I managed a grotesque impression of a casual enquiry. ‘Anything in the wallet to give us a name?’
‘Cards in the name of Roderick Asquith. Mean anything to you?’
It meant the world. I didn’t say it. ‘I interviewed him a couple of days ago in the Paige Hargreaves case.’
‘There you are. That’s how he had your card.’ Pettifer sounded pleased. Mystery solved. Poor, sweet Roddy. In the absence of any concrete details I imagined him lying on a hillside or hanging from a tree, his worries at an end. Was it something I said?
‘What happened?’
‘Suicide is all I’ve got. They wanted to let you know in case it was relevant that your card was in his wallet.’
I frowned. ‘Have they moved the body?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Tell them not to. I want to take a look.’
‘They won’t be pleased. They want to get the scene cleared up.’
‘I’ll get there as soon as I can.’ I threw back the duvet and started to get out of bed, slowing down as stiffness and bruising and raw grazes set up a morning chorus of complaint. ‘Actually, where is there?’
‘Middle of nowhere. I’ll let them know you’re on your way and send you the postcode.’
I rubbed my face, trying to think of something useful to ask. ‘When did it happen?’
‘No idea. The local CID called me a couple of minutes ago. I bet they’ll be thrilled if you’re getting involved.’
The county forces were overstretched, bogged down with targets and time limits. It was getting harder to find resources to allocate to major crimes. Much better to get the Met’s deep pockets and infinite manpower involved, which was fine except that I was the infinite manpower in question and I’d almost reached my limit. I yawned. ‘Right. I’m on my way. Want to come?’
‘Nah. I’ve got a stabbing. You’re on your own.’
On my own. I was glad of it as I drove down the A3, and very glad that no one had been in the flat to see me wince and hobble through an abbreviated version of my morning routine. I’d taken a handful of painkillers to deal with the physical aftermath of my fall, and they’d kicked in at last, but the emotional side was going to take longer to stop hurting. I thought about Roddy instead, and why he might have taken his own life, and if I had done the right thing by him. The satnav knew where she was going, even if I didn’t, and I turned the green fields into a blur as I sped away from the congestion of London.
The address Pettifer had sent me truly was in the middle of nowhere, through a tiny village I’d never heard of. The satnav directed me confidently down a lane as narrow as a footpath and I swore, hoping I wouldn’t meet anyone coming the other way. The trees met overhead and branches swept the sides of the car.
‘Your destination is on your left,’ the satnav purred.
I slowed down, watching for the entrance. I almost missed the faded board with hand-painted letters: Bladewell Brickworks. A police car was parked near the entrance, almost blocking access. It was a good way of discouraging any curious passers-by from investigating what was going on there if you didn’t have enough people to leave someone at the gate. I nosed past it and parked beside two unmarked cars. No one came to greet me, which was fine by me. I got out of the car and walked slowly towards the huge shed that took up most of the site, trying to get my bearings. The roof was pitted with holes and big double doors sagged open, revealing rusting machinery. Behind the shed, a square-sided chimney stretched fifty metres into the sky.
I looked in through the open doors but nothing moved inside the enormous shed except for a couple of birds that shot up towards the rafters, panicked. A narrow roadway skirted the outside of the building, the tarmac fractured and peeling. Weeds had seized control, spiralling up through it wherever they could find a fissure to exploit. The abandoned brickworks was giving me the creeps. It felt completely isolated, with no other properties in view and trees crowding close around the site. I heard voices in the distance and headed in that direction, following the road.
As I came around the side of the building I saw a small knot of men standing together in what must have been a loading yard at one time. It was big and bare,