Although it was after midnight, there were still half a dozen cars corralled by the officers and the frustration of the motorists keen to get home was palpable even from where Kay stood, as one by one they were instructed to reverse and then find an alternative route.
She marched towards the nearest constable and held up her warrant card in the beam from his torch. ‘Where is he?’
‘Just past the safety gates, guv. A woman from the cottage over there called it in. I recognised him when we got here. The pub closed an hour ago, thank goodness.’
‘Thanks.’ Kay agreed with his sentiment. They didn’t need a bunch of inebriated regulars gawking at the scene. She peered over the rampart. ‘Is there a way down there?’
The constable turned and swept his torch beam across the path. ‘That’s the only route down to the river bank, through the car park. The other side is a sheer drop and was fenced off a few years ago.’
Kay squinted into the darkness beyond, then pointed to the smaller bridge above the weir gates where John Brancourt stood as if mesmerised by the water. ‘And that goes over to Teapot Island, yes?’
‘Yes, guv. There’s a third patrol over there keeping the marina residents away from the bridge.’
‘How the hell did he get through the safety gates and onto the bridge?’
‘Bolt cutters, I presume, guv. His work van is parked over there. I was down here for lunch at the pub over the summer and there were bloody great padlocks on the gates back then.’
‘Okay, good work. Barnes, let’s have a wander down there and see if we can talk some sense into Brancourt. We’ll avoid the gate for now in case he panics with us being that close.’
It took them longer than Kay anticipated to reach the water’s edge, the grass slippery under their feet from the rainfall that soaked the landscape. Once she was sure she wasn’t going to fall in, Kay shielded her eyes and squinted at the bridge in the distance.
‘What’s he playing at then?’ she said. She brought her hands to her mouth and called out. ‘John. Why don’t you walk back to the path and we’ll have a talk? Does that sound like a good idea to you?’
In response, Brancourt rested his hands on the metal barrier and leaned forward, staring at the water.
Barnes jerked his chin at the dark water. ‘He’d break his neck jumping into that. It’s too shallow. At best, he’d break his legs.’
‘And there are hidden currents. Look, you can see the way the water eddies.’
She watched the circling pool as it flowed past their position before disappearing underneath the arches of the bridge, lapping at the stone pillars and then shooting out the other side.
A roaring suddenly cut through the air, and Kay spun around to see the weir gates begin to rise, releasing water from the top pool in a cascading plume that bellowed through the night air as it dropped into the shallows.
‘Back!’ said Barnes, grasping her hand and pulling her away from the water’s edge.
Their feet slid into the soft mud of the riverbank as they tried to hurry away from the flow, white foam spewing from the concrete and steel sluice gates.
Kay tightened her grip on Barnes as her boots sank into the ground, throwing her off-balance as she fought against a rising tide of panic that engulfed her.
The water level was already lapping at her heels.
‘Give me your other hand.’
She reached out blindly, her fingertips brushing against his before finding air, and then a moment later he had hold of her, dragging her out of the mud inch by inch.
‘Shit,’ said Kay as Barnes pulled her up to the asphalt path above the river. She looked down at the swirling angry water. ‘Who the hell did that?’
‘They’re automatic. As soon as the pool up here reaches a certain level, the gates open. It’s why there were some near drownings with kids getting caught out last summer. No-one takes any notice of all the bloody signs up here.’
‘Where’s John?’
‘Over there.’
She looked to where he pointed, and gasped as the man began to climb over the safety railing above the weir gates.
Walking as fast as she dared, she moved from the grassy bank to the bridge, drew closer to the security gate and then paused. She removed an elastic from her wrist and tied her hair back, then squinted at Barnes through the horizontal rain that lashed at the bridge.
His expression was incredulous.
‘You’re not seriously thinking of jumping in to save him if he goes in, guv?’ He peered over the railing at the raging torrent below. ‘That’s going through there at something like ten tonnes per second.’
‘We can’t let him hurt himself.’
‘Guv, if he jumps in he’s going to be dead in seconds. So are you.’
Kay gritted her teeth.
Beyond their position, she could see the outline of John Brancourt wavering at the edge of the railing as if transfixed by the churning water.
‘I’ve got to try something. Stay here. Don’t let anyone come through this gate unless I call for help – or we go in the water.’
Without waiting for a response, she slipped through the gap and shoved her hands in her pockets and headed towards Brancourt hoping she exuded an air of nonchalance.
Her heart rate skipped a beat.
She’d only had to deal with one suicidal case before in her police career, and the memory of that threatened to surface again, all too clear in her mind.
She gave her head a shake to clear the thought, inhaled the cold clear night air, and squared her shoulders.
She stopped a few paces from John, aware that he’d seen her but hadn’t moved.
It gave her hope.
‘Good grief, John. It’s freezing up here.’ Kay took in the steep drop, then turned back to Brancourt. ‘What are you doing? Annabelle’s worried sick about you.’
‘I used to bring him fishing here when he was a kid,’ he said. ‘Loved it. ‘Course, that was before all these safety barriers were up. Didn’t need them back then. We used to look out for each other.’
