by P. F. Ford
‘But I don’t want to be a bother,’ she said.
‘It’s no bother,’ he assured her, as he settled her into one of the chairs behind the counter. ‘I was going to have to sit on my own and drink my tea. Now I’ve got someone to chat to. What’s your name?’
‘Iris,’ she said. ‘Iris Chandler.’
‘Right, Iris. You get comfy while I put the kettle on.’
Slater settled back in front of the tech suite monitor and took a sip from the biggest cup of strong, black coffee he could find. He pressed play and watched the footage from outside again and then again.
When he had finished, he read through the notes he had made, then he went back to the footage from inside reception and made some more notes. Then he found the footage from the camera focused on the gates to the car park at the back of the building. There wasn’t a lot more to add to his notes from this camera, but he thought it was enough to complete the picture and confirm his suspicions. Just to be sure, he read through all his notes one last time. Now he thought he was starting to make sense of what had happened in reception yesterday afternoon when the package had been delivered, and he felt pleased with himself. Sometimes the answer was right under your nose, but you had to go over and over the evidence before you could see it. On this occasion, his tenacity had definitely been rewarded.
His thoughts were interrupted by an annoying buzz from the phone next to him. He grabbed the handset.
‘It’s Sandy,’ said the voice in his ear. ‘I have someone down here I think you might want to talk to.’
‘Who? What about?’
‘Her name’s Iris Chandler,’ said Mollinson. ‘She’s just come in to report her husband missing.’
‘I haven’t got time to get involved with a missing person, Sandy,’ he said, in exasperation. ‘Why would you think that?’
‘Because her husband works for the contract cleaners who clean this place. She hasn’t seen him since he went to work on Monday afternoon.’
‘And?’ asked Slater.
‘And he was supposed to be coming here.’
‘What, and you think—’
‘Of course, it might be completely unrelated,’ said Mollinson. ‘I mean it’s not my place to tell you what to do, but I think it’s a bit of a coincidence, don’t you?’
Slater thought for a few moments. ‘No. You’re right,’ he said. ‘I’ve got so tied up with this CCTV I’m not thinking straight. I’ll be right down.’
Chapter Sixteen
It was 7am, half an hour until the morning briefing. Slater was in the canteen. He had just settled down with a plate of bacon and eggs. He always tried to sit with his back to the wall so he was facing the room and could always see who was heading his way. He couldn’t miss Goodnews when she walked in. Not for the first time, he wondered how she managed to look so good first thing in the morning. He knew for a fact she could only have snatched four or five hours’ sleep in the last forty-eight hours, on a camp bed in her office, and yet she looked as fresh as a daisy.
Absently, he ran a hand over his face. The bags under his own eyes felt as if they were reaching down to his chin, yet there was no sign of tiredness about her. Even her clothes looked immaculate, with not a single crease in sight. He watched as she gathered a tray, collected her own breakfast, and turned to look for somewhere to sit. She saw him and began to head his way, and, for a moment, he hoped she wouldn’t come and sit with him. Then he immediately felt guilty for being so childish.
‘Morning,’ she said, with a smile. ‘D’you mind if I join you?’
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Help yourself.’
She sat down opposite him, with her back to the room, and began to unload her tray onto the table.
‘Did you get much sleep?’ he asked, for want of something to say.
‘On a camp bed?’ she said, with a wry smile. ‘Och, you have to be joking. I suppose it’s better than nothing but I wouldn’t recommend it. What about you?’
‘I probably managed about two hours in between the tossing and turning,’ he said.
‘That’s not good. The idea was for you to get a decent night’s sleep.’
‘Yeah, but I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about what that motorcycle courier guy told me. I knew we had to be missing something, so I gave up trying to sleep and came back in here. I’ve been watching CCTV footage for the last couple of hours.’
‘I thought you were looking pleased with yourself,’ she said.
