Gone to Ground

by Rachel Amphlett

  Kay groaned as she pushed her chair away and stretched her back. ‘Let’s round everyone up for a debrief before we head back to the station. I have a feeling it’s going to be a late night.’

  Twenty-Eight

  Kay stirred the contents of a sugar sachet into her coffee and glanced up as Sharp entered the room.

  ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Slowly. There’s fresh coffee over there if you want one.’

  She waited while he helped himself to a mug from the kitchenette at the back of the incident room, then shuffled her notes along her desk to make room for him as he pulled over a spare chair and sat.

  ‘What do you make of it?’

  She rubbed at her right eye. ‘Something doesn’t add up. We’ve got third party evidence – the cameras on the dual carriageway at Beltring – that clearly show Clive’s car on the road that goes past here. His employers confirm he attended the conference; all his colleagues confirm he was here, and he was seen in the evening at the bar. To all intents and purposes, he was staying here.’ She swept her hand over the pages before her. ‘The problem is, there’s no bloody record of him having a room.’

  ‘Who have you spoken to from the hotel?’

  ‘The receptionist who was working when everyone checked in for the conference, Trudy Evans. She couldn’t explain why the record for Wallis was missing, but when we spoke to her supervisor it transpires it’s not the first time it’s happened.’

  ‘What about the classes Wallis took while he was here? The team building?’

  ‘We’ve spoken with the staff that run the golfing green, orienteering, horse riding, and archery. The rest of them run businesses outside of their contracts with the hotel, so we couldn’t get hold of them today. There’s a market at the local craft centre where a lot of them have their businesses tomorrow morning, so we’ll head over first thing and conclude the interviews there with any luck.’

  ‘Any of those people come into contact with our victim?’

  ‘The archery teacher, and the golf instructor. We interviewed the orienteering and horse riding people in order to eliminate them. We’re beginning to get a better idea of Wallis’s movements while he was on site, at least.’

  Sharp took a sip of his coffee and let his gaze wander over the assembled documentation.

  In the far corner, Debbie West sat at her desk, her laptop open as she finished updating the HOLMES database with the day’s findings, the tap tap of her fingers on the keyboard carrying across to where they sat.

  ‘Headquarters are making noises about reassembling the enquiry team over there,’ said Sharp. ‘More resources.’

  Kay wrinkled her nose. ‘More interference, too.’

  He shrugged, conceding the point. ‘I’d prefer you stayed put at the station too, Hunter – but we need a result. Something to give them to show that we’re making progress. Is there anything I can do to help?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, but thanks. Gavin’s got the security camera footage from the hotel, including the reception area. We might not have a written record of Wallis staying there, but at least we can find out if he simply slipped through the net. Trudy Evans said it was bedlam when they all arrived. Gav’s taken a couple of blokes into the media suite to go through the tapes now.’

  Sharp checked his watch. ‘That’ll take him a few hours.’

  ‘At least. He’s planning to stay late to work through them, so I’ve said he can have a later start tomorrow. I need this team to be alert, guv.’

  ‘Agreed. How’s Barnes doing?’

  ‘As second-in-command, you mean? Brilliant, to be honest. I know he can be a joker, but he’s impressed me this past week.’

  Sharp ran a hand over his jaw. ‘Still can’t convince him?’

  ‘Sadly not, and I’m not going to push it. Let’s face it, promotion isn’t for everyone. He seems happy enough in a support role, and I’m grateful for the help.’

  ‘I read your notes about the candidates.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I have to agree. I don’t think we’ve found the right fit for this team yet, and I’m loath to bring someone on board for the sake of it. I’m concerned about the workload, though.’

  ‘We’ll manage. We always do.’

  ‘True.’ He glanced over his shoulder as the door to the incident room opened and the team filed in for the afternoon briefing. ‘I’ll stay for this.’

  ‘No problem.’

  Kay waited until he’d walked over to his office and hung his jacket on the back of the door, then grabbed her notes and made her way to the front of the room.

