A Darker Place

by Rachel Amphlett

  ‘Anything in that lot to help us?’

  ‘Only a list of contractors who the agency suggested to Alan Trentithe to help with the refit,’ said Laura. ‘And only one of those was any good – the company that provided the office furniture. The owner said he didn’t recall any issues, and the job went according to schedule. Apart from that, the contract itself doesn’t help us. Trentithe used a post office box address for all the correspondence about the lease.’

  Gavin raised his hand. ‘Guv, we’ve gone through the details for the routes Carl and Will took on their delivery rounds again just in case we spotted something we missed previously. It doesn’t appear on any of the tachographs we were sent in relation to those drivers, but this place is located on the fringes of Bonnie Hopkins’ delivery route.’

  ‘That’s too much of a coincidence, guv,’ said Barnes, turning his reading glasses between his fingers. ‘Especially based on what Adrian’s told us.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly.’ Kay rested her hands on her hips and huffed her fringe from her eyes. ‘Okay, Barnes – organise a search warrant for the industrial unit and we’ll ask Sharp to sign it off. Parker, I need you to liaise with Hughes and arrange for some uniform back-up to join us at the industrial unit. Our priorities are to formally interview Alan Trentithe – and this Barry character if we find him there – and to find further evidence to support our theory that Carl Taylor and Will Nivens were somehow connected to the place.’

  She paused, and took a moment to cast her gaze across the rapt faces of her team. ‘We’re not taking any chances with this one. I want justice for Carl and Will but I don’t want any of you putting your lives at risk, is that understood?’

  A rumble of murmurs met her words.

  ‘All right, let’s get on with it.’

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Kay buttoned up her jacket and peered at the sign above the roller door of the industrial unit.

  Beige-coloured render peeled from the exterior walls, an effect matched by the neighbouring properties that looked almost as run-down and neglected.

  Two vehicles were parked in front of a solid single metal door serving as a pedestrian entrance to the property – a four-door sedan a couple of years old and a panel van. The car had been polished to a high sheen, whereas the age-worn van bore scrapes and dents like battle scars.

  A line of five mopeds hugged a low wall separating the building from the road, and a sullen group of teenagers in liveried T-shirts eyed her as she took in her surroundings.

  The large roller door into the warehouse side of the building was of a battered dull grey aluminium variety, and, as she glanced over her shoulder at the other five units hugging the cracked concrete apron, she reckoned the original builders had found the cheapest materials they could get their hands on during the construction phase.

  The whole place looked as if it might fall down at any moment.

  ‘That’s the last time I’m phoning up for takeaway if it comes from a place like this,’ Barnes grumbled, handing her the signed search warrant.

  ‘It’s why we keep supporting our local one,’ said Kay. ‘Any problems getting this paperwork?’

  ‘No – Sharp said he wants an update as soon as we’re done here though. Apparently the Chief Super wants to make a statement to the media the minute we find anything to progress the investigation. Something about needing a good news story this week.’

  ‘Great. No pressure, then.’

  ‘Right.’

  She skim-read the wording of the search warrant, her heart rate lifting another notch. ‘This doesn’t allow us to do much, Ian. It’s going to be little more than a cursory glance.’

  ‘Sorry, guv. It’s all Sharp would sign off on at the moment. He said if we found something that justified a more detailed search then he’d reconsider…’

  ‘By which time, if they are breaking the law, they’ll have time to hide any evidence.’ She sighed and refolded the pages. ‘Okay, it is what it is. Let’s get on with it. Uniform can interview the delivery drivers out here.’

  They crossed the concrete forecourt, and Kay pressed the security intercom button beside the single door while trying to batten down the frustration that was seeping into her thoughts.

  She knew the request for a search warrant was an act of desperation, but despite all the work her team had carried out in the past week they needed a breakthrough.

  If they didn’t find something to advance the investigation before another major crime took place, she would lose half her resources and the people left behind would become resentful at the lack of progress.

