DCI Warren Jones. Paul Gitsham

he might just have moved the can out of the way of his tools and transferred his prints that way,’ suggested Warren.

      ‘That might also explain why his fingerprints are on the key to the tool shed padlock found at the scene,’ said Ruskin.

      Warren tapped his teeth thoughtfully.

      ‘We’re pretty certain that it was murder staged as suicide. If the unknown prints match the apprentice groundsman, then he has an alibi. He’s seventeen and he was at home with his parents and siblings in front of the TV. That leaves only Rodney Shaw or an unknown killer who took care not to leave his or her own prints at the scene.’

      ‘If the killer wasn’t a regular user of the tool shed, he could have left trace evidence behind when collecting the petrol. The shed doesn’t have electricity, so the killer may have been stumbling around in the dark,’ said Harrison.

      ‘OK, take some prints and do a preliminary search of the premises. We’ll work up a list of everyone who legitimately used the shed and make sure we have prints and DNA. The tool shed is a short walk from the chapel, so look for footprints. Cross-reference anything you find with the findings from Father Nolan’s room. If we can work out the sequence of events that night, we’ll be a step closer to finding who did it.’

      ‘We’ll do what we can, but I’m not sure what you’re expecting to find, sir. It’s been a few days now, and not all the pathways were locked down immediately.’ Harrison’s tone was cautionary.

      ‘I know. Give it your best shot, Andy. Aside from the chapel and Father Nolan’s room, the shed’s the one place that we know the killer is likely to have been.’

       Chapter 16

      ‘Moray, fancy a trip to a homeless shelter?’ called Warren.

      ‘You’ve seen what I earn then?’

      ‘Funny man. We need to interview the locals at the Middlesbury Outreach Centre, to see what else we can find out about Lucas Furber.’

      ‘I’ll get my coat.’

      Tony Sutton sidled up next to Warren. ‘Can I have a quick word, Boss? In private.’

      ‘Of course. Moray, I’ll be with you in a moment.’

      ‘What’s the problem, Tony?’ asked Warren when the door closed.

      Sutton looked uncomfortable.

      ‘It’s about Moray.’

      Warren was surprised.

      ‘Is there a problem? I thought he was doing really well. He’s on track to complete his probationary training well within the two years, and his paperwork is in a far better state than mine was when I was at his stage.’

      ‘He is. That’s the problem.’

      ‘You’ve lost me.’

      Sutton sighed. ‘Sir, you’re a DCI. Why are you traipsing around bookies and homeless shelters with a DC?’

      ‘I’ve always been hands-on, Tony, and willing to get out of the office, you know that. It’s what I like about Middlesbury, most officers my rank spend half their time in meetings.’

      ‘That’s not what I meant.’

      ‘Moray’s a probationer, he’s still learning the ropes. He’ll be a fine officer one day and I want him to get the support he needs. I learnt a lot from my own DCI, as I’m sure you did.’ Warren paused, as he remembered the history of their respective senior officers, but decided the point still stood. ‘Look, this is a fast-moving investigation, with a lot of different threads. If you think Moray would benefit from spending a bit more time working with Hutch or Mags, or even you, then I’ll take your advice, you’ve done a lot more mentoring than I have recently.’

      Sutton sighed, he could see that Warren either wasn’t getting the hint, or quite possibly was ignoring the uncomfortable truth.

      ‘Chief …’ he started, before pausing and starting again, ‘Warren. Moray isn’t Gary.’

      Warren felt as if he’d been slapped.

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘I mean that you can’t keep him wrapped in cotton wool.’

      Warren was dumbfounded; Sutton ploughed on quickly.

      ‘What happened to Gary affected us all, I still miss him every day. I spent twenty minutes comforting Mags after we marked his birthday last month, and Hutch wasn’t much better. I can only imagine how you must feel, sitting next to him as it happened—’

      ‘That’s right, you can only imagine, and I’d rather you didn’t,’ snapped Warren.

      ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ insisted Sutton. ‘Professional Standards know that. I know that, as does everyone in that office, even Karen knows it.’

      ‘I think you’ve said enough, DI Sutton.’

      Sutton ignored him.

      ‘You can’t undo what happened to Gary by being overprotective of Moray. He needs room to grow. He may be a probationary DC, but he was a very well-regarded uniform constable before he transferred over.’

      ‘I said that’s enough!’

      ‘He’s more than capable of asking a few questions in an outreach centre. And look at the bloody size of him, he can take on two normal people and not break a sweat.’

      ‘Gary Hastings had a black belt in Jiu-jitsu, and that was fuck all use in the end.’

      The moment he said it, Warren wished he could take the words back.

      ‘I’ll see myself out,’ said Sutton, without waiting to be dismissed.

      The thin partitioned wall rattled as the door slammed behind him.

      Warren slumped into his chair, anger coursing through him.

      How dare Sutton speak to him like that? Not since the two men had butted heads when Warren first transferred to Middlesbury, had the two men argued in such a way. Matters of friendship aside, Warren was still Sutton’s superior officer. He knew that if he’d spoken to Bob Windermere like that back when he was an inspector, he’d not only have ended up with a written warning on his file, he’d have found himself giving crime-prevention presentations to little old ladies at the local community centre.

      He stared through the window into the office beyond.

      After Gary’s death, they’d rearranged the layout. It was a small gesture, but nobody would have been comfortable taking his old desk, next to his girlfriend Karen Hardwick, on medical leave since his death and now entering the last few weeks of her pregnancy. On the other hand, leaving his desk empty would have been just as bad, not to mention impractical.

      And so one evening, when the number of people in the office was at a minimum, Tony Sutton and Warren had rearranged everything. John Grayson, upon hearing the sound of scraping furniture had emerged from his own office. He’d said nothing, just put down his cup of coffee, rolled up his sleeves and given them a hand.

      Gary’s death had hit them all hard. In Warren’s opinion, the small, close-knit nature of the team at Middlesbury was one of its biggest strengths, but it also meant that the loss of a team member was perhaps more closely felt than it might be otherwise.

      That was the view of the counsellor Warren had been assigned following Gary’s death. The nightmares had decreased in frequency in recent months, but he’d had another the night before – the third since the fire at the abbey. Should he report them? The counselling had been helpful, no question, but did he really have the time? He was already taking personal time out to accompany Susan to the hospital. There was a strict no phones and do not disturb rule at the counsellor’s