Page 76 of Too Close To Home

Parts of the place still worked.

Parts of it didn’t.

Calder nodded towards the yard. “He’ll be out there somewhere.”

They crossed the concrete yard, weaving between workers in hard hats and orange jackets. A supervisor glanced over but didn’t challenge them once Calder flashed his badge.

Then he lifted his chin. “There.”

Harrison followed his gaze. A yellow forklift rolled slowly between two rows of pallet racks. The driver leaned over the controls, concentrating on the load balanced in front of him.

“Mitchell,” Calder called out.

The forklift stopped beside a stack of steel sheets and lowered its forks with a metallic clatter. Harrison watched Andy climb down. He looked older than the photograph in the Robyn Whitton file. Thinning hair. Grease worked into the sleeves of his overalls. The slow, slightly careful movements of a man who’d spent years doing the same physical job and had begun to feel every one of them.

And Christ, he was thin.

Not lean. Not wiry. Thin. Narrow shoulders, spindly arms, wrists Harrison could probably have closed one hand around. And looking at him then, Harrison could suddenly understand the damage Jake Whitton might have done thirteen years ago. A man Jake’s size, that angry, laying into someone built like Andy Mitchell?

It probably hadn’t taken much.

Perhaps nowhere near as much as Jake had intended.

Harrison lifted his warrant card.

“Well, that’s nowt good.”

Calder folded his arms. “Y’alright, Andy?”

Andy gave a tight smile. “Aye.”

Harrison stepped forward. “I’m Detective Inspector Harrison Black.”

Andy looked between him and Calder. “What’s this about?”

Harrison pocketed his ID. “We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“About what?” Andy wiped his hands on a rag tucked into his pocket.

“Emily Fisher.”

Andy frowned. “Don’t know her.”

“She went missing Wednesday evening,” Harrison said. “Near the woodland path outside town.”

Andy blinked. “Oh.” He glanced at the stacks of steel behind him. “That’s… not good. Kept saying they should install lights on that path.”

“When did you finish work on Wednesday?” Harrison asked.

“Six.”

“And after that?”

“Went home.” He rubbed a hand over his head, thinking. “Actually, I might have had a pint. Then I picked up me tea at the petrol garage.”

“Where did you have a pint?”

“Uh….” He glanced at Calder. “Kings Arms.”