  A heavy bolt shot back from the other side of the metal door and it opened to reveal a man of medium height wearing a well-cut grey suit.

  His mouth dropped open at the sight of the uniformed officers gathered behind her.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘Detective Inspector Kay Hunter,’ she said, and held out the search warrant. ‘We have the authority to search these premises in relation to a murder investigation, and I expect your full cooperation, Mr…?’

  ‘Trentithe. Alan Trentithe.’

  ‘Just the person I was hoping to speak to,’ she said and stepped over the threshold while reciting the formal interview caution.

  A narrow stunted corridor led to a flight of stairs, a door to her right open and leading into the warehouse area of the unit.

  She waved Barnes towards the open doorway and moved out of the way before four uniformed officers hurried from the forecourt to join him, fanning out as they entered the floodlit warehouse.

  The sound of their voices carried through to where she waited beside Trentithe while they issued orders to a group of three workers who watched, stunned by the sudden turn of events.

  She peered through the door to see a woman and two men – all dressed in chef’s whites – standing beside gleaming gas ranges, their foreheads flecked with sweat from the heat emanating from within the cavernous room.

  A heady mixture of aromas filtered through from the space, a mixture of spices vying for attention amongst garlic and onion.

  ‘Right, Mr Trentithe,’ she said. ‘Shall we go upstairs and have a chat?’

  ‘I suppose so.’ He ushered his staff to one side while murmuring a reassurance that there was nothing to worry about, then turned and led the way up the steel staircase, the soles of his expensive leather shoes clanging on the metalwork.

  As she followed him, Kay ran her eyes over the certificates that peppered the plasterwork walls – health and safety accreditation, food safety standards, and other legalities to support the catering company’s trading practices.

  It seemed what went on inside the building was a much higher priority for Trentithe than the state of the exterior façade.

  At the top of the stairs, he turned right.

  After nodding to a young woman behind a reception desk in a glass-fronted office that seemed no bigger than the downstairs bathroom at Kay’s house, he ushered her into a second office at the front of the building overlooking the forecourt.

  Trentithe walked around an oak-effect desk that faced a double-glazed window slick with dirt, grease and bird shit, and sank into a tan leather chair with an ill-disguised sigh.

  ‘I hope there’s a bloody good explanation for all of this,’ he said. ‘All of my staff are legitimate employees, and we’ve received no complaints. What on earth’s going on? Why are you here?’

  ‘It’s all there, in the warrant you’re holding,’ Kay replied.

  She ignored the confused glance he shot her and pulled out one of the visitor chairs.

  It was more comfortable than the one she used at the police station.

  ‘I’ll remind you, Mr Trentithe, that you are currently under caution.’

  ‘I have nothing to hide, and I can assure you the accusations contained in this are wholly untrue. Has a competitor been making these false allegations?’ he asked.

  ‘I have some questions,’ Kay replied, ignoring his.
>
  Trentithe folded up the search warrant and placed it on the desk in front of him. ‘Ask away.’

  ‘How long have you been operating from this industrial unit?’

  ‘About two years. And we’ve never had any trouble, which is why I’m a little confused as to––’

  ‘Tell me about your business,’ she said. ‘This dark kitchen you run––’

  ‘I prefer the term “cloud kitchen”,’ he explained. ‘It’s a little more dignified, given the high quality of cooking by my employees, and relates to the way in which our orders are received. Through the cloud, you see – via mobile apps.’

  ‘The people working here––’

  ‘Are all legitimate contractors, detective.’ Trentithe jerked his chin towards a group of three metal filing cabinets beside the desk. ‘If your warrant provides for it, you can look at their employee records. Otherwise…’

  He held up his hands in a “what can you do” gesture.

  ‘When did you first employ Adrian Whitely?’

  Trentithe choked out a bitter laugh. ‘Are you here because he’s accused me of something?’

  ‘Answer the question, please.’

  ‘Adrian first started here a little over three years ago.’

