Ian Barnes uttered a muffled curse, swallowed the last of his bacon sandwich, and glared at the grease spot now pooling in the middle of his burgundy polyester tie.
Up early, unwilling to wait until he’d had breakfast at home with his partner Pia, he’d rushed into work and was sitting at his desk by six thirty.
Kyle looked up from the desk arrangement he was currently sharing with Debbie West, and grinned.
‘Mouth not big enough, sarge?’
‘Up yours,’ Barnes replied. He opened his desk drawer, breathing a sigh of relief when he spotted the spare tie rolled up beside a stapler and switched it for the stained one, placing that in the front pocket of his backpack.
No doubt he’d remember it sometime next month.
He turned his attention back to the briefing minutes from the night before that had been left on his desk, Kay’s sprawling handwriting crowding the margins where she’d added her thoughts about the direction the investigation should take next.
‘What time did she leave last night?’ said Debbie, walking over and handing him the latest report out of HOLMES2.
He squinted at his screen. ‘The last email I have from her is time-stamped twelve oh four. I think she sent everyone else home by eleven.’
The uniformed constable snorted. ‘I’d better make sure there’s fresh coffee on when she gets in.’
‘Speaking of which.’ Barnes held up his empty mug, and smiled.
‘You know where to find it.’
‘It was worth a try.’
After fetching a refill and taking an appreciative slurp, Barnes dropped back into his seat and searched through the case management system until he found Laura’s last entry for the previous day.
According to her notes, she and Phillip had spent most of the evening talking to contractors employed by the facility to ascertain whether any of those might have been responsible for dumping the parts in the storage bunkers.
Their conversations had been frustratingly brief and no suspects had emerged, especially once Daniel confirmed that none of those names appeared on the National Firearms Licensing Management System either.
Gavin’s report was equally disappointing, with the detective constable summarising that after spending several hours reviewing the facility’s CCTV footage, none of the workers could be seen throwing anything into the storage bunkers.
In fact, none of the workers went anywhere near the bunkers while the facility was fully operational – all of the waste was sorted and managed by Natasha Perrott and her colleagues from the control room overseeing the waste hopper while it moved back and forth.
Recalling his conversation with Kay yesterday morning, Barnes hoped the young detective wasn’t regretting the move back to Maidstone and the onerous tasks that the case now entailed, especially as the outcome of last night’s endeavours meant that they would all be phoning local commercial waste collection companies this morning.
‘Sarge?’
He looked up from his screen to see Kyle walking towards him, the constable’s brow creased with worry.
‘What’ve you got?’
‘I just had Hughes on the phone. He says there’s a Mrs Yvonne Maxton downstairs who wants a word. Apparently she’s nervous as hell, and will only speak to someone on the Thorngrove enquiry.’
Barnes removed his reading glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Where do I know that name from?’
‘She’s married to Royce Maxton – the chap Mark Redding said he goes shooting with sometimes.’
‘That’s it.’ Wagging his finger at Kyle, Barnes slipped on his jacket then straightened his tie. ‘Let’s go and see what she wants to talk about then.’
Yvonne Maxton was perched on the edge of one of the chairs in interview room two when Barnes and Kyle walked in, her musky perfume lending a pervasive scent to the otherwise stuffy interior and allaying some of the body odour that always lingered from previous occupants.
She wore a smart navy skirt suit, large gold hoops peering out from under a choppy black bob, and peered at the two men with watery green eyes while they took their seats opposite.
‘Do you mind if we record this conversation, Mrs Maxton?’ Barnes began, his voice gentle. ‘It’s standard practice.’
‘I… no, of course. My husband won’t hear this, will he?’
‘This is a formal interview, and won’t be shared with anyone outside of our investigation unless and until the matter goes to court.’
She chewed her lip for a moment, then nodded. ‘All right. I suppose so.’
