A chill breeze buffeted Kay’s hair as they turned the corner into the street where the vehicle had been last seen on CCTV, and she bowed her head against the onslaught.
‘Bloody road’s designed like a wind tunnel,’ said Carys, buttoning her jacket.
Kay murmured her agreement, but her attention was taken by the houses to either side of where they walked.
In front of most, a shallow paved area split the property from the pavement they walked. Some had been enclosed with a low brick wall or hedge to give the residents a modicum of privacy from the street and had been decorated with small collections of potted plants. Others lay bare, exposing cracked concrete and weeds that seemed to dominate the footpath to the houses’ front doors.
She craned her neck to see to the end of the road.
The camera that had recorded the car’s passing was placed on the side of a corner shop, below an advertising board that stated the first floor was available to lease.
Two uniformed officers exited one of the properties a little ahead of her and Carys and waited by a thin privet hedge to let them pass. Kay recognised one of them as a young probationer she’d worked with six months previously.
He’d already aged with the job, and no longer looked like the scrawny teenager she’d met before.
‘Constable Parker, isn’t it?’
He nodded.
‘Any luck?’
‘No. We’re only about halfway along, though.’
‘Spoken to the shopkeeper?’
‘Last on the list for this street, so no – not yet.’
‘All right. We’ll have a word with him. We’re heading that way anyway.’
‘Thanks, Sarge.’
‘I would’ve thought they’d have started with the shopkeeper first,’ said Carys as they continued past the houses.
‘He doesn’t own the CCTV camera – it was installed by the council,’ said Kay. ‘I expect their supervisor’s taking the view that we need to find the vehicle owner’s house first. Makes sense.’
They passed a female uniformed officer who was pacing the street, collecting the door-to-door enquiry forms from her colleagues as they worked, ready to enter the details into HOLMES on their return to the station.
Kay had sensed the frustration of the uniformed team when chatting with Parker – whoever the driver was, he’d taken care to shield his face from the CCTV cameras his vehicle passed under the night before. The medical staff at the hospital had been adamant the police couldn’t take photographs of the man while he was still under observation in the critical care unit – too much risk of infection, Sharp had been told.
It didn’t matter – the man’s face was so swollen and bruised from the accident and subsequent surgery, it was unlikely anyone would recognise him if they had managed to obtain photographs.
Kay led Carys across the junction at the end of the road and strode across the chewing gum-stained pavement outside the shop.
A group of three teenagers, all on bicycles, glared at her as she approached. The middle-sized one, his hair the colour of washed out bleach, yelled after an older woman who hurried away from the shop tugging a shopping trolley after her.
They fell silent when Kay drew near.
‘Do you live around here?’
‘Nah,’ said the shortest of the three. ‘Cheaper ciggies here, innit?’
‘Shouldn’t you be in school?’
The three lads sniggered.
‘Day off,’ said the oldest. ‘School closed ’cause of a teachers’ strike.’
‘Got your cigarettes?’
‘Yeah.’
‘All right. Now, clear off. No hanging around and intimidating the other customers.’
They glared at her, but turned their bikes and pedalled away, catcalling over their shoulders.
Kay shook her head.
‘Do you know them?’ asked Carys.
‘I arrested the oldest one for stealing from a shop over at Shepway eighteen months ago,’ said Kay. She sighed. ‘No doubt I’ll be seeing him again soon.’
She pushed the door to the shop open, an electronic ping sounding behind the counter to the left of her.
An elderly man fussed behind it, restacking newspapers and straightening a small display of sweets to the right of the till.
‘They’re nothing but trouble,’ he grumbled. ‘You lot should come around more often.’
Kay held out her warrant card. ‘DS Hunter, and this is my colleague, DC Miles. We wanted to ask you a few questions regarding a vehicle spotted on the CCTV camera above the shop.’
‘It’s not my camera.’
‘We’re aware of that, thanks – it belongs to the council, right?’
‘That’s right. Landlord insisted on putting it up there.’ He winked. ‘Reckon they paid him for the rent of the space. Hate to think what he charged them. That’s why the offices above are empty. Costs too much, see?’
Kay turned to a new page of her notebook. ‘What’s your name, please?’
‘Higgins. Malcolm Higgins.’
‘And you’ve had this shop for how long?’
‘About twenty years. Should’ve sold up ages ago. Too late now – business doesn’t make enough these days, so no-one’s interested in buying it.’
Carys fished out a colour photograph of the vehicle. The image had been captured by one of the CCTV cameras in the town and provided the best view of the car. The one taken from the camera above the shop had been too blurred.
‘Have you seen this vehicle around here?’
The man took the photograph from her and peered through smeared glasses at it. His brow puckered.
‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘Is he local?’
‘That’s what we’re trying to find out,’ said Kay.
‘What’s he done, then?’
She smiled. ‘We wish to speak to him in relation to an ongoing investigation.’
The shopkeeper snorted and passed the photograph back. ‘Rehearsed that, did you?’
‘Do you know the owner of this vehicle or not?’
He shook his head. ‘Can’t help you, I’m afraid. I don’t really have time to watch the traffic go past.’
Kay glanced over her shoulder at the deserted shop and the dust covering the shelves nearest to her. ‘Right. Well, thanks for your time, Mr Higgins.’
She turned back towards the door.
‘You make sure you get those coppers out there to come back every day,’ the man called after her. ‘Pain in the arse, those teenage kids.’
The front
