by Gwyn GB
‘The electricity was off by the time we entered the flat, find out when that had run out, but it’s possible he’d have been alone in the dark with that body,’ added DCI Barker. ‘So he’s regressed to childhood, hates the dark, again how does that help us? We know why, but we are still no closer to finding out where, and we’re potentially running out of time.’
‘Where did the father work?’ asked Harrison.
‘We’re still waiting on information from HMRC, but I think the neighbour mentioned it somewhere.’ Jack scanned the interview transcript. ‘Yes here, he worked at the Holden Furniture factory for over thirty years.’ Jack looked up at them.
‘That’s it. It’s the only photograph that isn’t religious in the entire flat,’ Harrison said, scrolling through the images he’d captured on his phone. ‘It’s in John’s bedroom, him receiving a long service plate from the MD of Holden Furniture. Clearly meant a lot to him. The long service plate was broken and in the bin.’
As they talked, DC Oaks had googled the factory.
‘It’s been closed since the late nineties,’ said Oaks ‘but the site is still there, derelict but standing.’
‘What kind of furniture did they make?’ Harrison asked.
‘Nice wooden framed stuff, the kind that became too expensive when cheap imports flooded the market from Asia, and IKEA arrived.’
‘That could fit with the teak oil found on Darren.’
All of them could feel their adrenaline levels notch up.
‘Where is it?’ DCI Barker asked.
Oaks squinted at the tiny map on his phone. ‘Just outside of the area we’d been searching.’
He looked up, excitement on his face.
‘It makes sense. This could be it. I’ll take this straight to Robert, get warrants and the Territorial Support Group on board. In the meantime, pull as many of our officers together as we can spare. I’ll find out who the security company is that’s looking after the site and call them.’
It didn’t take long for DCI Barker to telephone the security company, which had been employed by the site’s new owners to keep it secure and squatter free while they went through the planning process. The affronted man on the other end of the phone assured her that nobody could possibly be at the site, but she cut him short and told him to have a man at the gate in an hour to let them in. In her experience, a security job like that was an easy number. A couple of drive throughs each day to ensure there wasn’t any unusual activity or kids weren’t getting in, and that was it. Things could be missed. People went totally unnoticed. Murderers hid out of sight.
33
The atmosphere in the car was a ferment of adrenaline, nerves, and anticipation. DCI Barker sat in the passenger seat, her dark blonde head in front of Harrison. She spent the entire journey on one phone call after another, talking with Chief Inspector Graham McDermid and ensuring they had forensics and medics on standby.
Jack drove. Harrison saw his face in the rear-view mirror, serious and concentrating on getting to their destination as fast as he could. Bushy eyebrows furrowed together. There’d been a noticeable step-down in his antipathy towards Harrison over the last couple of days. He was relieved. It meant they were able to get on with their jobs rather than focus on a petty rivalry that didn’t exist.
To Harrison’s right was DC Oaks. He could almost feel the adrenaline pumping out of the young officer. Harrison estimated he was about twenty-six, a serious career head on the young man. He reminded him of the singer Will Young in looks, a slightly large bottom jaw with an overbite and a smile which curled up at the corners like a cartoon cat. His dark brown hair was always immaculate and his suits well-fitted. He was good looking, but definitely more interested in Sam Smith than Taylor Swift. Harrison liked his attitude, he was keen to learn, and would hedge a bet that in a few years’ time he would sprint up the ranks.
Nobody said a word apart from DCI Barker and her constant one-way conversation on her mobile. All of them were mentally preparing to do battle with whatever they were to find at Holden Furniture.
Harrison was glad when they neared their destination, sprinting and weaving through the London traffic in the back of a police car made him feel nauseous at the best of times, but with the anticipation somersaulting round his insides, he was looking forward to being in the fresh air.
They reached the Holden Factory site boundary long before they got to the entrance. It was a big area. It was obvious that the land was worth far more than the business ever was, but Harrison wondered if the owners had benefitted or if they’d had to sell their family business at a loss, and some lucky property developer was sat ready to cash in. Some of the permitter was walled, in other places it was six-foot railings. It wasn’t an easy place to get into, but definitely not impossible.
When they finally reached the entrance gates, they found huge wrought iron throwbacks which spoke of the success the business had once been and an age when British manufacturing had been in its heyday. Holden Furniture was spelt out across the top in metalwork. Harrison could imagine the pride Cameron’s dad would have felt at being a part of this mini empire.
‘Bloody hell, this place is huge, we’re going to need more officers and dogs too,’ Jack proclaimed as he peered through the windscreen at what lay beyond the gates.
‘Territorial Support will be arriving any moment. They’ve only got a small team available for the next couple of hours because there’s a big drugs operation going on at the docks today. It’s pulled a lot of officers away. Graham can’t lead, it’s going to be Inspector Summers. I’ve also asked for the helicopter. Heat sensors might come in useful.’
‘Don’t hold your breath, and James Summers is a pain in the arse,’ Jack declared. ‘He’s too methodical and slow, plays everything by the book.’
‘I get that,’ Sandra replied, ‘but you know protocols.’
