Kay buttoned up her jacket and peered at the sign above the roller door of the industrial unit.
Beige-coloured render peeled from the exterior walls, an effect matched by the neighbouring properties that looked almost as run-down and neglected.
Two vehicles were parked in front of a solid single metal door serving as a pedestrian entrance to the property – a four-door sedan a couple of years old and a panel van. The car had been polished to a high sheen, whereas the age-worn van bore scrapes and dents like battle scars.
A line of five mopeds hugged a low wall separating the building from the road, and a sullen group of teenagers in liveried T-shirts eyed her as she took in her surroundings.
The large roller door into the warehouse side of the building was of a battered dull grey aluminium variety, and, as she glanced over her shoulder at the other five units hugging the cracked concrete apron, she reckoned the original builders had found the cheapest materials they could get their hands on during the construction phase.
The whole place looked as if it might fall down at any moment.
‘That’s the last time I’m phoning up for takeaway if it comes from a place like this,’ Barnes grumbled, handing her the signed search warrant.
‘It’s why we keep supporting our local one,’ said Kay. ‘Any problems getting this paperwork?’
‘No – Sharp said he wants an update as soon as we’re done here though. Apparently the Chief Super wants to make a statement to the media the minute we find anything to progress the investigation. Something about needing a good news story this week.’
‘Great. No pressure, then.’
‘Right.’
She skim-read the wording of the search warrant, her heart rate lifting another notch. ‘This doesn’t allow us to do much, Ian. It’s going to be little more than a cursory glance.’
‘Sorry, guv. It’s all Sharp would sign off on at the moment. He said if we found something that justified a more detailed search then he’d reconsider…’
‘By which time, if they are breaking the law, they’ll have time to hide any evidence.’ She sighed and refolded the pages. ‘Okay, it is what it is. Let’s get on with it. Uniform can interview the delivery drivers out here.’
They crossed the concrete forecourt, and Kay pressed the security intercom button beside the single door while trying to batten down the frustration that was seeping into her thoughts.
She knew the request for a search warrant was an act of desperation, but despite all the work her team had carried out in the past week they needed a breakthrough.
If they didn’t find something to advance the investigation before another major crime took place, she would lose half her resources and the people left behind would become resentful at the lack of progress.
A heavy bolt shot back from the other side of the metal door and it opened to reveal a man of medium height wearing a well-cut grey suit.
His mouth dropped open at the sight of the uniformed officers gathered behind her.
‘Can I help you?’
‘Detective Inspector Kay Hunter,’ she said, and held out the search warrant. ‘We have the authority to search these premises in relation to a murder investigation, and I expect your full cooperation, Mr…?’
‘Trentithe. Alan Trentithe.’
‘Just the person I was hoping to speak to,’ she said and stepped over the threshold while reciting the formal interview caution.
A narrow stunted corridor led to a flight of stairs, a door to her right open and leading into the warehouse area of the unit.
She waved Barnes towards the open doorway and moved out of the way before four uniformed officers hurried from the forecourt to join him, fanning out as they entered the floodlit warehouse.
The sound of their voices carried through to where she waited beside Trentithe while they issued orders to a group of three workers who watched, stunned by the sudden turn of events.
She peered through the door to see a woman and two men – all dressed in chef’s whites – standing beside gleaming gas ranges, their foreheads flecked with sweat from the heat emanating from within the cavernous room.
A heady mixture of aromas filtered through from the space, a mixture of spices vying for attention amongst garlic and onion.
‘Right, Mr Trentithe,’ she said. ‘Shall we go upstairs and have a chat?’
‘I suppose so.’ He ushered his staff to one side while murmuring a reassurance that there was nothing to worry about, then turned and led the way up the steel staircase, the soles of his expensive leather shoes clanging on the metalwork.
As she followed him, Kay ran her eyes over the certificates that peppered the plasterwork walls – health and safety accreditation, food safety standards, and other legalities to support the catering company’s trading practices.
It seemed what went on inside the building was a much higher priority for Trentithe than the state of the exterior façade.
At the top of the stairs, he turned right.
After nodding to a young woman behind a reception desk in a glass-fronted office that seemed no bigger than the downstairs bathroom at Kay’s house, he ushered her into a second office at the front of the building overlooking the forecourt.
Trentithe walked around an oak-effect desk that faced a double-glazed window slick with dirt, grease and bird shit, and sank into a tan leather chair with an ill-disguised sigh.
‘I hope there’s a bloody good explanation for all of this,’ he said. ‘All of my staff are legitimate employees, and we’ve received no complaints. What on earth’s going on? Why are you here?’
‘It’s all there, in the warrant you’re holding,’ Kay replied.
She ignored the confused glance he shot her and pulled out one of the visitor chairs.
It was more comfortable than the one she used at the police station.
‘I’ll remind you, Mr Trentithe, that you are currently under caution.’
‘I have nothing to hide, and I can assure you the accusations contained in this are wholly untrue. Has a competitor been making these false allegations?’ he asked.
