Laura held on to the strap above the passenger window while Gavin wrenched the steering wheel to the left and braked to navigate around a black wheelie bin at the edge of the White Hart car park.
He stopped before reversing until the vehicle blocked the entrance and shot a grin at her.
‘Just in case he decides to try and make a run for it.’
‘I knew Simpson was hiding something,’ she said, getting out and leaning on the roof of the car as she looked at the pub. ‘But he can’t be the shooter, can he? I mean, he was inside the pub when Thorngrove was killed.’
‘Yes, but he’s obviously involved somehow – otherwise why were the rifle parts found in a load collected from those commercial bins over there?’
She shrugged, then glanced down as her phone pinged. ‘Got a message from the boss.’
‘What’s it say?’
‘“Find out where he was for the thirty minutes before calling triple nine too.”’ Laura tucked the phone into her bag and slung it over her shoulder. ‘Good question.’
‘Didn’t you believe his story about keeping his head down then?’ Gavin peered across the car and grinned.
‘I don’t know.’ She frowned, then held up her hand. ‘Do you hear that?’
They both turned towards the pub, the sound of raised voices carrying out through the open door.
Laura threw her bag back into the car, reaching for a telescopic baton. ‘Reckon this might come in handy?’
‘Kay said no heroics – remember?’
‘Right.’
They hurried forward, sliding to a standstill on the gravel surface as first Len Simpson then Lydia Terry emerged from the building.
She looked apoplectic, her face red while she stormed after the overweight publican.
‘Don’t you fucking dare,’ she shouted. ‘Not after all the bloody hours I’ve worked for you and helped you out. You can’t run this place without me.’
‘I told you, you’re fired.’ Len spun on his heel, towering over the diminutive woman. ‘I won’t stand for gossip.’
‘It doesn’t usually bother you,’ Lydia spat. ‘You’re always asking me about people. What they’re up to, who’s sleeping with who, who…’
‘Erm, excuse me?’ Laura called. ‘Everything all right here?’
The landlord turned around, his eyes widening.
Behind him, Lydia started to laugh. ‘Well, this should be interesting.’
‘What’s going on?’ said Gavin, edging closer, keeping his baton lowered. ‘Are you all right, Mrs Terry?’
‘Oh, I am now,’ she said, still grinning. ‘Was it me or Len you were after?’
‘Mr Simpson, a word please,’ said Laura. She waved him over, and lowered her voice. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I fired her, and she doesn’t like it,’ he replied. ‘What do you want?’
‘Parts from a rifle were discovered in your commercial waste collection. We’d like to know why.’
Len paled. ‘You what?’
‘You heard me. Rifle parts. We’re currently testing them to find out if they match the weapon used to kill Dale Thorngrove here last week. Anything you’d like to tell us?’
‘Such as where you really were for the thirty minutes it took you to call triple nine,’ said Gavin, moving closer. ‘Care to explain?’
‘I got nothing to say to you.’
‘Now, Mr Simpson, I think you know as well as us that’s not true,’ said Laura, giving him her sweetest smile. ‘Shall we try that again? What were the rifle parts doing in your bin?’
‘I’ve got no idea. I don’t own a gun. Never have, not since I left the army and even then, those were kept under lock and key when we weren’t firing them for practice. I only ever carried a weapon when I was based overseas, out on patrol and the like.’
‘So, what were you doing for those thirty minutes?’
‘I know what he was up to,’ Lydia said, raising her voice to be heard from where she still stood outside the door.
Len turned, lunging towards her before Gavin caught him and pulled his arms behind his back.
‘Steady, Mr Simpson,’ he said. ‘No need for that.’
‘Lying bitch,’ Len hissed.
Laura ignored him and walked over to Lydia. ‘Do you know, or are you just trying to cause trouble?’
‘Oh, I know. That’s what we were arguing about.’ Lydia shot her a wicked smile. ‘I suppose it doesn’t matter now. He can’t fire me twice, can he?’
‘What’s he been up to?’
‘Distilling his own gin.’
Laura blinked. ‘He what?’
Len squirmed within Gavin’s grip, then swore under his breath as the detective slipped handcuffs over his wrists.
‘Yeah, I know.’ Lydia tried, then failed to contain her amusement at her ex-boss’s discomfort, her smile widening. ‘Apparently he got pissed off when the cash ‘n’ carry put up their prices six months ago and decided to start making his own. Had it all set up in the back bedroom above the kitchen.’ She jabbed her finger to where Simpson stood beside Gavin, glaring at her. ‘He decided to go and dismantle the still before phoning the police last week in case you lot found out he hadn’t been paying the duty on it. Shoved it up in the attic while we were lying terrified on the floor instead of phoning for help. Bastard.’
‘Is that true, Mr Simpson?’ said Gavin. ‘Care to give us the guided tour?’
Len sneered. ‘It’s just her word against mine, and she’s pissed off because I fired her. You can all bugger off. You ain’t got nothing on me.’
‘Actually, Mr Simpson, based on what was collected from your bins this morning, we have.’ Gavin reached into his pocket, unable to hide his smile. ‘And we’ve got a search warrant.’
‘You won’t need it,’ said Lydia. ‘It’s all in the pickup truck over there.’
Laura took one look at Gavin, then hurried over to a light grey truck beside the empty wooden picnic tables.
A tarpaulin covered the contents of the tray, the shape cylindrical and bulky.
She flipped back the tarpaulin, and blinked.
A grubby copper still lay on its side, the pipework and fittings cluttering the floor beneath.
Turning back to Gavin, she grinned. ‘I reckon Weights and Measures are going to want a word with Mr Simpson after us. Probably the Inland Revenue as well.’
Len glared at her. ‘I ain’t saying nothing until I’ve got a solicitor.’
‘We can arrange one for you at the station,’ said Gavin, leading the publican towards their car. ‘In the meantime, you do not have to say anything…’