As they’d pulled up to the factory gates, two men who had been waiting in a Zebra Security van, got out.
One was in a security guard uniform and the other a suit. Before she was introduced, DCI Barker had already sussed out that the suit was the manager she’d spoken to on the phone.
‘Detective Chief Inspector Barker?’ queried the suited man. His manner was defensive, which wasn’t unusual. A lot of people took that approach when the police called them.
‘Yes, Mr Wilson?’ she countered.
He stepped forward and shook her hand.
‘I can assure you that nobody is living within these premises. My men complete regular checks, as our client has stipulated. We patrol the site and there is nobody here.’
‘I’m sure, but we would like to take a look around please, Mr Wilson, we’re not trying to get anyone into trouble. We have reason to believe that this site may have a connection to a suspect we’re looking for.’
The man was obviously panicking about what the client might say if the police found someone had been living on the site under their noses. Especially if the media then got involved.
DCI Barker was relieved that the Detective Chief Superintendent was so keen to get the case wrapped up that he’d rushed through their warrants.
‘I have all the necessary search warrants, and any delays could risk the life of a kidnapped child. We would appreciate your cooperation and that will be reflected in any report.’
The man nodded to her and then at his colleague, who turned to unpadlock the gate.
‘This the only way in and out by vehicle?’ DCI Barker asked.
‘Yes.’
Behind them a navy van pulled up with blue and yellow stripes and ‘Territorial Support Group’ written in white writing on its side. An officer in a pale-blue baseball cap and black all-weather uniform jumped out.
‘Ma’am. Inspector Summers, I’m here to assume command of the search operation.’
‘Inspector.’ Sandra smiled at the officer but secretly just wanted to tell him that she was in command as senior officer. She knew their unit had been assigned the search detail
, but she was itching to get in there herself.
Harrison had got out the car and was looking through the gates at the site beyond.
‘The vans you use, are they all like this one?’ Harrison asked the Zebra Security manager.
‘Vans? Yeah, why,’ Wilson looked at Harrison as though he’d asked him to do the Tango.
‘So every one of the vehicles that would come in here are of this type?’
‘Yes. We have a fleet of about thirty. We’re not a bunch of cowboys, you know, we have a good reputation. Been going twenty years.’
‘That wasn’t what I was asking—or inferring,’ Harrison replied brusquely. He was onto something and he wanted facts, not emotion. ‘You always use the same tyres on your vans?’
‘Yeah. We have a programme of maintenance and unless one of the guys had a puncture and so had to use the spare, we would keep them all consistent. I don’t get why you’re asking me that?’
Harrison turned to look at the man directly in the face. Mr Wilson stepped back a little as he came under his scrutiny.
‘I asked because even from here I can see that there is a well-travelled path of tyre tracks that seem to match your van, but over there are another set. A different vehicle has come through those gates and it has not only got different tyres to yours, but its tyres don’t match. So you see, it’s important.’
DCI Barker, Wilson, and Inspector Summers, all turned to look where Harrison was pointing, but none of them could see what he referred to. The road into the factory was covered in dust and debris, decades of neglect, while the owners had waited for property prices and planning to catch-up with their expectations, and the outer edges of London’s sprawl to reach them.
‘Is there ever a time when these gates aren’t padlocked?’ DCI Barker asked the two Zebra Security men, looking from one to the other.
‘No, of course not. We keep the site secure,’ Wilson replied.
‘Perhaps when you’re carrying out your rounds?’ Barker prompted the man in uniform next to her. He flushed and instantly looked nervous. Eyes jumped from Barker to his boss and back again.
She raised her eyebrows at him questioningly. She’d get tougher if she had to.
‘Well… maybe,’ the man finally stuttered out. ‘When we go inside, it’s difficult to have to lock the gates behind us so we tend to just close them and drive round, locking them when we leave. But no one would come in, not while we’re here,’ he added with one eye on his boss.
‘So yes then,’ DCI Barker qualified. ‘Someone could have driven in while you were out of sight somewhere else in the grounds.’
He nodded sheepishly, aware that his boss was glaring at him.
‘And do you ever check the buildings, or do you just drive round?’
‘We don’t go into the buildings because it could endanger our staff.’ Wilson was back on the defensive now. ‘Some of the buildings contain asbestos, some are falling apart. They’re mostly sealed up. Kids break into the site occasionally, but usually it’s just to find somewhere to meet and drink and then they’ll smash some windows,’ the manager continued, he was trying to find excuses now, for anything that the next hour or hours might uncover.
‘It’s a big site,’ DCI Barker reassured him. She realised he was getting more dejected and nervous, and she wanted his cooperation.
‘Where do you think would be the most likely place for someone to stay if they were in there?’ Inspector Summers spoke now and addressed Wilson.
‘The main building. It’s the most comfortable and least damaged.’
‘Then that’s where we’ll start,’ he said, without a second glance to Harrison.
He walked back to the Territorial Support van and jumped in. Harrison and DCI Barker watched them head through the gates.
