Kay stood amongst the long grass at the edge of the dirt track and shielded her eyes against the late afternoon sun.
A team of six crime scene investigators had descended on the shipping containers an hour ago, grumbling under their breath about having to carry all their equipment from their vans.
All of the vehicles were parked on the road, and the entrance to the track was blocked off with a taped-off cordon guarded by a young police constable.
The yard had fared little better and was now taped off in different quadrants within which Harriet’s team of forensic examiners paced back and forth with bowed heads and clipboards.
The shipping containers and surrounding debris from a derelict business were now being analysed piece by piece by the group, their murmured voices carrying over to where Kay waited.
In the middle of the yard, Barnes and her other detectives were gradually working their way through a line of ten cooks who had emerged from two of the shipping containers, the workers’ bleary-eyed and sweat-streaked faces full of confusion from the sudden interruption to their daily routine.
Uniformed officers were taking statements from the young delivery riders while their mopeds were swabbed and tested for traces of drugs by a second group of CSIs who were working methodically through the nylon delivery bags and top boxes.
The third shipping container turned out to be a storage facility for all of the ingredients required for the various takeaway meals being prepared, and were fitted out with industrial-sized chest freezers and aluminium shelving units stacked floor to ceiling with dried goods.
Over to her right, a lone figure sat on the back seat of one of the patrol cars, his gaze thunderous as he stared through the glass at Kay.
She ignored him and glanced down at her mobile as it emitted a ping.
Relief tinged with a sense of excitement surged through her as she read the short text message from Debbie – Alan Trentithe was in custody, along with four of his workers from the industrial unit.
All of them were now at Maidstone police station, waiting for her return.
A second alert preceded a mollified congratulatory message from Sharp for the breakthrough her team had achieved.
Like her, it seemed he was reserving judgement until all of the suspects were formally interviewed.
The man identified as being the one who took a knife to Carl Taylor’s truck tyres scowled at her as she walked over to the patrol car, tucking her phone into her pocket.
‘All right,’ she said to the uniformed constable standing beside the driver’s door. ‘What’s he had to say for himself so far?’
‘Not much, guv. Says he wants a solicitor.’
‘Did you get his full name?’
‘The cards in his wallet and an old EU driving licence all identify him as Barry Clements. I radioed it through to HQ and they say he’s got a few assault and battery charges from three years ago – nothing since.’
‘Keeping his head down, eh?’
‘Either that, or he’s managed to avoid getting caught.’
Kay glanced at the man on the back seat who now had his gaze turned away from her, then lowered her voice. ‘Okay, get him back to the station. Keep him out of sight of Trentithe though.’
‘Will do, guv.’
She thanked him, then skirted around the area the crime scene investigators had roped off within the inner cordon and made her way across to where Gavin and Laura stood, their faces rapt as the shipping containers were meticulously torn apart.
‘Whose idea was all this, then?’ she said as she approached.
Laura kicked at a loose stone while Gavin cleared his throat.
‘Erm, it was––’
‘Ours,’ said Laura. Her face turned scarlet. ‘We just wanted to make sure we were interpreting what we were seeing in the tachograph information correctly before raising the alarm, guv.’
‘The last thing we wanted was to turn up here and find nothing,’ Gavin said. ‘We knew the dangers though, guv – that’s why Debbie logged it on the system, and why we called in as soon as Laura recognised Barry from the CCTV images.’
Kay eyed them both, wondering exactly how far they would have gone if not for the moment of clarity that resulted in that phone call, and recalling a previous detective constable with a similar streak of impetuousness and determination.
No doubt they had spent the time since requesting back-up sorting out what they would tell her, but she couldn’t fault a job well done.
A smile formed on her lips before she shook her head and turned to watch Barry Clements as he was driven away. ‘Good work, both of you. Just make sure you don’t miss anything out when you write up your reports. Now that we’ve got those two in custody, I want to make sure any charges stick. I don’t want the CPS questioning our results.’
Gavin squared his shoulders. ‘Absolutely, guv. Thanks.’
‘All right. Best go and make a start, then. Make sure you update Barnes as soon as you get back to the incident room as well. He’s running that end of things until I get back.’
She watched them head back along the track, then held up a hand in greeting as Harriet Baker wandered over from the first shipping container.
After ducking underneath the tape that stretched between two iron stakes driven into the hard ground, the lead CSI pushed back her protective hood from her hair and peeled back her gloves.
‘How’s it going?’ said Kay, fighting down the urge to slip under the tape and go and look for herself instead of having to pace back and forth waiting for answers.
‘Slowly.’ Harriet turned back to face the shipping containers and wrinkled her nose. ‘You’ll be wanting to flag this place with the Food Standards Agency at any rate. God knows when they were last inspected for hygiene.’
‘There are different rules for places like this because they don’t serve food to the public at the premises,’ said Kay. ‘But I take your point. I’ll have one of my team make a phone call in the morning. What about my investigation – anything to link this place to the murders?’
‘No, but we’re only halfway through so don’t panic yet.’ Harriet pointed to a pair of CSIs who were pulling more equipment from the back of their van. ‘We’re getting the lights out ready just in case we end up working late. If that’s what it takes––’
She broke off at a shout from the far side of the yard and Kay turned to see one of the other CSIs holding up his hand.
He called again, and beckoned.
‘Looks like Charlie’s found something,’ said Kay.
‘And it looks like you’re going to have to get suited up after all,’ Harriet replied. ‘Come on.’
Once Kay had donned protective overalls, bootees and gloves, she fell into step behind the lead CSI.
Harriet led the way along the pegged-out route, weaving between the discarded vehicles and machinery until they were beside the third shipping container and could see through the doors to the large chest freezers Charlie stood beside.
‘What’ve you got?’ Harriet called.
Charlie’s eyes crinkled above his protective mask. He waved them inside, then nodded at the cavernous freezer halfway along the shipping container.
‘I reckon they were doing more than cooking food here, guv.’
Kay ran her eyes over the bags of frozen vegetables, chips and more, then bit back a surprised choke at the sight of a dozen familiar brick-shaped packages similar to that found in Carl Taylor’s garden drain.
‘I think they’d best tell their customers there won’t be any food on the menu tonight,’ she said. ‘Not until we find out what the bloody hell’s been going on around here.’