  ‘What does he currently do?’

  ‘The same as the other riders out there, detective. He’s employed to deliver our meals to our customers in a timely fashion so their food arrives piping hot.’

  ‘Does he do any other odd jobs for you?’

  ‘I have no idea what you’re alluding to, but no – Adrian has a part-time job delivering food, and that’s it.’

  Kay decided to change tack. ‘How long have you known Carl Taylor?’

  ‘Who?’

  Trentithe reached forward and lifted the front page of the warrant once more, his eyes skimming the text.

  ‘Carl Taylor. He recently delivered the frozen food you use when preparing the meals downstairs.’

  Trentithe dropped the page, his brow wrinkling. ‘No – I don’t recall him, or the name. There’s a woman who does our food delivery. Bonnie, I think she’s called. Why do you want to know?’

  ‘He was found frozen to death in the back of a stolen car last week. His colleague, a nineteen-year-old by the name of Will Nivens, was discovered – also frozen to death – in the back of their refrigeration truck.’

  ‘That’s terrible.’ Trentithe shuddered. ‘What a way to go.’

  ‘Tell me about Mike and Ann O’Connor,’ she said, underlining their names in her notebook. ‘Did you have a falling out with them when they sold their restaurant?’

  ‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘We had a contract to provide them with catering services, and when they sold up without giving me the courtesy of letting me know they were doing so, the contract ended.’

  ‘Were you angry that the new owners didn’t want to continue the contract?’

  ‘It didn’t make any difference to me by then – we have other contracts to keep us busy, as you saw from the kitchen downstairs.’

  ‘How did you feel when Ann O’Connor published her book featuring your company’s recipes?’

  Trentithe looked at his blank computer screen and sighed. ‘There wasn’t much I could do about it. I hadn’t published anything or put any of the recipes in writing beyond what I needed to do for training new cooks – I didn’t think I needed to.’

  ‘She made a good six figures from the advance and subsequent sales,’ said Kay, flicking through her notes even though she knew the facts by heart. ‘Didn’t that smart a bit?’

  ’It did, yes. But like I said, I couldn’t do anything about it. I certainly don’t have the sort of money to try to take her to court to find out whether I was entitled to compensation, either.’

  ‘Is that why you dumped Carl Taylor’s body at her husband’s business? Payback?’

  ‘I’ve no idea who this Carl person is, and no – I didn’t dump his body at Mike’s business. Why would I?’

  ‘Who’s Barry?’

  ‘Again, detective, I’m sorry – I don’t know anyone called Barry. Is he a friend of the two men who died?’

  Kay watched the man’s face for any sign of stress, and forced down a sigh that threatened to escape.

  A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, and she glanced up from her notebook to see Barnes standing in the corridor outside.

  He gave a slight shake of his head, and she bit back the curse that came to mind.

  ‘If that’s all, Detective Hunter?’ said Trentithe, pushing back his chair and gesturing to the door. ‘I’m a busy man, and I now have to explain to my employees downstairs that this raid of yours was based on unfounded accusations. I’ve a good mind to complain to your superiors.’

  He balled up the search warrant and threw it into a wastepaper basket beside one of the filing cabinets.

  Kay rose from her chair and stalked out.

  She heard the sound of his feet on the steel staircase as he followed her, and she ignored the stares from the three employees who stood at the internal door that led into the warehouse, their overalls covered in food stains while they looked from her to Trentithe, confusion clouding their features.

  ‘Back to work,’ said Trentithe, waving them away. ‘A misunderstanding, that’s all. Detective Hunter is leaving. Now.’

  Kay followed Barnes through the front door, then paused and turned to peer through the open warehouse door.

  Two uniformed officers weaved their way towards her past a line of six large industrial-sized chest freezers, the shorter of the two grimacing when he passed her.

  ‘Sorry, guv. There was nothing,’ he said under his breath. ‘The drivers are clean, too.’