Slater felt himself blushing. ‘I haven’t written it all up yet,’ he said, ‘so I’ll give you the quick version. The thing is, I couldn’t figure out how the courier could insist he never entered the building when we’ve clearly got him on CCTV. Or, at least, we thought we had him on CCTV.’
He paused to take a mouthful of breakfast. Goodnews was staring intently at his face, following his train of thought.
‘Well, come on,’ she said. ‘You’ve obviously found something. Let’s hear it.’
‘Right, listen up everyone,’ Goodnews said to the assembled team. ‘We still don’t have access to the forensics lab yet, but I’m told we should be able to get in there later today. I’m also promised a report from the pathologist any time now. You’re probably thinking that means we’re not getting anywhere, but in fact, we’ve had a major breakthrough thanks to DS Slater. I’ll let him explain it to you.’
She nodded at Slater, and he took her place at the front of the room.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘We know from the CCTV footage that Ian Becks came up from his lab, signed the log book, and was then met by a courier. On that basis we figured the courier was a key figure and needed tracing. Lucky for us, he had parked his bike out front and we had a lovely shot of his registration number, making him easy to track down.
‘I went to speak to him yesterday afternoon. It turns out he had collected a package from P&P Publishing in Winchester with instructions to deliver it to Ian Becks, who would be waiting to go home and might even meet him outside. They even handed me a job sheet with Ian’s signature to prove the package had been delivered. This is great so far, but then it all starts to go a bit pear-shaped. You see, we’ve got the courier on CCTV coming into the building and meeting Ian. The problem is, the courier I spoke to swears blind he never came into the building. He says Ian was waiting outside the front doors for him.’
Slater stopped and looked around. He certainly had their attention.
‘He must be lying,’ said a voice.
‘That thought did cross my mind too,’ said Slater. ‘But even when I told him we had him on CCTV he stuck to his story. What’s more, he has a witness to say he was back in Winchester by six-thirty, and he’s caught on an ANPR camera entering Winchester just before then. There’s no way he could have been there at that time if he was down in the basement with Ian when we think he was.’
Now there were puzzled faces staring back at him.
‘So how does that work, then?’ asked Steve Biddeford.
‘Well,’ said Slater. ‘What if there were two couriers?’
‘But I saw the footage of him arriving,’ said Biddeford. ‘That’s where I got his registration number from.’
‘I know that,’ said Slater.
‘Are you saying I missed something obvious?’ Biddeford sounded defensive, and Slater knew he was thinking back to a year ago when he had missed something important on CCTV for a case.
‘I’m not saying that at all,’ said Slater. ‘You didn’t look any further because we only asked you to find the registration number. At the time, we hadn’t spoken to the courier so we didn’t see any need to search the footage for anything else. It was only after I had spoken to him I realised there might be more to it than we first thought.’
‘So what have you got that makes you think there were two couriers?’ asked Goodnews, obviously keen to keep the briefing from developing into a slanging match between Biddeford and Slater.
‘I’ve watched footage from reception, the front of the b
uilding, and the rear car park,’ he said. ‘Watching each one in isolation, it’s not immediately obvious what’s going on, but when you put them together, this is what happens.’
Using a hand switch, he started a video playing.
‘At 18.03, a courier drives into the rear car park. As he should, he parks his bike, walks out of the car park, and heads around to the front of the building. Things to bear in mind: One, he doesn’t take his crash helmet off. Two, he’s not carrying anything. Three, he’s wearing red leathers.
‘At 18.09, another courier arrives. This one is too lazy to park at the back and walk round, so he parks out front, ignoring the double yellow lines and the notice asking him to park around the back. He immediately takes his crash helmet off and can easily be identified as Justin Wells from ASprint couriers. As he walks up the steps to the front door, you can see he’s wearing black leathers and he has a package under his arm.
‘Now, at this point he disappears from view because the camera out front doesn’t actually cover the front door. It’s set at such an angle that half a dozen people can stand on that top step and be out of view. Less than a minute later, Justin comes back into view, walking down the steps. You can clearly see he is no longer carrying a package. He puts on his crash helmet, jumps on his bike, and roars away.’
