“DC April Richmond,” she announced holding out her ID. “Anything?”
“Nobody in it, thankfully. Looks like a take and burn. Buggered that tree, well and proper!”
April looked up at the singed mantle that once held a bounty of oak leaves and then back to the car. There was nothing remaining of the tyres; in their place was a fine filigree of woven wire that had quickly become rust coloured in places. The car had changed out of all proportion as melted puddles of plastic and metal skirted the vehicle’s edge, the glass had gone and the convertible roof was only a metal, exposed rib cage.
“Still too hot in places, even though it’s been doused. Images will be with you now. Bonnet and boot are made from aluminium so there’s little left and the engine parts have welded to sections of the body. It was some fire. From my experience the fire started in the petrol tank. That too is some kind of plastic. The car fire was out when the fire brigade arrived but as I said, they doused it mainly because the tree had started to burn too. It’s always best, just to be on the safe side with all this grassland. Owing to the possible significance of this wreck, we’re awaiting a transporter now.”
April thanked them and went back to her car. She would need to notify Cyril.
19
Leaning against the Mondeo, Cyril removed his mobile and watched as Owen knocked at the first door. Cyril listened to the ring tone; it rang three times. “April, Bennett. What have you found?”
“I was just about to ring you. Car’s up a farm track, half a mile from the village and quite isolated. It’s completely burned out, Porsche Boxster, according to the chassis plate. It’s registered to a Claire Baldwin, Victoria Avenue, Thirsk. Yes, I thought that a strange coincidence too. It feels there are too many similarities, right, sir? Who’s playing games with whom is the question that’s puzzling me.”
“Was the fire brigade involved?”
“Yes, from Tadcaster, but once they realised it was a stolen and fired car they simply doused and extinguished it quickly and left. That was some hours ago. CSI have just finished with it. Looking at it, I can’t see them retrieving much.”
“Get a mail drop organised for the village, see if anyone saw the car before it was burned. Get an exact picture of the type of vehicle and colour from DVLA records. I would imagine it might have attracted someone’s attention, kids particularly. See if anyone noticed any unfamiliar faces or cars, maybe some other vehicle, not the Porsche, left unattended for a period. With Baldwin missing, someone may well have planned this and if so they’d need some return transport. Ensure that the wreck’s taken in and kept under wraps, at least until we find the owner—”
“As we speak, sir,” she managed to interject.
“Good. Get someone back at the station. Dan Grimshaw was looking into Baines’s phone so get him to check if our Claire Baldwin is active on social media and if so, get them to retrieve what they can.” Cyril made a mental note to chase up Grimshaw about the requested phone records. “I’ve asked for a background check on Claire Baldwin, usual stuff, parents, boyfriends, standard procedure. Chase it when you get back, please.”
Owen waved to catch Cyril’s eye from across the road. “This lady has a key!”
He moved quickly towards them and smiled at the elderly neighbour.
“She hasn’t seen Claire for a couple of days. The car’s not been here neither.”
The lady quickly interrupted, as if frightened that Owen was going to steal her thunder. “She usually works from home, Internet stuff. If she’s travelling into her office near Newcastle she takes the train and parks her car at the station car park or sometimes, if the weather’s good, she uses her folding bike. On those mornings, I’m pleased to say, I’m not awoken by the roar of her sporty car. The noise bounces off the house walls you know and I always sleep—” She did not finish as Cyril managed to interrupt as politely as he could by holding up a finger and speaking.
“Thank… thank you, we’ll need the key just to make sure she’s safe.”
“Sorry, yes. A minute.” The neighbour returned inside.
Owen turned and grinned at Cyril. “Just like me gran. Salt of the earth.”
Cyril and Owen slipped on plastic overshoes and gloves before opening the door. The hallway was dark but ordered. Cyril called Claire’s name and waited but there was no response. He picked up the printed note and the mail. Your windows were cleaned today followed by a handwritten date. There were three other letters. Cyril looked at them all before placing them on the hall table and moving into the lounge. The same order greeted them.
“You go upstairs, Owen. Any photographs etc.”
Owen mounted the stairs two at a time as Cyril moved into the kitchen-dining room. The house was tastefully decorated and Claire Baldwin was obviously an organised and house-proud woman.
“Everything seems in order up here, sir, strangely no framed photos.”
“None down here either.”
Cyril slid open the top drawers in the kitchen hoping to find the dump drawer. Everyone had a space where all the day’s pocket and handbag detritus was stuffed, even he had one although he hated to admit it. There was a calendar propped up by the breakfast bar. He photographed the page showing the week before and read the appointments and notes that had been added. Behind it was a collection of other papers, notes and letters. He checked each one, photographing anything he thought to be relevant. Owen entered.
“Anything?”
“Nothing that stands out.”
Owen opened the fridge. There was little in the way of food but in the centre of the second shelf was an egg box.
“Never do that. Always keep mine in a bowl. That’s how I was brought up. Never lasted long enough to go off.”
Cyril turned.
“Eggs! She keeps hers in the fridge, look!” Owen exclaimed.
