‘I make most of it myself in the spring. It’s too expensive to buy during the summer because everyone around here has a barbecue the moment there’s a sniff of a good day. I’m usually too busy at the craft centre during the summer anyway, so I don’t get a chance to make any then.’
‘Where do you make it?’
‘Why do you want to know? What’s going on?’
‘Answer the question, Mr Stevens.’
He glanced at his solicitor, but the man only raised his eyebrows in response.
‘There’s a bit of private woodland over near my parents’ place at Biddenden. The owner lets me coppice what I need after winter – saves him a job.’
Kay paused to check her notes. ‘That would be the woodland that backs onto the A262?’
‘Yeah.’
‘What do you use to make the charcoal?’
‘A kiln, of course. Me and my dad made one a few years ago out of some old corrugated iron sheeting he had.’
‘What happens to the kiln when you’re not using it?’
‘I don’t know. I just leave it there. We used to roll it onto a trailer and take it back to my parents’ place after each burn, but that was a pain to be honest.’
‘Do you have any other kilns in the area?’
‘No – why would I?’
‘When was the last time you went there – to the woods at Biddenden?’
His brow puckered, and he rubbed a hand over his jawline. ‘Must’ve been the end of April. Yeah, April. I did one final burn to get me through to the end of August.’
‘Where do you store your charcoal?’
‘With a mate of mine.’
‘Why not keep it at the forge? Wouldn’t that make sense?’
He shrugged in response, lowering his eyes.
‘We’ll need a name.’
Kay waited while Barnes scribbled the details into his notebook, then turned her attention back to Stevens.
‘Where were you between the hours of noon yesterday and nine o’clock this morning?’
‘At home.’ Hope flashed in his eyes. ‘You can ask my sister and her husband. They stayed with me because they were driving down to Ashford to catch the train to France this morning. They left just before your lot turned up.’
‘Phone number?’
He recited a mobile number from memory, and Kay let her gaze wander to the camera fixed to a bracket in the ceiling behind Stevens, before she turned to Barnes and nodded.
‘Interview suspended.’
She pushed her way out the door and paced in the corridor while Barnes shut it behind them. Sharp strode from the observation suite.
‘What do you think?’ he said.
She ran a hand over the back of her neck. ‘I’d like to keep him for the full increment of hours. Gives us time for the team over at the forge to process the scene and come back to us.’
‘Is it him, do you think?’
‘He’s lying about something, that’s for certain. He was being evasive during the interview.’
‘I’m inclined to agree,’ said Barnes. ‘Maybe we’re looking for two killers, not one, and he’s protecting someone.’
‘All right,’ said Sharp, checking his watch. ‘We’ll sign off the paperwork to hold him in custody for now. That gives you another few hours to come up with something.’
‘Hold on.’ Carys appeared at the door to the observation suite and held up a note. ‘I’ve phoned the number he provided. His alibi checks out – his sister and brother-in-law travelled over from Worcestershire two days ago. Apparently, they all had dinner together at Stevens’s place last night before they headed off to Ashford at eight o’clock this morning.’
Kay glanced at Barnes, then back to Sharp. ‘He’s not our man then. He’s telling the truth. There’s no way he could’ve got over to the woods and back home in that timeframe.’
‘Do you think someone else knew about his kiln?’ said Carys.
‘Must’ve done.’ She spun on her heel. ‘Barnes – with me.’
She shoved open the door to the interview room, stabbed the “record” button, and swung around to face Stevens.
‘Who knows about the kiln?’
‘Eh?’
‘You heard me. Who else uses the kiln?’
‘I don’t know.’
Barnes glared at him. ‘Another victim was discovered this morning, Travis, burned to a crisp in a charcoal kiln. For the life of me, I can’t understand why you’re being so evasive if you say you’re innocent. You know something, and unless you want me to charge you with obstructing the course of justice, talk.’
The man’s solicitor cleared his throat, and when his client turned to face him, he raised an eyebrow and jerked his head in the direction of the two detectives.
