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It was rare that A
“Lane’s girlfriend, Alex Preston, works part-time at that travel agent’s in the Swainsdale Centre,” she said. “GoThereNow.”
“The same one Beddoes used to book the trip?”
“Du
This drew a titter from the audience. Banks glanced at his watch. “First thing tomorrow. Then we can scrounge up a few bodies and give the Lane farm a thorough once-over, just to make sure Michael Lane isn’t there. That would be embarrassing.” He paused. “Do you think this Preston woman could be involved?”
“She’s worried sick,” said A
“And you?”
“I’m taking her seriously.”
“Is anyone actually looking? I mean, he’s not officially listed as missing yet, is he?”
“No, sir,” said Doug Wilson. “But DI Cabbot and I got a recent picture and we’ve circulated it within the area. We’ve also been in touch with the airlines and railway stations, and we’ve asked to be informed of any activity on his mobile phone, debit or credit card. Nothing yet, not since last Friday.”
“Makes sense if he’s being careful.” Then Banks turned back to A
“He wasn’t in when we called.”
“Do you think there’s a co
“No. I . . . I mean . . . I don’t know. Maybe. I was just making a point,” A
“Let’s see if we can find out anything about Morgan Spencer’s removal van and that text he sent,” said Banks. “And we’d also better look into who owns the aerodrome property. Does Morgan Spencer have a record?”
“No,” said A
Banks glanced toward Winsome. “Did you follow up on what Gilchrist told you about the lorries, get anything more, any confirmation?”
“Not yet, sir. We’ve still got officers out asking questions in the general area. Maybe someone else noticed these lorries, too. Though Mr. Gilchrist did say it was only three or four times in the past year or so.”
“If our thieves were using the hangar as part of a route for getting stolen farm equipment out of the country, or even across it, they would probably only have needed it for larger items, like tractors and combines. As far as I know, they’d slaughter any stolen livestock locally and dispose of it here through illegal cha
“It’s possible.”
“Have another word with this Terry Gilchrist, Winsome. Could he be involved? After all, he is ex-army, and he did find the bloodstains.”
“His dog did,” Winsome said. “I don’t really see why he’d follow it under a chain-link fence in his condition, with the weather the way it was, and then phone us if he was responsible for it in the first place. Do you, sir?”
“Perhaps not, when you put it like that, but we have to consider the possibility.”
“Without Gilchrist and his dog, the crime scene could have gone unobserved for days, or weeks.”
“True,” Banks agreed. “Unless one of the lorry drivers noticed.”
“But if they had something to do with the blood,” Winsome argued, “then they’d hardly report it, would they, sir?”
“But Gilchrist does have a military background, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So he’s no doubt conversant with ways of killing?”
“I suppose so.”
“And military operations and criminal operations have several features in common, including a certain level of organization. He also knows the area well. It shouldn’t be too hard to track down his military records. You say he was injured in action?”
“Yes, sir. In Afghanistan. His legs.”
“But he’s still mobile?”
“I’d say he’s pretty nifty on his pins, sir, yes.”
Banks smiled. “ ‘Nifty on his pins.’ I like that.” He turned to DC Masterson. “Gerry, can you see about tracking down Terry Gilchrist’s military record? You know the sort of thing, any suspicions he was up to anything illegal while he was serving, black market activities, looting, whatever. And while you’re at it, have a look into John Beddoes’s finances. As A
“Yes, sir,” said Gerry, scribbling fast on her pad.
“And we’ll need to know exactly who owns the abandoned airfield.”
“Consider it done, sir.”
“Excellent. Stefan, do you have anything for us? Tire tracks?”
“We’re still working the scene,” Nowak said, “but there’s not much chance of tire tracks on the concrete. From the mess they trailed in, though, I’d say there could have been two or three vehicles at the scene, but I can’t say when or what they were.”
“Fingerprints?”
“There’s no decent surface to get fingerprints from. Not the concrete floor and not the corrugated metal walls. The lock and the wire mesh gate are clean. We’re still dusting around the general area, but don’t expect too much with all the rain we’ve had. We might get a few partials or smudges, if we’re lucky. We’re also going to do a thorough luminal search. If blood was spilled there recently, there’s always a chance that the hangar was used before as a place of execution. There might be traces of previous crimes, and they might lead to DNA.”
“Good work, Stefan. Anything new on the trace evidence, Jazz?”
“You’ll have your DNA analysis sometime tomorrow, as promised,” Jazz Singh said. “And I want you to know it’s got me in trouble with Harrogate. They thought they had priority. In the meantime, all I can tell you is that the blood type of the sample is A positive. Not very exciting news, as it’s the same as about thirty-five percent of the UK population. But if you look on the bright side, it rules out sixty-five percent. I’ve sent the brain matter and bone fragments for outside analysis. We don’t have the facilities for that. I’m not sure what that’ll tell us, or how long it will take, but the odds are that it’ll be very expensive and you’ll probably have solved the case by then.” She smiled sweetly and rested her hands on the table. A