Chapter 15
There had been three files in the Redburn Point folder on Jamie Golding’s hard drive. These have been retrieved from the trash folder on Adam Bennington’s computer, after he had deleted them last Tuesday afternoon, immediately after Nadeeka’s visit to ATP Construction.
‘Which was presumably when you learned Jamie was dead?’ Lauren says. She leans back in her chair. She and Fraser are sitting opposite Adam in a small, windowless interview room.
‘That’s right.’ Adam isn’t – yet – under arrest. Lauren could have used one of the statement rooms near the front desk, but she finds people like Adam respond remarkably well to the foetid air and echoing shouts of a custody suite, doing everything in their power to get out as quickly as possible.
‘And your first instinct on hearing this news was to have a little tidy-up of Jamie’s files?’ Lauren raises an eyebrow.
‘No, I – I thought I should see if there was anything pressing I’d need to reallocate.’ Sweat beads on Adam’s forehead, despite the air-conditioning that rattles through ancient pipes into the stale room.
Lauren lets silence fill the space between them. Beside her, Fraser scribbles a note and tilts it towards her. Absolute bollocks, Lauren reads, and she nods gravely, as though his contribution were extraordinarily insightful.
Adam looks nervously at Fraser’s notebook, which was precisely the intent. He swallows. ‘I might have deleted the files by accident.’
‘You might have?’ Lauren says.
‘I did. I deleted them by accident. It’s easily done.’
‘Absolutely.’ Fraser stretches his fingers over an invisible keyboard. ‘Control-A-delete. Could happen to anyone.’
Adam narrows his eyes, but is wise enough not to rise to the sarcasm.
‘The thing is, I’ve had a look at those files, and they’re rather interesting.’ Lauren smiles. ‘Redburn Point is a housing development, right? And it’s being built on the site of a reclaimed quarry.’
‘Yes. It was a brownfield site. It’s been empty for decades.’
‘What exactly was Jamie’s role in relation to Redburn Point?’ Fraser asks.
‘He carried out site inspections, ensured safety compliance, that sort of thing.’
Lauren opens her laptop and brings up the sections she’s highlighted. ‘Jamie carried out a risk assessment of Redburn Point last month, in which he identified hazardous working conditions.’ She looks up. ‘Were you aware of this?’
‘We had a conversation about it, yes,’ Adam says carefully.
‘Jamie’s report raises concerns over the integrity of the ground.’ Lauren reads from Jamie’s report. ‘ . . . including visible cracking in the soil, minor displacement of scaffolding, and irregular shifts in the ground level.’
‘Health and safety officers can go overboard—’
‘Given the potential for ground instability and the unknown nature of the underlying soil conditions, I recommend immediate suspension of all site work in the affected area until a full geotechnical survey can be conducted to assess the extent of the issue.’ Lauren stops. ‘Sounds expensive.’
‘It was a recommendation, that’s all.’
‘One you didn’t want to follow?’ Fraser says.
‘The site had been the subject of numerous surveys prior to planning permission being granted. I disagreed with Jamie’s findings.’
‘So you deleted the files.’ Lauren holds Adam’s gaze as she draws out the words. ‘Where were you last Monday morning?’ she says briskly, startling Adam with the sudden change of pace.
‘I was out of the office. I had a client meeting.’
‘Did your client meeting take you anywhere near Jamie’s home address?’
‘No.’ Adam’s face creases. ‘Look, okay, I deleted the files. Closing the site for another survey would cost us a hundred grand or more, and there’s nothing wrong with the ground – Jamie was out of line putting that in his risk assessment.’
‘How convenient, then,’ Lauren says, ‘that he’s no longer around to raise objections.’
‘If you’re suggesting I killed him—’
‘I’d like the details of the client you met last Monday morning, plus the precise route you took to get there.’ Lauren snaps her laptop shut. ‘In the meantime, Mr Bennington, I suggest you take another look at that site survey. I’m sure you’d hate to find yourself at the wrong end of a lawsuit.’
The airless interview room has given Lauren a headache.
She stuffs her coat into her backpack and hands it to Fraser with her laptop to take in the car.
‘I’m going to run home,’ she tells him. ‘Clear my head. Do you think you could swing by Foxleigh Manor and check everything’s okay?
’ Just over a week ago, the event manager at Lauren and Fraser’s beautiful eighteenth-century wedding venue had discovered she had inadvertently double-booked the day.
