by M A Comley
“How long is the site going to be in operation?” Katy asked the woman.
“We’re into our second year now. This is our final year. Should be all done and dusted by the end of 2018,” the assistant replied as she placed the milk in the two cups.
“How many houses are being built?” Lorne asked.
“Just under a hundred. Ninety-eight, to be precise.”
“Go on then, shock us with the price for one of these babies.”
The assistant finished making the coffee and returned to her chair, placing the filled cups in front of Lorne and Katy before she sat down. “They vary. A two-bed semi is going for four hundred ten thousand pounds, while the executive four-bed is just short of a million.”
Lorne let out a high-pitched whistle. “And how many four-beds are you selling?”
The assistant withdrew a sheet of paper from an in-tray and ran her finger down it. “Sixty-five, give or take.”
Lorne’s eyes bulged when she turned to face Katy. “Maths wasn’t exactly my forte at school, but even I can work out that’s a hefty sum involved. Maybe I should reconsider my options after all.”
Katy shook her head then took a sip from her drink.
“Are you looking at buying a newbuild in the future?” the assistant asked, her brow furrowed.
“I couldn’t afford it at these prices, love. I used to renovate houses. I’d rather go down that route again in the future instead of buying one of these. At least the gardens are bigger.”
“Actually, our plots are a very good size. I’d be willing to show you around one of the houses if you’d care to take a look.”
Lorne shook her head. “I wouldn’t want to waste your time. The only time I would consider a newbuild is if I built the thing myself from scratch… hmm… now there’s a thought.” Lorne nudged Katy’s elbow.
“Stop winding the young lady up, Lorne.”
Before Lorne had the chance to reply, the door to the showroom opened and a heavily built man in his fifties, wearing a high-vis jacket, stepped through the door, his face contorted with stress. “You wanted to see me?”
“This is Don Maynard, our site manager. DI Warner and DS Foster, Don,” the assistant announced.
Don approached them with his hand outstretched, ready to shake. Lorne took a good look at his hand to make sure it was clean before slipping hers into his.
“Pleased to meet you. What can I do for you, ladies? The thing is, I’m on a pretty tight schedule, so if we could make this brief, I’d appreciate it.”
Lorne nodded. “We’ll do our best. We’re here about one of your workers.”
Don’s shoulders slumped. “Which one? Crap, I’ve had nothing but bother on this bloody site since it began. Who’s been up to what now?”
“Actually, no one has been up to anything. I should have introduced ourselves properly. We’re part of the Met Murder Squad.”
The colour drained from Don’s face immediately. He dropped into a nearby chair and exchanged worried glances with the sales advisor. “What? What brings you here?”
“Sadly, the death of one of your workforce. A Maurice Barratt.”
The man’s right hand swept over his face. “Jesus, are you bloody serious?”
“Sorry, sir, but yes, I’m deadly serious. We’re conducting a murder enquiry.”
“I can’t believe this. Can you, Sharon?”
The sales advisor didn’t reply. She simply shook her head.
“It must be upsetting for you. I’m sorry about that. Perhaps you can tell us a little about Maurice and what kind of character he was on-site?”
“A bloody good worker. That’s what he was—one of my best. He was a chippy—sorry, a carpenter—but he could turn his hand to most trades. Bloody Nora, I can’t believe what I’m hearing. The lad was inoffensive and would bend over backwards to do anything to lend a hand. How did he die?”
“His body was found in a warehouse. I can’t tell you the ins and outs of his injuries, but what I can tell you is that he was tortured before he was killed.”
“What? Who the bloody hell would do such a thing to a person like Maurice? Oh crap, he was married and had a couple of young kids! I can’t believe this,” he repeated again as the shock set in.
Lorne smiled. “It must be terrible news. We’ve just come from telling his wife. She told us he worked for you. Do you know if he’s been in any trouble lately? Any bother with the other lads on-site, perhaps?”
