Laura paced the grease-streaked concrete floor of Harlington’s garage, alternatively scrolling through new text messages and peering out through the open doors to the forecourt beyond.
Rather than try to locate the three men who worked for Harlington, the owner had suggested he call them and arrange for them to be interviewed at the garage to save time, something which she and Barnes had seized upon with enthusiasm.
Her colleague was currently interviewing the older of the remaining staff members beside a steel bench strewn with power tools, their voices a murmur while they perched on a pair of well-used stools.
Despite the open doors, the air was musty with the pungent aromas of engine oil, lubricant and – in anticipation of the predicted early winter – antifreeze.
She shivered, the wind turning and creeping through the gap in the doors, and tucked her phone into her pocket before buttoning her wool coat before flipping up the collar to counteract the draught.
The sound of a car drawing closer piqued her interest, and she walked out to the forecourt as a sporty blue hatchback turned in from the road, sound system blaring.
A scrawny man climbed out, his brow knitted as he caught sight of her and pulled a sweatshirt over his head.
‘Are you the detective?’ he asked, aiming his key fob at the car and crossing to where she waited.
‘DC Laura Hanway,’ she said, holding out her warrant card. ‘You must be Sam Hennant.’
‘I am.’
‘Thanks for coming in on your day off.’
He shrugged, adjusting the short ponytail at the nape of his neck. ‘I reckon Dale would’ve done the same for me if he were in my shoes.’
‘Come on, let’s get inside. It’s moderately warmer in there.’
‘You’d never make a mechanic, detective.’
‘Trust me, I know.’
She smiled and led the way through the doors and towards a pair of plastic garden chairs that Harlington had found at the back of the garage, now set out in the opposite corner to where Barnes and the other staff member were talking.
Sam nodded to his colleague, shoved his hands in the kangaroo pocket of his sweatshirt and sat opposite her. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘Do you work here full-time?’
‘Part-time. I do four days here, and one at college. I’ve only got another eight months to go, and then I’m fully qualified.’ He smiled shyly. ‘Gerry’s already offered me a full-time job when I’m done.’
‘That’s good. Takes some of the stress out of finishing the course, I expect.’
‘It does, yeah.’ Sam wiggled in his chair and leaned closer. ‘So, do you know who shot Dale?’
‘It’s an ongoing investigation. What we’re trying to do today is understand why Dale was killed, and what he was doing up at the White Hart. Did he seem out of sorts last week, perhaps nervous about anything?’
‘Not that I noticed. We were busy Monday – Tuesday’s me day off, so I can’t tell you anything about that – and Wednesday was flat out. It’s why I like working here. The time goes really quick.’
‘Gerry mentioned Dale got a phone call last Monday and it got pretty heated. Do you remember that?’
Sam tucked his hands under his arms and frowned. ‘Yeah, I do because I hadn’t seen him like that before, not angry. I was supposed to be helping unload a delivery but I couldn’t help notice it. He was pacing back and forth out there, telling whoever it was at the other end that they’d pay for something.’
‘Any idea what?’
‘No.’ He shrugged. ‘Didn’t want to ask, to be honest. He came back in here in one hell of a mood.’
‘Did you get on all right with Dale?’
‘Yeah, we all did. He was teaching me a lot of stuff, especially when Gerry was too busy.’
‘What sort of things did you talk about, other than work?’
‘Football, mostly. And stuff we’d seen on TV.’
Laura paused as Barnes wandered over, the man he’d been speaking to leaving through the open garage doors with a nod to Gerry in farewell.
‘Did Dale ever mention an interest in guns?’ he asked.
Sam nodded. ‘He wanted to take up shooting for some reason, and didn’t know where to start but he said one of our customers offered to take him out to show him the ropes to see if he liked it last month.’
‘And did he?’ said Barnes.
‘He wouldn’t stop talking about it the next week. Bored the crap out of us.’ Gerry beckoned them over to a set of metal lockers at the back of the garage, took a key from his pocket and opened one at the far end. ‘This is a master key. And this is all Dale’s stuff – I wasn’t sure what to do with it.’
‘Do you know which customer it was who offered the taster session?’
‘Haven’t got a clue, sorry.’
‘Sam?’
The apprentice shook his head in reply as Gerry reached inside the locker and extracted a pile of magazines together with an empty drink bottle and a duffel bag.
Opening the duffel bag, Barnes held up a scrunched-up T-shirt. ‘Gym clothes, by the look of it.’
Laura flipped the magazines over, running her gaze across the titles. ‘He was reading up on rifles and hunting, then?’
‘Yeah. All the time. He couldn’t wait to get his licence.’ Sam frowned. ‘He was gutted when your lot told him he couldn’t have one because his ex-wife had put in a complaint or something.’
‘Can we take these?’
‘You can take all of it if you like.’ Gerry exhaled. ‘I mean, I can’t see his ex wanting any of it, and at some point I’m going to have to advertise for a replacement for Dale. We’re not going to cope otherwise.’
‘Thanks.’ Barnes hefted the duffel bag over his shoulder. ‘And thanks for organising everyone to come over. That saved us a lot of time.’
‘Just find out who killed him, all right? He didn’t deserve to die like that.’
Laura gathered the magazines together and carried them out to the car, glancing over her shoulder at the sound of footsteps to see Sam following, tossing his car keys from hand to hand.
‘Thanks for your help today.’
‘No worries.’ He winked. ‘And come back any time. You’ve got my number.’
Laura turned away before he could see her face flame, and elbowed Barnes in the ribs as he started to chuckle.
‘I think you’ve got a new fan there, Hanway,’ he said, unlocking the car.
‘The cheeky bugger,’ she hissed.