The Dead Place

‘At that time of night, yes. He has a little office on the first level, and he monitors the cameras from there.’

‘Someone will have to go through every bit of footage.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Looking at the vehicles lined up in the multistorey car park reminded Fry that her Peugeot was due for its MoT this month. She ought to check the date on the certificate – she suspected there were only a few days left before it expired. It didn’t do a police officer’s reputation any good to be caught driving an illegal vehicle.

Sealing off the two top levels of the car park was undoubtedly causing problems. The ‘full’ sign at the entrance had already been illuminated when the first police officers arrived to look at Sandra Birley’s car. Now, frustrated motorists were continually pulling up to the barrier at ground level and reversing away again.

‘What about the lifts?’

‘They’re cleaned out every day,’ said Cooper. ‘The interiors are specifically designed for easy washing and disinfecting. It’s a familiar problem, apparently.’

‘And here I was thinking it was only a problem in high-rise flats on council estates in Birmingham,’ said Fry. ‘You’ve imported some dirty habits into Derbyshire, haven’t you?’

‘Well, I got on to the cleaning contractors a few minutes ago. They swear the lift at the Hardwick Lane entrance was thoroughly cleaned early yesterday morning. So it shouldn’t have smelled of anything but industrial disinfectant with a hint of pine forest when Mrs Birley arrived.’

‘When she arrived, yes. But somebody had been up to their dirty tricks by the time she came back for her car that night.’

‘Do you think she’d have been safer using the lift?’

Fry strode in front of the DCI and gestured at the Skoda, the SOCOs in their scene suits still clustered round it. It wasn’t a murder enquiry, not without a body. So Kessen would disappear soon. He needed to know who had the ideas at an early stage.

‘Well, look at the layout of this level,’ she said. ‘If Sandra Birley used the lift, she’d have had only a few feet to walk before she reached her car. In fact, I think it’s likely she chose that parking space precisely because it was near the lift. But the exit from the stairs is fifty yards further on, and it meant she had to pass the bottom of the down ramp from Level 9 on the way to her car.’

‘Where her attacker may have been waiting behind the concrete barrier.’

‘Exactly.’

‘So it seems her own fastidiousness led her into danger.’

DI Hitchens trotted towards them from the stairs, red in the face and puffing slightly. He was followed by the crime scene manager, Wayne Abbott, who was about the same age as Hitchens but looked much more fit.

Abbott had recently been appointed senior SOCO for the area after finishing a scientific support management course at the training centre near Durham. Fry didn’t much like having to deal with him at a crime scene. There was something about his aggressively shaved head and permanent five o’clock shadow that suggested too much testosterone. From the first time she set eyes on him, she’d wondered why Abbott was a civilian. He ought to be kitted out in full public-order gear, wielding a baton and breaking down doors.

‘Sir, the bad news is that only half the CCTV cameras in this place are operational,’ said Hitchens. ‘The others are dummies.’

Kessen cursed quietly. ‘And Level 8?’

‘One of the dummies.’

‘Damn and blast.’

‘The camera at the exit is working, sir. We can get registration numbers for any vehicles that left the car park after the attack.’

‘He wouldn’t have been so stupid,’ said Kessen. ‘Ten to one he was on foot.’

‘That would make the job much more difficult than just bundling someone into a vehicle.’

‘But it would be the only way to avoid the cameras. So what about pedestrian access?’

‘Two flights of stairs, one at either end. Lifts at the entrance into the shopping centre. Also, the attacker could have made his way down through the levels via the car ramps. That would be a dangerous thing to do during the day, when it’s busy. But after seven o’clock it would be so quiet that he could do it easily. And he’d have heard any car coming a long way off. Noises really travel in here, have you noticed?’

‘Yes, I have.’

‘But wouldn’t the operative cameras pick him up on some of the levels, at least?’ said Fry.

‘Yes, you’re right, DS Fry.’ Kessen looked thoughtful. ‘Who’s talked to the attendant?’

‘The FOAs. He’s got his supervisor here with him now, too. He called his head office as soon as we arrived.’

‘We need to talk to him again,’ said Kessen. ‘If it was so quiet in here last night, it makes me wonder what exactly the attendant was doing down there.’

Hitchens wiped his face with a handkerchief. He was getting very unfit if he couldn’t walk up a few flights of stairs without risking a heart attack.

‘At least he heard the scream,’ he said.

‘Oh yes, the scream.’

‘It helps us with the timing.’

‘Well, it’s a pity he wasn’t quicker off the mark getting up here, instead of staring at his little screens wondering if he was on the wrong channel.’

‘According to his initial statement, there was no one around when he did come up to check, so he thought it must be kids messing around outside.’

‘And then he went back to his tea break, no doubt,’ said Kessen.

Hitchens shrugged. ‘Also, the mobile phone network recorded the logging-off signal from Mrs Birley’s phone. But I don’t think that will help us much, in the circumstances.’

The smashed phone had been bagged by the SOCOs, along with the bits of broken plastic scattered across Level 8 by the tyre of a Daihatsu 4x4 that had driven over it. The SIM card would identify the phone definitely, but it matched the description given by Geoff Birley – a Nokia with a soft leather case and a red fascia.

Fry walked to the outside wall of the car park and looked over the ledge at the buildings in Clappergate. Far below, a group of youths wearing rucksacks went by with their skateboards, whistling between their teeth as they entered the shopping precinct. She tugged at the wire mesh, but it didn’t shift an inch.

A movement caught Fry’s attention, and she saw Liz Petty again, walking across to the crime scene van to speak to Abbott, who was now her supervisor. She had pushed her hood back from her face, and she looked flushed. SOCOs didn’t like wearing the hoods of the scene suits if they could help it, especially the female officers. Petty brushed her hair back and tried to confine it in the clip behind her head. She saw Fry watching her, and smiled again.

‘I’ll get everything under way, sir,’ Hitchens was saying. ‘DS Fry and I have an appointment with the psychologist.’

‘The phone calls?’ said Kessen.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I don’t suppose we’ve had a call since Mrs Birley disappeared?’

‘No. And it’s difficult to know whether we should hope for one or not.’

‘At least we’d know where we stand. You need to make the right call on this one, Paul.’

Fry felt a little sorry for Hitchens. Nine times out of ten there were other reasons why people went missing, especially adults. They usually turned up alive and well, with surprised looks on their faces at all the fuss they’d caused. That could waste a lot of time and resources if a hasty decision was made.