Kay shook his hand, and then gestured to the table. ‘Do you mind if we all sit down?’
She saw Annabelle exchanged a glance with her husband, but neither of them protested. Instead, Annabelle cleared her throat.
‘Can I offer you tea, or a glass of water?’
‘That won’t be necessary, thank you.’
John Brancourt returned to his laptop, closed the lid and shuffled his paperwork to one side before sitting, and Annabelle joined him.
Kay chose a seat diagonally opposite them, with Barnes settling to her left.
He removed his notebook, popped the end of his ballpoint pen, and then Kay folded her hands and leaned towards the Brancourts.
‘Mr and Mrs Brancourt, as you’re aware the body of a male in his twenties was discovered in the ceiling cavity of the Petersham Building on the High Street in Maidstone. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but after a fingerprint analysis we’ve reason to believe that the body found is that of your son, Damien.’
A silence descended on the kitchen, and then to Kay’s surprise, John’s features broke into a smile.
Confused, she opened her mouth to speak but he waved his hand to stop her.
‘It can’t be Damien,’ he explained, ‘because he’s been in Nepal since the end of June.’
Kay exchanged a glance with Barnes, then turned back to the Brancourts. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course.’ Annabelle’s brow creased.
‘Can you recall the day he left?’
‘The twenty-eighth,’ said John. ‘He had an early morning flight that day so he went up to Heathrow the evening before. I dropped him off at the train station after we’d had dinner that night.’
‘Did he seem concerned by anything in the weeks leading up to his trip?’ said Barnes.
Annabelle smiled. ‘Not at all. He was glad to be finished with his degree – I think he struggled with the last year and wanted to take a break before finding a job.’
‘What was he studying?’ said Kay.
‘Business, with a major in project management,’ said John.
Annabelle reached out for his hand and squeezed. ‘He’s going to follow in John’s footsteps.’
‘Have you heard from him since he left?’ said Kay.
‘No – but we don’t expect to,’ said John. ‘He’s doing some voluntary work to help rebuild earthquake-affected areas so the communications channels are out.’
‘He didn’t let you know he’d arrived?’
‘He’s twenty-four years old, detective. Twenty-five in July. He can look after himself.’
‘How long is his trip going to last?’ said Barnes.
‘He’s due back in time for Easter,’ said Annabelle. ‘The seventeenth of April, to be exact. Unless his flight gets delayed of course.’
‘Going back to his last year at university,’ said Kay. ‘You say he struggled with his studies. Any chance that could be related to his being arrested at a protest twelve months ago? It is, after all, how his fingerprints were recorded on our database and then analysed.’
‘Bloody idiot,’ said John, shaking his head. ‘He should’ve known better.’
‘He got involved with a girl at university,’ said Annabelle. ‘A bad influence. Always moaning about something – save this, save that. It was her idea to join a protest about the work going on in the town. In fact, I think she might have had something to do with organising it. Damien got into some sort of scuffle outside a building being renovated near the river.’
‘We’ve seen the charge sheet,’ said Barnes. ‘Damien threatened a site worker and was seen doing so by a police officer. If you were involved in the redevelopment works in town, why would your son directly threaten someone employed to guard a similar building while works were ongoing?’
John sighed. ‘I’ve no idea. I never saw anything. Damien knew some people who worked on the various projects in the area so he might have seen something, I suppose.’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe that was what the altercation was about. Damien never spoke about it afterwards. Thank goodness your lot saw fit to let him off with a stern warning and nothing else.’
‘We’ll need the name of the girl,’ said Kay.
‘Julie Rowe,’ said Annabelle. ‘Lives with her mum out by East Malling.’
‘Thanks.’ Kay pulled out a DNA kit from her handbag and raised her gaze to John once more. ‘I’d like to take a sample from you so our pathologist can test the results alongside those we have for our victim. Would that be okay?’
‘Of course. I’m telling you though, it’s not Damien. There must be a mistake in your system.’
Kay conducted the test after putting gloves on and then using a small swab to wipe the inside of John’s mouth before sealing the sample and writing on the label.
She picked up her handbag and dropped the kit into it, then thanked the Brancourts.
‘I’ll be in touch with the results, whatever they may be,’ she said as Annabelle led the way back to the front door. ‘And please – if Damien does contact you, let us know?’
‘Of course,’ said John. ‘But like Annabelle said, we don’t expect to hear from him until mid-April when he’s back in Kathmandu.’
‘Thanks.’
Kay followed Barnes back to the car, the sound of the front door closing as she reached the vehicle.
She paused next to it. ‘Ian, there isn’t some sort of error in the system is there?’
‘Hughes checked it, but look – maybe there is. At least we’ve got a sample of John’s DNA that’ll confirm it once and for all when we get the results.’ Barnes took the keys from her and gestured towards the passenger seat. ‘Hop in.’
‘In light of the fact the Brancourts are adamant their son is in Nepal, it’s still going to take until next week before Lucas can get any results to us from this DNA swab,’ she said, closing the passenger door and wrapping the seatbelt over her chest. ‘In the meantime, let’s take a closer look at that protest.’