  Kay glared at the signage above the warehouse as Alan Trentithe spun on his heel and stalked back inside, the door swinging shut behind him.

  ‘Bugger,’ she muttered.

  Chapter Forty

  ‘How is she?’ said Laura.

  Gavin tucked his mobile phone into his jacket pocket and sighed. ‘They didn’t find anything, and Trentithe denies all knowledge of anything to do with the two victims. Kay says she and Barnes have to go into a meeting with Sharp to update the Chief Superintendent. She wants to catch up with us before the afternoon briefing once we’ve spoken to Bonnie Hopkins. Has she arrived yet?’

  ‘Just got here.’

  ‘Anyone with her?’ He gathered up his notebook and the paperwork they needed and locked his computer screen.

  ‘I asked her if she wanted to call someone but she said there was no need.’

  Gavin held the incident room door open for his colleague and then followed her towards the stairs.

  He fell silent as they reached the ground floor and made their way through a security door from reception and into the corridor that led to the interview suites.

  Arranging with Hughes on the front desk to put Bonnie Hopkins in one of the larger rooms, he noticed the sergeant had left the door to number four open.

  Through the gap, he could see Bonnie cradling a cup of water between her hands while she peered at the wall above the recording equipment, her face turned away from him.

  She was wearing a black top with spaghetti straps paired with a floral-patterned long skirt that brushed against the tiled floor, her toenails peeking out from leather sandals and painted a shocking tone of pink.

  He knocked, then pushed the door open for Laura to enter the room ahead of him and waved Bonnie back to her seat as she rose.

  ‘Mrs Hopkins, thanks for coming in,’ he said, setting down his notebook and mobile phone on the table before taking the seat opposite hers. ‘We’re going to record this interview so we have to read out a formal statement to you before we make a start, is that all right?’

  The woman nodded mutely, her gaze shifting to the recording machine as Laura set it up and recited the caution in a clear voice that rang off the walls.

  By the time she’d finished, Gavin had unfolded the map shown to Bonnie at her home
the previous week.

  ‘Mrs Hopkins, we wanted to clarify a few details with you about your route and where that takes you,’ he began. ‘Specifically, we’re interested in the catering company you deliver to at Sandling.’

  Bonnie leaned forward as he spun around the map to face her. ‘Oh, that’s Alan’s place.’

  ‘Any problems there in the past, say, six months or so?’

  ‘No – nothing at all,’ she said, taking a sip of water. ‘It’s out of the way compared to some of the places we deliver to. I don’t know if I could work there. It’s ever so noisy when the kitchens are at full capacity.’

  ‘Do you know Alan Trentithe?’

  ‘He’s not often there, but if he is he’s always laughing and joking.’ Bonnie beamed. ‘One of the nicest people on my route, to be honest.’

  ‘Do you always deliver there?’

  ‘Most weeks, yes. Sometimes an extra delivery on a Friday if they think they’re going to have a busy weekend or there’s a public holiday coming up.’

  Laura reached into the folder under her notebook and extracted an aerial photograph of the industrial units at Sandling. ‘Is this the place you deliver to?’

  ‘That’s right. There’s a sign next to the entrance for it so you can’t miss it.’

  ‘Do you deliver supplies to any other location for Alan Trentithe?’

  ‘No.’ Bonnie shook her head and pushed back the photograph. ‘If he does have another building somewhere, I don’t know about it. I’ve never delivered there. Only this place.’

  Gavin sighed, gathered together the photographs and map, and pushed back his chair as Laura formally ended the interview and switched off the recording machine.

  ‘Thanks for your time, Mrs Hopkins. We appreciate it.’ He handed her one of his business cards and led her towards the reception door. ‘If you think of anything else that might help us, would you call me?’

  ‘Of course.’ Bonnie nodded, tucking the card into the side pocket of her handbag. ‘I hope you find whoever did that to Carl and Will, Detective Piper. They were lovely blokes – wouldn’t harm a soul.’