Kay tried to ignore the biting wind that nipped at her wet clothing. ‘What happened, John?’
In reply, he shook his head.
‘Did you argue?’
He shifted his weight, and Kay fought down the bile that rose in her stomach.
‘John, please – for the sake of the twins and Annabelle.’
He lowered his chin, droplets of rain running down his face and dripping off the end of his nose.
Such was the ferocity of the downpour, it took a moment for Kay to realise the man was crying. In two steps, she was beside him, her hand on his arm.
‘John, whatever it is you’ve done, this won’t help. This won’t give your family the answers they need. Don’t do this. Please.’
He sagged against her weight, and she reached out to draw him to safety, shivering as she coaxed him over the metal barrier, and then signalled to Barnes and a uniformed officer to help her before she turned back to Brancourt.
‘Come on. Let’s get you somewhere warm and dry. It’s time we had a talk.’
Forty-Seven
Barnes ensured the heater was turned on full blast while they followed the red tail lights of the patrol car racing towards Maidstone with John Brancourt inside, the steam from their wet clothes fogging up the windscreen.
Kay insisted he go home and dry off as soon as he dropped her at the station, and then found Gavin and Carys waiting for her in the incident room, armed with a bottle of brandy left over from the Christmas party that they’d found shoved at the back of a filing cabinet.
‘Are you all right?’
Kay turned at Sharp’s voice, his concern palpable as he ran his eyes over her wet hair and soaked clothing.
She nodded in reply, not yet certain her teeth wouldn’t chatter if she tried to answer despite the nip of brandy she’d had, and then snuggled her shoulders deeper into the thick woollen blanket that Hughes had located in the first aid locker.
Sharp’s shoulders relaxed and he handed her a canvas tote bag. ‘I took the liberty of going around to your house and asking Adam to put together some dry clothes for you. Go have a hot shower downstairs and be ready in twenty minutes to interview John Brancourt. I take it you want to be present?’
‘I do. Thanks, guv.’
‘No problem.’ He winked. ‘Although I should warn you, you’ve got some explaining to do when you get home.’
‘I’ll bet I have.’
‘Go on – before you catch pneumonia or something.’
Kay didn’t wait to be told twice. She risked a sip of the tea before heading downstairs to the women’s changing room, careful not to sneeze until the door was firmly locked behind her for fear of causing her colleagues further alarm.
Stripping off her wet clothes, she pulled a clean pair of suit trousers, a cashmere jumper and a long-sleeved cotton top from the tote bag and hung them over the radiator to warm, and then unzipped the vanity bag Adam had packed and pulled out shampoo and soap.
She wasn’t a fan of the showers at work and often thought them draughty and in need of retiling, but thirty seconds after standing under the steaming water she sighed with pleasure.
A tingling sensation began in her toes and worked its way up her body as her circulation began to warm her extremities and she sighed with relief as she dried and dressed.
Pulling the jumper over her head, she tied back her hair and applied a little make-up, and then took a moment to sit on the bench and gather her thoughts.
‘Bloody families,’ she muttered.
Sharp finished giving Carys and Gavin instructions in the observation suite and then turned to Kay and raised an eyebrow.
‘Shall we?’
She nodded in reply, and followed him along the corridor to the interview room.
Kay had seen plenty of broken men in her time, but none had filled her with the same sense of melancholy she felt as she took a seat opposite the solicitor and looked across at his client.
Sergeant Hughes had ensured John Brancourt received the benefit of a hot shower and a change of clothes while the team had waited for his solicitor to arrive, and now the accused sat on one side of the metal table with his hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee, his eyes downcast.
She recited the formal caution, but wasted no time on niceties.
‘I’m tired of being lied to, John. Every time we’ve talked over the past three weeks you’ve sprung another surprise on me. You hold back information in the deluded sense it’s going to protect you.’
‘I’m trying to protect my business. I need to look after my family.’
She spun the laptop screen to face Brancourt. ‘This is CCTV footage from the Sittingbourne Road for the night Damien disappeared,’ she said. ‘In addition to this, I’ve had a team of officers reviewing footage at Heathrow for the twenty-four hours before Damien’s flight. That’s five terminals, the car parks, the drop-off points and the airport lounges, but there’s no sign of Damien. He never made it to Heathrow. He never caught a train from Maidstone East.’
She smacked the laptop shut, and Brancourt jerked backwards.
‘What happened, John?’
Brancourt continued to stare at the table.
Kay fought back her impatience. ‘Must’ve been a hell of a shock when you found out he was talking to Hill about a job offer.’
‘I didn’t know until you told me. He kept it a secret.’
‘I thought you and Damien didn’t have secrets.’
Brancourt shifted in his seat and then stared at the coffee growing cold in the mug he held, but said nothing.
‘Why did Damien change his mind about taking over the family business?’
This time, Brancourt’s eyes met her gaze and she could see the depth of sorrow that wracked him.
‘He told me when I dropped him off that night that he’d never work for me again.’
‘Why?’
‘I owe a lot of favours.’
‘We got that impression. The business isn’t doing as well as you’ve been telling us, is it?’