He stopped the video while he found the next piece of footage.
‘So where’s the first courier?’ asked a voice.
‘Here,’ said Slater, clicking his switch and looking up at the screen. ‘At 18.11, the front door opens and a courier walks in carrying a package.’ He paused the video. ‘Anyone notice anything about this guy compared to the one we’ve just been watching?’
‘He’s wearing his crash helmet,’ said someone.
‘Which he never takes off, all the time he’s in there,’ added Slater.
‘He’s wearing red leathers,’ said another voice.
‘Exactly. Justin was wearing black leathers and no crash helmet, and now, suddenly, he’s wearing red leathers and a crash helmet.’
‘It’s two different people,’ said Biddeford. ‘But how did they do that? The timestamp must be wrong.’
‘Apparently the timestamp is universal,’ said Slater. ‘All the tapes are in perfect sync. When Justin collected the package from Winchester, it was a rush job. Someone had cocked-up in the publisher’s dispatch department, and they had almost left it too late. Justin was none too pleased to get a job that late in the day, so he was in a hurry. He was told the person waiting for the package was also in a hurry and would probably be waiting outside, and would be easily identifiable by his red motorcycle leathers.
‘According to Justin, when he got here there was a guy waiting at the top of the steps in red leathers. He carried the package up the steps, the guy signed for it, and Justin left. It was the perfect delivery for him, he didn’t even have to go inside the building!’
‘What about a description for this guy at the top of the steps?’ asked Biddeford.
Slater gave him a little smile. ‘He was wearing a crash helmet with a dark visor,’ he said.
‘So he meets the courier on the top step, out of view of CCTV, signs for the package and then takes it in to deliver it to Ian?’ asked Biddeford.
‘That’s what I think, yeah,’ said Slater, nodding his head.
‘But why? If it was a bomb, why go anywhere near it when the real courier could have delivered it?’
Goodnews had come to stand alongside Slater. ‘That’s one question we need to address,’ she said. ‘Along with a few others, like who is this man?’
‘What happened to him anyway?’ asked Biddeford. ‘Where did he go?’
‘Footage from the camera focused on the rear car park shows him coming through the barrier at the far end of the car park, casually walking over to his bike, climbing on, and riding away. He was as cool as a cucumber. Anyone seeing him out there would have thought he was just a courier doing his job. And, of course, by this time he was wearing Becksy’s crash helmet.
‘What happened to his own crash helmet?’ asked Biddeford.
‘He disappears from view for a few seconds and reappears carrying it,’ said Slater. ‘My guess is he opened the fire exit just long enough to place it outside.’
‘So that’s another bloody camera not set up right,’ said Goodnews. ‘It should catch those doors as well.’
‘One thing I will say,’ said Slater. ‘When Becksy meets this guy in reception, I’m sure he knows him. His body language is totally open, like he trusted the guy. And then he leads him down towards the basement. I’m sure he wouldn’t do that unless he knew the guy.’
‘So there’s another question,’ said Goodnews. ‘If the guy knew Ian, why was he keeping his crash helmet on? Was it just to hide his face from the camera, or was it because he wasn’t actually who Ian thought he was.’
There was a rumble of conversation through the room.
‘A couple more things before you go,’ said Goodnews. ‘First, there’s a slight possibility this has got something to do with a case from a few months ago when former-DS Norman got kidnapped. You may recall there was some involvement from a couple of Serbian gangsters. It’s possible I’ve inadvertently stirred them up and this is some sort of payback for that. I’m not convinced it is that, but it has to be considered, so just be aware of the possibility we could come across some dangerous people during this investigation.
‘Also, we have a missing person I would like you to bear in mind. He might, or might not, be relevant to this case, but as he was a cleaner who worked here, and he disappeared the night Ian died, I would like you all to make a note of his details and keep an eye out for him or the van he was driving when he disappeared. Details of all this stuff are attached to today’s work-sheets.’
