It had been a long day, and Dexter was looking forward to getting home. They’d spent the day preparing for the Squeeze The Day staff interviews, and the investigation was now more or less a waiting game. The media campaign would, he hoped, minimise the chances of any further victims, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before forensic evidence became apparent. They were close to rescuing the CCTV footage, too, and working on the assumption that Alistair Fletcher had wiped it to protect himself and the company, it seemed certain the killer was an employee of Squeeze The Day. That narrowed the list of suspects enormously. They’d already interviewed three, and planned to speak to the rest tomorrow.
His route out of Oakham along Braunston Road took him right past Alistair Fletcher’s house. Although that had been merely a minor point of interest, tonight it took on a whole new significance.
As Dexter prepared to accelerate into the national speed limit zone at the very edge of town, he spotted something odd, but unmistakeable. It had been difficult to work out the detail in the dark, but it looked like the figure of a man quickly stepping into Fletcher’s driveway and ducking behind the hedge.
Putting his car’s brakes to the test, Dexter turned right into Glebe Way and parked up at the side of the road. Keeping his eye on Fletcher’s house, he got out of his car and silently made his way back towards it.
He walked up the driveway, and was a few steps away from the door when he heard a noise to his right.
He turned his head and saw a man, who looked just as surprised to see him.
‘Evening,’ Dexter said. ‘Sorry if I startled you. Is Alistair in?’
‘Uh, I don’t know,’ the man replied, blinking heavily and clearing his throat. ‘I don’t think so. I came to see him too.’
Something didn’t feel right to Dexter. The man looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place him. Then again, it wasn’t unusual for a police officer in Rutland to have met people before.
‘Can I ask who you are?’ Dexter said.
‘I work for Alistair, over at Squeeze The Day,’ the man replied. ‘I wanted to see how he was after everything that’s happened. Can’t be easy for him.’
‘That’s very thoughtful of you, Mr…?’
‘Truth be told, I was more worried about my own job. I wanted to know if it was safe or not. There’s all sorts of rumours going round at the moment, and it’s the sort of thing that gets you worried, you know?’
‘I can imagine so. Sorry, sir. What is your name?’ Dexter asked, growing increasingly impatient.
‘Oh. Sorry,’ the man replied. ‘It’s Fred.’
‘Surname?’
‘Barton.’
Even the man’s name seemed familiar, Dexter thought. ‘And what is it you do at Squeeze The Day, Mr Barton?’
The man shrugged. ‘Whatever you want to call it, really. Factory floor.’
Dexter gave a smile. ‘General dogsbody?’
‘Something like that, yes.’
‘You local?’
‘Just over the other side of town. Stamford Road.’
Nice area, Dexter thought. Expensive houses. Not the sort of place you’d expect to find a factory floor worker.
‘I’m heading back that way, as it happens. Can I give you a lift?’
‘No, no I’m fine thanks,’ Fred replied. ‘Good to get the exercise.’
Dexter nodded slowly. ‘Alright, Mr Barton. You take care.’
Dexter watched as the man headed off towards the main road. There were no signs of attempted entry at the property, but something felt very wrong.
Trying to dredge the depths of his memory, he took his phone out of his pocket and called Caroline.