Bridge to Burn E-Book

Rachel Amphlett

• Herausgeber: Saxon Publishing
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

When a mummified body is discovered in a renovated building, the gruesome discovery leads Detective Kay Hunter and her team into a complex murder investigation.

The subsequent police inquiry exposes corruption, lies and organised crime within the tight-knit community – and Kay’s determination to seek justice for the young murder victim could ruin the reputations of men who will do anything to protect their business interests.

But as Kay closes in on the killer, tragedy strikes closer to home in an event that will send a shockwave through her personal life and make her question everything she values.

Can Kay keep her private and professional life under control while she tries to unravel one of the strangest murder cases of her career?

Bridge to Burn is the seventh book in the USA Today bestselling Detective Kay Hunter series.

Praise for Bridge to Burn:

"Takes the reader into the heart of a murder investigation –  a brilliant read!" Goodreads

"Kay Hunter is just such a great character, strong, caring, determined and tough" Goodreads

Leseprobe

BRIDGE TO BURN

A DETECTIVE KAY HUNTER MYSTERY

RACHEL AMPHLETT

Copyright © 2018 by Rachel Amphlett

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

CONTENTS

Reading Order & Checklist

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

From the Author

Missed a book? Download the FREE Official Reading Order and Checklist to Rachel Amphlett’s books here

ONE

Spencer White took a final drag on the cigarette, dropped the butt to the gutter and slammed the back door of his panel van.

A muscle spasm clutched at the base of his spine as he bent over to pick up his toolbox. He hissed through his teeth, expelling the last of the nicotine-heavy smoke.

Late frost sparkled on the pavement where the sun’s weak rays failed to reach into the shadows, and a biting wind tugged at the collar of his waterproof coat. Rainclouds threatened on the horizon, and he shivered.

Shouldering the weight of an aluminium ladder over one arm, the toolbox clutched in his other hand, he waited until a single decker bus shot past him on the busy Maidstone street and then hurried across the road to the newly refurbished office block.

He had been pleased with the call-out. The redevelopment works in the town centre had drawn to their natural completion, and the amount of work he was doing on a weekly basis started to return to its previous levels once the winter months had set in and the hot summer months faded from the memories of the local populace.

He peered up at the façade of the building, squinting against the low morning sunlight.

Once an old bank, the ragstone brickwork now housed a software company. He recalled the number of hours he had spent working late over the summer, as the construction manager for the redevelopment had juggled the completion of the ducted air-conditioning alongside the critical electrical wiring and cabling that was the hub of the business.

It wasn’t often that he was asked to return once practical completion had been reached. Most of his income was generated through day-to-day servicing of existing systems. Spencer prided himself on the quality of his work and that of his employees, but accepted that now and again an anomaly could arise and he would do all he could to ensure the problem was fixed as soon as possible.

He propped the ladder against the stone door frame and pressed the button on the security panel to his right. Through the glass, a head bobbed up from behind the reception desk and a buzzing noise reached his ears. The receptionist pushed back her chair and wandered over to the double doors, smiling as she opened one side.

‘Thanks,’ said Spencer.

‘No problem. I’m just glad you could get here so quickly.’ She wrinkled her nose, highlighting her freckles. ‘It’s all very well working in a posh place like this, but not when it’s stuffy. It’s not like we can open the window or anything.’

Spencer smiled as he picked up the ladder and waited while she let the door swing shut.

He’d been surprised when he’d seen the architect’s drawings for the redevelopment of the bank – rather than introduce windows that could be opened now that the building’s old use was no more, reverse cycle air-conditioning had been installed instead and the windows resealed to avoid potential burglaries.

He realised it was the lifeblood of his business, but knew he wouldn’t be able to face working in such a stuffy environment.

It seemed the software company’s employees were discovering the same for themselves.

‘Am I right in thinking the main conduit for the wiring is in the downstairs eating area?’ he said.

‘That’s what Marcus, our operations manager, told me. I’m Gemma, by the way. I’d imagine this place looks a lot different from when you last saw it.’

He glanced around at the brightly painted walls and the modernist artwork that depicted shapes and colours but no real form. ‘Just a bit.’

‘Give me two seconds. I need to get someone to answer the phones for me, and then I’ll show you through. Sign in and help yourself to one of those visitors passes.’

Spencer leaned the ladder against the reception desk and placed the toolbox at his feet, then reached out for the guestbook and scrawled his name in the space provided while Gemma picked up the phone and spoke to a colleague in a low tone.

She replaced the receiver with a smile on her face. ‘Okay, all sorted. The phones are diverted so I don’t need to worry about those. Come on – hopefully you can sort this quickly. I don’t think I can cope with one more phone call from the top floor moaning about it.’

Her heels clacked across the high sheen of the tiled floor before she held open a solid wooden door and stood to one side to let him through.

As Spencer’s eyes adjusted from the brightness of the reception area to the subdued hues of the software company’s working environment, he couldn’t help but feel that the large room now seemed cluttered – there were so many groups of desks and chairs, it was hard to recall the enormous space that he had worked in over the summer.

Even the high ceilings had been lowered and disguised by acoustic tiles that masked the maze of wiring that he himself had been partly responsible for.

He heard a gentle swish as the door closed behind him, and then Gemma gestured across the room to an open area beyond.

A waft of roasting coffee beans teased his senses as they made their way around the perimeter before advancing on a space in the middle that included a small kitchenette and a seating area where employees could take a break. Spencer tried to ignore the sweet aroma of fresh doughnuts in case his stomach roared in protest, and bit back a smile at the sight of the state-of-the-art coffee machine. His wife had been nagging him for one like it but he couldn’t see the sense in spending that sort of money when it only cost a couple of quid for a jar of the stuff from the supermarket.

Eight men and women milled about, chatting between themselves in low voices as they opened refrigerator doors, fetched milk cartons and handed out china plates and mugs.

‘Bad timing, I’m afraid,’ said Gemma. ‘Those who come in early usually take a coffee break and grab a bite to eat about now.’

