Adrian Whitely was accompanied by his father, a man in his fifties who emanated an attitude problem and stank of stale body odour.
The man had glared at her as he passed in the wake of his son and Harry Davis, the custody suite sergeant on duty that weekend.
By comparison, the teenager appeared shrunken within the baggy jeans and ill-fitting white T-shirt that spilled over his waistline, his feet shoved into branded training shoes that were so large they made the rest of his skinny frame resemble a hockey stick.
Harry had nodded to her as he left, then returned moments later with an officious man in a crumpled suit that looked as if it had been fished out of the laundry basket in a hurry – introducing him as the solicitor requested by the family – before showing the man into the room.
Laura slapped a manila folder against her trouser leg and paced the tiled floor while she waited for Kay to join her, her eyes skimming the pages of her notebook.
There was nothing to suggest the teenager had a history of trouble. His name had never appeared on a juvenile charge, or been associated with anyone the police were interested in.
So why now?
‘Has his brief arrived yet?’
Laura raised her eyes from her notes as Kay approached, and jerked her chin at the door. ‘Got here a couple of minutes ago.’
‘Okay, well, that’s long enough for them to get acquainted. Let’s make a start.’
With that, the detective inspector swiped her card across the lock and pushed her way into the room, walking to the table and dropping a stack of manila folders in front of the teenager.
Adrian’s eyes widened at the pile of documentation, and Laura bit back a smile.
No doubt the teenager was wondering how it was that his short life had filled so many pages, while she knew Kay used the gesture as a way to assert her authority over her young interviewee.
In fact, Adrian Whitely’s life to date filled less than three pages of notes within the file in Laura’s hand – and the majority of that was from a copy of a meagre résumé he’d posted online nine months ago that was buried on the internet amongst his social media and a feeble attempt at a profile on a popular job-hunting website.
Laura reached out and pressed the “record” button on the machine at the far end of the table and kept her gaze steady as she recited the formal caution and introduced the people in the room. That done, she rested an arm on the table and listened as Kay began the interview.
‘Before we begin, I must make clear that you are only here to act as legal guardian for your son, is that clear, Mr Whitely? I won’t tolerate any attempts to sway Adrian’s answers to my questions,’ said the detective inspector. ‘Nor will I put up with any interruptions. If there is a legal issue or concern with the direction this formal interview takes, it is up to Adrian’s solicitor to interject. Do you understand?’
Laura watched as Whitely turned a darker shade of red, his jaw clenching.
Silence descended on the room for a few moments before he nodded.
‘All right,’ he said sulkily.
The teenager swallowed as Kay’s eyes swept to him.
‘Adrian, I have to say I’m surprised someone as young as you is involved in a double murder but stranger things have happened.’ Kay flipped open the manila folder on the top of the stack before her, and pulled out a photograph.
The seventeen-year-old turned grey at the sight of Will Nivens’ frozen form laid out on one of Lucas’s mortuary gurneys, his eyes widening at the gruesome image. He wiped his mouth with his sweatshirt sleeve before lowering his arm to his lap.
‘I don’t know ’im. Never seen ’im before in me life,’ he blurted.
His voice shook, a sudden reminder that here was someone on the brink of becoming an adult and barely out of his childhood.
Laura resisted the urge to sneer at him, battening down her frustration that he had something to hide and willing her superior officer to eke out the information they so desperately needed.
‘Okay,’ said Kay briskly as she flipped over another photograph. ‘What about this woman?’
Adrian took one look at the image of Helen Taylor and blinked. He shuffled in his seat, both hands clasped between his legs, then shrugged.
‘Answer the question, Adrian,’ Kay snapped. ‘I can hold you here for twenty-four hours. Thirty-six if my DCI signs off on it, and trust me – he will. Two men are dead, and you’re our only suspect. Start talking.’
The teenager sniffed. He studiously avoided looking at his father, whose gaze bored into him, a silent fury oozing from the large man.
Kay turned to the solicitor. ‘Do you think it might be prudent to ask Mr Whitely to leave the room, in case Adrian is more comfortable talking to us without him present?’
Laura held her breath, relieved she wasn’t the only one sensing the undercurrent of tension between father and son. She was sure that Adrian knew something but Kay was right – he wasn’t going to talk.
Not yet.
The solicitor cleared his throat and leaned back in his seat until he could see past Adrian to his father. ‘The detective inspector may have a point, Mr Whitely. Would you mind?’
‘Of course I bloody mind!’ Whitely pushed back his chair and jabbed his finger towards Kay. ‘He’s my bloody son and you’re threatening him.’
‘Mr Whitely,’ said Kay, ‘if you don’t rein in your attitude problem right now, I will have no choice but to evict you from this room anyway. Adrian will be taken to the cells, and we’ll continue when you calm down. Alternatively, you can do as Adrian’s solicitor suggests. It’s up to you.’
She glared up at the man, her features calm while she waited for his answer.
Whitely stood with his fists clenched as if ready to fight and Laura lowered her hand to the table, her fingers seeking out the emergency button located under the metal framework.
Eventually he turned on his heel, rapped on the door and left the room, brushing past the uniformed constable outside without a backward glance.