‘Thank you. We have to start with a formal caution, but it’s nothing to worry about.’ Barnes recited the words by rote after Kyle started the recording equipment, and then leaned back in his chair, affecting a relaxed pose. ‘My colleague on the front desk said you needed to talk to us about the Thorngrove case, Mrs Maxton. What did you want to tell us?’
‘P-please. Call me Yvonne.’ She tugged at a silver bracelet and twisted the chunky links between her fingers, keeping her eyes lowered to the table. ‘I… um…’
‘Take your time. Maybe a deep breath, too.’
The woman forced a nervous smile. ‘I had this all planned out in my head while I was on my way into work this morning.’
‘Where do you work?’
‘Um, a firm of accountants. Up near the square.’
‘Do you normally start this early in the morning?’
‘Oh, gosh no. I don’t usually start until half eight. I just wanted to see if I could talk to someone beforehand.’
‘And here we are.’
‘Yes.’ A few more seconds ticked by on the clock above the door, and then Yvonne exhaled. ‘Look, I don’t want to sound like I’m telling tales or anything like that. It’s just that I’ve been worried since Royce got a phone call from one of you earlier this week. He’s been in a bad temper ever since.’
‘Your husband?’
She met his gaze and nodded.
Barnes took a moment to run his eyes down the report Kyle had printed off before running downstairs after him, tracing the lines of text with his forefinger. ‘Right, I see. DC Laura Hanway called him on Monday to ask about the pheasant shoots he organises from time to time.’
‘They’re rare – maybe one or two each season.’ Yvonne blushed. ‘Knowing Royce, he probably made it sound like we have hundreds of acres. It’s really just a smallholding with a few chickens but we do have six acres of woodland next to the paddock. And it’s not even as if he invites lots of people. Maybe three or four at most.’
‘And he follows all health and safety procedures for guests?’
‘Yes, of course.’
Barnes clasped his hands on top of the report. ‘But there’s still some sort of problem, I take it?’
‘One of the men who turned up at the last one brought his own rifle.’ Yvonne shuffled in her seat, lowering her eyes.
A silence followed her words, and he let it go on, willing the woman to reveal what seemed to be troubling her so much that she had sneaked into the police station before work.
Finally, she sighed. ‘Look, it’s just that – and I might’ve got this wrong, perhaps mixed him up with someone else Royce mentioned – I thought he’d lost his licence a while back. I couldn’t understand how he’d got this gun.’
‘Have you mentioned this to your husband?’
‘No. I… he likes having these shooting parties – his words, mind. He says it enables him to suss out potential investments before the rest of the market. I usually tune out when they turn up, I’m afraid – all they talk about is this deal and that deal, and it can be boring.’ She flashed a rare smile. ‘As long as I make sure the kettle’s on and the brandy’s ready when they get back to the house, I don’t think they even know I’m there.’
‘When was this?’
‘Four weeks ago.’
‘Do you know the man’s name?’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t. I don’t think this man was involved in that shooting, but it… it does worry me that someone might be walking around with an illegal weapon. I just thought you ought to know. I mean, after what happened. It’s on my conscience, that’s all.’
‘Is your husband at home today?’ Kyle asked, looking up from his notebook.
‘Yes – he’s a day trader. Stocks and shares, that sort of thing. We turned the formal dining room into an office for him six years ago.’ Yvonne sat up a little straighter. ‘He’s doing really well with it.’
‘All right, Mrs Maxton – Yvonne. Thank you.’ Barnes rose to his feet.
‘Oh.’ She gathered her handbag from the floor beside her and joined him by the door, glancing at Kyle over her shoulder. ‘Is that it?’
‘It is, and thank you for coming in. We’ll be in touch if we have any further questions.’
He waited until Hughes had shown her out through reception to the front door, then turned to see Kyle looking at him, an excited gleam in his eyes.
‘Reckon her husband’s friend is our killer, sarge?’
‘I don’t know, but I’m sure the guv will want to ask him.’