Carys cleared her throat. ‘Do you think he’s going to kill again?’
‘Yes, I do,’ said Kay. She turned to the rest of the team, their faces rapt with attention. ‘Whatever his reasons for murdering these men, I think we’re running out of time. Either he’s going to kill again, or he’s going to move on, and we’ll have lost him.’
She glanced up as the door to the incident room burst open and Gavin hurried towards her.
‘What’s going on, Piper?’
He held up a slip of notepaper as he pushed between the officers gathered around the whiteboard.
‘I’ve heard from the team going through the CCTV images. They’ve got a match on the pickup truck that was used by the killer.’
Thirty-Seven
Kay worked with superior detectives over her time with the police service who would never yield the floor to a junior officer, and it had rankled her. As far as she was concerned, if urgent information came to light then it should be shared and discussed as a team, rather than piecemeal. It saved valuable time, and often the ensuing discussion would net a faster result.
‘Bring us up to speed, Piper.’
She gestured to Gavin to stand at the front of the room and address the assembled investigation team.
Gavin jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the photographs of the pickup truck on the whiteboard.
‘Okay, well despite our first impression that the licence plates had been completely removed, Andy Grey’s digital forensic team over at HQ had a go at cleaning up the images we got from David Carter – the IT consultant.’
A groan from the back of the room preceded Barnes’s voice carrying over the heads of his colleagues.
‘Get on with it, Piper. The short version, if you don’t mind.’
A smattering of laughter filled the space, and Kay glared at them.
Gavin was renowned for his methodical work – the problem was, when he was explaining his thought processes, it often took a while to coax the information from him.
‘Settle down,’ she said, then turned back to Gavin. ‘In your own time.’
‘Thanks.’ A faint blush stole across his jawline. ‘So, like I was saying – Grey sent back some enhanced images, and we’ve managed to home in on the licence plate. Sorry, guv – could I put the overhead projector on?’
‘Go for it.’
She waited while Debbie got up from her desk and handed Gavin the remote control.
‘Here we go.’ He flicked through a series of images, each becoming clearer in resolution as he progressed through the sequence. ‘There’s a small piece of the licence plate remaining on the front of the vehicle. It must’ve been broken when the plate was removed, and our suspect either didn’t notice, or didn’t bother. From that, Grey has enhanced the images further, until we see this – a partial letter and the name of the garage the licence plate was originally provided by.’
Kay held her breath and took a step closer to the whiteboard. ‘Have you managed to contact them?’
Gavin turned to her, his eyes sparkling. ‘We’ve gone one better. The garage – it’s based at Ashford – has given us the name of the person who originally bought it.’
‘How did they manage that?’ said Carys, frowning. ‘There’s got to be a hundred vehicles like that around here.’
Gavin grinned, and tapped the image with his forefinger. ‘There are, but that’s a letter “A”.’
‘It’s a private plate,’ said Barnes, his voice betraying his excitement.
‘Exactly. Grey passed on the information to uniform, who have been in touch with the Driver Vehicle Licensing Agency. The plate is thirty years old. A Mr Alan Marchant was the last registered owner.’
‘The butcher from the market at the weekend?’
‘The same bloke, yes.’
Kay held out her hand for the page Gavin held, and scanned her eyes down the brief report he’d printed out. ‘It says here he lives out the other side of Sutton Valence.’
‘The location’s right, and he’s certainly got the tools for the job,’ said Barnes. He walked over to Gavin and slapped him on the arm. ‘Good work, Piper. Looks like you’ve found our suspect.’
‘Okay, before we go racing over there, I want a complete review of surrounding properties, roads in and out of the area,’ said Kay.
The crowd moved away as instructions were passed on, and Kay nibbled at a thumbnail as she watched her team form groups that would work on each angle of the coordinated arrest.
‘That’s one hell of a breakthrough,’ said Sharp as he joined her at the end of the room.
‘He’s done well. So has Grey’s team.’ She turned back to the whiteboard, her eyes falling on the photographs of the two victims. ‘How many have we missed though, Devon? Someone like this – I can’t believe he’s only started killing. Look at the way he’s dismembered our two victims. It’s remorseless, and we still don’t have a motive.’
‘That might come to light under questioning,’ he said. ‘It’s sometimes the way. We don’t always figure out why people do this to each other.’
Kay frowned. ‘I know, but what’s more chilling is that the statement he gave to us on Sunday seems so normal. Did you read it?’
‘Yes – I had a quick read through all of them yesterday afternoon.’ He sighed and gestured to the team working busily at their desks or running back and forth to one of the three printers that were working nonstop against the far wall. ‘All right, I’ll let you get on. Text me when you’re on your way and let me have an update as soon as you can.’
‘Will do. Thanks, guv.’
Thirty-Eight
Kay held on to the plastic strap above the passenger door as Barnes slid their car around a bend in the road, then held her breath as the patrol car in front of them braked to take a right-hand turn.
‘Jesus,’ she said as her seatbelt cut into her sternum.
