Tara looked up at the man who was clad in white overalls and a hat.
‘Merseyside Police,’ she replied.
‘I don’t care if you’re the bloody CIA, you can’t come in here without the proper protective clothing! We’re in the middle of a major safety incident here.’
Tara looked at Murray, who merely shrugged. A set of double plastic-flap doors to their right were suddenly thrust open, and a woman dressed in white overalls and wellingtons entered.
‘Put these on before our Nigel has a heart attack,’ she said.
She was a red-faced woman in her fifties with bright eyes and a bemused grin. Murray and Tara each took a pair of disposable coveralls, removed the polythene wrapping and began to put them on. The clothing was similar to the forensics suits they used when attending a crime scene. Next, the woman handed them a disposable elasticated cap and a pair of disposable overshoes.
‘Now you can go wandering wherever you like,’ said the woman.
‘Thanks,’ said Tara, ‘I would like to speak with Mr Harbinson, do you know where I might find him?’
The man who had continued to look down on them as they dressed finally strolled away. He had no interest in engaging with the police detectives.
‘Follow me,’ said the woman.
She walked briskly through the largely empty hall, through another set of flap doors and into an area filled with machinery, overhead conveyors and stainless-steel benches. Approximately thirty workers were dotted around, some clustered in groups of four or five. The machinery was silent; there was no work going on, food production at a standstill.
Tara felt the coolness of the air and there was a pervading smell of disinfectant. They were led through the rows of benches and at the end of one conveyor platform, a group of people were deep in conversation, whilst one woman leaned across a bench and wiped a swab over its surface. When they drew closer, Tara saw that Edward Harbinson and Toby Ewing were listening to another man who was pointing at various places within the factory floor.
‘Sorry to interrupt,’ said Tara, ‘Mr Harbinson, may I have a word?’
Harbinson turned to face Murray and her; he did not look happy. His face was strained, his complexion was deathly white.
‘Inspector Grogan,’ he said with a forced smile, ‘would you mind waiting a few minutes? In the meantime, Jean can show you around.’
The woman who had guided them thus far smiled warmly. ‘I’m Jean, follow me.’
Without another word, she led them from the building, across an open yard and into another shed which was dimly lit but open on one side. Two articulated wagons were parked in loading bays. Tara heard noises from within the trailers, the clucking and muttering of birds. She saw that both vehicles were full of plastic crates, packed with live chickens. Jean suddenly launched into a spiel of information.
‘This is our loading bay where the birds come in. Each bird is removed from the crate and hung on a hook.’ She indicated a line of steel hooks above them. ‘In less than a second, it meets the rotating blade where the head is removed. We keep this area dark so as not to stress the birds as they are unloaded.’
‘I think you’d be fairly stressed anyway if you were about to have your head chopped off,’ said Murray.
Jean smiled thinly at the comment.
‘Stress in the birds affects the quality of the meat. Follow me,’ she said. She continued to speak as she walked them into another area of the building. ‘Once the birds have been placed on the overhead line, no human hand touches them again until the product is ready to be shipped.’
‘Where do you think the contamination might have occurred?’ Tara asked.
‘We don’t know yet if any contamination happened at this factory,’ she said, frankly.
Tara glanced at Murray who seemed amused by Jean’s rather defensive attitude.
‘This is where the feathers are removed,’ Jean continued.
They stood before a long line of stainless-steel troughs where the overhead conveyor with its headless chickens on hooks descended for each bird to be immersed in hot water.
‘The baths are maintained at sixty degrees and the water is agitated by rollers. By the time the birds emerge at the far end, the feathers have been removed.’
Jean walked a few yards beyond the troughs and stood by another machine, the mechanism of which was suspended from above. She held up a metal spike that resembled a large drill bit.
‘This is automatically inserted into the carcass and is used to remove the insides of each bird. The innards are dropped into a tray beneath the carcass. Every carcass remains directly above its innards for the remainder of processing.’
‘I’m sure the birds are pleased about that,’ said Murray.
Tara nudged him in the ribs, while Jean again could only offer a dry smile of tolerance.
They were taken inside a control room on the mezzanine above the factory floor. There was a large square window that seemed to look into a dark blank space.
‘When the line is running,’ said Jean, pointing into the darkness, ‘behind this window each bird passes in front of a camera which is linked to the computer. The carcass is graded depending on its shape and size. Class A birds go for sale as a whole chicken or breast fillets, drummers, etcetera. Class B meat goes to Birkenhead and is used in our cooked ready meal products.’
‘How many chickens are processed each day?’ Tara asked.
‘Two thousand an hour, and with 24 hours running, considering shift changes and down-time, we process around 42,000 every day.’
‘Do we really eat that much chicken?’ Murray asked.
‘And then some,’ Jean replied. ‘That’s just the local produce, we also import already processed product from the Far East and Brazil for our factory in Birkenhead.’
A few minutes later they were back in the hall where they had first encountered Edward Harbinson.
‘This is where the meat is packaged ready for shipping. The meat has not been touched by human hands from the time it was placed on the line until this point. Unfortunately, by this afternoon this area will be full of the recalled product.’