‘That’s okay,’ said Spencer. ‘I’ll only need to open one of the ceiling panels to start off with. I’ll put a couple of chairs out to block off access. No sense in disturbing everyone until I find out what the problem is.’

He noticed her shoulders relax a moment before she let out a breath he didn’t realise she had been holding.

‘Oh, that’s great. Thank you – I was expecting some grief from this lot if I had to tell them to move out of the way. Do you want a coffee or anything while you’re working?’

‘I’d love a coffee, thanks. Milk, two sugars.’

Spencer set the ladder against one of the Formica tables that were spread about the area then spun three of the chairs around. He opened his toolbox and pulled out the drawings for the air-conditioning wiring that his wife had printed off for him that morning, before glancing at the ceiling as he got his bearings.

‘Here you go.’

He swung round at Gemma’s voice, then reached out for the steaming mug of coffee she passed to him. ‘Thanks. Back behind the chairs now.’

He winked and waited until she’d joined her colleagues at a table two sets away, then turned his attention to the drawings as he took a sip of his drink.

Satisfied he had the right panel, he placed the coffee mug on the table and then bent down to his toolbox, focused on the task at hand.

He whistled under his breath as he worked; a tune that had been playing on the radio that morning when the kids were getting ready for school, his younger daughter annoying her sister by dancing around singing the current hit single at the top of her voice, and now it was stuck in his head.

Spencer straightened and ignored the curious glances from the breakfasting staff. He needed to concentrate; to find the fault, fix it with as little fuss as possible, and try to ensure that whatever was wrong didn’t impact his profit on the original job.

He pulled the ladder closer, placed the tools on the table, and then climbed up the first four rungs and pressed his palms against the acoustic tile.

It held fast, refusing to leave the thin strip of aluminium housing that it sat against.

Spencer grimaced, repositioned his hands, and pushed again.

The ladder wobbled under his weight, sending his heart hammering before he glanced down.

‘Hang on, I’ll hold it for you.’

One of the men shoved his chair away from the far table and hurried over, placing his foot on the base.

‘Thanks.’

‘No problem. They’re nuts about health and safety here, so it wouldn’t do us any good if we sat and watched you fall.’

He gave a cheeky smile, and Spencer rolled his eyes.

‘You’d think with all the money they spent on this place, they’d have made sure the floor was level down here,’ he said.

The man laughed, then placed a hand on the side of the ladder as Spencer turned his attention back to the ceiling.

He frowned, casting his gaze across the panels to the left and right of the one he needed to access, then braced himself and shoved hard.

He caught a smell emanating from the crack that appeared; a reminder of a dead rat that had got locked in a garden shed when he was a kid – and then the acoustic tile snapped back into place.

He swore, and the man below him chuckled.

Spencer said nothing, and instead placed his right foot on the next rung, repositioned himself and tried again.

His left fist disappeared through the ceiling a split second before a roar enveloped him as the tile disintegrated, destroying the two each side of it.

He fell from the ladder, a cry of alarm escaping from his lips as he tumbled backwards onto the man below in a shower of dust and broken tiles.

Spencer grunted as the wind was knocked from his lungs the moment his shoulders hit the linoleum floor, and then a heavy weight bounced across his legs before falling away.

He lay for a moment, flexing his fingers and toes, making sure he hadn’t done serious damage to himself and then coughed to clear the white cloying dust from his mouth and lungs. He blinked, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand and wondered why his ears were ringing.

As he sat upright, he swallowed.

His hearing was fine, but two of the women who had been in the kitchen when he arrived were on their feet, their food and drinks forgotten.

One held on to Gemma, whose mascara had blotted leaving streaks over her cheeks.

They were all screaming.

Spencer twisted around, thinking that his unofficial assistant had been injured, but when he turned the man was already on his feet, his eyes wide and his face paling to a sickly grey.

‘You okay?’ said Spencer.

‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ came the response. He pointed behind Spencer.

Spencer glanced over his shoulder, and then shuffled away as fast as his hands and feet could move, trying to put as much distance as possible between him and the thingthat lay slumped beside his ladder.

As his brain began to digest what it was seeing and he fought to keep bile from escaping his lips, all he could recall was that it shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be lying on the floor like that, and he needed to get away from it.

The women’s screams had subsided to hysterical sobbing as more and more of the staff hurried over from their desks to find out what was going on.

Gemma’s voice reached Spencer as he grabbed hold of the back of a chair and hauled himself unsteadily to his feet.

‘Why was there a dead man in the ceiling?’

TWO

‘Lucky charm,’ said Gavin Piper, and led the way along the pavement and towards Gabriel’s Hill.

‘What?’ Detective Inspector Kay Hunter zipped her fleece before hurrying to catch up with the detective constable who kept a rapid pace over the uneven surface. ‘And slow down, will you? I know these cobblestones have been replaced, but it’s still bloody slippery.’

Gavin paused to let a group of teenagers pass, and then continued. ‘Lucky charm. A few hundred years ago, they used to shove a cat into the wall of a building before sealing it as a way to scare off evil spirits. It’s like that, isn’t it? Mummified.’

‘I don’t think our victim was put there for luck, Piper.’ Kay suppressed a shiver as they reached the crest of the hill. ‘No guessing which building is our crime scene.’

Diagonally across from where they stood, two patrol cars and an ambulance hugged the kerb while a silver four-door car had been parked haphazardly, covering half the pavement. A uniformed officer by the name of PC Toby Edwards directed an elderly couple away from the blue and white crime scene tape that fluttered in a cold breeze as Kay and Gavin approached.

‘Lucas got here fast,’ she said, eyeing the silver car.

‘Apparently he was already in town. Conference at the Marriott or something.’

The Home Office pathologist would have been summoned by the first responders, and Kay was glad to have him on site to hear his initial thoughts on the unusual find.

A grey panel van slid to the kerb behind the silver car, and four figures emerged before donning protective outerwear and collecting a range of coloured boxes from the van.

Kay nodded in greeting to the shortest of the four figures and followed Gavin over to where Harriet Baker divided up her small team and sent them towards the building.