Adrian let out a sigh and rubbed his hands down his face. ‘Thank fuck for that. I thought he was going to kick off in here for a minute.’
Kay didn’t pause to let the teenager relax.
Instead, she brushed aside the two photographs and slapped another on the table – the one Andy Grey had cleaned up from the CCTV images of the figure spotted beside Carl Taylor’s truck.
‘Who’s this man?’
Adrian fiddled with the drawstring of his hoodie, running the cord back and forth across his lips as he peered at the photograph. ‘I don’t know.’
‘He was recorded on camera slashing the tyres of that truck parked in the background. Why would he do that?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know who he is.’
‘Let’s see if this helps to jog your memory.’
Kay reached under the first folder, flipped open a second and pulled out a further image.
The one showing Carl Taylor laid out on a gurney.
‘Oh, Jesus.’ Adrian reared back in his seat once more. ‘Who the fuck is he?’
‘A man by the name of Carl Taylor.’ Kay ignored his discomfort and laid out a sequence of four images, all depicting the bundle of cocaine found at Carl’s house.
‘Tell me about this,’ she said, tapping her finger on the nearest one. ‘Why would almost a kilo of drugs be hidden in the backyard drain of a dead man?’
‘I don’t know.’ Adrian’s voice shook as his gaze shifted from Kay to his solicitor, then back. ‘Honest, I don’t.’
Kay turned over a further image that showed Carl Taylor’s body in situ on the back seat of the car. ‘I’d like to know why this man was first left to freeze to death in the back of his delivery truck before being moved and dumped in the back of a car at Mike O’Connor’s used car garage.’
‘What?’
Adrian leaned forward, his brow puckering as he peered closer at the photograph.
‘Do you know Mike O’Connor?’
Eventually, he shifted in his seat and beckoned to his solicitor before whispering in his ear.
Laura watched as the solicitor murmured something under his breath and then turned his attention to Kay.
‘My client wishes to help, but wants it on record that he had nothing to do with the murder of these two men.’
‘All right,’ said Kay. ‘Let’s hear it then, Adrian.’
‘I don’t know nothin’, all right?’ The teen straightened in his seat. ‘I’m just a delivery driver.’
Laura glanced at Kay, her heart racing.
The detective inspector narrowed her eyes. ‘A delivery driver? Since when?’
‘It’s only part-time, like. Cash. That’s why I didn’t put it on that CV you’ve got.’
‘How long for?’
‘About fourteen months, I guess.’
‘Who for?’
‘A catering company. Takeaways and stuff. You know – those food apps you get on your phone. They cook all them meals, and me and some others deliver it. There’s a bunch of us with mopeds, then a few of the others have cars. Easy money, innit?’
‘Where is it?’ said Kay. ‘Where do you pick up the food from?’
‘They run the kitchen out of a place near Sandling. They do pizzas, Asian food, burgers, things like that. Anything that’s ordered, really.’
‘How do you know Mike O’Connor? Did you buy your moped from him?’
‘Nah.’ The teenager snorted. ‘I used to work for him. Sort of.’
‘At the garage?’
‘No – at the last place. The posh restaurant he had.’ The teenager shuffled in his seat. ‘Well, not actually at the restaurant. They used to bring us in to help with the catering now and again.’
‘Who’s “us”?’
‘Alan – he’s me boss at the kitchen – and some of the other drivers. We used to help out.’
Kay folded her hands on the table and glared at him. ‘Was Alan the one who told you to watch Helen Taylor?’
‘I guess so. I mean, I dunno. I just got a text message with a photo of her telling me not to go into work that day but to head over to an address at Sittingbourne and to watch where she worked and then text back when she left.’
‘Did you keep the text message?’
‘No – I deleted it.’
‘So, how did you know who sent it?’
‘I-I just assumed it were Alan, like. He’s always changing his phone number.’ A bead of sweat trickled down the teenager’s forehead and he glanced at the duty solicitor. ‘That’s all I know, I swear. I’ve got nothing to do with the dead bloke in the car. I don’t even know who he is, all right? I don’t know what’s going on.’
Kay reached out and tapped the photograph of Carl Taylor.
‘This man, Adrian, is the husband of the woman you were told to watch. Now do you understand why you’re here?’ She paused a moment, waiting for the realisation to hit the teen.
When it did, he paled, a breathless sigh escaping his lips.
‘Oh, shit.’
Chapter Thirty-Five
A late afternoon sun dappled beams across her colleagues’ desks when Kay walked into the incident room half an hour later, her back stiff from sitting in the hard plastic chair in the incident room while Adrian Whitely provided a formal statement.
Leaving Laura to work with the custody sergeant to arrange for the teenager to be released pending further enquiries, she tapped Barnes on the shoulder as she passed.
Frustration clouded her thoughts as she walked over to the whiteboard.
She let the conversations in the incident room wash over her while she ran her eyes over the photographs pinned to the cork board beside it as Barnes pinned a fresh photograph of Adrian Whitely near the top.
They had both added notes to the whiteboard over the course of the week, the neat capitalised letters Barnes preferred contrasting with her looping handwriting as they had summarised the key actions taken to date.
