‘Where the hell was he doing there?’ Cameron wondered aloud, checking the map on his phone. ‘There’s nothing out here except farms and old industrial sites.’ He picked up the binoculars and pointed them at the warehouse.
‘Maybe that’s the point,’ Art replied. ‘You want privacy; you don’t stay in populated areas.’
Just then, another set of headlight beams cut through the darkness and the car pulled in, the lights dying.
Brodie got out and slipped into Art’s car. ‘Move the seat up a bit, Art, there’s a good lad.’
Art moved his seat an inch, glad he hadn’t had to drive in this position all the way here. ‘Barry Mitchell left a few minutes ago,’ he told Brodie.
‘Right, it looks abandoned, so let’s drive up and have a look. We’ll leave our cars here,’ he said, nodding to Lucy, who agreed.
Art drove back out onto the road and turned into the farm’s driveway, driving slowly towards the building, the tyres crunching over gravel and broken glass. Up close, the warehouse looked even more decrepit – rust stains running down the metal siding like tears, weeds growing through every crack in the concrete apron that surrounded it.
They got out of the car, and Art immediately noticed something that made his detective’s instincts prickle with warning. ‘You smell that?’
Cameron sniffed the air, frowning. ‘Smell what?’
‘Gas. Natural gas, maybe propane. Faint, but it’s definitely there.’ Art moved towards the side door Barry had used, noting that it appeared to be slightly ajar. ‘That’s a safety concern. Legitimate reason to investigate without a warrant.’ He looked at Brodie. ‘Your call, sir.’
Brodie nodded. ‘I didn’t drive up here to smell manure. But I can smell gas.’
‘Gas leak in an abandoned building? That’s a public safety issue. We’d be negligent not to check it out.’ Art pushed the door open slowly, letting his eyes adjust to the dimmer interior. ‘Besides, the door’s already open. Someone’s left it unsecured.’
The warehouse was mostly empty, which somehow made it feel more sinister than if it had been full of stored goods. The concrete floor was cracked and stained, with patterns that might have been oil or might have been something else. Exposed roof beams created a cathedral-like space overhead, and windows set high in the walls let in weak grey daylight that didn’t quite reach the corners.
But there was evidence of recent activity. Tyre tracks in the dust showed that vehicles had been in here fairly recently – certainly more recently than the building’s abandoned appearance would suggest. Areas of the floor had been swept or cleared,creating clean patches among the general deterioration. And in the far corner, barely visible in the dim light, was what looked like a workspace – a table with various items on it, chairs around it, some kind of equipment.
‘Someone’s been using this place,’ Cameron observed quietly, his voice echoing slightly in the empty space.
‘Question is, for what?’ Art moved forward carefully, scanning the space for any signs of immediate danger. ‘The gas smell’s coming from somewhere in the back of the building, probably a broken line or disconnected tank. Nothing immediately explosive, but enough to justify our presence here.’
‘Christ, am I supposed to remember all of this for my report?’ Cameron said.
‘Talk it out loud. It’s easier to remember when we get back to the station.’
‘I’ll start by writing something like, ex-detective inspector McKenzie made me do it.’
‘Aye, that’s it, son, teamwork.’ Art made a face and tutted.
‘Right you two, keep your eyes peeled,’ Brodie said. He had brought a torch and was shining it around the warehouse. There were racks along one wall. Then the light caught a door at the back, next to a roller door.
‘Let’s check that out,’ Brodie said.
Lucy had her own torch and was sweeping it around the empty place, turning round to make sure nobody had slipped in behind them. And then she saw it, lying on the floor, sticking out from under a rack.
A Police Scotland warrant card. And not just any warrant card.
Art stepped closer, reading the name printed on the official identification: DCI Alan McRae.
The warehouse suddenly felt very cold despite the mildtemperature outside. The implications crashed over Art like a wave – Alan McRae, missing for two weeks, last known to be investigating The Embalmer case and asking uncomfortable questions about Thomas Mitchell. And here was his warrant card, in a warehouse owned by Mitchell, hidden well enough that Barry Mitchell apparently couldn’t find it during his rushed visit.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Cameron breathed.
‘Where exactly did you find that?’ Brodie asked, his voice carefully controlled despite the adrenaline coursing through his system.
‘Behind those pipes, near the floor.’
Brodie crouched down, examining the area without touching anything. If there had been a struggle here, if McRae had been fighting for his life, his warrant card could have come loose from his pocket or belt and disappeared behind the pipes without anyone noticing.