‘Morning, Kay.’ The crime scene investigator shook hands with both of them and lowered her voice. ‘I hear we’ve got a strange one this morning.’

‘Apparently so. Gavin and I were on our way in.’ Kay shrugged. ‘I was at headquarters when the call came through, so I probably know as much as you at the moment.’

‘Mummified, I heard?’

‘Yes. Lucas is here.’

‘Ah, good. Always useful when a pathologist can see a body in situ.’ Harriet turned and picked up a box of equipment from the foot-well of the passenger seat of the van. She locked the vehicle and then pulled out a pair of protective gloves, tugging them over her fingers. ‘I’d best get on.’

‘We’ll see you in there.’

Kay stood aside as Harriet swept past and then narrowed her eyes as a familiar figure hurried towards the tape, his focus on the open satchel slung over one shoulder. She called over to the police constable. ‘Edwards – make sure Jonathan Aspley doesn’t speak to any of the witnesses, would you?’

‘Will do, guv.’

The reporter from the Kentish Times pulled a phone from his pocket, his gaze locking with Kay’s as he neared, then his shoulders slumped as he caught sight of Edwards approaching.

‘Oh, come on, Hunter!’

She held up a hand. ‘No, Jonathan. Later. Be at headquarters at five o’clock this afternoon. DCI Sharp is organising a press conference. You should get an email within the hour. In the meantime, let my team do their work.’

She turned her back to him before he could protest further. ‘Have the paramedics finished?’

‘Still with one of the employees,’ said Edwards. ‘She’s asthmatic, and they were concerned about the effect of the shock on her.’

‘All right. Extend the cordon a car length beyond the ambulance and get some barriers across the pavement to give us some privacy.’ She glanced up at the building opposite, her top lip curling at the sight of a number of inquisitive office workers at windows, smartphones in hand. ‘And for goodness sakes get a couple of officers over there to tell that lot to mind their own business.’

‘Guv.’

Edwards hurried away, barking orders to his colleagues and relaying Kay’s instructions.

Kay moved so she could see past Gavin and down the High Street towards the old Town Hall. Along the length of pavement on each side of Market Square, people stopped and stared. A mixture of curious glances and openly eager faces greeted her, and she knew from experience that it would only be a matter of time before a crowd began to gather, especially if the office workers opposite had already managed to film anything of interest and upload it to social media.

If they didn’t manage the situation properly, the town centre would soon be reduced to gridlock.

Running feet drew her attention back to the taped-off perimeter in time to see four uniformed officers hurry across the street and into the building.

‘At least they haven’t got the body on camera,’ Gavin muttered.

‘Thank goodness. Who’s got the clipboard, Debbie?’ said Kay, calling out to a female officer who hovered at the doorway to the software company’s premises, several metres away from where they stood.

‘Aaron, guv,’ said Debbie. ‘He’s had to give Sergeant Hughes a hand with the barrier. Won’t be a minute.’

Despite her impatience at wanting to enter the crime scene, even Kay’s rank wouldn’t stand her in good stead if she broke with protocol and lifted the tape that stretched between a lamp-post and a gutter bolted to the ragstone brickwork.

‘What else do we know about this morning’s events?’ she said to Gavin, lowering her chin until she sensed the soft fabric of her jacket, then exhaling to create a warm cocoon of air to offset the morning chill.

‘No-one knew the body was there until it fell through the ceiling, guv. Apparently, a fault in the ducted air conditioning was reported last week and the bloke who installed it – Spencer White – couldn’t get here until today.’

‘What sort of fault?’ said Kay.

‘The system packed up. No air going through the building at all. Being an old bank, and given the amount of traffic that goes by here every day, the windows can’t be opened – they’re double glazed and sealed. Someone decided to turn up the temperature last week after we had that cold snap, and everything ground to a halt.’

‘Bloody hell. So does anyone know how long it was up there?’

Gavin shook his head. ‘No, but the acoustic tiles were installed towards the end of the redevelopment works to the building so he wasn’t up there before that⁠—’

He broke off and jerked his chin over Kay’s shoulder.

Turning, she saw Aaron Baxter approaching, a clipboard in his hand.

‘Sorry, guv. Bedlam at the moment.’

‘No problem,’ said Kay. ‘The main thing is, you’re maintaining a good crime scene so don’t worry about us having to wait.’

The police constable managed a smile as he took back the signed paperwork from Gavin. ‘Thanks, guv.’

Kay ducked under the tape Aaron held aloft, waited for Gavin to join her and then took a set of protective coveralls from Patrick, one of Harriet’s assistants, and donned the bootees and gloves he held out.

Once suitably attired, she followed Gavin to the front door of the building, noting with relief that the barriers had been erected and the bystanders now moved away from the opposite office block.

The double doors to the old bank had been propped open and as Kay entered, a faint sound of weeping reached her ears.

A young woman, no more than twenty, sat in one of the leather seats in the reception area, a paper tissue clutched in her fist while a colleague tried to placate her.

Debbie moved to Kay and Gavin’s side. ‘Gemma Tyson,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Receptionist. She was present when the victim was discovered.’

Kay nodded her thanks, then moved towards the doors that she reasoned led into the bowels of the building. ‘We’ll have a quick word with her on the way out.’

Gavin nodded in understanding, then paused as they entered the open plan office. ‘Bloody hell.’

The central space that served as the working hub of the software business teemed with people.

A group of a dozen uniformed officers milled about the room. They had divided the employees into small groups in order to seek witness statements from them and ensure mobile phones were confiscated until any photographs were removed and ground rules regarding social media had been communicated.

An air of shock permeated the air, tinged with a dark undertone of disbelief at the sudden entrance of the mummified body.

As they made their way towards the kitchen area and Harriet’s team of crime scene investigators who were beginning to process the evidence, Kay fought down the urge to panic at the sheer number of people that were present.

As crime scenes went, it was going to be one of the hardest to manage and would test her team’s skills to the limit.

‘What made them suspect foul play?’ she said.

‘Bloody great dent in the side of his skull,’ said Gavin. ‘You could say it’s a no-brainer, guv.’