Cyril leaned round the door and took hold of the carton. He carefully opened it. In each cavity was a small plastic box in the shape of an egg. They were coloured too to give that appearance. On closer inspection, Owen could see a thin hairline joint running round the upper two-thirds.
“It’s in two parts, sir.”
Cyril popped on his glasses and was surprised to see the joint. Placing the carton on the work surface he removed one and held it to the light. The bottom section failed to allow light to pass. Holding the lower part in one hand and the top in the other, he turned them in the opposite direction and slowly they unscrewed. He paused lifting his eyes to peer over his glasses at Owen.
“Will we be chasing the dragon, Owen? That’s the question,” Cyril said as the lid separated from the main body exposing what appeared to be a sealed packet containing white powder.
“Looks like you’re right, it’s the start of a dragon chase, sir.”
Cyril came to the door and pointed to the officer in the Mondeo who came over to join him.
“No one in or out. It has to be checked.” He handed the officer the key and called for support.
“I want a dog too, looking for drugs.”
As he finished, the neighbour tapped him on his shoulder. “It might be nothing but the last time Claire and I had a chat she asked me if I’d seen anyone looking through my front window. I hadn’t but she mentioned seeing a face at her window.”
The hairs on Cyril’s neck bristled and suddenly the neighbour had his full attention. Owen joined them.
“Face?” Cyril did not want to lead her.
“She saw it a few times, couldn’t make out whether it was male or female. She said that she got the impression that she was being watched and when she glanced towards the window, she’d see this figure disappear out of view as if he or she were just walking past. She’d no idea of how long they’d been standing there, or if they really had. She was never sure.”
“Have you seen anything?”
“Look at the avenue, it’s not exactly a thoroughfare is it? As I told her when she asked me the same question, no!”
Cyril looked up and do
wn the avenue. He thanked her and explained that the police were taking Claire’s disappearance very seriously and that as a result there would be quite a lot of police activity. It brought a smile and a look of excitement to her face.
“Will the telly people come?”
Cyril smiled before turning away towards the car but then stopped. “One last thing. Do you know whether Claire had relatives locally or boy or girlfriends?”
“We only chat, Detective Chief Inspector and I’m certainly not one of those busybody neighbours who interferes in everyone’s business I’ll have you know.” The neighbour slipped her arms under her bosom and shook from side to side whilst pushing out her chest as if in defence before she let slip that occasionally Claire entertained men friends but she could offer no names nor a useful description.
Brian Smirthwaite was adding details to one of the whiteboards. The incident room had been quickly adapted for the investigation of both deaths as well as the disappearance of Arthur Thorndyke from the food factory. At this stage there was little evidence to suggest his involvement. Brian was transferring the names of the employees who worked and had worked for the Newcastle-based Health and Safety consultancy. After each name was a list of qualifications.
It had quickly become apparent that the firm, although based in the centre of the city, had consultants who were dotted around the north east and west of the country and in many cases worked freelance. Brian bracketed the names of those who had left on or around the date of the loss of the major contract. They tended to be people directly involved with the York food-processing firm Clear Foods. Claire Baldwin’s name had been added. Brian had also downloaded photographs of each consultant.
20
Cyril studied the notes on the toxicology results as he sipped the red wine.
“You can have five more minutes, then you can ask me three questions and that’s it. This is supposed to be a social meal where you stare into my eyes and I reciprocate whilst having an aperitif. We sit and eat dinner with neither talk of police procedurals nor pathology being mentioned once. You tell me that I look beautiful and flatter me about my new outfit. Are you listening, Cyril Bennett? Yes, you heard me correctly, new outfit, and then we see where that takes us!” Julie’s voice drifted from the kitchen as an aroma filled Cyril’s nostrils making his mouth water. Ironically, the strains of Richard Ashcroft singing, “The Drugs don’t Work”, coming from the sound system did not help his yearning for answers. Cyril quickly moved to the kitchen door and wolf-whistled. “Lovely, sorry!”
“Punishable offence now in France, whistling in a sexist and salacious way intimidating us poor females. Fortunately, we live in a country where some common sense still prevails.”
Cyril smiled, realising the latter part of the sentence was clearly tongue in cheek. He went back to the notes Julie had written.
There was nothing from toxicology suggesting drug use for Baines but traces of cocaine were found in the blood and vitreous humor samples taken from Stephens.
He made a note to ask if drug misuse might have been the cause of Stephens’s heart issues and added the question to the bottom of her notes.
Julie came in carrying a glass of wine. She draped the apron on the back of a chair, leaned over and kissed his head before sitting opposite. “Right, Cyril Bennett, ask away.”
Cyril brought his glass towards hers. “Cheers and thanks. It smells divine.”
“You’re up to no good. I know you too well.”
“I’ve been thinking.”
Julie let out a sigh. “Never a good sign at…” She looked at her watch… “Seven thirty-three.”
Cyril ran his finger round the rim of the glass as if hesitant to speak. “You don’t fancy a Bentley, do you, not just to drive but to have and to hold from this day forth?”
