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Harrison ignored that completely. “Anything useful?”
Calder handed over the map. “Search teams widened the grid another half mile east after first light. Clothing came out of that bend there.” He tapped a narrowing stretch of river where the water curved alongside the industrial estate’s perimeter fencing. “Current slows round the reeds. Things catch.”
Harrison followed the line with his eyes.
From here, the Industrial Estate dominated the opposite side of the river corridor. Vast corrugated warehouse roofs stretched across the landscape beneath the low grey sky, broken up by loading bays, scaffold towers and rusting remnants from the old steelworks that had once swallowed half the valley whole. Forklifts moved between units in the distance while generators and machinery droned beneath the wind with the constant hum of industry that never really stopped.
Harrison watched it for a moment. Somehow this place kept circling back into his investigations. Robyn Whitton’s disappearance had brushed against the estate more than once during the original enquiry. Andy Mitchell’s maps and obsessive notes had repeatedly referenced the old steelworks land. And Emily Fisher’s father had worked here and recruited an unstable man from his staff rota to abduct his own daughter.
Now another dead woman had surfaced less than a mile from its perimeter fencing.
Maybe it was coincidence.
Maybe it was geography.
Or maybe it was simply impossible to investigate anything in Hartswick without eventually circling back to the estate. Too much of the town depended on it. Too many people worked there, supplied it, owed something to it. The place sat over the valley as heavily as the weather itself.
Harrison filed the thought away for later.
Because what caught his attention more then was one of the older warehouse units further along the bank, where men worked across the flat upper section in harnesses and fluorescent jackets. From that height they’d have a clear line over the river access and surrounding tracks.
He watched them for a second before nodding towards the roof. “How long’ve those contractors been up there?”
Calder followed his gaze. “Few days, I think. Refurb on the older units.”
“Anyone spoken to them yet?”
“Not yet.”
Harrison shook his head, starting towards the access road. “If they’ve been working above this stretch of river, they might’ve seen vehicle movement. Lights. Someone down here after hours.”
“Doubt they work after dark. They’ll give us nowt.”
“Most witnesses give us nothing,” Harrison called back. “Doesn’t mean we don’t ask.”
Calder fell into step beside him and they crossed the muddy service track towards the contractor compound while drizzle started up again, light enough to hang in the air. Closer up, the scents of diesel, wet concrete and hot tar from roofing equipment hit him. A temporary scaffold staircase climbed the side of the warehouse while workers moved between stacks of insulation boards and pallets wrapped in plastic sheeting.
One older man in a hard hat looked up as they approached.
“You in charge here?” Harrison called.
The man straightened from where he’d been looking over paperwork balanced on a toolbox. “Depends who’s asking.”
Harrison flipped open his warrant card. “DI Black. CID.”
“Ah. Right.” He pulled off one glove and offered a hand. “Levenson. Site manager.”
Harrison shook it once. Firm grip. Roofing tar ground permanently into the cracks of his skin. “We’re making inquiries regarding the recovery operation down by the river. Your lads have been working overlooking that bank for the last couple of days?”
“Since last week. Feels longer.”
“Start times?”
“Usually around seven. Earlier if weather’s good.”
Harrison nodded while Calder scribbled notes beside him. “Anyone working late evenings?”
“Sometimes eight, half eight. We work until we lose sun. And depends how far behind we are.” He gestured to the rooftop. “This roof’s fought us every bloody day.”
