When he got back to the CID office, Rick was on the phone.
‘When was this? … And is that a regular order? … They have an account. Right. Do you have a record of who signed for them when they were picked up? Mm. Thanks …’
Sean put Rick’s coffee down. ‘Flat white, no froth,’ he said.
‘Speak for yourself,’ Rick said.
‘Funny. What was that about?’
‘Fulton’s Garden Centre, the only South Yorkshire stockists of the Scandinavian pruning knife, which Lizzie thinks sliced Taheera Ahmed’s throat open. They took an order from Halsworth Grange about two months ago. A range of items, including a pruning knife, something called a bushcraft knife, an 8cm locking knife and several pairs of pigskin gardening gloves. They haven’t sold anything to Halsworth since, except a pair of size five work boots that Coldacre picked up himself, first thing Monday morning.’
‘Is that unusual?’
‘Not particularly. But we need to have a word with Bill Coldacre and see if he’s missing anything.’
‘I’ll ring him, if you like.’
Sean looked at his mobile, but it had only charged ten per cent. He picked up one of the phones on the desk and checked it had a dial tone.
‘Nothing better to do until I can find Khan. Gav’s on a break, so I may as well make myself useful.’
Sean got through to Halsworth Grange and asked for the gardens’ extension. He listened to it ringing and ringing, and was about to give up, when it was answered by an out of breath Bill Coldacre.
‘Sorry, couldn’t find the bloody thing. It was easier when the phone was stuck to the wall.’
Sean explained why he was ringing.
‘Why are you asking me?’ he said, ‘I thought you’d arrested the girl?’
‘We think the murder weapon might have come from Fulton’s. They don’t sell many pruning knives in the summer and they keep meticulous accounts for their regular customers. So I need to know if you’re missing one, brand new, straight out of the packet.’
‘I’ll have a look.’
Sean could hear him moving about, the click of a door opening and the rattle of metal and wood.
‘Thanks,’ Sean said. ‘And while you’re at it, can you tell me the names of anyone else you’ve had working there in the last two months?’
Coldacre gave a hollow laugh. ‘That’s not hard. Until the girl started, I’ve been on my own for a month. We had to let the last trainee go.’
‘Did he or she come via the Probation Service too?’
‘Aye. Lazy bugger. Terry Starkey his name was.’
‘Thanks. Thanks very much.’
Sean scribbled something on a piece of paper and showed it to Rick who frowned initially, trying to decipher Sean’s writing, then let out an expletive.
‘That policewoman that was here,’ Bill Coldacre was saying, ‘the one in the white suit?’
‘Miss Morrison, yes, the scene of crime manager.’
‘She was asking about knives. I keep them in size order, you see, so it’s easy to find what you want. I’ve had three new ones this season. Hang on. There’s a pruning knife missing, sharp little beggar.’
‘Yes,’ Sean said.
‘It’s not here. It’s gone. Never even used the bloody thing.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Aye, there should be a little pocket knife, good for cutting twine.’
‘Would that be what they call a “locking knife”, 8cm blade?’
‘Aye, that’s the one.’
‘Thank you, Mr Coldacre. You’ve been very helpful.’
As Sean put the phone down, Khan swept into the room, flicking his car keys back and forth like worry beads.
‘Denton? Need a word. Not here. My car. Now.’
‘But …’
‘Now!’ Khan was already heading back down the corridor.
‘Here, take your mobile,’ Rick said. ‘Tell him what you’ve found out about Starkey.’
‘Two knives, Rick, he’s missing two,’ Sean managed to say over his shoulder as he followed Khan.
The black Range Rover was parked at the back of the police yard, slantways across two spaces. Khan clicked the locks off and they got in.
‘Where are we going, sir?’
‘We’re going to have a chat. Pigs have big ears, so we’re going to have a little chat in private.’
‘Right.’
‘What are you playing at, Denton?’
‘I’m not sure …’
‘What did you call DS Simkins?’
‘I don’t think I called her anything. I asked if she might have a phone charger up her … OK, there’s no way I can make this sound what it isn’t. I was rude to her. But did she tell you why?’
‘Go on.’
‘She was asking me to make a formal complaint about your conduct.’
‘Oh.’ Khan stared straight ahead at the concrete wall in front of them. ‘I see. And so it begins again.’
‘Sir?’
‘Do you know why they sent me here, Denton?’
‘No.’ He remembered Simkins sharing her theory with him, but he’d thought at the time it was bollocks.
‘Because I brought a complaint against a senior officer for racism and it stuck. He was disciplined and ever since then I’ve been playing cat and mouse with one ridiculous accusation after another.’
‘What a cow.’
‘Steady on, son. She’s just following orders and, at the end of the day, she’s not a bad officer.’
‘But she was sent to spy on you. To get something on you being sexist, I think she said.’
‘Sexist? Oh my, they really are scraping the barrel this time; they’ll be trying to stick me with being a communist sympathiser next. Sexist? Please.’ He thumped the steering wheel. ‘Ah, but I gave her almost as good, didn’t I? I gave her bullying a junior, white working-class member of the force.’
‘With a diagnosed specific learning difficulty. Serious shit, that,’ Sean smiled. ‘Mind you, she took the piss out of my reading, so maybe I could counter-attack with a complaint against her for that. Joking, of course.’
‘Look, I appreciate your support, Sean. And I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into this. But it’s my fight.’
Neither of them spoke for a moment, then Khan gathered himself.
‘What was Rick saying about your phone?’
‘It’s about Terry Starkey,’ Sean said, ‘the guy in the drawing. His brother was killed, pushed off the top of the Eagle Mount flats …’
‘… by Chloe Toms or Marilyn Nelson, as she used to be known.’
‘Exactly. And Bill Coldacre’s just told me that Starkey was also placed by probation on an apprenticeship at Halsworth Grange. He was there two months ago, when the last lot of tools and gloves were purchased. There are two knives missing. Damn, I forgot to ask about the gloves.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Khan said. ‘I’ll put someone on to that.’
There was a silence in which it felt to Sean as if Khan was waiting for him to say more, like being in school when they all got told off for something nobody would own up to and he felt like putting his hand up, to make it end.
‘There’s something else, sir,’ Sean licked his dry top lip. ‘He turned up at my dad’s place last night. You could say your scheme paid off.’
‘My scheme?’
‘Sending me back, as it were.’
‘Really?’
‘Well, I got him talking and I managed to record some of it. Listen.’
The Range Rover had a docking station for his phone, so they had the glory of Terry Starkey in four-speaker, highquality stereo. Sean winced at the sound of his own voice.
‘I sound so thick.’
‘Let’s just say you were in role.’
‘Thanks.’
Sean hoped the click of the ring pull and the hiss of another beer can being opened wasn’t too obvious.
‘What did he mean by that? “Now I know where to find her” …?’
‘The drawing she did. If Chloe saw him at Halsworth Grange, then chances are he saw her. Look, I’ve got a picture of the car he was driving last night. Here.’ Sean took the phone off the dock and flicked to his photos. ‘Could that be the dark car Mrs Coldacre saw? I’ve uploaded it to Rick’s computer; he’s running some checks on it now. Terry said something about a guy owing him; the car was payment for something. That’s coming up …’