Brancourt choked out a bitter laugh. ‘You don’t know the half of it.’
‘Tell me.’
‘I can’t.’
‘John, if you don’t tell us who’s threatening you, we can’t help.’
‘I know.’ He pushed the coffee mug away, and slumped back in his seat. ‘It’s my own fault. I messed people around, didn’t pay them when I should’ve done. In the end, none of the legitimate contractors would work with me. I was left with the dregs.’
‘You still had choices, John. You didn’t have to employ criminals.’
‘I’ve got two more kids to put through university. I can’t help with their education if the business goes under, can I?’
‘You’ve only got yourself to blame for the state of your business,’ said Sharp. ‘No-one else.’
‘Did you steal the fibre optic cabling that went missing?’ said Kay.
He shrugged. ‘Yes.’
‘But you sourced some new cabling when Alex Hill found out it had gone and the schedule was at risk. How did you benefit from the theft if you had to end up replacing it?’
‘Because I got it dirt cheap. I made a profit.’ He blinked. ‘It all helped. Anything I could scrimp and save, I put into paying off my debts.’
‘You didn’t scrimp and save, John. You stole from honest, hard-working people.’ Kay turned a page in the folder. ‘Is that why you went back to steal the copper wire as well?’
Brancourt frowned. ‘I never stole any copper wiring. I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. It was still live.’
‘On the bridge tonight, you reminisced about the times you’d spent with Damien as a child. You gave me the impression you actually gave a shit about your family. Those weren’t tears of grief were they, John? That was the knowledge that you’d been found out. That was the knowledge it was all over. That was fear.’
‘I had nothing to do with Damien’s death.’
‘Where did you take him?’
‘Look. Maybe I didn’t tell you the whole story.’ His eyes shifted to the left, then back. ‘We had an early dinner at home. All of us. I was meant to be dropping Damien off at the station, and then Christopher asked if he could come along as well. He likes going to the arcade place in the town centre.’
‘He’s under age.’
‘He’s tall for his age.’
‘So, you dropped them both off…’
‘Behind the Petersham Building. It was closer to the arcade, see?’
‘Was Christopher the “friend” you mentioned?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why lie to us?’
‘I knew he was gambling. I didn’t want him to get into trouble. It’s just a bit of fun for him, see?’
‘Then what happened?’
‘Nothing. I dropped them off, and then went home.’
‘How did Christopher get home?’
‘Bus, I suppose.’
‘You suppose? What time did he get in?’
‘I don’t know. About eleven, I think. I’m not sure.’
Exasperated, Sharp pulled the photograph of Damien’s mummified body from the file and thrust it at Brancourt. ‘We’re trying to find the answers to why your son was electrocuted while stealing copper wire, John. We’re trying to find out who stuffed his body into a ceiling cavity and then hid his bag.’
Brancourt ran a shaking hand over the photograph. ‘No. No…’
Alarmed, Kay looked at Sharp and then back to Brancourt. ‘John? John, what is it?’
‘Christopher,’ he whispered. ‘What have you done?’
Forty-Eight
‘I don’t understand.’
Annabelle Brancourt tore at the paper tissue between her fingers and shook her head. ‘This can’t be happening.’
‘We need to speak to Christopher, Mrs Brancourt. Now.’
Kay ran her eyes over the glossy magazine that lay open on the kitchen table, its staged photographs depicting a perfect life that was impossible for many.
She ignored the two uniformed officers who hovered at the door, their radios crackling, and pulled out a chair next to the woman. ‘We’ve been speaking with John at the police station, Annabelle. He’s confirmed he took Christopher with him when he gave Damien a lift to the train station last June.’
‘That doesn’t mean anything.’
‘Maybe not, but we do need to eliminate Christopher from our enquiries.’
‘No, that’s not right. He idolised Damien.’
‘We think that’s why he went to the Petersham Building with him,’ said Kay. ‘Damien never planned to go to Nepal, Annabelle. It was all a ruse from the start. He wanted a clean break, and he needed money for capital.’
‘You mean he didn’t want to be with us?’
‘He didn’t want the responsibility for taking over the business. Not after what John had done to it. He didn’t believe there was a future for him in it, and he was trying to distance himself from the family name. It’s why he’d been speaking to Alexander Hill about a job. That was probably one of many schemes he was contemplating to try and start out on his own.’
Annabelle dabbed at mascara-streaked eyes, then reached out and wound her fingers around the stem of her half-empty wine glass.
‘He always was an ungrateful sod,’ she said.
She drained the remaining red in one gulp, and then placed the glass back on the table with such force that the stem shattered between her fingers.
Kay took one look at the blood bubbling from the cuts and pushed her chair backwards. ‘Carys – towel. Hanging up on the front of the oven.’
She reached out for Annabelle’s hand, turning it gently so she could assess the damage.
‘You’re lucky. They’re superficial cuts.’ Taking the towel Carys held out to her, she wrapped it around the woman’s hand. ‘Keep your hand up in the air for a bit to stem the flow. I don’t think you’re going to need stitches.’
Bridge to Burn Page 19
