‘And there’s something else,’ says Quinn quickly. It’s a breakthrough – that much is obvious just looking at him. ‘There are fragments of grit all over the gloves – grit and weedkiller. Seemed an odd combo for someone who just builds extensions, so some bright spark thought it was worth testing it against the aggregate they use for railway ballast. And it’s exactly the same. And they’ve matched the weedkiller to the type Network Rail use too. It’s pretty heavy-duty stuff – you can’t just walk in and get it at B&Q.’ People are looking at each other, the noise level is rising. They’re all thinking the same thing: there’s only one place around here that ticks all those boxes, and it’s less than half a mile from where we found those gloves.
‘OK,’ I say, raising my voice. ‘Quinn – get down the level crossing. Get the search teams to meet you there.’
‘They’ve already covered that area once, boss,’ begins Baxter.
‘Well, they can cover it again. Because it looks like we missed something.’
* * *
—
Out in the corridor Anna Phillips comes towards me from my office, waving a piece of paper. ‘I’ve found her,’ she says, smiling.
‘I’m sorry?’
Her smile falters a little. ‘Pauline Pober? Remember? The woman who was quoted in that article about the Wileys – when Jessica died?’
‘Oh, right. Where is she?’
‘Hale and hearty and living in a village barely ten miles from here, would you believe. I’ve arranged for us to pop over and talk to her tomorrow morning. If it’s all right with you, I’d like to go. I know I’m a civilian and all that, but having tracked her down, I’d quite like to, you know, see it through.’
I haven’t the heart to tell her the agenda’s moved on.
‘That’s great work, Anna. Really. And I’m happy for you to go and see her. But take an officer with you – just for procedure’s sake.’
‘Gareth – DS Quinn – is going to allocate someone.’
‘Great. And make sure to let me know what she says.’
She must have picked up something up from my distracted manner, because a flicker of doubt crosses her brow. ‘Right,’ she says. ‘Will do.’
*
When Quinn arrives at the car park by the level crossing, the wind’s got up and there’s rain in the air. He realizes suddenly how lucky they were that it’s been dry since the gloves were dumped in the skip – a downpour could have wiped out the evidence. As he gets out, Erica Somer comes towards him from a patrol car parked ahead. Her hair’s tied back but the wind is whipping it about her face. Quinn remembers her from the station. She was the one who brought in the DVD. Nice-looking. Very nice-looking, in fact. Though the uniform isn’t helping. He wonders in passing what she’d look like in the sort of heels Anna Phillips wears.
He follows her across the car park to an area fenced off with metal security panels. There are signs all along it saying CONSTRUCTION SITE: KEEP OUT.
Somer pushes open the gate and pulls it to behind them with a clang. ‘I asked the site manager to attend, Sarge. He’s over there, in the Portakabin.’
The man has obviously been keeping watch for them, because he comes down the steps as they approach. He has a rugby-player’s ears and a shaved head.
‘DS Quinn?’ he says, extending a hand. ‘Martin Heston. Your colleague here asked me for a schedule of the work we’ve been doing for the last two weeks.’
Full marks to Somer, thinks Quinn, as Heston hands him a worksheet.
‘As you can see, we’ve been demolishing the old footbridge and laying new track for one of the lines.’
‘And most of this has been going on at night?’
‘Has to, mate. You can’t do it with the trains running.’
‘What about during the day – is there anyone around then?’
Heston gestures about him. ‘Not when we’re doing overnight work. No point paying people to sit on their arses. There are deliveries sometimes, and we have someone on site then, but that’s about it.’
‘What about security?’
‘Don’t need it, mate. All the kit’s locked behind barbed wire on the other side of the track. We had to bring it in by train and that’s the only way anyone’s going to get it out.’
‘So if a member of the public came here during the day, they wouldn’t necessarily be seen?’
He considers. ‘I suppose you might spot them from the other side, but there’s a lot of trees in the way. When the level crossing was still open, there were people here all hours going across to the allotments. They used to park here and take their stuff over, but now they have to go via Walton Well. That’s – ’
‘I know where it is.’
Quinn looks around. There’s a pile of rusty garden equipment a few yards away. Wheelbarrows, hoes, empty bags of compost, rusting spades, broken terracotta pots.
He opens out the schedule. ‘So what was being done on the evening of the nineteenth?’
Heston points a thumb. ‘We finished taking down the old bridge and worked on the footings for the new one.’
‘Wait, are you telling me you’ve been digging bloody great holes in an area where any Tom, Dick or Harry can just walk straight in?’
Heston bridles. ‘I can assure you we follow approved Health and Safety practices at all times – this area is completely cordoned off.’
Quinn looks back the way they came. There’s fencing all right, but it’s only loose panels, and he reckons he could force his way in. If he had to. If he had a good enough reason.
He turns back to Heston. ‘Can you show me? Exactly what you were doing?’
They walk over to the new footbridge, where the pillars are beginning to rise above the ground.
‘How deep were the foundations?’
‘We’d planned for three metres,’ says Heston, ‘but when we started digging it just kept filling up with water. Port Meadow’s a flood plain, so we knew it was going to be an issue, but it was a lot worse than we’d expected. We ended up going down more like six.’
‘That’s what you were doing that Tuesday night?’
‘Right.’
‘And if there’d been something in the bottom of that hole – something as small as a child – you’d definitely have noticed? Even in the dark?’
Heston blanches. He has granddaughters. ‘Jesus – do you really think someone – ? But the answer’s yes – we’d have noticed. We had arc lights and we were pumping the water out the whole time, so we could see what was down there. No way my lads would have missed something like that.’
‘Right,’ says Quinn, folding up the schedule and handing it back. ‘Two steps forward, three steps back.’
But Somer is still looking at Heston. Who isn’t making eye contact.
‘There’s something else, isn’t there?’ she says. ‘Something that wasn’t to do with “your lads”.’
Heston flushes. ‘It’s way off – I just can’t see it happening – ’
‘But?’
He eyes her for a moment, then points beyond the foundations. ‘When we took the old bridge down we heaped the waste over there – you can see where the pile was. Concrete, bricks, ballast – you name it. Anyway, the contractor collected it all that night – we weren’t allowed to do it during the day. Health and – ’
‘ – Safety. Right,’ says Quinn. ‘And which contractor was it?’
‘Firm in Swindon. Mercers.’
‘So let me get this straight,’ says Quinn. ‘There was a pile of rubble over there that afternoon – the nineteenth. But that night this firm of yours – ’
‘Nothing to do with me, mate. I don’t decide who gets hired.’
‘OK, I get it. Anyway, they came that night and took the waste away.’
‘Yes, but if you’re suggesting someone could have buried something in there and the guy they had on the grabber didn’t spot it, you’re way off. It’s not the bloody movies, that sort of thing just doesn’t happen.’
‘What exactly did they do with the waste, sir?’ asks Somer quietly.
His shoulders sag a little. ‘They trucked it back to their recycling depot. They crush it then turn it into gravel – stops it going to landfill.’
Quinn stares at him, then shakes his head, trying to dispel the picture it conjures. ‘Jesus.’
‘Like I said,’ says Heston quickly, ‘you’re barking up completely the wrong tree. It just wouldn’t happen.’
‘Even though it was in the dark – and even though I’m guessing you’re not so bothered with arc lights for a simple loading job like that?’
‘I told you. It wasn’t my lads. You’ll have to talk to Mercers.’
‘Oh, we will, Mr Heston. We will.’
As Quinn turns to go, Somer takes a step towards him. ‘Was it luck then or did they know?’
‘Sorry?’