‘That’s really good work, figuring out there were two couriers,’ Goodnews told Slater when everyone had left.
‘Thank you,’ said Slater, ‘although I’m not sure I haven’t just stirred up the waters and made them even muddier.’
‘My Dad used to love fishing,’ she said. ‘Sometimes he would take me with him. He used to tell me that when the waters got muddied it meant there was a fish close by. Maybe you’ve just shown us where our fish is.’
‘I dunno about that,’ he said. ‘Yesterday we had no leads and now we seem to have possiblities popping up all over the shop. If it’s a fish you’re looking for, we now have a shoal to choose from.’
‘It’s better to have some leads rather than none,’ she reminded him.
‘How come you didn’t tell them about all the dosh and evidence you found at Becksy’s flat?’ he asked.
‘I’ve told Steve Biddeford that it goes no further until we’ve had a chance to check it out.’
‘Yesterday you were convinced he was bent.’
‘I said I thought it looked like it,’ she said, ‘but, believe it or not, I don’t want it to be true any more than you do. Apart from the fact Ian can’t defend himself, can you imagine what will happen if it was found to be true? Every single case he’s been involved in over the last three years could be subject to review. It doesn’t bear thinking about.’
‘You didn’t have to mention about the Interpol thing,’ he said, sheepishly.
‘Of course I did,’ she said. ‘What if I’m wrong and they are involved and I didn’t warn anyone?’
‘D’you think they are?’
‘I still honestly think it’s unlikely, but I can’t ignore the possibility.’
‘I’m sorry about the way I behaved yesterday,’ Slater said. ‘I said some things I shouldn’t have.’
‘When I thought about it afterwards,’ she said, ‘I actually thought you probably had every right to be angry. I should have warned you and Norman. As for anything you might have said, well, it’s water under the bridge now. If we’re going to solve this case we need to be on the same side, so how about we draw a line under that, and move on. Deal?’
She held her hand out.
Slater wasn’t really sure how he felt about the situation, but she was right about them having to be on the same side. He looked her in the eye, took her hand, and shook it.
‘Deal,’ he said.
‘I’m not interrupting anything, am I?’ asked a voice from the doorway. It was Eddie Brent from the fire service.
‘No, come on in,’ said Goodnews, spinning round to face the new arrival. ‘I hope you’ve come to tell me I can get into the forensics lab at last.’
‘I have indeed,’ said Brent.
‘What can you tell us?’ she asked.
‘I’ve got my report here,’ he said, raising his hand to show them a sheaf of papers. ‘I can take you down there and run through it before I go, if you like.’
‘That sounds like a good idea.’
The phone began to ring and Slater grabbed it and raised it to his ear, listening for a moment. It was Eamon Murphy, the forensic pathologist.
‘That was Eamon,’ Slater said, as he replaced the receiver. ‘He’s got something he thinks we need to see. He says it’s urgent.’
‘Bugger,’ said Goodnews. ‘That sounds ominous. I wanted you to come downstairs and hear this report.’
‘Why don’t I go and see Eamon while you go down to the lab?’ he said. ‘It’ll save time.’
‘Good idea,’ she said. ‘We can catch up when you get back.’
Chapter Seventeen
Tinton officers were lucky enough to have a mortuary that met the necessary standards tucked away beneath Tinton Hospital. Rumour suggested it would be downgraded after the next round of cuts, and possibly even the entire hospital would be closed, but that decision was something everyone would have to deal with when it happened. For the moment, it was case of carry on as usual.
After a rocky start, Doctor Eamon Murphy had worked very hard to convince everyone he could cut it as a forensic pathologist, and he had proved himself to be both thorough and reliable. He wasn’t the quickest, but that was because he liked to make sure he got it right. As far as Slater was concerned, that was how it should be, and Murphy had quickly become someone he felt he could rely on to give him the facts without frills.