‘You think maybe it’s related to our victim’s death?’
Kay sighed. ‘Right now, Barnes, I have no idea, but it’s worth a shot.’
Twenty-Two
Early the next morning, Kay entered the police station at the same time as Carys arrived, the younger detective unwrapping a scarf from her neck as she followed Kay through the front door before huffing on her fingers to warm them.
Kay had briefed the team on her return from the Brancourts’ house with Barnes and then worked with Debbie to arrange the staff roster. She made sure her team received one day off each, but knew she wouldn’t rest until the investigation ended. She would be at work every morning without fail, leading her team until she ensured justice for their victim.
As Carys held open the door for her, Kay appraised the rows of desks and stopped short.
Surprise was quickly followed by a sense of pride as she realised every single member of her team had ignored the roster and were all present, answering telephones, calling to each other across the room and wearing an expression every bit as determined as her own.
‘Morning, guv,’ said Gavin as she reached her desk and threw her coat onto a hook behind the door to DCI Sharp’s unused office.
‘Morning. So, when were you lot planning on telling me the new roster was a waste of time?’ she said, unable to keep the smile from her lips.
‘Thought it’d be a nice surprise,’ said Barnes. He dropped his mobile phone onto the desk next to his coffee cup and shoved a paper bag across to her, pointing at it and the cup of takeout coffee next to her computer. ‘Croissant. Figured you wouldn’t have eaten breakfast.’
‘Thanks, Ian.’ She tore open the bag, the pastry still warm, and ripped off a corner to eat as she moved towards the whiteboard and let the hum of activity envelop her.
There was no need to have a briefing this morning; all the tasks had been assigned the previous day through a mixture of reports extracted from HOLMES and Kay’s own requirements as Senior Investigating Officer.
/> Instead, she let her mind wander as she took in the updated information she’d added the previous afternoon, running a critical eye over the investigation to date and mulling over her options for progress.
It was imperative she kept the team’s energy focused and alert to anything that might help them deduce what Damien Brancourt’s involvement was with the redevelopment of the Petersham Building – if their victim was indeed the project manager’s son.
Yesterday’s meeting with John and Annabelle Brancourt had left her unsettled, and questioning her own assertions about the victim’s identity.
Kay finished the croissant as she wandered back to her desk. ‘Ian, while we’re waiting for the DNA results to come through from Lucas, let’s work on the assumption that the Brancourts are correct and we’re wrong. Double check their story about Damien travelling to Nepal – did anything come through from the Home Office, Harry?’
Sergeant Davis turned from the photocopier and shook his head. ‘No, guv. I got onto someone there late yesterday, but she told me they’re short on staff this week. It’s unlikely I’ll get a response before Monday now.’
‘What about CCTV imagery from Heathrow?’
‘We’ve got a request in with the UK Border Agency,’ said Gavin. ‘I’m going to give them another call in an hour to chase it up. As soon as anything comes through, I’ll get it across to Andy Grey at headquarters.’
‘Thanks.’ Kay listened as Gavin explained that he had spoken to the digital forensic expert the previous day, and the man had offered the services of two of his staff knowing the urgency with which Kay and her team needed the information. ‘What about his passport records?’
‘Still waiting for it,’ said Barnes. ‘I’ve requested the records to prove his date of departure. Annabelle Brancourt couldn’t recall the airline or booking company Damien used to arrange his flights, so we’ve got no information with regard to that. If the Border Agency can get his passport details to us though, we might be able to work it out backwards from there.’
‘Put a call through to the British Consulate in Nepal as well, Ian. If Damien was meant to be doing voluntary work in earthquake-affected communities then he may have registered with them in case of an emergency. We might as well process this from both ends of his journey. Goodness knows when the Border Agency will come back to us given their workload these days.’
‘Good point, will do.’ Barnes scrawled in his notebook. ‘I got hold of Amanda Miller before you arrived – she’s one of the forensic financial investigators based over at headquarters. She’ll be here tomorrow to start the investigation into how Sutton Site Security might be set up so we can find out if there’s any substance to Alexander Hill and John Brancourt’s accusations.’
‘That’s great, thanks. The sooner we can have her providing us with some guidance, the better.’ Kay called over to Carys and waited until the detective constable neared. ‘Can you go through the records with Debbie and find out who was arrested alongside Damien at the student protest? I’d like to interview them as soon as possible to hear what they’ve got to say – especially someone called Julie Rowe. According to Annabelle Brancourt, she’s the reason Damien got into trouble in the first place.’
‘No problem,’ said Carys. ‘Do you want to sit in on all the interviews?’
‘No, that’s fine – you and Debbie do them. I’ll only interview Julie with you.’
Carys nodded and moved back towards her desk, pausing to speak with Debbie as she reached the police constable who was reloading the printers.
Kay turned away from the two women and wheeled her chair closer to her computer monitor, wiggling her mouse to wake the screen and then ran her eyes down the list of emails that had appeared that morning.
She bit back a groan – she was gradually getting used to the increased management workload that took up a lot of her daily role, and had worked out a system of prioritising what she needed to do and delegating the rest.