Kay groaned, and brushed past one of Harriet’s assistants. ‘You’ve got to stop hanging around with Barnes, Piper. He’s a bad influence.’

THREE

Kay’s newly-appointed detective sergeant had a reputation for his sense of humour but Ian Barnes was an integral part of her team and despite her words, she knew he could show brevity and professionalism when required.

Right now, he was wearing a set of coveralls and was surrounded by people in varying states of preparedness.

Crime scene investigators milled around where the mummified corpse had dropped through the ceiling, while a third police cordon was being established closer to the body.

Barnes glanced up from his notes, acknowledged Kay and Gavin with a nod, then turned his attention to a young uniformed constable and her colleague before pointing towards the far end of the room.

The two officers sprung to action, leaving Barnes to speak with a tall man in a suit who ran his hand through his hair repeatedly as he listened.

‘Who’s he?’ said Kay.

‘Managing director, guv,’ said Debbie. ‘Works on the floor above. In the room above, to be more precise.’

‘Has that been taped off as well?’

‘Yes. Two of Harriet’s team went up there when they arrived, and we’ve got people speaking to the employees on that floor as well. Thought we’d do it there to keep them away from all this.’

Plastic chairs lay strewn over the linoleum tiles from where they had been shoved backwards by the staff members trying to leave the area in a hurry, and Kay ran a practised eye across the assembled throng that mingled next to a water dispenser over by the far wall.

‘Anyone leave?’ she said.

‘No. All present and accounted for,’ said Debbie. ‘We won’t release anyone from the scene until you say so.’

‘Good, thanks. How are you doing, Ian?’ said Kay as she drew nearer.

‘Good, guv. Hang on.’

He turned and spoke to a uniformed sergeant, and then moved across to where Kay and Gavin stood at the boundary between the office space and the break area, an expression of disgust clouding his features once he was close.

‘Never had one like this before,’ he said with a shudder. ‘First time for everything, I suppose.’

‘Looks like you’ve got it all under control.’

A sense of pride filled Kay as she spoke.

Barnes’s decision to apply for the role of detective sergeant had been a surprise to her and others. He had spent the summer shying away from the opportunity only to change his mind at the last minute rather than have a complete stranger join the team.

Kay had been relieved; she enjoyed working with the older detective who had become a good friend as well as a colleague, and someone she could rely upon without having to ask.

He seemed to be thriving on the challenges his role brought, especially now.

Kay craned her neck, but couldn’t see past the crime scene investigators who were now crouched on the floor amongst the tables. ‘Where’s Lucas?’

‘Here.’

She spun around at the voice, and came face to face with the pathologist, his expression weary as he dried his hands on a crunched up sheet of paper towel before placing it in a bag and handing it to a passing CSI team member.

They shook hands, and then she gestured to the area below the gaping hole in the ceiling.

‘Can you tell me anything new?’

‘That heatwave we had in the summer preserved the body,’ said Lucas, keeping his voice low in order to avoid being overheard by the office staff that were being corralled from the water dispenser towards a group of desks. ‘I understand these acoustic tiles were installed in late June so whoever hid the body managed it between then and when the building was leased in early October.’

Gavin looked up at the gaping hole leading to the ceiling cavity. ‘How on earth do you get a body up there? It’d take more than one person, wouldn’t it?’

‘Some of Harriet’s team are upstairs. They’ve started pulling apart the office above this,’ said Lucas. He beckoned to Harriet. ‘Got a second?’

‘If you’re quick,’ said the CSI lead.

‘I was going to update Kay with what you’re up to, but figured it’d make sense for her to hear it from you in case you already had more information,’ said Lucas.

‘Okay, yes. We’re working on two theories based on what we’ve managed to ascertain upon arrival. One, the body was raised up into the ceiling from here, or two – whoever did this put the body in the floor of the office upstairs,’ said Harriet. ‘It wouldn’t have been easy pushing our victim up through the ceiling – too heavy for a start, and no way of securing it there until the acoustic tiles had been replaced. Obviously, we’ll be able to tell you more as we go but I’m inclined to think it was lowered into the floor above. As the body dried out it shifted through the floor until it was resting on the acoustic tiles and compressed the supply from the air conditioning pipework.’

‘Thanks.’ Kay turned back to Lucas. ‘Do we know if it’s male or female?’

‘Male, definitely. Do you want to take a look before we move him?’

‘I’d better.’

If she were honest, Kay would rather not inspect the mummified body but she knew from experience that if a chance occurred to see a body where it had been discovered, it would often give her more information than she’d glean from reading the stark text of a report, and in her new role as detective inspector she was determined to lead her team by example.

If any of them saw her cutting corners in an investigation, she’d never forgive herself.

‘Pop your mask on,’ said Lucas. ‘We don’t know what spores it might be giving off.’

Kay did as she was told. Once she had ensured Gavin donned his mask as well, she followed Lucas and Harriet under the secondary cordon and across the linoleum floor to where the CSIs worked.

At first, the curled-up form on the ground resembled a bundle of rags that that been dropped in a heap but as she drew closer, Kay could make out a clenched hand poking out from a blue shirt sleeve.

Lucas led her around the victim’s body, his movements respectful as he dropped to a crouch and gestured to the man’s face.

Kay swallowed, then joined the pathologist.

She ran her gaze over the puckered skin of the victim’s face.

His eyelids were missing, exposing empty sockets, and his lips were pulled back in an agonised grimace.

‘I’m afraid rodents got to his eyes and lips,’ said Lucas. ‘They don’t take long to find a way into a place if they can smell a body, even somewhere like this that’s relatively new.’

‘Gavin mentioned there’s a blunt trauma wound to the head.’

‘Yes, here.’ Lucas used his little finger to indicate a dent in the victim’s skull, behind the left ear. ‘I can’t say for certain if that’s the cause of death until I’ve had a chance to examine him properly, though.’

‘Any identification? Wallet?’

‘No, nothing in his pockets.’

‘How on earth will you identify him?’ said Gavin, his face gradually returning to its normal colour. ‘I mean, his face is beyond recognition, and his skin’s all wrinkled.’

