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Harrison’s morning vanished into scene examination.

Photographs. Exhibit logging. Vehicle examiners crawling beneath stripped chassis with torches while CSIs sampled drainage channels and examined the freshly painted wall. The lock-up appeared cleaner the longer Harrison studied it, which paradoxically only made it feel dirtier. Someone had scrubbed sections too thoroughly, and roller marks remained visible beneath the strip lighting where paint had been applied in a hurry.

“Can’t tell you these fragments came from Pike’s Fiesta.” The CSI pointed to beneath a shelving unit, almost hidden against the wall, where several tiny fragments of red plastic lay. “But between the possible blood staining, the fresh paint and the extent of the cleaning, someone’s gone to considerable effort in here.”

The lock-up was feeling less like a workshop and more like a crime scene.

Enough to move Davo from evasive witness to credible suspect, but not yet enough to tell Harrison where he sat within it. Owner of the yard. Keeper of the lock-up. Or the man who’d simply allowed someone else to use both. Before making an arrest decision, Harrison wanted the completed search return, a clear account of everyone who had access to the lock-up and every contractor statement laid out together. He also wanted to know why Blackridge Autos had been moving anything through Levenson Construction after dark.

He left Calder overseeing the search while he drove across the industrial estate, the ledger copies sitting on the passenger seat beside him and the farther north he drove through the estate, the busier things were. Active sites. Welding sparks. Scaffold towers. Men shouting over grinders and nail guns. Then the refurbishment warehouse came into view. Four storeys of ageing industrial brick and corrugated steel wrapped almost entirely in scaffolding.

Levenson stood near the scaffold entrance talking to one of the site managers when Harrison pulled up. The older man visibly stiffened the second he recognised the CID pool car. And Harrison got out, once again holding up his ID.

“Detective.” Levenson nodded.

“Mr Levenson.” Harrison pocketed his card in his inside jacket pocket. “Need a quick word regarding some entries we found in Garfield’s accounts from the salvage yard.”

“Oh, aye.” Levenson wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist. “What you found?”

“After-hours access. Temporary storage. Your company signed off on several deliveries.”

Levenson glanced over at the old building before looking back. “Probably materials.” He adjusted his hard hat. “Davo stores stuff all over the estate.”

“Hm.”

Harrison glanced up at the roofline where workers moved along the ridge, harnesses clipped on as they crossed exposed decking and stripped membrane. Nail guns cracked rhythmically overhead while someone shouted measurements through the scaffolding. Actually… Jake could be useful here. Someone to ask questions on the sly. And considering Harrison had already come asking for him earlier in the week, another visit wouldn’t seem strange.

He kept his tone deliberately casual. “Whitton working today?”

Levenson shook his head. “Not here.”

Harrison glanced towards the roofline. “Where then?”

“Went to look at another job first thing. Small repair on one of the units farther south.”

“Which unit?”

Levenson frowned as though trying to remember. “Four. Blackridge rang about summat needing making safe. Whitton reckoned he were the best man to take a look.”

Davo’s warning stirred again at the back of Harrison’s mind. “He went alone?”

“Aye. Said he didn’t need anyone else.”

Harrison took out his phone and tried Jake again.

Straight to voicemail.

“Signal’s shite round there.” Levenson waved a hand in the vague direction. “Half this estate’s a dead zone.”

Harrison glanced over to the southern end of the estate, but another call from Calder dragged his attention back to the search. The CSIs had completed the lock-up examination, Davo’s account was beginning to unravel and Calder needed an arrest decision. So he pocketed his phone. Jake was working. His battery was probably dead. And Harrison had an active murder investigation demanding his attention.

“I’ll need every delivery record corresponding to Garfield’s ledger,” he told Levenson. “Names, vehicles and authorisations. Have them ready when I come back.” He then glanced over to the staff parking spaces. Jake’s van wasn’t there. He turned back to Levenson. “Did he drive to the unit?”

Levenson frowned. “Who?”

“Jake.”

“Oh. Must’ve done.”