‘What will happen to it?’
‘It will go to cold storage until all the testing is complete. Then, I imagine, it will be incinerated or go to landfill.’
‘Thank you, Jean,’ said Tara. ‘You’ve been very helpful. If there was a source of contamination in this factory where do you think it would come from?’
Jean shook her head. It was clear that she had already been briefed not to comment on such questions.
‘I’m sorry, I can’t say, but between you and me, Inspector, I don’t think you’ll find anything like that poison in here or in any of our factories.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘All the poisonings we’ve seen on the news have happened in Liverpool. There haven’t been any cases in other parts of the country. But Harbinson products are distributed nationally; our products are in all the main supermarkets. If the contamination originated here in Speke, or at Birkenhead, then surely people in other parts of the country would have taken ill by now.’
CHAPTER 30
When the tour of the factory was over, Jean took them to an office in the main building of the complex. They found Edward Harbinson, now in his business suit, standing by a window that overlooked the main road. He seemed to be staring vacantly into the distance, yet he was aware of his visitors.
‘How can I help you, Inspector?’ He remained with his back to them. ‘There isn’t much more I can tell you about Maggie. As you saw earlier, we’re up to our eyes with this health and safety inspection.’
‘Mr Harbinson, don’t you think it’s time we discussed your staff turnover figures?’
It wasn’t difficult to notice his fuming temper. She and Murray both sat down in matching wooden armchairs while Harbinson remained by the window.
‘Inspector, I trust you have a good reason for asking that question? I don’t think you appre
ciate what is happening here today. We have already lost two clients, and I have a meeting with our biggest customer this afternoon, during which I will have to explain how this damn crisis is not of our making. My company is at risk of going under and hundreds of people will lose their jobs. Meanwhile, Merseyside Police have failed to find the cause of this poisoning outbreak.’
‘Fuck your clients, Mr Harbinson. I want you to tell me why your staff numbers are declining with such tragic regularity?’ It was stronger language than she needed, but her frustrations had found a sudden release. She was convinced there was something sinister going on within this company.
Having, at last, turned to face them, the chairman’s face had developed a rosy hue, affronted by the strong language blowing his way.
‘I assume you’re referring to Maggie? Has there been a development?’
‘There’s been a development all right. Let me ask you something, Mr Harbinson, why have you not reported Miss Riordan as missing? I’ve been trying to reach her at your head office for the past few days, but no one can tell me where she’s gone or when she is likely to return.’
There was an acid change in the man’s complexion, his face was now grey-white and decidedly agitated. He seemed to be considering his answer carefully, choosing the right words before responding.
‘I wasn’t aware that she was missing, Inspector. She said nothing of where she was going or what she was doing, but I had no reason to think it particularly strange. She goes to London quite often, business, I believe, related to her painting. Between such occasions, I am not Jez’s keeper.’
‘But you are her employer; didn’t she request a period of leave?’
Murray had a blank look on his face. Tara had not shared her concern over Jez Riordan with him.
‘Believe it or not, Inspector, we are quite flexible with our employees, particularly those who work at head office. I trust Miss Riordan to organise cover when she is on leave.’
‘And when did you last speak to her?’ Tara asked teeth gritted, she didn’t much care for this man’s attitude.
‘I’m not sure precisely, early last week I think.’
‘Was that before or after Maggie Hull’s funeral?’
‘Before. Look, Inspector, are you going to tell me what’s wrong? Is Jez all right?’
Too late with that question, my friend.
‘Do you know of any reason why she did not attend Maggie’s funeral?’
‘I can’t think of one.’
‘And you have no idea where she spent the past week?’
‘None at all. What is going on, Inspector? If something has happened to Jez, I insist that you tell me.’
‘Forgive me for being so blunt, Mr Harbinson, but at the moment we are dealing with the deaths of two of your employees, the apparent disappearance of another and your company is now at the centre of a major food scare that so far has caused the deaths of four people. Coincidence? Maybe, but I think Ladbrokes would make it odds-on that there is a connection between them. So far, that connection points to this company. Now’s your chance to tell me something I don’t already know.’
‘I’m afraid that I can’t help you, Inspector.’ He looked Tara straight in the eyes. She didn’t baulk.
‘Do you know if there is anyone else around here who can?’
‘It’s been a very trying time for all of us at this company ever since Richard’s passing. I don’t know of anyone here who can help you, Inspector. Now, if you have no further worthwhile questions, I suggest you continue with your enquiries elsewhere and leave me to get on with saving my company from closure.’
Tara rose from the chair but before leaving, placed both hands on Harbinson’s desk and leaned forward.
‘I’ll tell you this, Mr Harbinson, there is a stinking smell around here and it isn’t the chicken. Someone knows what is going on, and I will keep coming back until I find out. Do you know what strikes me most about this company? The management doesn’t seem to give a damn about the deaths of two employees and the disappearance of another. A bit too cold for my liking. I’ll be seeing you, Mr Harbinson.’