Stevens paled, but managed a slight nod. ‘All right. Look, when your lot turned up, I panicked, okay? I-I grow a small amount of marijuana out the back of the forge.’ He raised his hands. ‘I don’t sell it. It’s for my own use only. It helps with the arthritis in my wrists. If I can’t work, I don’t earn anything.’
Kay exhaled, and she shook her head in wonderment. ‘Why on earth didn’t you tell us this before?’
‘Like I said, I panicked. I can’t afford to lose my business. Besides, I’m not the only one who makes charcoal around here. If I run out, I have to buy more – I haven’t got time to do a burn over the summer months because that’s when I do most of my work.’
Kay’s eyes narrowed. ‘Who do you buy your charcoal from?’
‘Derek Flinders. Why?’
Fifty
Carys held her head in her hands, her complexion a sickly pallor as Kay brought the afternoon briefing to a close.
‘I should’ve known. I should’ve picked up on it when we spoke to him.’
Kay noticed Gavin wore an equally distressed expression.
The revelation that Derek Flinders could well be their main suspect had shocked them all, not least the two detectives who had interviewed him as part of the initial investigation at the craft centre two weeks ago.
‘Jesus,’ said Gavin, and ran a hand over his spiky blonde hair. ‘He’s killed someone else since then. We could’ve stopped him. I didn’t even consider that he might make charcoal out of the wood he coppices. I thought he only made the archery supplies and craft stuff we saw in his workshop.’
‘Stop it right there,’ said Kay, and leaned against a desk beside them. She eyed them both before continuing. ‘We’re dealing with a killer who has sociopathic tendencies. You’ve done the same training as me, and you know how devious someone like this can be. I’ve read the witness statement you took from him, and you did nothing wrong. The questions you asked were sound, and his responses gave nothing away. He’s intelligent, and he fooled us all.’
She raised her gaze over Gavin’s shoulder as Sharp joined them.
‘Kay’s right,’ he said. ‘Learn from the experience, but don’t let it fester in your minds. We need to focus, and we need to formulate a case against him before we bring him in for questioning.’
‘Guv,’ said Carys, her eyes downcast.
‘Come on,’ said Kay, rising to her feet. ‘Like I said in the briefing, we need to retrace our footsteps with that interview and check out his employment history. Gav – can you phone the bloke that manages the office at the craft centre and find out if Derek Flinders is there today?’
‘Will do.’
Kay turned back to Carys. ‘Like Sharp said – get back in the saddle. I need you to go through the database again to find out if there are any similar cases to this around the country. Widen the original search we conducted last week. Someone like this has had practice, I’m sure of it.’
‘Guv.’
Satisfied her colleagues’ work would keep their minds occupied for a while, Kay strode back to her desk with Sharp in tow.
His phone began to ring as they drew near, and he broke away to hurry into his office to answer it.
‘Probably the media o
ffice,’ he called over his shoulder.
Kay sank into her chair and turned her attention to Barnes who sat across from her. ‘Ian – how is the analysis from this morning’s crime scene coming along?’
‘Surprisingly well preserved,’ he said, glancing up from his computer screen. ‘Harriet’s team have sent a preliminary email saying they’ve retrieved what looks like remnants of a leather wallet – small pieces, mind – and a metal belt buckle. Two gold rings were found within the kiln, too. Possibly a wedding band and a signet ring.’
Kay exhaled, the sobering reality that she would have to inform a woman that her husband had been murdered plaguing her thoughts.
‘Anything else?’
Barnes shook his head. ‘They’re still processing the scene.’
Kay rubbed her temples while she tried to concentrate. They were so close now – all the evidence was starting to point to Flinders as their killer but again, she had no idea what was motivating him.
She reached out for her computer mouse, wiggled it to bring her computer screen to life, and pulled up the transcript of the interview Carys and Gavin had conducted at the craft centre with the man.