She simply shook her head. “Bloody men!”
“Thought not!”
Owen was reading from the whiteboards when April came into the incident room. She leaned over and straightened the mug he was holding, its angle having allowed the contents to dribble onto the lower part of his trousers and onto the floor by his right foot.
“Thanks. Carried away by this riveting information. The money found is clean, no prints, none. How does that happen unless it’s money from ill-gotten bloody gains? Claire Baldwin was working as a consultant up until they lost the contract. They have, according to Smirthwaite, not seen her since she was reprimanded. That’s over a fortnight ago. Neighbour hasn’t seen her for a couple of days. To cap it all, according to the neighbour Claire sees faces! It’s getting like a bloody jigsaw puzzle and I hated them when I was a kid. My gran always had one on the go. I used to help her with the corners and the edges and she always let me put in the last piece. Spoiled I was. We’ll know more when they finish house to house in the area. What did you make of the name of the road?”
April made a note on some paper attached to a freestanding easel:
Who did what to whom and when? Who has seen what? Should we be considering the street names a coincidence? A person by the name of Claire was in contact with Bill Baines or vice versa. If we assume it to be the same person as the one now missing, a huge assumption, one lived on a Victoria Avenue, one died on a Victoria Avenue. One lost a job, while one gained a job.
Another person, linked with Baines’s death had a connection with a Victoria Avenue. Coincidence or is someone taunting?
To do: Check with Mrs Baines if she recognises Claire Baldwin.
April pointed to the photograph Smirthwaite had added to the list. Owen followed her finger and continued sipping what was left of his tea.
Check if any of the Stephens family or their employees know or recognise Claire Baldwin. Also check at Yeadon, the local flying club, for connections with Baines and Claire Baldwin.
Check of Baldwin’s phone records.
Phone records already checked for Baines and Stephens?
Find the corners and edges of this jigsaw and the middle will follow!!!
x
She put the pen down and stood back.
“You after my job?” Owen said, only partly tongue in cheek. “As I said, hate bloody jigsaws.”
April just smiled. “These things nag at me. Just can’t stop thinking about them until I have the answers. I have to write them down as it helps my thinking process. Did you chat to the deputy at the food plant?”
Owen put his mug down. “Yes, appears that his boss liked a drink and he’s gone to stay with a relative until he’s feeling better. It appears that his direct line manager is happy with that. According to his deputy, he’d received a couple of written warnings. I don’t think Arthur Thorndyke will be with them much longer. From all accounts he’s stretching their patience but he knows they can’t just sack him. He hasn’t been in to see their medical officer and he’s late with his fit note.”
“Sick or fit?” April asked whilst underlining Thorndyke’s name on one of the boards.
“People refer to it as a sick note but it’s officially a fit note. Thorndyke’s on long term sick. Clear Foods has tried to see if he could come back part time or in a reduced capacity but they’re having difficulty getting in touch.”
“As a matter of interest, Owen, did they have any health and safety issues, accidents or incidents whilst he was in charge?”
“Good question. Thorndyke suffered from an industrial injury and hasn’t been back to work.” Owen frowned. “Clearly he wasn’t the most efficient operative on their payroll but possibly the clumsiest!”
Owen left the room.
“Who’s written this?” Cyril stood looking at the flip chart. A number of faces turned away from computer screens to look and a couple of officers came to join him.
“April Richmond’s writing that. I’d have a fiver on it.”
Cyril looked at the clock. It was noon. He read the sheet again and then went to find her. She was in the kitchen finishing making some tea and collecting a plastic box from the fridge.
“A
minute, April, before you tuck into…”
“Cheese and tomato, sir.”
“Yes, lovely. I’ve just read the notes you added in the incident room. Do something for me will you, please?”
“Sir, if I can explain...” She did not finish.
“Write it out for me but this time add all your ideas. Broaden it taking each strand of thought to a conclusion. I know it will be conjecture but I think it would help focus the case. To extend your analogy, let’s see if we can add more than the edges. Is that possible?”
“This afternoon? Should also have something back from Forensics on the burned-out car and the contents of Baines’s car.”
“Champion. Enjoy your lunch.”
As Cyril left, DC Dan Grimshaw came along the corridor waving a piece of paper. Peace in our time, Cyril whispered to himself.
21
Owen listened, the phone on speaker, as the details of the accident reports taken from Clear Foods were read to him. It was evidence held by the Health and Safety Executive and used during the case against them. There were four injuries pertaining to the period: three female operatives and one male. The most serious, the male, suffered severe breathing difficulties and skin damage to his hands. He had been hospitalised for a couple of days and had yet to return to work. The three female employees suffered minor breathing complications and emotional trauma. All were checked by paramedics and also at Accident and Emergency but none was detained. Even though he was injured, there was a case of gross negligence pending against Thorndyke since he was supposed to have been in charge. Owen tapped the phone to end the call. He could only speculate as to the amount for compensating the victims knowing the way the system seemed to work.
The Third Breath Page 11