‘Will do,’ Fraser says. He had been her hero that day: dropping everything to go to Foxleigh, and refusing to leave until they honoured their booking, the deposit for which had been paid long before the other couple’s.
‘I think I’ll need to literally see their bookings diary before I can trust them.’ Lauren screws up her face. ‘Imagine if all our guests turn up and it’s a different couple saying their vows.’
‘Relax.’ Fraser puts his hands on either side of her shoulders and squeezes. ‘I’ll have her write the entry in indelible ink.’
‘Or in blood,’ Lauren suggests, giving a lopsided grin.
‘Also, I’ve lined up the Civic Centre as a back-up venue. Which we won’t need,’ he adds quickly, before Lauren can spiral. ‘I’m just covering all bases.’
‘I feel like your years of army logistics are finally paying off.’ She grins. ‘Off you go, then. I’ll race you home.’
The ten-kilometre route home is exactly what Lauren needs.
She weaves through the busy streets, running through a cloud of her own breath as it mists before her, working her way through the investigation to date.
Everything they have so far suggests that Jamie Golding’s murder was targeted, possibly even premeditated.
Adam Bennington is the first suspect they’ve identified with a clear motive.
Had Golding threatened to be more vocal about the risks he’d identified at Redburn Point?
Could that be why he’d called in sick? If so, Bennington might have gone to Cedar Walk to have it out with him, and taken things too far.
Lauren jogs on the spot as she waits for the lights to change at a pedestrian crossing.
But Adam Bennington didn’t strike her as a man plugged into the sorts of criminal networks that have the resources to pull off a clear-up stunt like this one.
Uniformed officers, marked cars, forensic cleaning .
. . these were the hallmarks of organized crime.
Drugs, then? Nadeeka claims Golding had no history of drug-taking, but some of the most prolific dealers Lauren has dealt with were similarly clean. Filthy stuff, one self-confessed coke dealer told her once. Wouldn’t touch it with a bargepole.
How about money? Laundering; gambling; counterfeiting?
Lauren brainstorms as she runs, making a mental note to chase Kenric for an update on Golding’s credit rating and insurance policies.
When she last checked HOLMES – the computer system on which all investigative actions are logged – there were several outstanding enquiries, and Lauren wants them all ticked off tomorrow.
Fortunately for Lauren, her team are as hungry for a result as she is, and there’s an almost physical energy in the briefing room when she arrives at eight the following morning.
Her phone – on silent for the meeting – flashes, and Lauren glances at the screen in case it’s urgent, but it’s only her mother.
She lets the call go to voicemail and focuses on Matt’s update on the blue Corsa.
‘The rental was paid for with a cloned credit card,’ he says. ‘Bahnaz is working with the fraud team to identify when and where the cloning took place, but it’s unlikely we’ll get a useful lead from that – you know how that one goes.’
‘I want to know what other transactions have been made with the same card,’ Lauren says.
‘We know they cleaned up after themselves meticulously; did they buy bleach, cleaning cloths?’ She looks at Kenric, who makes a note.
‘Maybe they bought burner phones. Ask financial investigations to build up a picture.’
‘Yes, boss,’ Matt says. ‘We’ve also got a photocopied driver’s licence in the same name as the credit card, which is a confirmed forgery. There’s CCTV on the forecourt, but not in the office where the keys are handed over.’
‘Are the cars valeted between hires?’ Lauren asks.
‘Unfortunately, yes.’
‘I rented a car at the airport when I went to Ibiza last summer,’ Kenric says. ‘Found an actual hot dog in the glovebox.’ There are snorts of laughter from around the room.
‘In addition to the physical forensic examination,’ Matt says, ‘digital forensics are working on the telematics.’ He looks at Lauren. ‘Okay if I pass over to AJ? He’ll explain it better than I will.’
‘Go for it.’ AJ Carter, digital forensic investigator, looks impossibly young, like a sixth-former on work experience, but Lauren has worked with him before. She knows how good he is.
AJ clears his throat. ‘We use a software system called Berla to extract data from a vehicle’s infotainment system. Speed logs, gear-shifts, even door-opens. If we can compile enough data, we can attempt to overlay it on a street map, in order to establish a direction of travel.’
Lauren’s phone is flashing again – Mum mobile – and she cancels the call, her focus back on AJ.
She often wonders if the general public have any idea just how much of a trail they leave behind.
There’s a long-held principle of forensics that ‘every contact leaves a trace’, and Lauren thinks the maxim holds even more truth in today’s digital world.
It is virtually impossible to cover your tracks completely.