Gone to Ground Read online

  ‘We believe he was killed some ten days ago,’ said Gavin. ‘Where were you Wednesday night a fortnight ago?’

  ‘Christ, I don’t know.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘Hang on. That’s it. I was preparing for a visit from the local school the next morning. Takes a lot of work, actually – especially making sure a lot of the sharper tools are locked out of the way.’

  ‘Anyone else here with you?’

  ‘Travis, who runs the forge must have been here – yes, that’s right. He left about fifteen minutes before me and looked in to ask if I’d be okay to lock the gates on my way out.’

  Carys craned her neck and peered into the rafters. ‘No security cameras?’

  Flinders smiled and gestured to the stacks of wooden planks that lined the walls. ‘Not much for them to steal.’

  ‘Do you own a pickup truck, Mr Flinders?’

  ‘No. I’ve got a hatchback; about six years old.’

  Gavin pointed at the bows that had been placed on the workbench. ‘Out of interest, where do you get the wood from for these?’

  Pride entered the man’s voice. ‘It’s all locally sourced from the woodland that borders us here. I coppice it during the winter months, let it dry out, and then over the summer I can start to make the bows.’

  ‘Do you make anything else?’ said Carys.

  ‘Sure. Over here.’

  He led them to the other side of the workshop and then stood back to let them pass.

  Even Gavin was unable to suppress a whistle passing his lips at the craftsmanship before him. Carys ran her eyes over the collection of baskets for firewood, pergolas, and obelisks for climbing plants, and marvelled at the intricacy of the work.

  ‘This is wonderful.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘How long does something like that take you to make?’ said Gavin, pointing at an ornate trellis.

  Flinders shrugged, a smile tugging at the side of his mouth. ‘Depends how many interruptions I get during the day. Usually three days, in between other bits and pieces. I could do it quicker, but then it wouldn’t last as long, and I’d rather have my customers recommend me.’

  Carys tapped Gavin on the arm and signalled they were done. ‘I can take a hint. We’ll get out of your way.’

  He grinned. ‘No problem. And if I could make a suggestion?’

  Carys narrowed her eyes. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Try the hot dogs over at Alan Marchant’s stall – he uses organic meat. They’re the best sausages you’ll find this side of Speldhurst.’

  Gavin glanced at Carys and raised an eyebrow. ‘It’d be a shame not to, don’t you think, DC Miles?’

  ‘Sounds like a good plan. Thanks, Mr Flinders.’

  Thirty-One

  Kay recoiled at the savage heat emanating from the far end of the converted stable block. She blinked to get smut out of her eye and peered into the smoky interior.

  A clanging of metal upon metal filled the space, and Barnes had to call out twice before the racket stopped.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Can we have a word?’ said Kay, struggling to see the owner of the voice within the dark interior of the building against the fiery orange glow from the forge.

  A dog padded out towards them, his mottled grey fur a stark contrast to his bright blue eyes.

  Kay leaned over and automatically ruffled him between the ears, then straightened as a man approached, his sun-streaked hair tied back in a ponytail and wearing a black T-shirt over torn blue jeans. He wiped at his brow with his wrist.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  Barnes already had his warrant card out and held it under the man’s nose. ‘We’re investigating the death of a guest at the Belvedere Hotel and understand that he visited the craft centre with his work colleagues last week. You are?’

  ‘Travis Stevens. That the bloke I heard about on the news?’

  ‘Yes. Does anyone else here work with you?’

  The blacksmith choked out a laugh. ‘No – I can’t afford to employ anyone else.’

  Kay introduced herself, then cast her gaze over the throng of people that had begun to fill the area outside the forge. ‘Looks busy.’

  ‘Aye, well Sundays usually are. Helped along by the market, you see. During the week is a bit different.’

  ‘How does your business stay afloat?’

  ‘Commissions, mostly. You’ve met Marjory Phillips? Runs the local horse riding centre?’

  Kay shook her head. ‘My colleagues spoke with her though, as part of our investigation.’