Don shook his head. “No. He was one of the better lads. Always kept his head down at work and got on with the job. I’m not saying he didn’t have a laugh now and again—we all like to do that—but his skills were second to none, and his work was exemplary.”
“Did he work as part of a gang of chippies? I’m not sure what the setup is on newbuild sites. Don’t the different trades stick together?”
“Not really. We’re a few men down at the moment, because of one thing or another, but he was always willing to jump in and fill in for someone if necessary.” He swept a hand through his greying hair.
“So, he hasn’t fallen out with anyone on-site recently?”
“No. Never, as far as I know. He just wasn’t the type. You can take my word on that, Inspector. Tortured, you say? God, I feel sick. To think he suffered like that before his death.”
“I know, it doesn’t bear thinking about. Try and forget I mentioned that. Was he with you long?”
“Not really. Only started here a few months ago, but he jumped straight in, got his head down and on with his work. The other lads on-site are going to be devastated to hear the news. I can tell them, right?”
“Yes. Would it be all right if we questioned a few of the men? The ones he worked alongside perhaps? Those who know him best.”
“Of course. Sod if we fall behind schedule. You need to get to the bottom of who had it in for Maurice ASAP, right?”
“That’s right. His wife mentioned that Maurice only got the job because another man had an accident. Would it be possible to give us the man’s name and address?”
He frowned. “You’re not insinuating that you think Joel had something to do with this?”
“Joel?”
“The guy whose place he took. Joel McPartland. He had an accident on-site. One of the JCB drivers reversed into him when he was picking up a bunch of supplies. Lucky to be alive himself, to be honest with you. Sharon, can you access the personnel files on your computer and give these ladies his address?”
“I’ll do that now.” Sharon tapped the keyboard to find what she was looking for and wrote down the information on a notepad beside her. She tore off the sheet of paper and handed it to Katy.
“Thanks, that’s very helpful,” Katy said, tucking the sheet of paper into her own notebook.
“Is he going to recover from his injuries?” Lorne asked.
“Not anytime soon. Crushed bones and internal damage. The ribs punctured his lung, you see. Poor guy, he’s only thirty-six,” Don said.
“That’s awful. Maurice’s wife also said that he was going to the pub with his workmates on Friday. Is it possible to have a chat with those guys?”
“I can sort that out for you now, if you’ll give me five minutes to find them?”
Lorne nodded. “That would be great.”
Don rose from his seat and rushed out the door in search of the men. Within minutes, he returned with three men in tow. “These are the guys you want to speak with, Inspector. I haven’t told them about why you’re here.”
“Okay. Hi, I’m DI Lorne Warner, and this is my partner, DS Katy Foster. We’re part of the Met’s Murder Squad. It’s with regret that we have to inform you that Maurice Barratt has been killed. We think either Friday night or Saturday, and I understand that you guys were with him on Friday night. Can you tell me if you encountered any trouble during the evening?”
The three men all stared at each other with their mouths hanging open as Lorne revealed the shocking news. Finally, one of them, a man in his
late fifties, said, “Really? Poor Maurice. Look, he wasn’t with us long on Friday night. He received a call from his missus and rushed home to be with her. Didn’t even get the chance to finish off his first pint.”
“What time did he leave the pub?”
The man scratched his head as he thought. “Around six, wasn’t it, lads?”
The other two men shrugged. “Not sure. I suppose it was,” the smaller of the two men replied.
“Shit! Maurice is really dead? Hey, Ted, didn’t his wife threaten to leave him?”
The older man nodded slowly. “You’re right, lad. That’s why he was so concerned. He rushed home. Are you telling us that he never made it home that night?”
“That’s right. His wife said the last time she spoke to him was to ask him to give her a lift to the doctor’s because the little boy was ill. She thought he’d got drunk with you guys and gone home with one of you to sleep off his hangover. At least, that’s the impression I got. Do you know if he walked home that evening, or did he hitch a ride of sorts?”