‘How did it go, guv?’ he said.
‘Adrian Whitely’s information about Mike O’Connor puts a different angle on the investigation, but he didn’t provide the answers we need about why Carl’s body was left in a stolen car on his garage forecourt. Nor does it explain why two delivery drivers ended their lives freezing to death in the back of their vehicle.’
‘Or why one of them had been in the possession of thirty thousand pounds’ worth of cocaine.’
‘Maybe it was a drugs deal gone wrong?’ she muttered as she paced the carpet, her eyes never leaving the board. ‘Or what if they saw something they shouldn’t have?’
She glanced over her shoulder at the sound of her name, to see Gavin hurrying towards her.
‘I’ve got some more information about the catering place Adrian works for,’ he said. He squeezed past two administrative assistants’ chairs and approached the whiteboard. ‘The mailing address for it is a post office box in town here. They operate out of an industrial unit at an address in Sandling, though.’
‘Any idea how long it’s been operating?’
‘It cropped up about two years ago when the food delivery apps started to take off over here, according to the information on the website. They cater for the apps as well as providing overflow services for local takeaways and other businesses who need ad hoc food services during busy periods like public holidays.’
‘Is there anything on the Companies House website that might help us? Such as Alan’s surname if he’s a director?’
‘Nothing, guv – it doesn’t show up on a search there.’
‘Any indication who their customers might be?’
Gavin nodded, and flicked to another page in his notebook. ‘Some of the large fast food franchises in the area – pizzas, burgers, things like that – although that wasn’t on their website. I had to go digging around for that.’
‘I don’t imagine that the franchises want their customers to know that they’re outsourcing the work,’ said Barnes.
‘True. It sounds like this company could be taking advantage of the brand names.’ Kay ran her gaze over the notes on the whiteboard and frowned. ‘What are the names of the people who own Mike and Ann’s old restaurant?’
‘Hang on.’ Gavin flipped through his notes once more. ‘Here you go – Tom and Zoe Peters.’
‘Reckon they might’ve continued using this same company?’ said Barnes.
‘It’s something we’ll need to take a look at,’ said Kay. ‘What about HOLMES2, Gav – any reports about the company in there?’
Gavin frowned. ‘There’s nothing to suggest there’s been trouble with the company before, guv, but…’
‘… If whoever this Alan is has been getting kids like Adrian to do all the running about, then he’s managed to keep his head down,’ said Kay, and beckoned Laura over as she entered the incident room before moving to the maps spread out on the desk beside the whiteboard.
Pushing aside copies of CCTV images and gently peeling away sticky notes that obscured the contours and place names, she tapped her finger on a minor road that bordered the M20 motorway.
‘Okay, Gav – where’s that catering business on here?’
Her colleague leaned forward, indicating a dead-end road off to the left. ‘Just down here. There are only about six industrial units – the sort with a small warehousing space underneath with offices above.’
‘They must’ve converted the warehouse into commercial kitchens, then.’ Kay straightened. ‘Gavin, have a read of Adrian Whitely’s statement for context, but I want you to work with Laura to look into this kitchen business where he’s been working these past fourteen months. I want to know everything about the way it operates, and in particular the owner, Alan – Adrian doesn’t know his surname.’
‘No problem.’
‘Thanks.’ Kay checked her watch and pushed back her chair. ‘It’s
getting on, so have as much as you can to me by the morning’s briefing at eight o’clock. Where’s the catering business in relation to Mike and Ann’s old restaurant?’
‘Here,’ said Gavin, and traced his forefinger along a winding route. ‘Not far, so it would make sense if they were using them for a takeaway service or catering for larger events. And look, they could do it avoiding main roads, too.’
‘Interesting.’
‘What do you want to do, guv?’ said Barnes. ‘Should we interview Mike and Ann O’Connor again?’
‘No – not until we know what we’re dealing with, given what happened to Carl and Will. We need some more background information about it while Gavin’s doing his research.’ Kay swept her car keys off the desk and handed them to her colleague.
‘But let’s go and have a word with the new restaurant owners, shall we?’
Chapter Thirty-Six
Kay paused next to the pool car and took a moment to appreciate the Grade II listed former vicarage that housed Mike and Ann O’Connor’s previous business.
Standing atop a grassy elevated bank, the building was two storeys high with a pair of tall brick chimneys poking out either side of a slate tile roof. A sign beside the parking space indicated that the restaurant could be accessed by eight stone steps or a concrete ramp that sloped upwards from the asphalt forecourt.
As she walked beside Barnes up the wide steps, Kay noticed a wide stone patio stretching the length of the front of the restaurant with six wooden round tables laid for pairs or groups of four people spaced out along the length of it.
A couple sharing a bottle of red wine at the farthest table watched them approach, then went back to their conversation as the woman tossed back her hair and laughed, her date smiling indulgently.
Kay paused at the wide oak door leading into the building, the cool interior inviting beyond a coir mat that was accompanied by a large ceramic drinking bowl for dogs beside it and a sign depicting a polite request that animals be kept outside.
A Darker Place Page 14