  ‘Yeah, well I look after all her horses. Plus, I make garden gates, ornaments for fireplaces, that sort of thing.’

  Barnes recited his standard introduction about their investigation. ‘Where were you on the nights in question?’

  Stevens jerked his head at the forge. ‘Working late until about eight o’clock or so. It happens that way sometimes – when it’s going right and you’ve got a rhythm going, it’s pointless stopping.’ A smile teased the corner of his mouth. ‘It’s not like the metal’s going to sit around and wait.’

  His brown eyes sparkled, and Kay was glad Carys hadn’t opted to interview the blacksmith. She wouldn’t get a coherent word out of her for days once she’d set her eyes on the man.

  ‘Can we take a look inside?’ she said.

  ‘Sure. Keep your distance from the forge, though. It’s hot.’

  He winked, then gestured to them to follow him into the building.

  Kay loosened her shirt cuffs and rolled up her sleeves to try to alleviate the sudden increase in temperature, then turned her attention to the wares that had been displayed on shelves to the left side of the working space.

  ‘Hang on. I’ll put the lights on,’ said Stevens.

  A row of spotlights flashed to life above the shelves, and she took a step back to admire the man’s work.

  Her eyes fell upon a row of knives sealed within a glass case. ‘How are these secured?’

  Stevens moved over to where she stood, then reached down to the right-hand side of the case and gestured to her to look. He held out a padlock affixed to a loop of metal on the side of the display cabinet.

  ‘I’ve got the only key.’

  She nodded, then pulled out her notebook as Barnes eyed the heavy tools that hung on a rack near the flames.

  ‘Whereabouts do you live, Mr Stevens?’

  ‘Out near Biddenden. My parents have a smallholding out that way.’

  ‘And, how did you become a blacksmith?’

  He pointed at the length of metal lying on the bench. ‘Do you mind if I work while we talk?’

  ‘We’re nearly done. Could you answer the question, please?’

  He shrugged. ‘I wasn’t very good at school. Actually, that’s not strictly true – I wasn’t interested in what they were trying to teach me. My dad was worried I’d end up getting into trouble, so he arranged for me to get a part-time job with a local farrier. I loved it. Took over his business when he retired about six years ago. Hang on – I’ve got to use the bellows, otherwise this fire is going to die.’

  He flashed her an apologetic smile, pushed past her and strode over to the forge.

  Kay and Barnes followed.

  ‘What do you use for fuel?’ she said.

  ‘Wood. The trick is to keep the charcoal hot. Hazel wood works the best for blacksmithing, because it burns at a hotter temperature. Gives me time to do my thing and doesn’t waste fuel that way.’

  They waited while he tended the flames. Once satisfied with the fire, he moved away and wiped his hands.

  ‘Sorry. The flue needs cleaning, so it can be a bit temperamental sometimes.’

  ‘When you get visitors over from the hotel, what sort of activities do you offer them? Do they get to have a go at making anything?’

  ‘No – my insurance would go through the roof for a start. I do an interactive talk with them, chat about the history of the place, and then show them how I make something simple like an ornamental poker
or a knife, that sort of thing.’

  ‘What vehicle do you drive?’

  ‘That beat-up panel van out there. Has about ninety thousand miles on the clock and will probably last me another two years if I’m lucky.’

  Kay snapped shut her notebook, then handed Stevens one of her business cards. ‘All right. Thanks for your time. If you think of anything that might help with our enquiries, my number and email address are on there.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Kay nodded to the blacksmith, then led the way back through the converted stable block and out into the fresh air.

  Barnes pulled a cotton handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight after the gloom of the forge.

  ‘So, what did you make of Thor? Did you see the serrated edges on the knives he had on display?’

  ‘Yes.’ Kay peered over her shoulder at the sound of a hammer clanging on metal once more, Stevens’ silhouette stark against the flames that roared in the fire behind him. ‘Escalate him to a person of interest, Ian. Let’s keep an eye on that one.’

  ‘Noted. Who’s next?’