She’d been right – there had been nothing to suggest anything suspicious in the man’s responses, and neither detective had noted any reluctance to answer their questions, but she sighed as she read the final sentence.
‘You all right?’
She glanced up at Barnes’s voice. ‘According to these notes, it was Flinders who recommended the hot dogs from the butcher’s van at the craft centre.’
‘Bastard. He set him up.’
‘Put us right off his scent for a while, didn’t it?’
Gavin hurried over to them. ‘I’ve spoken to the craft centre. They haven’t seen Flinders for over forty-eight hours. No-one knows where he is, and he’s not answering the mobile number we took from him.’
‘Do you want me to put out an alert for him?’ said Barnes.
‘Yes,’ said Kay. ‘All ports as well. Do you have a home address for him, Gav?’
‘Already passed it on to uniform.’
‘Good. If he’s not there, tell them to wait.’
‘Will do.’
He shot off towards his desk.
‘So,’ Barnes continued. ‘He recommends the hot dogs and has the audacity to steal the man’s pickup to move two bodies – or parts of them.’
‘Get onto Alan Marchant and ask him if he’s had a run in with Flinders lately, Ian. It might be nothing, but maybe there’s a connection there we haven’t yet uncovered.’
Carys raised her hand. ‘I’ve already got a result. On the database, I mean.’
‘Go on.’
‘I extended the search beyond Sussex, Surrey and the City – about four years ago, similarly burned body parts were found scattered at a disused construction site in Bristol. Teeth were used to identify a salesman from Plymouth who had gone missing. I’ve also got two more missing men who were last seen in Bristol five years ago, one from Nottingham and one from Bedford. No remains have ever been discovered.’
Kay frowned, then turned to Barnes. ‘Bristol? Where have I heard that before?’
‘Hang on.’
Barnes grabbed his notebook and flipped through the pages. ‘Here we go. Trudy Evans. When we spoke to her, she said she arrived at the hotel three and a half years ago. She’d been in Bristol before that.’
‘Bring her in,’ said Kay. ‘Now.’
Fifty-One
When Kay walked into interview room two ahead of Barnes, her first impression was that Trudy Evans appeared petrified.
Her eyes wide, she watched the two detectives as they settled into their seats, her breath escaping in gasps while a trickle of perspiration at her hairline caught the light from the fluorescent strips in the ceiling.
Barnes completed the formal caution, and Kay turned to the woman.
‘Trudy, do you need a glass of water or anything before we begin?’
‘N-no.’
Kay’s glanced at the woman sitting beside Trudy, a duty solicitor from one of the local firms based on Mill Street, and raised her eyebrow.
The solicitor gave a subtle shake of her head.
Obviously, she was concerned about her client’s nerves too, but she remained poker-faced nonetheless. It probably didn’t help that the solicitor, like her client, had been roused from her slumber half an hour before midnight and was now trying to stifle a yawn.
‘All right. Let’s begin by you telling us in your own words what happened the day Clive Wallis turned up at the hotel with his colleagues.’
‘I’ve already told you,’ said Trudy, her brow creasing as she looked from Kay to Barnes.
‘This is now a formal interview,’ said Barnes. ‘We need you to clarify on record what you told us in your statement, because we have further questions.’
‘Oh. Okay. Um, so yeah – everyone from the company turned up at more or less the same time that Wednesday. Like I said, it was bedlam.’
‘Can you confirm what time they started arriving?’
‘About one o’clock.’
‘Did you leave the reception desk at any time during your shift?’
‘Kevin finally remembered I’d need a toilet break. That was about three o’clock. I was only gone for ten or fifteen minutes.’
‘Which toilets in the hotel did you use?’
Trudy rolled her eyes. ‘The ones next to reception, of course. They’re the nearest.’
Barnes slid the photograph of Clive Wallis across the table. ‘Please confirm for the record – do you recognise this man?’
‘Yes. He’s the one you asked me about.’
‘And where have you seen him before?’