‘Sorry,’ said Barnes. He jabbed his foot on the brake once more before negotiating a tight corner that left little room for error.
Kay checked the wing mirror in time to see a further patrol car snake around the corner in their wake, the driver’s face determined as he increased his speed to keep up with his colleagues.
‘How much further?’ she said.
‘It should be down here.’
Remnants of early morning dew clung to the grass verges, a faint mist rising from a riverbed to the left of the lane lending a muted tone to the surrounding countryside.
After the briefing, the team had set out from Maidstone as the commuter and school run traffic snaked through the urban sprawl, blue lights clearing a path for their vehicles as they’d descended on the Kentish countryside.
Kay had ordered the lights off and sirens silenced several miles from their destination, worried they’d alert their suspect.
She lowered her gaze to the pages in her hand. Debbie had thrust them at her as she’d rushed out the door after the briefing to oversee the arrest of Alan Marchant at his home, and as she ran her gaze over the printed text she spotted a familiar place name.
‘He went to the same school as your daughter, Emma.’
‘Really?’ Barnes’s eyes flickered from the road to the documents and back. ‘When?’
‘Nineteen eighty-three. Got done for shoplifting when he was fifteen, which is why it’s on record. After that, it looks like he managed to turn his life around. His dad owned a chicken farm out near Paddock Wood – there’s a newspaper clipping from twenty years ago Debbie’s found, and when the old man died, Marchant sold the farm and used the money to set up his own mobile butchering service.’ Her hand dropped to her lap and she stared out the windscreen. ‘Jesus, Adam probably knows him through the farming connection.’
‘Married?’
‘Yeah. One kid by the look of it. Again, he’s quite successful so he’s had some newspaper coverage about local Chamber of Commerce awards, things like that.’
‘Any other complaints on file?’
‘Not
since the shoplifting, no, so nothing to indicate he’s got a violent streak.’
‘We’ll still take it slowly when we get there though, okay? Just in case.’
‘Agreed.’
Kay knew she could count on Barnes to protect her if necessary – they’d found themselves in a few situations over the years working together, but she hoped it would be an easy arrest. She didn’t fancy the paperwork that would inevitably be generated by the alternative.
Nevertheless, they had both brought stab vests to don the moment they were out of the car, and given the suspect’s career choice, Sharp had taken the decision out of Kay’s hands and insisted an armed response unit attend and make the arrest before the property was searched.
She reached out for the radio as the GPS on her mobile phone indicated they were fast approaching the hamlet where Marchant lived.
‘Okay, let’s take this slow,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to aggravate the situation by one of us letting adrenalin rule our heads. We’re doing this one by the book.’
A steady chorus of affirmations reached her ears as she replaced the radio in its cradle, and she sat back in her seat, forcing herself to remain calm.
‘This could be the shortest DI probationary period in the history of Kent Police if I screw this up,’ she muttered.
Barnes choked out a laugh. ‘It’ll be fine. Stop worrying.’
His words belied the determined expression he wore, but Kay appreciated them all the same.
She dropped the pages into her bag at her feet and held on to the strap above the door once more as Barnes took the final corner approaching the building where Marchant ran his business from, then unclipped her seatbelt as he slewed the car to a halt at the grass verge.
Beyond the car, a ramshackle wooden shed leaned precariously against a barbed wire fence, while next to it a muddy driveway led to a low-slung house that hugged a recently landscaped garden. To the right of the house, a modern corrugated iron structure took up the length of the boundary line between Marchant’s property and that of the neighbouring smallholding, and Kay noticed the mains power supply line that ran from a wooden pylon on the lane to a junction box in the gables.
The armed response team had burst from the doors of their vehicle before she had finished putting on her stab vest, and she watched from the safety of the lane as they split up around the house. Two members of the team knocked on the front door once their colleagues were in place at the rear, while two more men burst through the doors to the outbuilding at the same time as the front door was opened.
A woman stood on the threshold, her mouth agape at the men standing before her. She took a step backwards as the armed response team entered her house, and one of the men stayed with her as his colleague disappeared from sight.
A shout from the outbuilding caught Kay’s attention and she turned to see one of the officers raise his hand to her.
‘Clear – he’s in here.’
A similar shout came from the team in the house, and Kay nodded to Barnes who raised his radio to his lips.
‘We have authority to proceed. That’s an all clear from both teams,’ he said.
Kay didn’t hear the response; she was already striding towards the open door of the outbuilding, ignoring the woman’s protests as a uniformed officer tried to calm her in order to take a statement from her.
A chill gripped Kay as she entered the outbuilding, sending a shiver across her shoulders. She had imagined the barn-like structure to be a gloomy dwelling and was surprised to note that bright lights shone from the vaulted ceiling above her head. A familiar iron-leaden tang filled the air though, and as she fell into step beside Barnes she noticed that the door to the back of the trailer was open, a hosepipe discarded next to the back wheel.
PC Morrison was a burly figure, but she took one look at his pale face and pointed to the door.
‘Get yourself outside. Get some fresh air.’