‘We’ll get him back to the morgue and try some glycerine on the fingertips to start with,’ said Lucas. He cast a sorrowful gaze at the crumpled body. ‘That might soften the skin enough to obtain fingerprints to send through to you so you can try to identify him. I can’t promise anything for a few days though.’

Kent’s post mortems, if not conducted at a hospital where a patient died, were carried out at Darent Valley hospital by Lucas and a team of morticians who worked in cramped laboratories and were under constant pressure. Added to their workload were the effects of the colder months, with poor weather conditions and fatal cases of pneumonia amongst the older population, so that a post mortem report for a criminal case could take several days at best – sometimes weeks.

‘No staining to the ceiling tiles?’ said Kay.

‘Dehydration would have occurred prior to putrefaction,’ said Lucas. ‘There must have been enough air flow in the cavity to speed up the process.’

‘And no-one would’ve picked up on any residual smell because the place was empty for two months after the renovations were complete,’ said Barnes. ‘We’ve got a copy of the lease agreement, and this lot didn’t move in until October.’

‘Do we know who the carpet fitters were?’

Barnes jerked a gloved thumb over his shoulder. ‘The managing director phoned his operations manager – he’s on annual leave at the moment but he’s going to go through his files online and email us the details. Local company by the sounds of it.’

‘Okay, good.’ Kay rose to her feet and cast her gaze around the crime scene. ‘All right, Ian. You’ve got everything under control here. We’ll head back to the station and make sure the incident room is ready.’

FOUR

‘Hell of a way to start a Monday, guv.’

Detective Sergeant Carys Miles handed Kay a manila folder as she walked into the incident room and headed towards her desk.

‘Tell me about it.’ Kay shrugged off her fleece and threw it over the back of her chair before flipping open the file. ‘What have you managed to find?’

Carys leaned against the desk opposite and hitched a lock of black hair behind her ear as Kay sat. ‘The building was owned by one of the big high street banks until the recession a few years ago. It’s been leased on a short-term arrangement in the years since, but when the last tenant moved out, the owners decided to take advantage of the redevelopment works going on around here and sold the property.’

‘They must’ve made a pretty penny.’

‘You’re not wrong. The estimated figures are on page four. The new owner – a property development company based in Rochester – contracted out the work. We’ve collated a list of business names relating to the building from the internet and I’ll get some help working through those to find out how they’re linked. Some are sole traders, others are limited companies.’

‘Barnes is waiting to hear from the current tenant’s operations manager,’ said Gavin. ‘Hopefully he’s got a note of the carpet fitters to save you trying to locate them.’

‘That’d be good,’ said Carys. ‘I’m hoping everything’s been done by the book and we don’t have to worry about cash-in-hand jobs.’

Kay ran her eyes over the text as she flipped through the thin file, then handed it back to Carys.

‘This is a good start, thanks.’ She checked her watch. ‘Who’s managing the HOLMES database?’

‘Phillip Parker,’ said Carys. ‘Debbie was rostered out with uniform over the weekend and won’t be free until Thursday to join us.’

‘Yes, we saw her at the scene. That’s okay – Phillip’s more than capable of managing it in the meantime. Who else have we got?’

Kay listened and let her gaze wander across the incident room as Carys ran through the names of uniformed officers who had been drafted in to assist her small team of detectives, her heart rate beginning to steady after the adrenalin spike of attending the crime scene.

Her eyes fell upon PC Derek Norris balancing on a chair as he pulled down pale blue paper streamers from the ceiling, and her heart ached.

The previous Friday, one of the administrative staff had brought in her weeks-old baby boy to introduce him to her colleagues and the room had been used as a temporary space to hold a small party for her. Kay had attended, but had drawn worried glances from her fellow detectives. She still felt the pain of loss from her miscarriage some years before, and had found it difficult when the baby had been thrust into her arms and the infant’s vivid blue eyes had gazed up at her.

She battened down the memory as Norris climbed from the chair and threw the last of the streamers into the wastepaper basket under the desk, restoring the incident room to its normal practical setting.

Her frozen fingertips began to thaw in the warmth from the central heating that, this winter at least, was working and she reached out gratefully for the mug of tea that Sergeant Harry Davis thrust at her before he headed off towards a desk near the window. She smiled; the older uniformed officer had become quite a father figure to a number of the staff over the years and she always enjoyed his company, even when she was at the beginning of an investigation that would certainly test all her skills as a detective and manager. At least Harry could be relied upon to corral the younger team members when needed.

An air of efficiency filled the room as personnel settled at temporary desks, answered phones and called across to each other – a focus that wouldn’t be broken until their victim had been identified and the circumstances of his death resolved.

Carys broke off as the door swung open and Barnes strode towards them, loosening his tie.

‘Right, Tutankhamun’s off to the morgue and there’s a uniform patrol staying at the premises until Harriet’s team release the crime scene,’ he said. ‘What have I missed?’

Kay handed Carys’s notes to him, then turned to Gavin. ‘Can you get onto the council and find out if there were any issues during the renovation works? Complaints, problems with permits, anything like that.’

‘Will do, guv.’ He held up his mobile. ‘I’ll download the photos I took of our victim and the crime scene too, and get those in the system. Do you want a couple of printouts for the board?’

‘Please. Might as well show everyone here what we’re up against when it comes to identifying this one. I can’t imagine we’ll get anything through from Harriet’s team until some time tomorrow, not if they’re still there.’

Gavin shot off towards his desk and Barnes handed the folder to Carys.

‘What are your initial thoughts?’ said Kay.

‘Well, he obviously pissed off someone,’ said Barnes. ‘Given the way his skull was broken.’

Carys frowned. ‘We haven’t had any reports of trouble during the redevelopment works around here. I presume there’s no way he could’ve tripped and fallen into the cavity by accident and banged his head, then?’

‘No – we took a look upstairs before we left, and he was definitely hidden on purpose,’ said Kay. ‘There are all sorts of joists and wiring underneath the mezzanine level. All that would’ve had to have been moved to one side for him to fit.’

