Chapter 16
Gary Fisher, the one-man band behind Safeguard Solutions, is surprisingly jolly for a man who spends his days cleaning up hazardous chemicals and bodily fluids.
‘Blood is my speciality,’ he says, beaming at Lauren.
‘That’s why I’m trying to get into crime scene clean-up.
I do a lot of work for the council, but it’s mostly hoarders, or people who died of old age three months ago and someone’s only just noticed.
’ Gary is wearing jogging bottoms and a matching hooded top; more PE teacher than hazardous waste cleaner, Lauren thinks.
‘How did you hear about the job in Cedar Walk?’ she asks.
‘I got a phone call off someone from your control room. At least, that’s what he told me.
Control room sergeant, he said.’ Gary holds up his hands, reinforcing his innocence.
‘He asked if I could be at the property in the next hour. Well, I was supposed to be clearing a squat for the council, but I said yes, of course I could. I’ve been trying to get on the police rota for years. ’
‘What were you asked to do?’
‘Get the bloodstain out of the carpet – it needs to look good as new, he said – then deep-clean the whole property.’ He roots in his pocket and pulls out a phone. ‘I mean, look at the state of this.’
‘You’ve got photos?’ Lauren leans forward to take the phone.
‘I get difficult clients sometimes. They claim something’s been damaged, or that I’ve not done a good enough job.’ He points at the screen. ‘Swipe, and you’ll see how I left it. Like a show home, it was.’
But it isn’t the show home shots Lauren’s interested in; it’s the before photo, with its deep slash of blood across the carpet.
There’s a small table on its side – upturned in a struggle?
– and what look like footprints around the edges of the bloodstain.
Lauren wonders if it will be possible to enhance them, perhaps see the pattern left by the sole.
‘May I email these to myself, please?’ She fights the urge to smile. They have a crime scene photo! Okay, so it’s not the careful, cover-all-angles shots CSI would have given her, but it’s a damn sight more than they had at the start of this murder investigation.
‘Go ahead. Could you put in a good word for me going on the rota? I do a better job than any of the big companies you use that are all agency staff. I’m systematic, see – I don’t miss bits like they do.’
More’s the pity, Lauren thinks. The one time they could have done with a slapdash job. ‘What do you do with your cleaning cloths and PPE when you’re finished?’
‘It’s all incinerated. Has to be, or I lose my licence. I bag everything up, then every Tuesday afternoon it gets collected and—’
‘Every Tuesday?’
‘It used to be Fridays too, but business has been a bit slow lately, so I dropped back to once a week. The council deal with their own disposals, so it’s just—’
‘Tuesday as in today?’ Lauren cuts across him. ‘Are you telling me the cleaning cloths from Cedar Walk are still here?’
‘They’re bagged up in the basement.’
Lauren feels a surge of energy. Thank God for Gary Fisher’s declining business.
She arrives back at the station with the crime scene photograph, Gary Fisher’s elimination DNA and fingerprints, and two bags of potential evidence.
‘Can you book this lot into property and send the submissions to CSI?’ Lauren asks Fraser. ‘They should already have the list of officers and staff who entered the property, as well as elims from Nadeeka, Jamie and the kids. If there’s any other DNA on those rags, we’re game on.’
‘Sure.’ Fraser looks at his watch. ‘Uber Eats tonight? I can’t see either of us getting off till at least eight.’
‘Sounds good.’ They lock eyes for a second, a no-touch micro-hug that gives Lauren the boost she needs to go back to her office and update the detective superintendent.
Tensions locally are still high, and every other news update seems to be about another anti-police protest. This morning, Lauren had woken to the headline Increase in assault against police down to lack of trust, says councillor.
She had swiped it away and thought instead of the advice she always gives the younger officers she mentors.
Focus on what you can control.
Lauren can’t solve what has now become a national crisis; she can only do her damnedest to solve this murder, and hope that goes some way to restoring public confidence in the police.
And, for the first time since she learned about Jamie Golding’s murder, she thinks that might be possible.
As well as the evidence they’ve seized from Gary Fisher, waiting in Lauren’s inbox is a still image of the ‘police officer’ who had been standing outside Nadeeka’s house when she arrived home last Monday.
Lauren reads the accompanying email from Hillary Kent in digital forensics – Managed to retrieve hard drive data from the doorbell cam at No.
