Bridge to Burn

by Rachel Amphlett

  The living room was empty, undisturbed.

  ‘Kitchen,’ said Kay.

  She didn’t wait for him, and instead rushed towards the door, anger driving her forwards.

  How dare they? After everything she and Adam had been through the past two years – how dare anyone invade the sanctuary they’d worked so hard to recreate. How—

  She blinked as the spotlights in the kitchen ceiling sprang to life, skidding to a standstill on the tiled floor.

  ‘Oh my God.’

  Adam barrelled into her, her sudden loss in forward momentum catching him by surprise, and then he began to laugh.

  ‘It’s not funny.’

  Kay walked towards the worktop to where Cornflake’s glass enclosure sat, the plastic seed tray Adam had placed on top of it as a makeshift lid now upside down on the floor.

  She looked inside, her gaze taking in the mixture of sawdust and gnawed cardboard that the gerbil had corralled into a nest in one corner opposite his food bowl and water bottle, and then turned to Adam.

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He must’ve head-butted the lid off,’ he said.

  ‘Is that what I heard?’

  ‘Well it probably took him a few times to make it work.’

  ‘Bloody hell.’ Kay searched the floor, terrified that she’d step on the small rodent. ‘Where’s he gone?’

  Adam lurched for the door, closing it before turning back to her. ‘Well, he’s in here somewhere. I guess we just have to find him.’

  Kay glanced at the clock on the oven and groaned as Adam dropped to his hands and knees and began to peer under the cupboards.

  ‘It’s four o’clock in the morning. Fat chance of getting back to sleep now.’

  Eleven

  Later that morning, Kay rubbed at tired eyes and tried to focus on Gavin’s review of Mark Sutton’s business activities, while Barnes accelerated past a moped rider and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to a tune he whistled under his breath.

  Adam had finally coaxed Cornflake from a gap under the refrigerator with a piece of cucumber, then placed the rodent back in its enclosure. He’d secured the lid with half a brick he’d found in the garden before racing out of the door to his first appointment at six o’clock.

  Now Sandra, John Brancourt’s receptionist, showed Kay and Barnes through to the project manager’s office, closing the door behind them.

  Kay didn’t waste time with niceties as her colleague took a seat beside her.

  ‘Tell us about Sutton Site Security, Mr Brancourt.’

  He exhaled. ‘I didn’t have a lot of choice when it came to them.’

  ‘Oh? In what way?’

  ‘It was less trouble to give them the work than not.’

  ‘Best let us decide that,’ said Barnes. ‘Go on. What sort of trouble?’

  Brancourt pushed his chair back and moved to the window, peering through the blinds at the activity outside before he turned back to them, his face pale. ‘You have to be careful how you use this information. I have a family; employees to look after.’

  ‘We’ll do what we can,’ said Kay. ‘What can you tell us?’

  ‘We started issuing tenders out to suppliers for the security works last January,’ he said. ‘We weren’t due to be on site until April but by the time you get enough time to assess the bids and negotiate a contract… well, let’s just say it can take a while. We went out to three companies – the minimum required by Hillavon Developments for each contract after doing a risk assessment of the available contractors. Two days after the tender was released, I got a phone call.’

  Kay frowned as a shiver ran across the man’s shoulders. ‘From whom?’

  ‘I don’t know. I-I mean, I could hazard a guess but I’d rather not,’ said Brancourt.

  ‘What did the caller say?’ said Barnes.

  ‘He said that if I didn’t give the work to Sutton Site Security then I’d regret it. That was all. It shook me up, but I’ve been threatened before – it sort of comes with the territory to be honest.’

  ‘And who do you think made the call?’ said Kay.

  Brancourt shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and contemplated the carpet tiles for a moment. ‘Mark Sutton, the owner. After all, why would a complete stranger tell me to use them? He sounded different though, as if he was trying to disguise his voice so I can’t be sure, all right?’