CHAPTER 31
‘That was a bit strong,’ said Murray on their way back to the car.
‘Believe me, Alan, I could have said a lot more. I’m done with pussy-footing around people, particularly those who are suspects in a murder. How the hell does that man not see a link between the deaths of his employees and this poisoning case? What is he hiding? How can he not know whether his secretary is on leave or whether she’s just taken off somewhere? We need to find out what’s going on before we have any more victims.’
They were on the road back to the city when Murray next ventured to speak.
‘So, how are things, ma’am?’
‘What do you mean – things?’
‘I mean, how are you, how are you feeling at the moment?’
‘Am I holding it together, is that what you want to know?’
‘In a way, yes. You haven’t been the bright and buzzing woman I’m used to working with.’
Tara didn’t reply. She had no sensible answer. Her life had changed irrevocably, she knew that much. She didn’t feel the same about anything: her work, her relationships, her hopes for the future.
Deep within, she felt a determination to get things done, and quickly, as if there may not be a tomorrow. She wiped a single tear from her eye as Murray drove in silence. He was simply showing that he cared, but she couldn’t bring herself to open up to him. Right now, she didn’t think she could open up to anyone.
* * *
At St Anne Street, Tara was secretly pleased to now be included in the main briefing on the poisoning cases. She was asked to report on her investigation into the murder of Maggie Hull and the possibility that this might be linked to the main enquiry. She and Murray sat together listening to Detective Superintendent Richard Myers from Admiral Street station update the staff involved. He, like Harold Tweedy, was a sound detective of more than twenty years’ experience, originally from the Met and particularly accustomed to dealing with emergencies. He had a strong physique, a confident face and a South London accent. He spoke in a manner suggesting that he was very well used to taking charge.
‘The good news is that we have no further incidents or casualties to report,’ he said. ‘Forensic analysis is now centred on the factories in Speke and Birkenhead of Harbinson Fine Foods. Initial test results should be available shortly. We now have information from some of the victims who were taken ill, namely the students, as to where the food product was purchased. Similar traces are in operation for the other food products retrieved from the earlier victims. The stores and supermarkets concerned have been contacted and will be subject to forensic examination. Any questions?’
Tara raised her hand. Myers spotted her and pointed in her direction.
‘Inspector Grogan,’ he said.
‘Sir, it might be useful to examine the CCTV footage from these stores.’
‘And why is that?’
‘I believe that the source of this contamination originates from an individual or individuals from the Merseyside area deliberately applying the poison to a food product. I don’t think you will find anything in the factories.’
Myers seemed a little surprised by her suggestion. Tara had taken on board the comments made by Jean at the factory in Speke.
‘Harbinson products are distributed nationwide but the cases of poisoning have occurred only on Merseyside.’
‘It may simply be down to a particular batch of a product originating at the factory and that batch having gone only to stores in Liverpool,’ Myers replied. He moved on to another question.
Tara winced, not having thought of that possibility. Her face flushed red. She had not made a good first impression upon the Chief Investigating Officer.
Following her embarrassing participation in the briefing, Tara’s afternoon quickly went downhill. Not wishing to publicly disagree with Superintendent Myers, she tried to figure out
how best to initiate an investigation into CCTV footage from those stores identified as a source of the contaminated foods. She could not go over his head, so perhaps it was best to wait and see what results came from the Harbinson factories. If a source of the poison was located within the food production facility, then it would indicate contamination on site, either deliberate or accidental. If no poison was found in the factories, then Myers would have to think again. Maybe then he would consider looking at the CCTV from the shops for a potential culprit.
Tara also wondered why it was taking the labs so long to identify the poison. She had heard during Myers’ briefing that several laboratories across the country were now testing food samples. How difficult could it be?
CHAPTER 32
With little to show for her day, apart from the frustration in dealing with Harbinson Fine Foods and embarrassment during her first encounter with Myers, she contemplated her evening. As was usual these days, she would spend it alone in her flat at Wapping Dock, a book or television for company, a frozen ready meal for nourishment and a bottle of wine for comfort.
Murray snapped her out of the darkening thoughts of self-pity, but it wasn’t to be anything to induce a lighter mood.
‘Ma’am, you’d better take a look at this,’ he said, and without invitation began navigating her browser to the relevant page.
It was a bulletin posted by police in Birkenhead. She read the brief notice, and instantly her heart beat faster.
‘It could be anyone, ma’am, but just in case I thought we should get more information.’
Tara couldn’t summon words. Somehow, she felt it was the news she had feared. She allowed Murray to make the necessary phone call. Ten minutes later, they were making for the tunnel under the Mersey. By the time they arrived at the entrance to Royden Park, near Caldy, darkness was descending. Under the canopy of trees, it was already a dim and gloomy setting.
Several marked police and emergency vehicles were on site, including a forensics van and an ambulance. Murray pulled to the side of the lane. There was a small parking area ahead, but it had already been cordoned off. A white incident shelter had been erected and arc lights were being set up a little way off the car park and into the woods.
THE DARING NIGHT Page 12