  Kay scanned her notes, then pointed across the U-shaped block of buildings to a workshop at the far end. ‘Janice Upton. Your sculptor.’

  Barnes grimaced. ‘Someone else with access to sharp pointy things. This place is full of them.’

  Thirty-Two

  A steady stream of vehicles was beginning to filter through the exit from the craft centre. Kay walked over to a shaded corner of the car park to join the group of uniformed officers waiting there.

  ‘Thanks, everyone,’ she said. ‘I appreciate your time this morning. Have you all handed over your statements to Debbie?’

  A murmur washed over her.

  ‘Good. Anything urgent that can’t wait until tomorrow?’ No-one raised their voice. ‘All right – get yourselves home and enjoy the rest of your Sunday. Morning briefing at eight-thirty tomorrow.’

  The officers weaved their way back to their own vehicles, loosening ties and removing jackets as they relaxed. Kay turned to her colleague.

  ‘Carys – have you seen Barnes and Piper?’

  Carys grinned and pointed back towards the entrance to the market where a line of people waited next to a brightly painted stall, where smoke was rising into the air.

  ‘Try the hot dog stand.’

  Kay rolled her eyes. ‘I might’ve known. See you tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Will do, guv.’

  Kay hitched her bag up her arm, then walked through the long grass towards her car and popped open the back door. Stripping off her jacket, she exchanged her work shoes for sandals, threw her discarded clothing onto the back seat, relocked the vehicle and made her way back to the craft centre.

  She pulled her sunglasses off her head as she walked, cursing under her breath as her hair caught in the metal hinge on one side, then ran her hand over her hair to straighten it and dropped the sunglasses onto her nose.

  Despite it being late morning, the market was still busy and she recalled Travis Stevens’ comment about the popularity of the craft centre.

  She couldn’t prevent a smile twitching at her lips as she drew closer.

  Barnes, Gavin and Adam were all standing next to the wagon, napkins in their hands as they each demolished a hot dog, their eyes intent on their food.

  ‘I hope you bought me one,’ she said.

  Adam glanced over his shoulder, flushing as he wiped his mouth. ‘We thought you’d be a while yet.’

  ‘Caught you red-handed.’ She waved away the offer of the rest of his meal. ‘You’re all right, I’m joking. I take it they’re good?’

  ‘Best I’ve ever had,’ said Gavin. ‘The bloke who makes the bows for the archery classes at the hotel recommended them – he’s got a stall here selling woven baskets and stuff.’

  ‘Productive morning?’ said Adam.

  She sighed. ‘Not sure. I bloody hope so. I mean, Wallis was at the hotel, there are people here that have connections to the hotel, the hotel guests are encouraged to come here and spend money to bolster the local economy…’ She trailed off, overwhelmed by the task she’d set herself and her team.

  ‘Process of elimination, guv,’ said Gavin, his enthusiasm lending an excited edge to his voice. ‘We simply need to narrow it all down until we’ve got a potential pool of suspects, right?’

  She smiled – it was hard not to, such was his positive outlook. ‘You’re right, Piper. Process of elimination.’

  Kay peered around Adam’s shoulder and eyed the queue for the hot dog stall. ‘Looks like they’re popular. I take it you’ve interviewed the owner?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Barnes, his mouth full. He swallowed. ‘Alan Marchant. Organic butcher. Been running the business here for two years. Works with the local farms.’

  ‘Any link to the hotel?’

  ‘None.’ He shoved the last of his hot dog into his mouth and licked his lips. ‘I can re-interview him though, if you want?’

  ‘Very funny. Only because you want a second hot dog.’

  ‘You’ve been busted, Ian,’ said Adam, and laughed.

  Thirty-Three

  Kay held the door open for Sharp, then hurried across to her desk as he made his way into his office the next morning.

  The meeting at headquarters had taken longer than she’d anticipated, despite starting at half past seven. However, the woman they’d spoken with from the Kent Police media relations team had impressed them both with her proposal about how to deal with the influx of press enquiries the investigation was generating as well as using the media to increase public awareness of the monumental task they faced.