  Kay caught the note of panic in his voice and waved him back to his seat. ‘We were going to speak to Mark Sutton anyway, given the circumstances of the victim’s death, Mr Brancourt.’

  He sank into the leather office chair with a sigh. ‘Please don’t get me wrong, if I can help in any way then I will. But I’ve got a family to think about; I won’t put them in harm’s way.’

  ‘Back to the phone call,’ said Barnes. ‘I take it you ignored the warning?’

  Brancourt nodded. ‘Yes, until two of our generators disappeared from the yard out there three days later. Two days after that, one of our tool sheds was broken into and half the equipment taken.’

  ‘Did you report it to the police?’ said Kay.

  Brancourt choked out a laugh. ‘Of course I bloody didn’t. It was pretty obvious what was going on. A week after the first call, I got another. The bloke on the other end – Sutton or whoever – said that he’d heard I had a security issue, and that perhaps I might want to reconsider his advice. It didn’t help that the security company we use here was also one of the tenderers we were waiting to hear back from – it made them look incompetent, especially when we discovered they’d been cutting corners on attendance. Two of the CCTV cameras were faulty, too.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I told the caller I’d see what I could do.’ Brancourt’s face reddened. ‘In the end, I told our contracts manager to invite Sutton Site Security on top of the three tenderers we’d already gone out to. The tender opening date wasn’t for another couple of days and given what had happened here, he probably thought I wanted an alternative to the company we use.’

  ‘But surely you still had to convince everyone once the tenders were in that Sutton Site Security were the company that should be awarded the contract, right? I mean, any of the others could’ve beaten them on price or experience,’ said Kay.

  ‘Oh, they’re experienced,’ said Brancourt. ‘As for the price, well, given that they received the tender after everyone else I left it until late one afternoon to release a tender addendum extending the closing date by forty-eight hours to the other three parties. Of course, by then I had two of the tenders in already. They’re sent via email and then the hard copies are dropped into the tender box at reception – that way, we can issue out the opened tenders to the evaluation team quickly. Saves on paper and printing costs.’

  ‘And that gave you the perfect excuse to open up the emails and check the pricing,’ said Barnes, his eyes narrowing. ‘So you then told Sutton Site Security what to bid at, right?’

  Brancourt leaned forward, placing his shaking hands on the desk. ‘I didn’t have a choice.’

  ‘We’ll need copies of their bid and any correspondence in relation to the bid.’

  ‘I-I’m sorry. I can’t do that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Our computer system developed a critical error back in July – the software engineer we brought in to fix it said he reckoned the summer’s heatwave was too much for the ventilation system in our server room. By the time we got in on the Monday we’d lost six months’ worth of data, including the tender documentation for the site security contract.’

  ‘You’re joking,’ said Barnes.

  The construction manager shook his head, colour rising in his cheeks.

  ‘What about the hard copy documentation?’ said Kay, aware of the note of desperation that tinged her words.

  ‘I’m sorry – we don’t keep it.’ Brancourt shrugged. ‘There’s no need for it once the bids are opened. Everything’s done electronically these days. It’s really just a formality
.’

  ‘Did anyone query why you favoured Mark Sutton’s company?’

  ‘No. And the bid we received supported the tender criteria, so as far as anyone else around here is concerned, they were the right contractor for the job.’

  ‘Wow.’ Kay glanced at Barnes, who wore a perplexed expression.

  ‘Why doesn’t anyone report them?’ he said. ‘After all, it’s extortion what they did to you.’

  Brancourt shrugged. ‘Because they’re good. Besides, once they were on site, it guaranteed that no other criminals were going to target the project or my company, didn’t it?’

  Twelve

  Kay elected to take Barnes with her to interview Mark Sutton the next day given the older detective’s experience

  As she reversed the car into a space near the industrial complex, the detective sergeant glanced up from his mobile phone.

  ‘This says it should be that small unit over there to the left,’ he said. ‘The one on the end.’

  Kay peered across to where he indicated and saw a squat beige-painted line of four business premises, all identical except for the signage above the doors indicating the companies inside.