“His house isn’t far from the pub. He usually dips down a shortcut to get home,” Ted replied.
“Thanks, we’ll look into that. Just trying to cover all the angles here. Is there any chance he could have got involved in any kind of trouble at the pub?”
Ted shook his head adamantly. “There’s simply no way he’d do that. It wasn’t in his nature to get involved. Bloody hell, we’re gonna miss that lad around here. He was one of the best, right, guv?”
“He was that, Ted. Do you need these lads any more, Inspector?”
“Not really. What we will need is for you kind gents to come down the station within the next day or so to give us a statement. You’re the last people to have laid eyes on him alive.”
“We’ll forego our time at the pub tonight to do that for Maurice. Won’t we, lads?” Ted asked the other two men who both nodded.
“Excellent. Look, here’s my card. If something should spring to mind that you think will help the case, feel free to ring me.” Lorne stood and handed each of the shell-shocked men a card.
The three dejected men left the showroom. Lorne watched them leave, their heads bowed as they returned to work.
“It’s hit them hard. They were all close to Maurice. They’re a good bunch,” Don said as the men rounded the corner out of sight.
“Murder is seldom pleasant and always painful to the friends and relatives of the victims, Don. I suggest you keep an eye on them for a day or two, especially if they’ll be working with dangerous equipment. Sounds like you’ve had your share of accidents around here to last you a lifetime.”
Don scratched his neck. “I will. Sometimes you get what we call an unlucky site, when all manner of things go wrong to affect the schedule. However, they don’t tend to happen that often, thank goodness.”
“Glad to hear it, because time is money, right?”
“Ay, you’re right there, lass,” he replied, his Scottish accent slipping out.
“What part of Scotland are you from, Don?”
“Just south of Lockerbie. You know, the place where that terrible plane crash occurred all those years ago.”
“I remember it well. Dreadful act of terrorism that devastated the community, right?”
“It did that. So much so that I decided to leave and head south. I’ve never regretted that decision either.”
“Have you worked for Harris Homes for long?” Lorne liked the man, as he was easy-going in nature in spite of the stress he was under.
“Around twenty-five years, give or take. I’m one of their top managers. I have been for around ten years now. I run a tight ship. Try to source the best tradesmen in the area every time a site is set up. It doesn’t always work out that way, though.”
“Not many people are that conscientious in their work these days. You’re to be admired. We noticed there were quite a few other newbuild developments in the area on the drive over here.”
“Ay, there’s a lot of competition to obtain people’s money nowadays. Still, there’s certainly enough to go around for everyone. Otherwise, the large building firms would soon go to the wall, wouldn’t they?”
“I guess you’re right. Do you only cover this area?”
“No. My family have been uprooted to several different areas over the years. I suppose all those areas have been within a hundred miles of London, so not too bad, really.”
“And you try to employ the local tradesmen in the area. Is that right?”
“When we can. Unless some of the guys are prepared to travel to pastures new, you know, if they don’t have ties at home, like a wife and kids to consider. Not many family men volunteer to spend their hard-earned dosh on petrol, and who can blame them?”
“Indeed. Not only that. Running a car can be super expensive these days too.”
“There is that. Hey, you haven’t got Scottish blood in you, lass, have ye?”
Lorne chuckled. “No, I’m just notoriously tight with my money, especially as inspectors don’t get paid much.”
Katy pretended to play an imaginary violin.
Lorne thumped her in the thigh. “What my dear partner neglects to consider is that I run a dog rescue centre, as well, so most of my wages go on helping to maintain that.”
“That’s so sweet,” Sharon said. “I’m on the lookout for a rescue dog.”
Lorne’s hackles rose. “We’re pretty particular who we hand our dogs over to, no offence. We carry out rigorous home checks, mostly because we don’t want to see the dogs returned to us. It’s not fair on them if we don’t find them appropriate homes in the first place. Someone working full-time wouldn’t be acceptable to us.”
