37
‘Did anyone ever get round to looking at the CCTV footage we got from Extech?’
McLean flipped the lever behind the steering wheel, running up through the gears as his new Alfa accelerated on to the motorway. Eight speeds, switchable automatic and more bells and whistles than you’d see at an English village fair in summertime. He remembered his first ever car, bought just after passing his test a few days before his eighteenth birthday. The gearbox in that had been a four-speed. Three if it was cold and second didn’t want to play. It had felt plenty at the time, the freedom of having his own wheels intoxicating. How the world changed.
‘Not sure, sir. There was a team going through the stuff from the city cameras, and all the footage sent in by the public. Not sure I even remember the Extech stuff coming in. Might have been electronic files, of course.’ Harrison hefted her Airwave set. ‘You want me to call Lofty and ask?’
McLean considered it, then shook his head. ‘We’ll track it down when we get back. And if they simply forgot to send it, we’ll just have to find out what it is they’re trying to hide.’
‘Do you really think they’re the source of that toxic waste? Aren’t they kind of the exact opposite of that?’
McLean dropped a gear, shot past a tanker truck that claimed to be transporting the best part of thirty cubic metres of whisky. What a different story it would have been if that had crashed in the city centre.
‘Oh, I’m sure a lot of what Extech does is legitimate. There’s no doubting they run an anaerobic digester there, and I bet ninety-nine per cent of what comes and goes from the site is harmless organic waste. It’s a big place, though, recently built with private money. It’s perfectly sited to collect waste from all over the central belt, so why not the toxic stuff as well as the cowshit?’
‘You think we should get a team together and search the place?’ Harrison lifted her Airwave set again, and McLean almost laughed at the idea of her calling the station, putting together a posse. He gripped the steering wheel tight in frustration; going in heavy-handed was exactly what they should be doing.
‘Without any hard evidence, the chances of us getting a warrant are virtually non-existent. Especially given the pressure being exerted on the chief constable. There’s too much politics going on, too much wielding of influence. Extech’s protected for now, but not so protected we can’t go and talk to them about one of their employees who’s just turned up dead.’
The security guard waved them through, not even bothering to check their ID when they arrived. McLean drove slowly past the lines of digester tanks towards the administration building, half expecting to see a tanker being filled with toxic chemicals tucked away behind one. There were no trucks visible on site at all, though, and very few people.
‘Inspector, Constable.’ Claire Ferris greeted them in the reception area with a polite nod. Her face had a drawn, weary quality to it as if she’d not slept well since last they had met. She led them through to a small conference room, instructing the receptionist to bring coffee. As McLean took his seat, he noticed a thin brown folder already lying on the table in front of one of the chairs.
‘It’s good of you to see us so swiftly,’ he said as Ferris sat down.
‘I’ll admit your call this morning came as something of a shock. But I’m always ready to help the police. We have nothing to hide here.’
McLean studied Ferris’s face as she spoke, trying to see if she was lying. She would have been very good at poker, that much was clear. She had no obvious tells, and the weariness left her voice flat. Unless it was all part of an act.
‘I’m glad to hear it. Sorry we’re here on such sad business.’
‘Aye, Jim Barnton.’ Ferris pulled the brown folder towards her with one hand, running the other through her short hair in an oddly masculine gesture. ‘Worked security here since we opened. Before that, I guess. He was part of the construction team.’
‘Security for the site, or actually wielding a spade?’
Ferris stared at McLean as if she didn’t understand the question. Then it must have dawned on her. ‘Oh, security. There’s a lot of expensive kit on a site like this. Particularly during the building work. You’ve no idea how much stuff gets nicked.’
‘I’m a detective, Ms Ferris. I’ve a pretty good idea.’ McLean gave her a reassuring smile, unsurprised when it wasn’t returned. ‘Was Mr Barnton working here yesterday?’
Ferris consulted the folder again. ‘Yes. He was on a normal day shift. Arrived here at half seven for an eight o’clock start. Punched out at half five. Front gate has him leaving at five minutes to six.’
‘Half hour at each end of the day? What was he doing?’ Harrison asked.
‘Getting changed? Grabbing a coffee in the canteen? Having a shower? I’ve no idea, Constable. It’s not unusual for staff to arrive before their shift starts, though. In this or any other job, I’d have assumed.’
For the first time since they had arrived, McLean heard an edge in Ms Ferris’s voice. He couldn’t be sure if it was the question or the fact it had been asked by Harrison that had annoyed her. For her part, Harrison seemed a little taken aback by the CEO’s tone, looking to him for advice or perhaps to take over the questioning. McLean merely smiled, nodded almost imperceptibly for her to carry on.
‘I … So the staff have changing facilities? Showers?’ Harrison stammered a little as she picked up the threads.
‘We deal with waste. Animal faeces, vegetable matter, even human sewage sludge sometimes. I’d be a poor employer if I didn’t provide somewhere for the workers to clean themselves up now, wouldn’t I?’
‘And does Mr Barnton have a locker in these facilities? Somewhere he’d store his work clothes?’
