of each screen.
‘Shit. Hang on – this can’t be our bloke. Look at the time stamp on here – he couldn’t have been watching Helen’s office then. This is the same timeframe we know Carl’s truck tyres got slashed.’
‘He was watching her,’ said Andy, holding up two enlarged images. ‘They’re two different people.’
Kay took the photographs from him and immediately saw what he meant.
The first figure, the moped rider, was slight in build and appeared to be in his late teens or early twenties.
The second man was older, bulkier, and moved with the gait of someone with a knee injury or similar, his weight taken by his left leg as he paused to cross the busy intersection.
‘Please tell me you know who they are,’ she said, handing the photographs back to Andy.
He smiled, and tapped the image of the younger man. ‘I’ve only managed to get the name of one of them through DVLA records – Adrian Whitely, seventeen. The records show that he lives with his dad in Boxley.’
‘Well, one out of two isn’t bad, I’ll give you that,’ she said, already pushing her chair back.
‘I reckon if you have a quiet word with him within earshot of his dad, you might find out who this other bloke is, too.’
Kay winked, and patted his shoulder. ‘Best I go and ruin their weekend then, don’t you think?’
Chapter Thirty-Four
Laura smoothed down her suit jacket and hovered outside the closed door of interview room three, her excitement tempered by the fresh memory of a terrified teenager being shown into the room ten minutes before.
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