14. Still working on the others – then opens the image.
The man looks to be in his early twenties.
He’s white, with dark hair and no visible tattoos.
He’s wearing police uniform: black trousers and boots, a black fleece with the collar turned up, and a flat cap with the glint of a badge above the peak.
The image is too indistinct to make out the detail of the badge, or to read the numbers on his epaulettes.
The overall impression is, Lauren has to concede, convincing.
She sends the image to Intelligence to circulate internally and across other forces.
Going public with it would give them a greater chance of identifying the man, but that’s a decision above Lauren’s pay grade.
In the current climate, people will be inclined to take justice into their own hands; a misidentification could be catastrophic.
Next, she sends the image to Nadeeka. Can you confirm this is one of the men you saw?
Her response is immediate. Yes! That’s the one DI Burton told off for letting me into the house. Do you know who he is?
Lauren hits the call button. ‘Not yet,’ she says, when Nadeeka answers. ‘But we’re working on it. How are you?’
‘Not great, to be honest. I’m trying to hold it together for the girls, but . . .’ Nadeeka’s voice trembles. ‘I miss him so much. Maya keeps asking why he died, and it’s all I can think about too. Why did this happen? Who did this to us?’
‘We’re going to find the person responsible for this, Nadeeka.’ Lauren almost adds I promise, but she never promises what’s out of her control.
‘Kath wants Scott to move in with me and the girls.’
‘Your ex?’
‘I don’t want him to, but I can’t settle, and it’s making Maya and Nish anxious.
Nish wet the bed for the first time in ages, and Maya’s having night terrors.
’ Nadeeka lets out a long, shaky breath.
‘Could you maybe get a patrol car to drive by a couple of times in the evening? In case someone’s watching the house? ’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’ Once again, Lauren can’t promise anything. ‘Have you seen anyone hanging around?’
‘No . . . it’s just a feeling.’ Nadeeka hesitates.
‘I keep thinking how they took all his stuff – his laptop, his phone – like they wanted to make sure they didn’t leave a trace of him.
And then DI Burton took my phone for the same reason.
But what if he thinks I’ve still got something?
I came back to work today and I’m going to leave my laptop here – I’m too scared to keep it at home.
Jamie never used it, but DI Burton doesn’t know that, does he? ’
Every time Nadeeka says ‘DI Burton’, it sets Lauren’s teeth on edge. There is no ‘DI Burton’, just a bastard using police ID to get away with murder. Literally.
‘That’s a good idea. And maybe your ex-mother-in-law has a point about the girls’ dad moving back in for a bit: you might feel safer with another adult in the house.’
‘Maybe.’ Nadeeka sounds doubtful, reminding Lauren that they have yet to speak to Scott Hadley about his stack-up with Golding.
‘Would you like the crime prevention team to come round and take a look at your home security?’
‘Oh, yes, please.’
‘Consider it done.’ Lauren ends the call. She’s just adding a note to her ever-increasing list of actions when Bahnaz gives a tentative knock on Lauren’s open door.
‘Boss, do you have a sec?’
‘Sure.’
‘I looked on eBay, like you said.’ Bahnaz steps into the office and pushes the door closed.
‘There’s so much police uniform on there, it’s unbelievable.
I narrowed it to down to our force, and .
. .’ She hesitates. ‘I think you should see this.’ She shows Lauren her phone, on which is an eBay page with half a dozen listings.
‘The same seller listed a hi-vis jacket with the force badge on, but mostly he sells generic police shirts, trousers . . . the occasional utility belt.’ Bahnaz opens a different tab on her phone.
‘He sells other stuff too, so I did a reverse image search on some kids’ clothes he was selling, and .
. .’ She shows Lauren a Facebook page. ‘I know him, boss. It’s Tom Chandler. He’s on team three.’
The profile photo shows a grinning man wearing sunglasses, his arm around a pretty blonde woman next to him on a sun lounger. Sitting on the sand in front of them are two children, perhaps ten and twelve.
‘Leave it with me.’ Lauren checks the time. ‘You coming to briefing?’
‘Yes, I just didn’t want to bring this up in front of everyone.’ Bahnaz looks uncomfortable. ‘Tom’s a nice guy; I’m sure he’s not involved in—’
‘As I said,’ Lauren says firmly, ‘leave it with me.’