“Sure. It’s the first thing that came to mind when I thought what I’d have done.”
“Are you OK?”
“What do you mean?”
“You look very pale.”
“Not enough iron,” Harry said, getting to his feet.
—
“The company that hires out the container comes and collects it when it’s full,” the bespectacled, dark-skinned woman said.
“And when was the last time that happened?” Harry said, looking at the big grey container standing next to the petrol station building. The woman—who had introduced herself as the manager—had explained that the skip was for the petrol station’s use, and was mostly used to get rid of packaging, and that she couldn’t recall seeing anyone dumping their own rubbish in it. The container had an open metal mouth at one end, and the woman had pressed a red button to demonstrate how the jaws compacted the rubbish and pressed it into the bowels of the container. Kaja was standing a few metres away making a note of the name and phone number of the container company, which was printed on the grey steel.
“The last time they replaced it was probably a month or so ago,” the manager said.
“Have the police opened it up and looked inside?” Harry asked.
“I thought you were the police?”
“The right hand doesn’t always know what the left hand is doing in such a large investigation. Could you open the container for us so we can take a look at what’s inside?”
“I don’t know. I’d have to call my boss.”
“I thought you were the boss,” Harry said.
“I said I was the manager of this petrol station, that doesn’t mean—”
“We understand.” Kaja smiled. “If you could call him or her, we’d be very grateful.”
The woman left them and disappeared inside the red and yellow building. Harry and Kaja stood there looking down at the artificial grass pitch where a couple of boys were practising the latest Neymar tricks they’d no doubt seen on YouTube.
After a while, Kaja looked at her watch. “Shall we go in and ask how it’s going?”
“No,” Harry said.
“Why not?”
“The knife isn’t in the container.”
“But you said…”
“I was wrong.”
“And what makes you so sure about that?”
“Look,” Harry said, pointing. “Security cameras. That’s why no one dumps anything in here. And a murderer who’s had the presence of mind to remove a well-camouflaged wildlife camera from the crime scene isn’t going to drive straight into a petrol station with cameras to get rid of the murder weapon.”
Harry started to walk towards the football pitch.
“Where are you going?” Kaja called after him.
Harry didn’t answer. Largely because he didn’t have an answer. Not until he reached the back of the petrol station and saw a building with the logo of the Ready sports club above the entrance. There were six green plastic bins beside the building. Outside the reach of the cameras. Harry opened the lid of the largest one and was hit by the rancid smell of rotting food.
He tilted the bin onto the two wheels at the back and moved it out into the open. There he tipped it over, spilling its contents.
“What a terrible smell,” Kaja said as she caught up with him.