‘I would imagine so. Why do you ask?’
‘Would it be possible for us to see it? The locker?’ Harrison chose to ignore Ms Ferris’s question.
‘I … I suppose so. I’ll have to get one of the security team to open it. They’re called lockers for a reason, you know.’
‘That would be very helpful, thank you.’ Harrison gave Ferris a smile that was as broad as it was genuine. ‘Could you tell me, did Barnton need to have medical checkups as part of his job?’
‘All our staff have annual health checks, yes.’ Ferris flicked a couple of pages in the folder. ‘There were no problems at his last one, a couple of months ago.’
‘Do you do them in-house, or send them to a local doctor?’
‘We use a facility in Livingston for that sort of thing. Senior management have private health cover with them, too.’
‘But not Barnton, I imagine.’ Harrison wrote something down in her notebook. ‘Might we have a contact there? Someone we can speak to about him?’
‘Of course. It’s all in here.’ Ferris closed the thin brown folder and slid it across the table. ‘That’s a copy of Jim’s personnel file. I’d appreciate it if the information in it wasn’t spread further than necessary.’
‘Thank you. I’m sure once we’ve concluded our investigations it will be destroyed.’
Ferris relaxed a little, leaning back in her chair. ‘And what exactly is the nature of your investigation?’
‘A man has died unexpectedly, and in a public place.’ McLean answered the question before Harrison could speak. He was fairly sure she wouldn’t say anything out of place, but he wanted to study Ferris’s reactions. ‘Mr Barnton’s death is unexplained, and the circumstances of it are unusual. The Procurator Fiscal requires us to prepare a report into the circumstances leading up to it. There will be a post-mortem examination of his body soon, to determine why he died. It’s all standard procedure.’
Ferris didn’t look particularly reassured by the explanation. ‘And standard procedure requires a detective inspector be involved?’ she asked.
‘We all have to muck in these days. Austerity and that.’ McLean offered her another smile, but he could see there was little point in pursuing matters further here. ‘Perhaps if we could have a wee look at Barnton’s locker, maybe see the places he worked. Then we can leave you in peace.’
‘There you go. Not sure what good it’ll do you, mind.’
McLean stepped to one side to let the security guard move back, revealing an open locker in a line of a dozen or more. Much like the rest of the operation, the changing rooms at Extech Energy were well-specified, almost overdone. The large lockers filled one wall, a low bench opposite with hooks above it and boot storage space below. Through a wide opening at the far end a line of shower cubicles were sparkly clean, and a set of shelves beside it held a sizeable pile of clean towels. It looked more like the changing rooms at an expensive spa or gym than anything industrial.
‘I’ll … I’ll wait at the door. Don’t want anyone coming in while …’ The security guard was a young lad. His name badge read ‘R Dawson’, but Ms Ferris had introduced him as Bobby. This was probably his first job out of school if the acne dotting his face and the poor fit of his uniform was any guide. Possibly his first day of his first job. He had hesitated when DC Harrison had followed him and McLean into the men’s locker room even though it was empty, and he was still nervous of her presence in this shrine to masculinity.
‘You sure?’ Harrison asked, with a voice that was all innocence. He merely nodded, then retreated to the door.
‘Be nice, Constable.’ McLean fished in his pocket for a pair of latex gloves, pulled them on before starting to go through the items in the locker. There wasn’t much, despite its large size. A uniform similar to the one the young lad at the door was wearing: dark-blue jacket and trousers, white shirt and clip-on tie. He checked the pockets, but they were empty. Hanging at the back of the locker was a set of overalls bearing the Extech company logo on the chest pocket and emblazoned across the back. They had clearly been worn, mud caked around the legs and a suspicious stain on one arm. It smelled more agricultural than chemical when McLean lifted it to his nose, though.
Barnton had two pairs of boots courtesy of his employers. One pair were almost police-issue, halfway between smart and heavy-duty. They were polished black and the chunky soles had only a small amount of grit on them. A drawing pin had stuck itself in the left heel, shiny from being scuffed against the floor tiles. The other boots were more substantial, heavy enough to be steel-toecapped, and would no doubt have been worn with the overalls for outdoor work. Their soles had been cleaned recently, but not well enough to get rid of all the sticky mud that had worked its way into the deep tread. McLean fished in his pocket until he found a penknife, winkled out some of the dirt on to his hand and sniffed it.
‘Get anything?’ Harrison asked, bending down to see.
‘Not sure. What do you reckon?’ He held his hand up for her to smell. She took a whiff, wrinkled her nose and backed off.
McLean brushed the dirt from his palm, pulled off the latex gloves and shoved them back in his pocket. ‘Nothing interesting here, but then I never really thought there would be.’
‘You didn’t?’ Harrison asked. ‘Then why did you ask to see it?’
‘I wanted to know if they’d try to stop me. Give us the runaround.’ He called over to the young security guard. ‘It’s Bobby, isn’t it? We’re all done here, but I’d love a tour of the facilities, if that’s allowed.’