She pushed herself out of her chair. ‘Come on – round up everyone and let’s have a quick run through what we need to do before the end of today. I need to brief Sharp before he leaves for the press conference in an hour.’

Her stomach rumbled as she reached across for her mobile phone, and Carys rolled her eyes.

‘Not a word. I’ll eat later,’ said Kay.

She moved to the front of the room and waited while her colleagues wheeled chairs across to where she stood next to a whiteboard while Gavin hurried over from the printer.

‘Got the photos,’ he said, and began to pin up two he’d chosen from those he’d taken.

Kay cleared her throat. ‘Settle down, everyone. Let’s get on with it.’

A few stragglers hurried to lean against desks or perched on the windowsills, and then she began.

‘For those of you who have joined us for the first time today, you’ll find we’re a close-knit team who like to get things done. Having said that, none of us bites so don’t be afraid to ask a question. You might be the one who sets us off in the right direction to get a result, all right?’ She smiled as a couple of young constables visibly relaxed and others gave Barnes and the other detectives a knowing nod, before she turned and rapped her knuckles on the first photograph. ‘We have a mummified body that was discovered when it fell through a ceiling in the old bank up on the High Street earlier this morning. No-one was injured, but as you can imagine it was a shock to everyone present.’

A murmur filled the room as the investigative team leaned as one towards the photographs with their notebooks out and pens poised.

‘No-one knows who he is at the moment,’ said Kay. ‘He was dressed in denim jeans, a dark blue cotton shirt and canvas shoes. The labels in his clothing are common high street and online brands. He wasn’t wearing a watch, and there are no other forms of identification such as a wallet or driving licence. He’s estimated to be five foot eight – we’ll have that clarified after the post mortem because the mummification has caused a degree of shrinkage. His hair is on the long side, as you can see – and for the newcomers, our pathologist clarified it was about that length when he died. Don’t believe everything you read in the press about hair growing after death. He wasn’t in that cavity long enough, for a start.’

She moved to the second photograph Gavin had provided. ‘When we’re done, I want you all to have a closer look at his fingertips – Lucas will try to extract prints for us, but they seem worn on his left hand, not so much on the other, which would be unusual for anyone associated with construction work.’

‘Maybe he was a guitar player,’ said a middle-aged constable from the back of the room.

‘Could be,’ said Kay. She wrote the suggestion on the board with a question mark under it, then re-capped the pen. ‘Parker – can you work with Carys and get the findings she’s pulled together to date into HOLMES before tomorrow morning so everyone can access it easily?’

‘Yes, guv.’ Phillip gave her a thumbs up. ‘I’ve got another couple of computers being installed as well – Theresa in admin managed to rustle them up from somewhere.’

‘Good work, thank you.’ Kay moved to an enlarged map of the immediate area around the software company’s offices. ‘Uniform have been working their way around the companies based on the three streets that surround our crime scene, and Andy Grey over at the digital forensics unit has been given copies of the security camera feed from two of the retail shops across the road from the software company. We can’t expect much from those to help us given the amount of time that’s passed since the renovations were completed, but it’s worth a shot.’

‘CCTV – Barnes, can you coordinate with Hughes and get footage from at least the beginning of June onwards?’ Kay added. ‘Lucas said our victim dried out very quickly, so we’ll work on the basis that he was killed during the heatwave this summer. Let’s have a look to see if there was any suspicious activity around the site while works were ongoing, and then the two months afterwards while the premises were empty.’

‘Will do.’

‘Is it definitely a murder, guv?’ said Parker.

‘Given the size of the blow to his skull and the angle at which he was struck, we should assume our victim was murdered rather than it being an accident until we have the results from the post mortem. Regardless of how he died, he didn’t fall into that cavity. He had help to get in there,’ said Kay. She exhaled, dropped the pen to the desk next to her, then cast her eyes over the anxious faces that peered at the whiteboard.

‘So, let’s find out what happened to him, shall we?’

FIVE

Late the following afternoon Kay elbowed open the door, swearing under her breath as hot coffee slopped out of the takeout cup and over her hand.

She flicked the worst of the liquid away and hurried towards her desk, the noise levels in the open plan space competing with the racket in the street outside from congested traffic and an ambulance fighting to make its way through two lanes of nose-to-tail vehicles.

She’d spent the last four hours at headquarters, first with DCI Sharp bringing the chief superintendent up to date with the start of the investigation and providing an outline of how she planned to manage it before heading back to the town centre station, and then liaising with the media relations team to discuss how to cope with the barrage of enquiries from press and public alike following the previous night’s televised media conference.

The sun had long disappeared over the horizon by the time she’d finished and hurried into the incident room to try and catch up with her team before they went home for the night.

She placed the cup on her desk, eyed the flashing light on her desk phone with a glare, then emitted a sigh and began to attack the emails that had multiplied in the hours she’d been at headquarters.

Barnes glanced up from his notebook and raised his eyebrow, his mobile phone to his ear.

Kay shook her head and forced a smile.

The whole day had left her disquieted.

Around her, officers and detectives worked with the frantic buzz that only a new murder investigation could cause, and here she was having to fight her corner with senior management to ensure her team got the resources they needed to deliver the right result.

‘Everything all right?’ said Barnes, ending his call and tossing his phone onto his desk.

‘Yes,’ said Kay, and reached out for her computer mouse, wiggling it to waken the screen again. ‘The Chief Super seems happy with the way we’ve got ourselves set up here, at least.’

Barnes leaned across, lowering his voice conspiratorially. ‘I’ve heard she plays the Times Sudoku⁠—’

‘Nothing unusual about tha⁠—’

‘With a pen.’

Kay snatched up the soft stress ball Gavin had left on her desk and pitched it at Barnes, who ducked and then grinned at her.

She laughed, grateful to him for lifting her mood a little. ‘Behave. Where are we up to with tasks? Have you managed to shed any light on the construction works over the summer?’

‘I’ll show you,’ said Barnes. He led the way across the room to where the whiteboard stood, now covered in various pinned notes and different coloured marker pen ink. He tapped a photograph of the building that had been taken prior to the redevelopment of the site. ‘So, this is what the place used to look like.’