  She stopped at Cary’s desk, gesturing to the younger detective to wait a moment.

  ‘I saw you and Gavin wandering over to the construction work at the hotel. Anything of interest?’

  ‘Not really. The archery teacher we spoke to – Kyle Craig – said the hotel was expanding, and some old sheds and outbuildings had been demolished to make way for them. We thought we’d take a look in case we could find anything, but it’s all rubble.’

  ‘No work being done on it?’

  ‘Not at the moment – the men who were there were contractors brought in to tidy up the site. I asked one of the cleaners about it when we were making our way back to the conference room, and he said it was all on hold for the time being.’

  They hurried over to where their colleagues were waiting near the whiteboard.

  Kay turned to face everyone.

  ‘All right, settle down. The sooner we get this done, the sooner you can be on your way home.’

  The hubbub dissipated until a mere murmur filled the air, then she began.

  ‘First of all, thanks for all your help today – there were a lot of statements to take, and there’s going to be a lot of information to correlate over the coming days. Gavin and PCs Stewart and Morrison are currently reviewing the security camera footage and we’ll let you know as soon as we have anything to report there. We do have one statement of interest, from Trudy Evans who worked on reception the day the delegates arrived. She confirmed she recognised Wallis from the photograph we provided but can’t explain why his details don’t appear on the hotel’s booking system.’

  ‘User error?’ said Phillip Parker from his position at the back of the room.

  ‘That’s what we’re thinking. Tomorrow, you’ll be sent out in pairs to interview the people who provide the offsite leisure activities for the hotel. There’s a fair few of them attending this market at the craft centre premises, so I want you out the door by seven o’clock. Any later than that, and we risk getting complaints about interrupting people’s regular trade. Apologies if you were planning on a lie-in.’

  ‘That would be luxury,’ said Barnes in a mock Yorkshire accent, causing a ripple of laughter through the room.

  Kay waited until it died down. ‘I’ve received word from Harriet that her team should get the results from the laboratory on Monday, so with any luck we might have a name for our second victim. Expect a busy week ahead, because we’re going to need to try to link the two victims to their killer. Any questions?’

  She paused, but none came. ‘Okay. Get yourselves home. I’ll see you at the craft centre at seven o’clock. Don’t be late.’

  Twenty-Nine

  Kay threw back the bedclothes and rubbed at her eyes.

  She’d been awake for the past two hours, unable to sleep and unwilling to wake Adam who was snoring away beside her with his arm thrown over his head, despite the bright sunshine that spilled through a gap in the curtains.

  She checked her watch and sighed, resigned to the fact she’d only managed a few hours’ rest, before she pulled on a pair of shorts and a vest top and padded downstairs.

  She yawned as she pulled the coffee beans from the cupboard, then closed the kitchen door so the noise from the beans grinding and steam emissions from the machine wouldn’t be heard upstairs. The clinic wasn’t due to open that day, and Adam had arrived home after midnight following a call out to
a farm on the outskirts of West Malling.

  She’d let him sleep as long as possible.

  Once the coffee was ready and a rich aroma filled the kitchen, Kay poured a large mugful and unlocked the back door.

  Misha emitted a pitiful bleat from behind her wire pen, and Kay crossed the grass in her bare feet to where the miniature creature peered up at her with pale eyes.

  ‘Morning, you.’

  The goat bleated.

  ‘I’ll let you out for a bit, but stay away from the herbs, okay?’

  Misha skipped backwards, and Kay laughed.

  She managed to unclip the latch one-handed, then stood back as the goat tore from the pen and trotted around the edge of the lawn, stopping at different shrubs to bury her head amongst the leaves and inhale the different scents.

  With one eye on Misha’s progress, Kay moved back to the patio and sank into one of the chairs, sipping her coffee.

  The farmers’ market at the craft centre wasn’t due to start for another hour and a half and the traffic would be light, so she allowed herself a moment to relax.

