Page 31 of Her Last Breath

‘I know I haven’t made it easy for you these last few days, ma’am.’ His voice was soft, apologetic.

Jane motioned to the empty chair opposite her again; he shook his head.

‘When you got the job, I thought they just gave it to someone like them again. It’s not always been easy being a Black officer in these parts.’ He paused, searching for the right words. ‘But I believe you when you say it’s not been easy for you, either.’

She smiled. ‘I think between us we probably have a load of battle stories to share.’

‘Don’t you ever get tired of fighting?’

‘Yes. Until someone else thinks they can shut me down because I’m a woman or working-class or northern. Then the fight comes right back in me. I’m guessing you’re the same? And I was the one that made you want to fight for what you thought you deserved?’

‘It’s more than just losing out on the promotion. I invest everything I am into this job. I can’t remember the last time I went for a night out with the lads; I don’t even think any of them are left, it’s been that long. I’m switched on to this twenty-four seven, so holding down a relationship is pretty difficult. And despite all of that, it felt as though not giving it to me meant they didn’t think I did enough, didn’t want me.’

‘It was never personal, Dave. I hope you know that.’

He smiled back at her weakly. He looked tired, his shoulders hunched. Jane had seen this in too many colleagues before. Career detectives who were burnt out, questioning if what they were doing was worth it. Was fighting and resenting her taking it out of him as well?

‘Anyway, I think we’re OK now, right?’ she asked tentatively.

There was a moment’s pause, as though he was reluctant, before he answered her with confidence and reassurance.

‘Yes, ma’am.’

Jane checked her computer when DS Johnson had left her office, noting down the address of the lock-up where Mark Burrows was found dead. Pushing away everything else, she decided to head over. To confirm that she was dealing with a double murder.

Chapter 18

Jane looked at the abandoned mill chimney piercing the grey sky, looming over the industrial lot containing two dozen lock-ups. They weren’t overlooked and were completely hidden from the main road. No CCTV covering the lock-ups themselves. Clearly, the owners didn’t want to be watched.

The CSI van was parked up in front of her. She recognised the figure of Pawel Kowalcyzk, his well-built frame and height burnt in her mind from their first meeting. The same grey eyes. London Jane was horny, she knew. Maybe a weekend in Manchester or Leeds beckoned, to take the edge off. Pawel gave her plastic booties and gloves, led the way into the small garage-like space. It had a shuttered door, thick steel, with electronic and old school locks.

‘The automatic system bolts from the inside. You must use a flamethrower or explosion to get inside.’

Inside was well lit. The single bulb that Jane recognised from the crime scene photos DC Berry had shown her cast a weak glow over everything, but it was strengthened by the massive arc-lights the CSI team had set up. It looked like a man’s toolshed rather than anything sinister, she thought, eyeing a workbench covered with tools.

‘Nothing seems to be out of place or missing. There’s a toolbox with space for each of the items you can see.’

Paint cans, rubber gloves, oil canisters and bits of paper littered the space around them. Discarded rubbish from takeaways, crisps and chocolates were in a bin, which had started to reek.

‘No one thought to empty that?’

Pavel shrugged.

‘We’re checking the space for any suspicious items. Nothing obvious flagged though from our first examination.’

Mark Burrows’ car was still in situ, a noughties Audi. Jane’s gaze lingered at the car, then turned towards the lock-up entrance. She walked back to the steel shutters, then sat on her haunches, adjusting her eyes. CSI had placed markers by tyre tracks.

‘Pawel, do they match the ones we found at the riverside?’

‘Yes, I believe so. I’ll know better back in the laboratory.’

Letting her eyes roam over the shutter closure, Jane pointed to a mark in the metal grid on the floor which the shutter fixed into. To the naked eye it looked like blackened steel. She moved closer to it, on her knees now, her head close to the rim. Asking Pawel for a scoop, she used the thin steel instrument to dig at the dark mark. It was mud. Taking in its putrid aroma, she recalled the muddy riverbank. A scent most people breathed in deep as being reminiscent of spring or summer, ruined for Jane because it reminded her of that day when Ed died.

‘Check this against the mud around the site where we found Alice.’ She handed the bagged-up dirt to Pawel, feeling the rush of her find. The tyre tracks and the mud might be enough to link Mark Burrows to where Alice Rogers was found dead. What did it mean though? Had he been there? Or had someone else been to both sites?

‘Turn the arc lights off,’ Jane commanded. Pawel shouted orders to his team, who did as he asked. Under the faint illumination of the bulb, the small space became sinister, threatening. Shadows moved on the walls, as she felt her body go cold. Standing up quickly, she tried to make out the tyre tracks or the mud; neither was clearly visible.

‘If somebody else was here, they weren’t aware of what they left behind.’ She didn’t add that uniform had missed the same during their first look at the scene when Mark’s body had been found.