‘I have some questions,’ Kay replied, ignoring his.
Trentithe folded up the search warrant and placed it on the desk in front of him. ‘Ask away.’
‘How long have you been operating from this industrial unit?’
‘About two years. And we’ve never had any trouble, which is why I’m a little confused as to––’
‘Tell me about your business,’ she said. ‘This dark kitchen you run––’
‘I prefer the term “cloud kitchen”,’ he explained. ‘It’s a little more dignified, given the high quality of cooking by my employees, and relates to the way in which our orders are received. Through the cloud, you see – via mobile apps.’
‘The people working here––’
‘Are all legitimate contractors, detective.’ Trentithe jerked his chin towards a group of three metal filing cabinets beside the desk. ‘If your warrant provides for it, you can look at their employee records. Otherwise…’
He held up his hands in a “what can you do” gesture.
‘When did you first employ Adrian Whitely?’
Trentithe choked out a bitter laugh. ‘Are you here because he’s accused me of something?’
‘Answer the question, please.’
‘Adrian first started here a little over three years ago.’
‘What does he currently do?’
‘The same as the other riders out there, detective. He’s employed to deliver our meals to our customers in a timely fashion so their food arrives piping hot.’
‘Does he do any other odd jobs for you?’
‘I have no idea what you’re alluding to, but no – Adrian has a part-time job delivering food, and that’s it.’
Kay decided to change tack. ‘How long have you known Carl Taylor?’
‘Who?’
Trentithe reached forward and lifted the front page of the warrant once more, his eyes skimming the text.
‘Carl Taylor. He recently delivered the frozen food you use when preparing the meals downstairs.’
Trentithe dropped the page, his brow wrinkling. ‘No – I don’t recall him, or the name. There’s a woman who does our food delivery. Bonnie, I think she’s called. Why do you want to know?’
‘He was found frozen to death in the back of a stolen car last week. His colleague, a nineteen-year-old by the name of Will Nivens, was discovered – also frozen to death – in the back of their refrigeration truck.’
‘That’s terrible.’ Trentithe shuddered. ‘What a way to go.’
‘Tell me about Mike and Ann O’Connor,’ she said, underlining their names in her notebook. ‘Did you have a falling out with them when they sold their restaurant?’
‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘We had a contract to provide them with catering services, and when they sold up without giving me the courtesy of letting me know they were doing so, the contract ended.’
‘Were you angry that the new owners didn’t want to continue the contract?’
‘It didn’t make any difference to me by then – we have other contracts to keep us busy, as you saw from the kitchen downstairs.’
‘How did you feel when Ann O’Connor published her book featuring your company’s recipes?’
Trentithe looked at his blank computer screen and sighed. ‘There wasn’t much I could do about it. I hadn’t published anything or put any of the recipes in writing beyond what I needed to do for training new cooks – I didn’t think I needed to.’
‘She made a good six figures from the advance and subsequent sales,’ said Kay, flicking through her notes even though she knew the facts by heart. ‘Didn’t that smart a bit?’
’It did, yes. But like I said, I couldn’t do anything about it. I certainly don’t have the sort of money to try to take her to court to find out whether I was entitled to compensation, either.’
‘Is that why you dumped Carl Taylor’s body at her husband’s business? Payback?’
‘I’ve no idea who this Carl person is, and no – I didn’t dump his body at Mike’s business. Why would I?’
‘Who’s Barry?’
‘Again, detective, I’m sorry – I don’t know anyone called Barry. Is he a friend of the two men who died?’
Kay watched the man’s face for any sign of stress, and forced down a sigh that threatened to escape.
A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, and she glanced up from her notebook to see Barnes standing in the corridor outside.
He gave a slight shake of his head, and she bit back the curse that came to mind.
‘If that’s all, Detective Hunter?’ said Trentithe, pushing back his chair and gesturing to the door. ‘I’m a busy man, and I now have to explain to my employees downstairs that this raid of yours was based on unfounded accusations. I’ve a good mind to complain to your superiors.’
He balled up the search warrant and threw it into a wastepaper basket beside one of the filing cabinets.
Kay rose from her chair and stalked out.
She heard the sound of his feet on the steel staircase as he followed her, and she ignored the stares from the three employees who stood at the internal door that led into the warehouse, their overalls covered in food stains while they looked from her to Trentithe, confusion clouding their features.
‘Back to work,’ said Trentithe, waving them away. ‘A misunderstanding, that’s all. Detective Hunter is leaving. Now.’
Kay followed Barnes through the front door, then paused and turned to peer through the open warehouse door.
Two uniformed officers weaved their way towards her past a line of six large industrial-sized chest freezers, the shorter of the two grimacing when he passed her.
‘Sorry, guv. There was nothing,’ he said under his breath. ‘The drivers are clean, too.’
Kay glared at the signage above the warehouse as Alan Trentithe spun on his heel and stalked back inside, the door swinging shut behind him.
‘Bugger,’ she muttered.