‘I’d forgotten what an eyesore it was,’ said Kay.

‘Ripe for renovation, that’s for sure. The bank sold the site at auction – the last tenant left in November the previous year. It was purchased by Hillavon Developments, whose registered offices are in Rochester. The owner, Alexander Hill, lives in Broadstairs.’

‘Has anyone spoken to him?’ said Kay.

‘Gavin’s going to follow up later today. Apparently, the bloke plays golf until one o’clock on Tuesdays and keeps his phone switched off until the nineteenth hole. He hasn’t returned any of Gavin’s calls yet.’

‘Tell Gavin to let him know that we can always conduct the interview in one of our rooms here if he’s not going to take this matter seriously.’

‘Will do, guv.’

‘What do we know about him?’

‘Hillavon Developments – or Alexander Hill if you like – is an architect by trade, so he designed the new layout for the building and then contracted out the project management and construction to another company, Brancourt and Sons Limited.’

‘Where are they based?’ said Kay.

‘Here in Maidstone. Has been since the 1920s, according to their website,’ said Barnes. ‘I was planning on contacting them after we speak with the developer in case he tells us something we can question them about.’

‘Let’s get on with it and speak to someone at Brancourt and Sons as soon as possible. No doubt they’re expecting a phone call from us after last night’s news was broadcast, and the rumours will be spreading. I’d rather have as much information as possible so we can keep this investigation moving. Who’s running the family business these days?’

‘John Brancourt,’ said Barnes. ‘Lives over at Coxheath, and took over from his father thirty years ago. Seems to be a family tradition reading through the history on their website – the business is passed down to the first son in each generation before his thirtieth birthday.’

‘Right, get onto John Brancourt and arrange to interview him.’ She waited while her colleague made a note, and then continued. ‘Going back to the building, who were the last tenants before the place was sold? There was a boutique or something in the retail space below, wasn’t there?’

‘Yes, where the reception area is now.’ Barnes reached out to a neat pile of stapled documents on the table next to Kay and turned the pages, his brow creased until he found what he needed and jabbed the page with his forefinger. ‘Here you go. There was a fashion outlet below – Pia always reckoned it was too overpriced for Maidstone, which might have been why it closed a couple of months before the building was put up for sale. On the floor above that, there was a bloodstock licensing agency for racehorses. The top floor was used on a part-time basis by a graphic design company. Carys tracked down those tenants, and uniform will be out taking statements first thing tomorrow.’

‘Any issues before the place was sold?’ said Kay.

‘You mean tenants taking umbrage at being evicted?’ Barnes shook his head. ‘Not as far as we’re aware. Put it this way, there’s nothing on the system so unless the interviews that uniform do tomorrow shed any light on something, then no. No issues.’

Kay crossed her arms over her chest as she assessed the information gathered in the first twenty-four hours. ‘I don’t like this one at all, Ian.’

‘Different, isn’t it?’

‘What on earth was he doing there in the first place? I mean, if there was an accident or something during the redevelopment works then we’d have heard about it. The Health and Safety Executive would have been crawling over that site within hours. You can’t cover up something like that, not these days.’

Barnes scratched his chin. ‘We’re still working up a list of everyone who had access to the site once the renovations began.’

‘You’re doing a great job, Ian. It’s like Sharp always says, we don’t always get the breakthrough we need in the first twenty-four hours – despite what the training manuals tell us.’ She gestured across the photographs. ‘I mean, this is a good start.’

‘Guv, you don’t think Gavin has a point?’ said Barnes, lowering his voice.

‘About what?’ Kay peered across at him, and then frowned. ‘Oh, wait. The cats? For good luck?’

‘Well? What if someone did put him in that cavity on purpose?’ He shrugged and looked away, two spots of red appearing on his cheeks.

‘Look, let’s not rule it out. I think it’s unlikely we’re looking at a sacrificial killing but let’s face it – at the moment, we haven’t got anything else as a motive, have we?’ Kay turned to face the incident room, a mixture of officers in uniform or business suits creating a blur of activity. ‘How did the briefing go?’

‘Good. I think everyone knows what they need to do and are keen to get on with it. Parker’s finished getting HOLMES up to date so everyone else can start adding their notes as they go now and at least we’re able to print out the reports we need. Carys has added the information about the tenants she found as well as the formal data from Companies House, and Hughes has got two constables helping him go through the CCTV footage we’ve got to date.’

Kay exhaled, letting out some of the frustration that had been starting to seep into her system during the sojourn at headquarters. ‘I knew I could count on you, Ian. Thanks. Get yourself home and hopefully we’ll make some headway tomorrow.’

SIX

Kay gathered up the hessian tote bags from the back seat of her car, elbowed the door shut and crossed to the front door of her house, her ears still ringing from the screeching of a toddler at the supermarket checkout minutes before.

The door opened before she could lower the shopping to fish out her keys.

‘Evening, detective.’

She smiled. ‘Hey, you. Here – take some of these. They weigh a ton.’

Her other half, Adam, obliged by taking two of the bags from her and chuckled as he opened the top of one of them. ‘I nearly phoned you to say we need more wine but I see you sorted that as a priority.’

‘Yes, I didn’t think you’d fancy white in this weather so I bought you a Rioja and a Pinot Noir,’ she said, shutting the door and dropping the security chain into place. ‘You choose.’

A rich aroma teased her senses as she followed him into the kitchen, and then she saw what was on the centre worktop and froze.

‘Oh no.’

A glass case took up one third of the wide surface, a plastic lid over the top of it peppered with ventilation holes and a thick layer of sawdust and shredded newspaper covering the floor of it.

Adam turned from where he was unpacking the bags next to the refrigerator and raised an eyebrow. ‘What’s up?’

Kay pointed at the glass case. ‘Please tell me the snake’s not back here.’

Her veterinary husband laughed.

Two years ago, he had brought home a sick snake whose owners were away on holiday. Having solved an investigation with her close-knit team to arrest and charge a vicious killer, she’d arrived home and discovered that the snake had escaped. Kay had perched on the kitchen worktop until Adam had finally located the reptile behind the washing machine after several minutes of panicked searching.