“Blimey, and there was me thinking I was doing you a favour.” Sharon bristled.
“Sorry. It’s harsh I know. But too many people treat dogs as non-entities, and that’s what we’re trying to avoid. I hope you understand.”
Sharon nodded. “I do. Although I only work three days a week.”
“I shouldn’t have jumped to a conclusion. I’m sorry. Take one of my cards and contact me if you’re still interested.” Lorne handed the woman one of the kennel cards she kept in her left jacket pocket in case such a situation ever arose.
Katy cleared her throat to remind Lorne why they were there.
“Sorry, I digress. Is there anyone else you think we should speak to on-site, Don?”
“I can’t think of anyone. Those lads were close to Maurice. Like I’ve told you already, he was liked by everyone. We have over fifty men on-site, and I think that would take you a fair few days to go through.”
“I’m willing to leave things as they are for now.” Lorne rose from her seat. “We’ll be on our way. We’ll drop by and see Joel McPartland before we go back to the station. Thanks for all your help today. Sorry to meet under such circumstances.”
“It was good to meet you. I hope your investigation goes well and that you throw the bastard who did this to poor Maurice behind bars before long.”
Lorne and Katy returned to their vehicle. Lorne punched the code into the satnav then set off.
“What are you thinking?” Katy asked. “That Joel has something to do with this?”
Lorne stopped the car at a red light and leaned over the steering wheel to stretch her back. “I’m not sure. Seemed a good idea to ask for his address, though. Let’s see what kind of reception we get from Joel when we arrive, and then we can revisit any assumptions we might have.”
The traffic began to flow once more, and before long, they pulled up outside a low-level block of flats, a few roads away from the site they’d just visited.
“Number five, where are you?” Lorne said aloud as they walked along the corridor on the first floor.
“Here we go,” Katy said, pointing to the next door they came to.
Lorne rang the bell, and a few seconds later, a woman opened the door. She appeared to be in her early thirties and had long blonde hair.
“Hello, c
an I help?”
Lorne showed the woman her ID. “I’m DI Lorne Warner. Are you Mrs. McPartland?”
“The police? I am. What do you want?”
“A word with your husband, Joel, if it’s not too inconvenient.”
“About what?” the woman asked offhandedly, then she shut the door a little, giving Lorne the impression she objected to them being there.
“Nothing to be that concerned about. We’re hoping he can help us with enquiries regarding an associate of his.”
“Who?”
Lorne sighed, annoyed that the woman wasn’t cooperating. “Maurice Barratt.”
“Never heard of him. My husband needs his rest after what he’s been through. I’d rather you didn’t come here unannounced to badger him.”
“That really isn’t our intention, Mrs. McPartland. We’ll only take a minute of his time, I promise. A few simple questions, then we’ll go.”
“Very well. You have five minutes.” She pulled open the door and led Lorne and Katy up the narrow hallway to the rear of the property. Lying on a hospital bed that had been set up in the lounge was a man in his thirties. He was hooked up to an oxygen tank, and Lorne could hear his breathing from the doorway. Her heart went out to him.
“Love, there are two detectives to see you. I’ve told them they can see you for five minutes and that’s all.”
“About what?” the man asked breathlessly.
“Hello, Mr. McPartland. I’m DI Lorne Warner. I wanted to speak to you regarding a carpenter called Maurice Barratt. Do you know him?”
Mr. McPartland’s brow creased. “The name rings a bell. Not sure where from, though. Help me out, will you?”
“Maurice took over from you at the Harris Homes site.”
“Ah, yes. Sorry, my mind plays damn tricks on me most of the time since the accident. What about him?”
“I just wondered if you had contacted him at all since your accident?”
“Why would I do that?”
“It was just a thought,” Lorne replied, struggling with what to ask next. The man’s debilitating condition had struck a chord with her. Her father had spent his last days on earth in bed, and sad memories of his passing clouded her mind.