Close to Home (DI Adam Fawley #1)(78)

‘What exactly did they do with the waste, sir?’ asks Somer quietly.

His shoulders sag a little. ‘They trucked it back to their recycling depot. They crush it then turn it into gravel – stops it going to landfill.’

Quinn stares at him, then shakes his head, trying to dispel the picture it conjures. ‘Jesus.’

‘Like I said,’ says Heston quickly, ‘you’re barking up completely the wrong tree. It just wouldn’t happen.’

‘Even though it was in the dark – and even though I’m guessing you’re not so bothered with arc lights for a simple loading job like that?’

‘I told you. It wasn’t my lads. You’ll have to talk to Mercers.’

‘Oh, we will, Mr Heston. We will.’

As Quinn turns to go, Somer takes a step towards him. ‘Was it luck then or did they know?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Whoever it was – who killed Daisy – was it just luck they came here the day the waste was being collected? Or was there some way they could have known?’

Quinn looks back at Heston, who shrugs. ‘We leaflet the whole area every time there’s likely to be worse noise than usual. Doesn’t stop the complaints, but at least they can’t claim they weren’t informed.’

‘So that would cover the demolition work?’

‘Sure. That’s one of the noisiest jobs. The leaflets went out the end of the previous week. Everywhere within a mile radius of the site.’

‘Including Canal Manor?’

‘You kidding? We get more complaints from them than anywhere else.’

*

At 1.00 Quinn calls from the site to update me. ‘We had a closer look at the security barrier before we left. And I was right – on the far side, where they attached the panels to the car-park fence, it’s just held together with cable ties. And someone definitely got in that way – all the ties have been cut through. No one noticed because the whole area’s overgrown with brambles and whoever did it just pushed the panel back where it was before. And I’ll bet my mortgage that’s where those red stains we found on the gloves came from. I’ve got blackberry juice all over my sodding suit.’

I smile. I shouldn’t, but I do.

‘I’m going to drive to Swindon now,’ he says. ‘It doesn’t sound good, but I need to see for myself.’

‘You want forensics to meet you there?’

‘Not yet, boss. Let’s wait and see if there’s something for them to find first.’

‘OK, I’ll send Everett to cover for you at the crossing.’

I lose him then as a train goes past in a shriek of hot white noise. Then, ‘Any news from Gislingham?’

I sigh. ‘I left a message. But no, no news.’

‘Poor bastard. Let’s hope that’s a good sign.’

I hope so too, but my heart fears otherwise.

*

Interview with Barry Mason, conducted at St Aldate’s Police Station, Oxford

25 July 2016, 1.06 p.m.

In attendance, DI A. Fawley, DC A. Baxter, Miss E. Carwood (solicitor)

AF: For the purposes of the tape, Mr Mason has just been arrested on suspicion of the murder of his daughter, Daisy Elizabeth Mason. Mr Mason has been made aware of his rights. So, Mr Mason, am I correct in assuming that someone in your profession would own a wide variety of Personal Protective Equipment?

BM: Yeah, what of it?

AF: We discovered a jacket, hard hat and safety boots in the back of your pick-up, and there were several similar items in your house.

BM: And?

AF: Do you own gloves of that type as well?

BM: Couple of pairs.

AF: Could you describe them?

BM: What, are you an insurance assessor now?

AF: Humour me, Mr Mason.

BM: I had one black pair, and one that was orange and grey. Satisfied?

AF: I have to tell you that a pair of orange and grey gloves was found yesterday in a skip on the Loughton Road.

BM: So?

AF: Tests on those gloves prove conclusively that you had been wearing them. Do you know how they got there, Mr Mason?

BM: No bloody idea. I can’t even remember the last time I saw them.

AF: So you didn’t put them in that skip yourself, on the afternoon of Tuesday 19th July?

BM: Of course I didn’t. What is this?

AF: And did you seek to conceal your identity as you did so by wearing other items of protective clothing?

BM: This is crazy. That was the day of the party - I didn’t have time, never mind anything else. And why the hell go to all that bother for a pair of sodding gloves?

AF: Because you wore those gloves to dispose of your daughter’s body, and that’s how they ended up covered with her blood.

BM: Hang on a minute – what do you mean, her blood? Are you telling me you’ve found her? Why the bloody hell didn’t someone tell me –

EC: [interjecting]

Is this true, Inspector? Have you found Daisy?

AF: Not as yet. But we believe we know now where your client disposed of her body. Because the gloves he dumped in Loughton Road bear traces of a special type of aggregate. So special, in fact, that he knew they would lead us straight to where he’d buried her.

BM: [to Miss Carwood]

Is this for real?

EC: May I have a moment to confer with my client?