  She’d left Debbie in charge of drawing up a roster for the interviews that had to be conducted, including the temporary stall holders who turned up each Sunday as well as the permanent leaseholders of the craft centre.

  Her gaze wandered over the lawn to where a flower bed exploded with colour, a legacy from the previous owner who had been fond of roses. She made a mental note to pull the dead heads from the plants one evening after work to encourage new blooms, then glanced over her shoulder as the back door opened.

  ‘Morning. Coffee’s on.’

  Adam appeared, steaming mug already in hand and held up a newspaper. ‘Got some, thanks. This just arrived.’

  He placed the newspaper on the table next to her, then laughed as Misha was engulfed in a sneezing fit.

  ‘Yeah, well that’s what you get for shoving your face in the vegetable patch,’ he said. ‘Come here.’

  The goat trotted over to him and he ran his fingers through her hair to loosen the burrs she’d collected during her travels around the garden.

  Kay cast her eyes over the printed headlines and leaned forward as an article towards the bottom of the page caught her eye.

  Local police no closer to arresting killer.

  ‘Oh, great.’

  ‘What?’

  She jabbed her finger at the headline. ‘Jonathan Aspley’s obviously given up on getting any news from me, so he’s written something anyway.’

  She flicked the page. The reporter had done little more than regurgitate the known facts already presented to the press by the media liaison at headquarters, and she exhaled.

  ‘Okay?’

  ‘Yes, thank goodness. I’ll need to have a word with Sharp about giving the press something though. They won’t wait forever, and we can’t risk speculation with this one.’

  ‘What time are you leaving for the market?’

  ‘In about half an hour, why?’

  ‘Do you mind if I come along? I won’t get in the way of your team – I could have a mooch around, see if any of my clients are there. It’s a popular place, and it’d be good to see some of them outside of surgery hours.’

  ‘Of course you can come along. It’d be nice to have the company, to be honest.’

  ‘Great.’ He drained his coffee. ‘I’ll put Misha back in her pen, and we can get ready to head off.’

  Misha bleated as he led her towards the wire fencing, and Kay eased herself out of her chair, swiped the newspaper from the table, then rolled it up and squashed an errant wasp with it.

  An hour later, they were standing by their car in a shaded area of a gravel car park outside the entrance to the craft centre, alongside a row of uniformed vehicles and privately-owned models.

  The rest of the detective team milled about with their colleagues after greeting Adam, and once Kay checked that everyone was present, she turned to him.

  He smiled. ‘It’s okay, I’ll get out of your way. I’m going to go and pick up some vegetables for dinner this week. I’ll see you later – good luck.’

  He strode off towards the nearest of the food stalls, and Kay turned her attention back to where her team were congregated around their various vehicles and waved them over.

  ‘Gather round,’ she said. ‘I’m not going to shout because I don’t want anyone else to hear this.’ She waited while the team took several paces towards her until she could speak to them in a low voice. ‘To recap. The craft centre is only a mile from the hotel as the crow flies through that woodland over there. We’re about four miles from where Wallis’s amputated foot was found. Our parameters for today’s interviews include ascertaining who might have come into contact with Wallis over the course of the Wednesday afternoon and evening. We know all of Clive Wallis’s colleagues took part in a team building exercise with Derek Flinders who taught them basket weaving, but Montgomery Fisher confirmed that activity was concluded within two hours. His employees were given an hour to visit craft shops on site here before their minibus took them back to the hotel.’

  She checked her notes. ‘Debbie here has a pack for each of you that contains fresh photographs of Clive Wallis. We’re using the one from his employer’s website rather than the ones provided by Lucas, for obvious reasons. If you speak to anyone who can shed light on his movements on the Wednesday night, particularly where he stayed, let me know at once. Any questions?’

  ‘No, guv.’

  ‘All good, guv.’

