Ray grunted as he mulled the thought over. “Sooner or later, whatever they placed on top would be lifted. It’d be seen.”
“Might give our murderer time to work out what to do. But if they were in a rush and looking for a quick way to cover their tracks, that would be one way of doing it.”
“Okay. Good. Very good.” Joseph caught a hint of surprise in Ray’s voice, but he tried not to let it bother him. “What we need to do now then is work out, first, who was on site that night who could use a crane. Not necessarily giving us a list of suspects, but it would certainly help if and when your theory is confirmed. Secondly, we need to talk to Mr Nadderley to figure out how we get underneath all these crates.”
“I don’t suppose he’s going to be happy with that either, is he?”
“Miracles might happen.”
*
Despite their reservations, Derek managed to be far more forthcoming this time. He drew up a list of people who had been trained to operate the cranes. Unfortunately, it didn’t rule many people out, especially given that a lot of the crates could be moved by hand-operated cranes, rather than necessarily needing the larger mechanical ones. But he delivered the list and a team of men that Derek said he could spare to work with them as they went around the different crates. As he explained the scale of the job, it became clear that, for normal operations to have any chance of carrying on, some crates would be moved as part of the day-to-day comings and goings. Derek had no issue with Ray’s suggestion that every time an item on the dock got moved, a police officer would come to inspect underneath the item. It would be a labour-intensive endeavour. The overtime pay would be welcomed by the officers, but there would be push-back from the higher-ups. Budgets had to be met after all. Ray offered to stay later tonight to do the first shift.
“Well, you won’t find many comforts here, but if you want to stay that’s up to you,” Derek said. “I’ll work out a schedule of what’s going when and ask the lads to keep an eye out for anything that’s where it shouldn’t be.”
“Thank you,” Ray replied. “How quickly do you think this could be done, realistically speaking?”
“A couple of days. A lot of stuff that comes in here is gone inside a day or two. There are a few bits and bobs that hang around longer. Usually stuff coming in on trains that’s waiting for a boat. They can be a couple of weeks if it’s the right sort of goods.”
“Well, let’s try not to take that long, shall we? The sooner we can get this done, the sooner you can go back to normal.”
“Now that would be nice.” Derek’s voice hovered somewhere between sincere and sneer and the fact that Joseph couldn’t tell which made him uncomfortable.
*
They left Derek to begin to plot how he should best organise his men to help with the search of the heavy machinery and set off walking across the yard back to the spot where Gerald’s body had been found.
“I’m going to ask you to do me a favour on your way back to the station,” Ray said as they walked towards the water’s edge, giving the impression that Joseph might have been able to decline if he wanted to. Both knew that wasn’t the case.
“A favour?”
“Can you call in on the girl who Cyril told us about?”
“Janet Scott?”
“That’s the one. Here,” Ray said, handing Joseph a folded piece of paper. “Her address. Asked the girls back in the office to sort it out. I hoped we’d get a chance to go over together, but time is of the essence and I’m going to be tied up here. I’d rather not have it hanging over us tomorrow morning.”
“Is there anything in particular you want me to ask?”
“Everything and anything.” Joseph nodded, but Ray wasn’t done. “If her husband is there, find a way to be diplomatic. It might be that you can’t get everything out of her now that you might want to. It’d be best not to scare her away.”
“Yes, of course. No problem,” Joseph said, his mind immediately paralysed by the fear of saying the wrong thing to the wrong person.
“Good man,” Ray smiled, placing an arm on Joseph’s shoulder. “I know I can count on you.”
8.
Janet Scott lived in Plumstead, to the east of Woolwich, with her husband and two children. It was early evening by the time Joseph arrived on the street where she lived. Street lights caught the clouds formed by his breath as he passed beneath them. Joseph hated this time of year. The darker nights meant more work for him and the cold and damp always seemed to force their way to the very insides of his bones. Already he longed for the spring. He rubbed his hands together in a furtive attempt to warm them, making a silent note to look for his gloves when he returned home.
The Scotts’ house was squeezed almost slap bang in the middle of a long row of terraced houses. A small wooden fence separated a thin scrap of land that purported to be a front yard, but which in truth offered very little in terms of space, and what it did have had been consumed by a wild-looking bush that Joseph assumed had been planted and then forgotten about long ago. He passed through the gate, which wobbled flimsily out in front of him.
He reached the door and rapped his knuckles on the wood, stepping backwards as he waited for an answer. A male voice shouted from inside, muffled by the building. Exasperated or impatient, Joseph couldn’t tell. Then came the sound of the lock being turned and the door opening. A man greeted him.
“Mr Scott?” Joseph asked as the man eyed him suspiciously.
“Yeah?” The response sounded like a challenge and the man’s face suggested the same. He looked as if he hadn’t long returned from work. His hair tussled with itself on his head and smudges of dirt and grease smeared his face, whilst his blue overalls bore the same marks, the sleeves rolled up to show tarnished arms. Only his hands were clean. At least he had some idea of good hygiene.
Joseph took his warrant card from inside his jacket pocket and presented it. “DS Joseph Walsh. I was wondering if I could talk to your wife. Is she in?”
“No.”
“No, she isn’t in, or no I can’t talk to her?”
“Well, if it’s one, it’s got to be the other as well. Unless you’re going to shout really loud.”
Joseph knew Alfie was lying. He hadn’t heard another voice from inside the house, but if he had, he knew it would have been the voice of Janet Scott.
“Do you know when she’ll be back? I could come in and wait.” He stepped forward only to be met by a firm hand from the man.
“I don’t know, no. And no, you can’t.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“Well, now I am.”
The man hesitated, as if debating briefly whether to give that information up. Some misdemeanours in his past that might mean telling his name to the police might tar his image or worse, have him slapped in cuffs. Joseph made a note to look it up after.
