Chapter 43
Fletcher we incinerate them.
Although not all the bodies come back here, as you know; in the case of sudden deaths, we’re merely the .
. . chauffeur.’ Mr Fletcher looks pleased with the word.
‘I imagine the hospital mortuary disposes of the used bags with the rest of their hazardous waste.’
Lauren undoes her jacket. It’s stifling in here; the radiators must be up full whack. ‘What vehicle do you use to collect dead bodies?’
‘It’s what we call a hearsette. Very discreet. It’s a Mercedes Vito; they look more like a people-carrier from the outside. Black, of course.’
Lauren takes out her phone and opens her emails.
‘The windows are fully tinted, and the seats have been replaced with a two-tiered deck.’
Lauren shows Fletcher the CCTV still of the black Mercedes van at the petrol station. ‘Like this?’
‘Exactly like that. Although that one’s older – we only bought ours last year.’
‘The plates are false,’ Lauren says. ‘Mr Fletcher, where was your Mercedes Vito on December 1st?’
‘I hope you’re not suggesting it was being used for disreputable purposes?’
‘December 1st, Mr Fletcher.’ Lauren holds his gaze, and for a second she thinks he’s going to kick up a fuss; but he sighs loudly and opens a large leather-bound book on his desk at a page marked with a scarlet ribbon.
He flicks back a couple of weeks. ‘Ah!’ He looks up and smiles. ‘I can put your mind at rest, DCI Caldwell. The vehicle was being serviced. My son took it to the garage.’
‘Does your son work for the business?’ Bahnaz asks.
‘Both my sons do. Damian’s our driver, and Peter’s training to be an embalmer.’
Lauren catches her breath. Two men taking Jamie Golding’s body away from the murder scene. Two sons at Fletcher they paid for Safeguard Solutions to do it.’
‘On December 6th, a man bought large quantities of hair bleach from Costco in Ashfield Mere.’
‘December 6th?’ Lauren shakes her head, and Bahnaz looks at her quizzically. ‘That was five days after the murder, Kenric – the scene was long gone by then.’
‘They bought citric acid, too,’ he says quietly. ‘And a large quantity of three-inch nails.’
The recovery truck pulls up outside the gates and begins backing up, a loud beep beep cutting into the silence.
‘Shit . . .’ Lauren murmurs.
Citric acid has a number of uses, she knows.
It’s found in cleaning products and in cosmetics, and it’ll descale a kettle in the time it takes for the water to boil.
More significantly, when citric acid is added to something containing hydrogen peroxide – such as hair bleach – and a handful of other easily obtainable ingredients, it creates an effective explosive.
‘Call DI Stratman,’ Lauren says. ‘Now.’
Add in shrapnel flying at a thousand metres per second, and the impact of that explosive becomes catastrophic.