‘Sandra, they’re going the wrong way,’ he said to DCI Barker. ‘There’s just six of them and they’re going in the wrong direction. It could take them hours to search at this rate.’
‘You sure?’ she asked.
‘I’m positive. I don’t know where those tyre tracks end, but they definitely did not go in the direction that he’s just gone.’
It was all the excuse she needed.
‘Okay, let’s follow your tracks and see where they lead us then.’
As they drove through the entrance gates, Sandra Barker was feverishly visualising finding a little boy unharmed in one of the buildings in front of her. She was also reciting a prayer in her head. Perhaps this time it would work.
‘This way,’ Harrison said to Salter. He had his head out of the rear window and was staring at the ground as they travelled. ‘Go slowly.’ His eyes searched the dust and debris on the track. Jack didn’t question him, he turned slowly in the direction he indicated.
They weren’t travelling on the main road directly into the factory complex, that was the way the TS team had gone, but were heading off to the left side.
‘Are those the same tyres as we saw at Felton Woods?’ DCI Barker asked him.
‘Yep,’ Harrison replied. He was curt, but not out of rudeness, it was because he was concentrating on the ground. The tracks weren’t new. The wind had caused disturbances and the imprints of animal trails criss-crossed them. He didn’t want to make a mistake. Cameron Platt was here, of that he was certain.
The factory complex gradually loomed towards them. It was a huge, sprawling single-storey building, built in the 1950s and added to in the 60s, when buying British had meant something and there were the craftsmen around to build the furniture. Most of the roof was of the large, corrugated type, probably asbestos, which is why the current owners had the place sealed up. It was a simple brick-built structure and, as had been mentioned by the security manager, most of the windows they passed were smashed or already boarded up. Here and there windows were intact, reinforced with wire for security, but you could see the marks of the stones and other missiles on the glass where frustrated vandals had tried repeatedly to finish the job.
They drove past a small cluster of buildings, heavily sealed with a series of ‘Asbestos keep out’ signs all over.
It had the feeling of riding into a ghost town, Jack half expected a tumbleweed to roll across their path as he drove through.
‘Down there.’ Harrison pointed to a narrow alley that ran between two buildings. Salter didn’t question him, but turned down it. As they drove, they saw the TS team right the way across the other side, getting out in front of where the factory reception had once been. Above the door hung an old wooden sign, its paint peeling but still just legible, ‘Holden Furniture, proud to be British’. Harrison recognised it. That was where John Platt had proudly stood, shaking the hand of his MD, and receiving a glass plate for his thirty years’ service.
‘Okay, stop,’ Harrison said and jumped out the car. He was like a bloodhound. They watched as he walked, eyes to the ground, first to the left and then the right. Then all around the area. He shook his head, mumbled something, and walked back to the car.
‘Have we lost him?’ DCI Barker asked.
‘Yes, and no. I think he’s gone into one of these loading bays.’
The four of them stopped and looked in front of them. A series of six large loading bays and delivery areas ran the full length of the building. Each bay had a large roller door, and each one was padlocked shut. The bays faced the River Thames at the far end of the site. DCI Barker knew it would take well over an hour before the Tactical team arrived to search these buildings. They had to act now.
‘How’s he got in?’ Barker asked.
Harrison scanned the padlocks. They all looked the same. He’d hoped to see a shiny new one.
He checked in front of each one, but the area was like a wind tunnel, even now leaves were being picked up and swirled around and the breeze was slight. It meant the ground had been disturbed and getting any clear answers this way was going to be impossible.
‘He wouldn’t be the first one to figure out how to pick a padlock,’ Jack suggested.
/> ‘No, you’re right, and these are heavy duty but not high tech,’ Harrison said, inspecting the mechanisms.
‘You think the van is behind one of those?’ asked Barker.
‘Definitely. But which one I don’t know.’
‘Okay, we’ll let the TS team start on the far side while we go in here. I’ll let Summers know what we’re doing and that we need these padlocks cutting off asap.’
‘He won’t like it. TS like to do it their way.’
‘Well, he’s just going to have to put up with it,’ DCI Barker replied. ‘We don’t have time for arguing and this is my operation. Let’s get moving.’
Harrison and Jack scanned the building’s facade. At the end of the row of loading bays was a door. It was unlocked, forced open a long time ago so that the weather had got in and warped the wood, preventing it from being able to be closed. They jogged quickly round the back. It was a dead wall, no windows, no doors. That made things a little easier. The only way in and out was going to be at the front, through the bays, or through that one door. The windows, which sat like dark square patches on the brick facade, were protected by metal bars. While in most cases the glass was broken, there was no way anything, but a mouse was going to get out that way.
When they got back round to the front, Barker had finished talking on the radio to Summers.
‘We need to get in that building now, but be careful, it’s derelict and there could be asbestos so try not to disturb walls and coverings or stir up broken debris. If it looks like it’s too dangerous, we don’t go on. That clear?’
‘Yes, Ma’am,’ they murmured.
‘The only way in—or out—is this side,’ said Jack. He was slightly breathless, not through exertion but adrenaline.
She nodded and turned to look once more at the building in front of them.