He took off at a trot, leaving his colleague to stand guard over the man she recognised as Marchant.
Ignoring him for the moment, she peered around the back of the trailer.
She couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped her lips.
The floor of the trailer was covered in blood splatter; water from a hose trickled across the surface, causing rivulets to splash onto the concrete floor at her feet.
She took a step back and raised her gaze to the ceiling of the trailer. A series of hooks hung from it, but it was the sight of the bloody carcass that caused her to raise her hand to her mouth.
Despite a pervading stench of disinfectant emanating from the bucket at her feet, it was impossible to prevent her senses recoiling at the sight and smell of the dead sheep that turned on the hook.
Barnes cursed under his breath.
Marchant shrugged off the hand PC Stewart laid on his shoulder, a frown creasing his features.
‘What the hell is going on? What are you doing here?’
Barnes extracted the paperwork from his jacket pocket and held it out to him. ‘This is a warrant to search your premises in relation to a murder investigation we are conducting.’
As he read out the formal caution to Marchant, Kay hurried past the trailer and over to a locked chest on wheels.
‘Open this please, Mr Marchant.’
The butcher rummaged in his pockets before extracting a key and inserting it into the lock.
When he raised the lid, Kay’s heart gave an involuntary lurch.
Knives, mallets and cleavers shone under the glare from the overhead lights.
‘Does anyone else have access to these?’ she said.
‘No. Only me.’
Barnes joined her and gave a low whistle before gesturing to three chest freezers that had been placed against the far wall.
Condensation ran down the side of one of them, the motors humming as the thermostats fought against the cloying heat in the outbuilding.
A sense of foreboding clutched at Kay’s heart.
She ran her eyes over the lid, then glanced over her shoulder. ‘What’s in here?’
‘Nothing,’ said Marchant. ‘I mean, just meat.’
She turned back to meet Barnes’s gaze, gave a slight nod, then watched as Barnes took a deep breath and reached out for the handle to the largest of the three stainless steel chests.
Thirty-Nine
‘Steak?’
Kay swore under her breath and turned away from the cuts of meat packed neatly into the chest freezer, relief chasing away the dread that had clutched at her heart.
‘Lamb, actually.’
‘Bloody hell.’
Barnes dropped the lid back into place and stomped over to where Marchant stood, his mouth twitching.
‘It’s not funny,’ the older detective growled.
‘I tried to tell you.’
‘All right. Enough.’
Kay stalked across the shed to where the two men stood, dismissed the uniformed officers who were failing to keep the mirth from their faces, and waited until the shed was quiet once more.
‘The pickup that is registered to this address—’
‘Stolen a couple of weeks ago.’
‘Why didn’t you report it?’
He shrugged. ‘It didn’t have a MOT certificate and it wasn’t licensed. I only used it to drive around the property and the suspension was shot to pieces. It was only a matter of time before it seized up completely. Whoever stole it did me a favour, to be honest. Saved me paying wrecking fees.’
‘The registration plates on the vehicle had been removed. Have—’
‘That was me. I took them off a few months back. I was planning on selling them online, but the front one splintered when I undid the screw, so that was that. I was annoyed, to be honest – those were my dad’s and I think I could’ve got a few hundred quid for them.’
Kay bit back a groan, and instead blinked to refocus.
She could hear Morrison and Stewart chattering away outside, their voices full of humour. She push
ed away the thought of what Barnes would have to endure back at the station from his colleagues. No doubt the story of the botched raid would reach legendary proportions by the afternoon, but Barnes would cope. He gave as much as he took from the uniformed ranks when it came to humour, and Gavin’s theory had been a sound one based on the evidence he’d obtained from his research.
She raised her gaze to Marchant once more. ‘When did you notice the pickup had been stolen?’
‘Wednesday night, the week before last. Whoever took it remembered to throw the latch over the gate to the paddock, though, so at least the flock didn’t escape.’
Kay turned to Barnes, but he was already moving towards the exit. ‘Get Stewart to tape off that gate and have Harriet and her team here as soon as possible. We might be able to recover some latent evidence, given it hasn’t rained lately.’
Barnes raised his hand over his shoulder as he disappeared from sight, and she heard him barking orders to the two police constables outside.
No doubt they were losing their sense of humour rather quickly.
Despite the fact it appeared they had the wrong suspect, she would still have to ensure that a crime scene investigation team attended the property as soon as possible to rule out foul play.
As she ran her eyes over the collection of saws and knives on a bench opposite the refrigerators, she refused to lay the blame at anybody’s feet but her own.
After all, it had been the best lead they’d had in the investigation to date, and at least they could rule out Marchant as a suspect.
She turned back to him.
‘Mr Marchant, I apologise for the inconvenience caused. However, we are in the middle of a major murder investigation, and I would ask that you refrain from contacting the media. Any attempt by you to speak to the press won’t be looked upon favourably by my superiors, as it could alert the killer to our movements and the ongoing nature of our enquiries. Is that understood?’
Gone to Ground Page 15