‘No, not a snake. Sid’s in fine fettle, you’ll be pleased to know.’ Adam scrunched up the empty bags and took the two Kay was holding before placing them on the worktop next to the case and beckoning to her to join him. ‘Come and have a look. I think you’ll like this.’

She followed him across to the glass case. ‘It’s the old aquarium from out in the garage isn’t it?’

‘Yes. It’s all I had at short notice – that’s why I’ve used a seed tray as a lid. At least it’s got the holes already in it for ventilation, so that saved me a job.’

Kay moved closer to the glass and peered inside.

She noticed that Adam had added a piece of plastic guttering pipe, and had turned it upside down so that it formed a short tunnel at one end of the aquarium. A water bottle had been placed on the glass beside it and next to that, a second bowl of seeds and chopped up vegetables looked as if it had been recently ransacked.

Movement from within the tunnel caught her eye, and then a nose and whiskers appeared moments before a sandy-coloured furry creature shuffled forwards and then rose shakily on its hind legs.

‘Aww, it’s a gerbil!’

‘Told you you’d like him.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘Cornflake.’

‘What? Seriously?’

Adam shrugged. ‘His owner is eight years old.’

Kay narrowed her eyes as she watched the rodent wobble across the sawdust towards the water bowl. ‘What’s wrong with him?’

‘He had a stroke over the weekend, poor thing,’ said Adam. ‘Unfortunately, it’s quite common amongst these. They make great pets but they don’t last much longer than three or four years.’

‘How old is Cornflake?’

‘Three and a half. Angela – that’s Cassie’s mum – is a bit squeamish when it comes to giving him his medicine so I offered to look after him for the next week or so. He’s making a good recovery so I’m sure he’ll be back home with her and Cassie before long.’

‘Will he be okay?’

‘They’re remarkably resilient creatures,’ said Adam. ‘He’ll adapt in time – he’ll probably lean to the left like he is now for the rest of his life, but other than that he’ll be fine.’

‘That’s good.’ Kay’s stomach rumbled and she turned away from the glass case. ‘Sorry, but I’m starving. Are you okay to put this lot away while I go and get changed?’

‘Go for it. I’ll be dishing up in half an hour.’

‘Thanks.’

Kay headed upstairs, hanging up her suit jacket before stripping the rest of her clothes from her weary body and stepping into the en suite shower.

As she let the jet of hot water pour over her scalp and scrubbed the day’s grime from her skin, her mind turned to the recent anniversary she and Adam had chosen to keep to themselves.

Two years ago, Kay had returned to work after a Professional Standards investigation by Kent Police had left her bereft – and childless.

Only her close team, and her mentor – DCI Devon Sharp – knew the full extent of the personal trauma she and Adam had endured after she had been unfairly targeted.

An ache tore at her chest as the memories resurfaced, her relaxed state releasing the numbed grief she kept to herself. She wiped her eyes, tears lending a salty taste to the water that cascaded over her cheeks and lips, and then turned off the faucet.

After towelling off her skin with a fierceness that left her arms and legs red, Kay released her hair from the top knot she had tied and wiped the condensation from the mirror above the basin.

She scowled at her reflection, pulled the cord to switch off the lights, then moved across the bedroom to a chest of drawers and dragged out a favourite sweatshirt. Pulling on a pair of jeans, she combed her hair.

As she turned to leave the room, her eyes fell upon the plastic bottle of sleeping tablets on her bedside table.

Her heart skipped a beat, and Kay forced down the sense of panic that bubbled at her stomach.

Fear threatened, hard on the heels of the grief that had lowered her resilience.

She had faced death a year ago, fought against an adversary who had wrapped his hands around her throat and tried to extinguish her life.

It was only the quick thinking of DCI Sharp that had saved her from the clutches of Jozef Demiri. She still bore the internal scars from the ordeal to which the organised crime boss had subjected her, and refused to take any prescribed medication for fear of losing her job.

For Adam’s sake, she had continued to take the homeopathic remedy on a daily basis but a sense of unbalance gripped her.

It was all she could do not to thrust her hands out to the side as she descended the stairs.

Thirteen steps, but every one of them loaded with guilt.

She hadn’t told Adam about the nightmares that had returned since the summer.

She hadn’t spoken to Dr Zoe Strathmore following her initial appointment earlier in the year, instead assuring the psychiatrist’s receptionist that she was fine; that she was too busy; that her calendar was too full for any follow-up appointment.

For nine months.

A trembling wracked her calves and Kay grasped the bannister, sinking onto the penultimate tread as the spasm enveloped her.

She fought down the sensation, her chest constricting as she drew her knees under her chin, her eyes finding the blinking lights of the security panel to the right of the front door.

It hadn’t yet been activated; she or Adam would initiate the sequence before climbing the stairs to bed, but its presence calmed her. There would be no-one breaking into the house tonight.

Kay lowered her forehead to her knees. ‘I am not a victim,’ she muttered. ‘I am not a victim. I can do this.’

Movement over her shoulder shook her from her meditation and she launched herself to her feet, ran her fingers through her hair and patted her cheeks.

She felt the colour return to her skin as Adam emerged from the kitchen, a quizzical expression in his eyes.

‘I thought I heard your voice. Everything okay?’

‘Yes.’ She forced a smile and followed him back into the kitchen.

‘I’ve opened the Pinot.’

‘Thanks.’ Kay sank onto one of the bar stools at the central kitchen worktop and took a sip from the glass of wine Adam had poured for her. She watched for a moment as Adam returned to the stove and checked the pots steaming on the hob, and then cleared her throat. ‘When was the last time you visited Elizabeth?’

Adam froze, the wooden spoon held aloft.

‘What?’

Adam balanced the spoon on one of the saucepan handles and then moved across to where she sat. He frowned. ‘I’ve been so busy with the practice over the past few weeks – no, months.’

Kay watched as he bit his lip, his shoulders slumping.

‘About ten weeks, I suppose,’ he said.