‘He was with the others. When they checked in.’
‘Have you been able to recall his name since we last spoke with you?’
‘No – sorry. I see so many guests, I don’t remember all their names. Not unless they stand out – like, if they’re rude or extra polite.’
‘Did you see him at any other time between Wednesday afternoon and Friday morning?’
Trudy shook her head.
‘You need to answer for the recording, please.’
‘No – that was the last time I saw him alive.’
‘A strange turn of phrase,’ said Barnes. ‘Care to explain?’
‘I didn’t kill him,’ Trudy spluttered. Her eyes opened wide when neither of them responded, and she turned to her solicitor. ‘They think I killed him?’
The woman next to her remained impassive but made a calming gesture with her hand, and her client turned back to face the detectives.
Kay flipped open the folder in front of her and cast her eyes down the page. ‘You moved here from Bristol three years ago. Why was that, Trudy?’
‘Fancied a change, to be honest.’
Kay’s senses picked up on the phrasing of the woman’s answer, and she raised her gaze as she pushed a newspaper clipping across the table towards her. ‘It appears that while you were in Bristol, two men went missing. From the hotel you worked at.’
‘What?’ Trudy picked up the clipping, her eyes scanning the words while her face paled further. Eventually, she dropped it back to the table, her hands shaking. ‘I never killed no-one. You have to believe me.’
‘Why did you come to Kent?’
‘I don’t know. I was bored where I was.’
‘The hotel where these men went missing.’
‘Yeah. It was a conference centre in the city. The pay was all right, I suppose, but it’s a pain getting around the city – and expensive to rent. Prices keep going up, y’know? When the opportunity came up to take on a job with the company’s new hotel in Kent, I figured it was a good excuse to get out.’
‘How did you apply for the role?’
Trudy’s eyes lit up, and a smile reached her lips, her nerves forgotten for a moment as she sat up straighter. ‘I didn’t apply – I was headhunted,’ she said, a note of prid
e filling her voice, colour returning to her cheeks.
‘By whom?’
‘Bettina. The supervisor I report to now. We’d worked together in Bristol until she left three months before me to help launch the hotel here. It’s the company’s flagship venue, and they wanted her to be on board right at the start. Once she got settled, she phoned me up and offered me the job. I wasn’t going to turn it down, was I?’
Kay glanced at Barnes, who wore the same perplexed expression she was sure clouded her own features. He recovered quicker than her though.
‘How long have you known Bettina Merriweather?’ he said.
Trudy shrugged. ‘About six years, I suppose. She recruited me in Bristol – I’d had enough of working in pubs and fancied a change. The money was better at the time too. I was single when the opportunity here came up, so I grabbed it.’
Kay signalled to Barnes, and he leaned towards the recording equipment.
‘Interview paused at eight oh seven.’
‘What do you think?’ she said, once they were outside and he’d closed the door to the interview room behind them.
He scratched his chin. ‘A bit convenient, her following her boss a few months after she’d moved to Kent, wasn’t it?’
‘Maybe. But what if Bettina was the one who wiped Clive Wallis’s name off the system? She’d have the ability to do so, being Trudy’s supervisor, wouldn’t she?’
‘So, you mean Trudy’s telling the truth – she did enter everyone’s names onto the system, but it was her boss who deleted the information?’
‘Yes.’ Kay tapped the manila folder against her leg and contemplated the threadbare carpet.
‘Guv?’
She lifted her head at the sound of running footsteps to see Gavin barrelling along the corridor towards her.
‘What’s up?’
‘We just got a call from the uniformed patrol that went to Derek Flinders’ house. He’s not there, but his wife is.’
‘Okay. And?’
‘Kay, his wife is Bettina Merriweather.’
Fifty-Two
Kay pulled out a chair in front of the slight woman who sat next to a dour duty solicitor, then dropped a manila folder onto the desk, the documentation landing with a slap that made Bettina Merriweather jump in her seat and raise her chin.
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