  Each unit had a roll-up door, one of which was open while two employees wrested a large desk from a rental truck and into the building.

  ‘What do you know about the businesses next door?’ she said. ‘That one looks like it’s some sort of furniture reclamation place.’

  ‘Yeah – their website says they sell bric-à-brac and stuff to bars and restaurants,’ said Barnes. ‘Next to them is a printer cartridge distributor, then you’ve got a dry-cleaning business between them and Sutton Site Security.’

  ‘Okay. Can you arrange to speak with those businesses once we’re done here? Get uniform onto it if you need to, but find out if they’ve noticed any unusual activity.’

  ‘Will do.’

  Kay tugged the keys from the ignition. ‘Let’s go.’

  Barnes zipped up his jacket and hurried after her, his hands shoved into his pockets while he hunkered down against the cold drizzle that peppered the car park. ‘I’m presuming you don’t have an appointment?’

  ‘You presume correctly,’ said Kay. She reached the side of the industrial units and tried to shelter under the shallow gables, then gave up and dashed for the front door of the unit housing Sutton Site Security.

  The door opened into a sparse reception area, and a man who Kay estimated to be in his mid-twenties glanced up from his mobile phone with an expression of derision.

  ‘Police?’

  Kay held up her warrant card in response. ‘I need a word with your boss, Mark Sutton. I’m presuming the new sports car out there is his not yours, and that he’s here?’

  The receptionist scowled, then jutted his chin at two threadbare chairs that had been placed under a health and safety poster on the far wall. ‘Sit down. I’ll tell him you’re here. What’s it about?’

  Kay smiled. ‘None of your business.’

  Barnes waited until the receptionist had stomped off through a door behind the desk, and then turned to Kay.

  ‘Friendly,’ he said.

  ‘Hmm.’ Kay turned away from the small camera she’d spotted in the ceiling and lowered her voice. ‘Keep your eyes and ears open, Ian. Whatever Sutton is up to, it’s not going to be all legal. I can tell.’

  ‘Will do.’

  His gaze moved to a space over her shoulder, and Kay turned to see a large man with close-shaven black hair bearing down upon them.

  He held out his hand, his mouth breaking into a smile that didn’t reach his blue eyes.

  ‘Detective Inspector Hunter. I’m Mark Sutton. To what do we owe the pleasure?’

  Kay kept her hands in the pockets of her jacket. ‘We have some questions in relation to the site security services you provided for the construction works at the Petersham Building. Do you have somewhere we can talk in private?’

  He shrugged, the gesture sending a ripple across his broad shoulders before he motioned towards a door to the side of the reception desk. ‘We don’t use the garage for much. We can talk in there. Hope you don’t want coffee. We ran out.’

  Sutton pulled a cord to the right of the door and a line of fluorescent lights flickered to life in the ceiling of the large space.

  Kay took a moment to get her bearings and worked out that the offices took up half of the unit and had then been extended to create a mezzanine level.

  Windows provided the occupants of the office above with a view over the garage, but the room seemed deserted for now. As was the garaging space, save for a row of boxes against one wall and a forklift truck parked amongst the shadows of the back wall.

  ‘Where are all your staff, Mr Sutton?’

  ‘Out working,’ he said. ‘That’s what they get paid for.’

  ‘Seems extravagant to have all this space and leave it empty.’

  ‘Are you telling me how to run my business?’

  ‘Just an observation,’ said Kay. ‘Tell me how you won the contract to provide site security at the Petersham Building.’

  ‘We met all the tender criteria and beat our competitors’ pricing.’

  Kay moved towards the boxes.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Mark Sutton started after her, but Barnes stepped into his path and the man glared at him.

  Barnes stood his ground. The security company owner may have been built like a rugby forward, but Barnes’s height gave him some advantage. He held the man’s gaze and remained still.

  Kay reached the boxes and ran her hand over one of them before glancing over her shoulder.

  ‘What’s in these?’