  ‘In that case, get going. The market finishes at eleven o’clock, so if one of the stallholders on your list looks busy, you’ve got time to move on and then go back to them. We want to try to create as little disruption as possible, otherwise we’ll have the media all over us in no time.’

  She watched as they dispersed across the car park, then turned at a nudge to her elbow.

  Barnes held up a manila folder. ‘Care to join me? I’ve got a sculptor to interview.’

  She grinned. ‘I’d better. God knows you’re not the most cultured bloke around, Ian.’

  ‘I don’t mind if I actually recognise what they’re making. It’s when I’m looking at nothing more than a blob of marble or bronze I fail to get excited.’

  Kay laughed and followed him over to the craft centre’s entry gate. ‘Who else have you got on your list?’

  ‘Travis Stevens. Blacksmith. Now, that’s more like it.’

  ‘All right. Let’s speak with him first.’

  Thirty

  Carys rapped her knuckles on the corrugated iron cladding of the shed at the far end of the land taken up by the craft centre. She strained her eyes to peer into the dark interior.

  From where she and Gavin stood, she could hear the scrape of a chisel, then a mumbled curse.

  ‘Hello?’

  Movement at the back of the shed caught her attention moments before a voice called out.

  ‘Come on in.’

  As she led the way over the threshold, the sweet scent of sawdust teased her senses, reminding her of woodwork lessons at school.

  ‘Over here.’

  Dust motes filled the air, spiralling in the sunbeams that shone through roughly cut windows at the top of the walls. Her shoes scuffed at splinters and offcuts of wood, and as her eyes adjusted to the dimly lit space, she noticed planks neatly stacked in orderly piles.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  She turned to the direction the voice came from. A middle-aged man towered over her, his receding hairline glinting with sweat. He wiped his hands on a towel, dirt and grease obscuring a football team’s logo on the material, then raised an eyebrow as Gavin extracted his warrant card.

  Carys cleared her throat and held up her own warrant card before introducing them.

  ‘Can we have a note of your name, please?’ said Gavin.

  ‘Derek Flinders. What’s going on?’

  ‘Routine enquiries for an ongoing investigation.’

  ‘Sounds exciting. What do y
ou need to know?’

  Carys ignored the flash of impatience in Gavin’s expression at the other man’s words and gestured to the workbench behind him.

  ‘What is it you do here?’

  He smiled, tossed the towel over his shoulder and crossed his arms. ‘I’m a fletcher. I make bows and arrows, and I sometimes teach.’

  ‘And you supply the activities centre at the Belvedere Hotel?’

  ‘Occasionally, yes.’

  ‘How often?’ said Gavin.

  Flinders shrugged. ‘Maybe once a month. Obviously, when it first opened, I had an order from them for about twenty bows of different lengths and weights. Now I only provide them with replacements if one of the guests breaks one.’

  Carys gestured towards the tools that hung on hooks from the far wall. ‘What security measures do you have in place here?’

  ‘Security measures?’

  ‘To stop anyone breaking in.’

  He rubbed a hand over his jawline. ‘I lock the double doors you walked through a moment ago. That’s about it, really. The main gates to the craft centre are closed by whoever is last to leave of an afternoon. We’ve all got a key to the padlock for those.’

  ‘Ever had anything stolen?’ said Gavin, and ran a hand over the workbench.

  ‘No. Nothing like that.’

  ‘Your accent. Not from around here?’

  ‘Somerset. Grew up there. A bit hard to lose it after forty-odd years.’

  ‘How long have you been in Kent?’

  ‘About three years, give or take. Look, do you mind telling me what this is all about?’

  Catching Gavin’s glance, Carys pulled her notebook from her bag together with a photograph of the first victim. ‘We’re investigating the murder of a guest from the hotel, a man by the name of Clive Wallis. According to our sources, he undertook a team building exercise with you alongside some of his colleagues last Wednesday afternoon.’

  Flinders wrinkled his nose. ‘I remember the group, but I can’t say I recall him. You say he’s dead?’