She took a deep gulp of her coffee, flexed her fingers and lost herself in her work.
Twenty-Three
Twelve hours later, Kay lowered the hairdryer, her senses alert, and then dropped it to the duvet and lunged for her mobile phone as the ringing reached her ears, an unknown number displayed on the screen.
‘Hello?’
Silence met her response.
It was all very well handing out her business cards during an investigation but it sometimes meant a less than savoury character found her number, and she held her breath. The banter over a fish and chip supper she’d shared with her team at the end of a long day became a distant memory as she waited for an onslaught of abuse down the line.
‘Kay?’
She fumbled the phone in shock, saving it from dropping to the floor before placing it to her ear, her heart thumping.
‘Mum?’ Sitting on the bed, she ran a hand through her still-damp hair, her brow furrowed. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing. I mean, well, your father’s still here. In hospital, I mean.’
‘Are you all right? Is Dad okay?’
A shaking sigh and the creak of a chair reached her.
‘Mum—’
‘Don’t say anything, Kay. Let me talk.’
A moment passed in which Kay wondered if her mother was still on the end of the call, and then her mother sniffed.
‘I’ve been talking to your father a lot since the weekend,’ she said. ‘We argued. When I found out you and Adam had left, that summed up everything I thought about you two. That your lives, your jobs, are more important than us. I told your father as much. I didn’t want you coming to the hospital anymore, Kay. I couldn’t understand why you came all this way at the weekend – I was sure I’d hear about it from Abby afterwards; that you’d sacrificed your job, that Adam’s business was suffering.’
She paused, a deep shuddering breath replacing the vitriol that spewed from her lips, and Kay closed her eyes.
Give her a hardened criminal any day, give her another Mark Sutton; anyone other than the woman who sat in a hospital corridor over a hundred miles away, who hated every ounce of Kay’s chosen career.
‘Mum—’
‘Your father told me to shut up.’
‘Pardon?’ Kay blinked. ‘Did he?’
‘Mmm. In hindsight, he probably should’ve said it more often in the past.’ Her mother let out a bitter laugh. ‘I suppose it’s all too late now. I’ve always hated your job, Kay – I still do. I hate the danger you put yourself in. I hate not knowing if Adam is going to call us late one night to tell us that you’ve died, chasing a criminal because you won’t let go. You won’t give up until you’ve got the justice you think those victims deserve. And when it killed my granddaughter and you didn’t tell me for over a year, I—’
Kay heard the sound of her mother’s mobile phone being covered before muffled voices continued a conversation in the background. She tried to make out the words, but gave up in frustration and lay back on the duvet, staring at the ceiling.
‘Are you still there?’ her mother’s voice squawked.
‘I’m here.’
‘Good. So, Kay – I need to apologise.’
‘W-what?’
‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I’ve been so bloody awful to you. And to Adam. I can see how much you two love each other, and he is good for you, I can tell.’
Kay frowned. ‘Mum, you’re scaring me. What’s brought this on? Is Dad going to be okay?’
A moment’s silence met her question before her mother recovered.
‘Of course he is. He always is, isn’t he? Nothing to worry about.’
‘Then why—’
‘Because what if next time he isn’t?’ said her mother, her voice dropping to an agonised whisper. ‘What happens then? He’s the only connection to you I’ve had.’
‘Mum, I’d hate to say it but that’s been your choice. You haven’t made it easy for us, have you?’
‘I know. That’s what I’ve been trying to sa
y. I’m sorry. I want to make amends.’
Kay ran a hand over tired eyes and pushed herself up off the bed before padding across to the dressing table. She tugged a hairbrush through her damp strands of hair and glared at her reflection, her jaw set.
‘I’m not going to beg, Kay. Forgive me. Let’s put the past behind us. For your father, at least.’
‘For Dad? What about you?’
‘For me, as well. I want to make a fresh start. Can we do that?’
Kay dropped the hairbrush to the walnut surface with a clatter, and sighed. ‘We could try, I suppose.’
‘That’s good.’
‘Why don’t you tell me what the doctor said about Dad today? I’m presuming he’s not allowed to take calls in the ward?’
‘Not yet, no.’
As Kay listened to the update about her father’s health, the realisation dawned on her that it was from her mother that she’d inherited her knack for recalling details and complicated terminology. The thought stunned her for a moment, and she sat on the edge of the bed staring into space.
‘Kay? Are you still there?’
‘Yes. I’m here. So, all’s well?’
‘It is. Look, maybe when your father gets home and is fit enough, you and Adam could come around here for a Sunday roast? He’d like that, wouldn’t he?’
Kay smiled. ‘Yes, he would. And so would I.’
Twenty-Four
Kay pulled her woollen gloves from her hands, shoved them into her bag and entered the busy reception area of the town police station.
It was only half past seven in the morning, but the desk sergeant at reception already wore a harassed expression as Kay pressed her security pass against the inner dock lock, the phone ringing incessantly while the man tried to converse with an elderly woman who was clearly hard of hearing.
Bridge to Burn Page 10