  ‘Stationery supplies.’ Sutton side-stepped around Barnes, but didn’t move closer. ‘We took delivery of them yesterday. Timesheets and stuff.’

  Kay moved away, unconvinced but unable to search further without having probable cause to do so. She was aware Sutton knew she was testing him, and changed tack once more.

  ‘We heard a rumour that you have a habit of intimidating people to ensure you win work,’ she said.

  ‘Lies,’ said Sutton. He held his hands up in a “what can you do” gesture. ‘Our competitors don’t like us winning the work. Our clients, however, tend to come back time after time.’

  ‘Do you steal equipment to coerce your clients into employing you?’

  He chuckled. ‘No, detective, I don’t. That would be illegal. Besides, where would I put the stuff? You can see that we’re only a small operation.’

  Kay looked over his shoulder as the door from the reception area opened and a man’s figure appeared silhouetted against the brighter lights beyond.

  ‘Boss, there’s an urgent phone call for you,’ he said.

  Barnes turned at the voice and then back to Kay, his expression incredulous.

  She gave a slight shake of her head to silence any words he was thinking of uttering, but shared his surprise.

  ‘Mr Sutton, I didn’t know you knew Gary Hudson. Hudson – when did they let you out? I thought your activities with Demiri put you away for a long time.’

  The man moved into view, a snarl on his lips. ‘Got let out early for good behaviour, no thanks to you.’

  Kay turned back to his boss. ‘I wouldn’t think it’d be good for business to employ a known criminal, Sutton. Unless some of his traits were of use to you?’

  He spread his hands. ‘My wife always said I was a softie for a stray dog.’

  ‘She must be very understanding.’

  ‘She was, God bless her soul.’ Sutton placed his hand over his heart as a benevolent smile crossed his lips. ‘Passed away three years ago.’

  ‘Any idea how a dead man came to be in the ceiling cavity of the breakout area in the Petersham Building?’

  ‘What? No,’ he said. ‘Our scope of work was to provide outside security along the perimeter of the works, detective. No-one went inside unless invited. Not from my company, anyway.’

  ‘Are you aware of anyone else who m
ay have had access, particularly once the flooring contractors had finished and before the carpet fitters were on site?’

  ‘All the records we had to keep in relation to site access were passed to John Brancourt and Alexander Hill on a daily basis,’ said Sutton. ‘I have no need to keep them. That documentation formed part of the quality system requirements we had to fulfil. Which we did. You should speak to them. Although, I’m guessing you already have, given that you’re here.’

  Kay said nothing, and indicated to Barnes that they were leaving before handing a card to Sutton. ‘Call me if you recall anything suspicious taking place on site.’

  He led them to the door, passing Hudson who aimed a poisonous glare at Kay, and then opened the front door for her.

  She let Barnes go ahead of her before turning to Sutton. ‘I think you know a lot more about my victim than you’re letting on, Mark.’

  He sneered, his knuckles turning white as he grasped the door frame.

  ‘Prove it,’ he said, and slammed the door in her face.

  Thirteen

  By the time Kay called her team to attention for the afternoon briefing, the energy levels in the room had gained momentum.

  As more information came to light and new leads were followed up, the investigation had begun to flourish, the previous sense of inertia leaving the tight-knit group of detectives.

  ‘Let’s make a start, everyone,’ she called. ‘We’re going to be in here over the weekend, so the sooner we get this briefing concluded, the sooner you can get home to your families tonight.’

  A flurry of activity followed as uniformed officers joined the detectives and civilian staff next to the whiteboard and grabbed whatever chair was closest, perched on the corners of desks or simply leaned against the nearest wall.

  Eventually the cacophony died down, and Kay ran through the tasks that had been completed by each senior officer and their teams. One by one, leads were closed out or a decision was made to pursue it further until Kay turned back to the team and cleared her throat.

  ‘When we interviewed John Brancourt, he told us he was still waiting for the final approved construction plans from Alexander Hill that record all the work completed on site. What did he have to say about that when you spoke to him yesterday?’