  At least she wouldn’t have to deal with Jonathan Aspley for the foreseeable future. The reporter had been given the exclusive to release Clive Wallis’s name hours before other media outlets as a way to silence his protests.

  Kay had left the building on Sutton Road with a renewed determination – they all wanted a result, and fast, but she couldn’t help feeling that she and Sharp were the only ones focused on stopping their killer, rather than boosting public relations ratings.

  Carys handed her a mug of coffee, and Kay checked her watch.

  ‘You’ve got another five minutes before the briefing’s due to start,’ Carys said. ‘Give yourself a breather. We’re not going anywhere.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Kay sank into her seat and took a sip of coffee, then cast her eyes over the stream of emails clogging up her mailbox and groaned.

  As well as the major investigation she was leading, she was expected to continue managing other cases that had been delegated to her by her superiors. Despite the experience of the detectives she’d allocated tasks to over the course of the past week, she remained responsible for the outcome of their enquiries.

  At some point, she’d have to spend time with each of them and obtain an update and provide support.

  She sighed, locked her computer screen, pushed back her chair, and peered around the doorframe into Sharp’s office. She saw he had his phone to his ear and signalled to him she was about to start the briefing for the day.

  He raised a finger, and she nodded before retreating to her desk to gather her notes.

  They were both aware that she was more than capable of managing the case on her own, but she valued his input.

  As she walked towards the whiteboard, a steady stream of uniformed police officers began to wend their way between the desks, comparing notes and pulling spare chairs across to where she waited for the conversations to die down.

  She opened the manila folder, withdrew four photographs and pinned them to the centre of the board before turning to her colleagues.

  ‘Based on interviews over the weekend, Debbie and her team have finished updating HOLMES so you can review the ones you weren’t present for. I want you all to do that after this briefing is concluded. These people are our persons of interest.’ She pointed to the first of the photographs. ‘Tr
udy Evans, working on reception at the hotel when Wallis would have checked in. Nothing on the system to say he stayed there, though. Could be a glitch in the system, but we haven’t ruled that out yet. Next, the three people who have businesses based at the craft centre and access to sharp implements that could be our murder weapon – Alan Marchant, the organic butcher, Derek Flinders who makes the archery bows for the hotel’s activity centre, and Travis Stevens, a blacksmith. Carys and Gavin – work with Debbie and Parker on putting together a profile for each of these.’

  ‘Guv.’

  ‘Will do, guv.’

  She glanced across to where Sharp leaned against a filing cabinet, and he nodded to her to continue.

  ‘Gavin – how are we doing with regard to the pickup truck that was seen on David Carter’s security camera?’

  ‘I’ve had a response from the DVLA, but they’ve got no record of that vehicle being licensed in the past year. It hasn’t been recorded as stolen on our HOLMES database, either. I’m working with Morrison and Stewart to ascertain if it had been registered for scrap – I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything.’

  Kay thumbed through her notes, then raised her head as a phone rang.

  Debbie snatched the receiver from its cradle, then put her hand over the receiver. ‘It’s Lucas, for you. Says he’s got some results on the second victim.’

  ‘We’ll take it in my office,’ said Sharp, signalling to Kay to join him.

  ‘All right, everyone. You’ve got your tasks for this morning. We’ll have a further briefing at four o’clock today. In the meantime, you know where I am if you need me.’

  She hurried over to Sharp’s office, closing the door behind her and easing herself into the visitor’s chair next to Sharp’s desk.

  He connected the call, adjusted the volume, then pulled a notepad from the top tray on his desk.

  ‘Go ahead, Lucas. I’ve got you on speakerphone, and Kay is here with me. What have you got for us?’

  ‘Okay, well as you know we didn’t have much to work with to identify your second victim. The bones were so burnt, we couldn’t extract DNA from any of them. However, we fared a little better with the skull. Because of the way enamel protects the pulp of a tooth, we were able to extract a sample from one of those. The results came through this morning.’