Loathe as he was to leap to conclusions about the McCall family, their investigation saw no other links to anyone with a criminal history. Holly’s peer group was relatively small for a girl of her age. Her social media presence was small, few friends and even fewer interactions and ultimately the theory of Occam’s Razor kept repeating in his mind. The simplest conclusion that relied on the fewest number of assumptions would arguably win out. They were probing and the sooner they cracked what was happening in Holly’s world the sooner her killer would be revealed. So far, no one claimed to really know Holly at all.
Callum was outside as Janssen approached. If he was surprised to see him with two liveried police cars pulling up alongside, then he didn’t show it. Getting out of the car, he crossed the short distance between them. Callum McCall turned his back. He stood before a small, open bonfire. A cloud of thick grey smoke was drifting into the air. The fire crackled and spat. It must have been burning damp wood and leaves to generate so much smoke. A gust of wind shifted its path in his direction and he felt the acrid taste in his mouth, blinking furiously to clear his watering eyes.
“We have a search warrant,” he declared, coming alongside and offering Callum the court document. He scanned it with his eyes before thrusting his hands into his pockets. Janssen turned to Tamara who indicated for the officers to begin the search. They split up, three moving towards the residence and the remainder fanning out to search the exterior. Scattered around were various outbuildings or sheds, cobbled together from various sources, odd bits of wood, tarpaulins and throwaway materials assembled over the years.
“You’ll not find it.” Callum stared into the fire, sniffing hard. He seemed calm, taking their presence in his stride. After a few seconds, his demeanour shifted, glancing briefly in Janssen’s direction. “Whatever it is you’re looking for, Janssen. It’s not here.”
“What are we looking for?” In truth, he didn’t expect an answer. The wind changed again, carrying the smoke away from them. Looking into the fire, he saw not only branches and leaves but also material of some description. It was dark blue, thick. “What’s with the fire?”
“Having a clear out.” Callum reached out, taking the search warrant from him. Another cursory examination followed before he screwed it into a ball and tossed it to the flames. Immediately the paper caught alight. “Useful for getting shot of all kinds of crap.”
The creaking sound of a door opening made him turn and Mark appeared from inside. He looked rattled. The presence of the police trawling through his home probably unsettled him. Having met his eye, Mark lingered by the door before coming closer. Callum turned and acknowledged his son’s approach.
“Don’t bother yourself, lad. They’ll be done soon enough.” He put an arm around Mark’s shoulder, pulling him in closer and giving him a firm shake. Mark’s head rocked slightly and he offered a weak smile accompanied by a nod. “You know how it is. When the filth has nothing, they just give the McCalls a tug.”
He felt his irritation rise. Not that he should expect anything different from a journeyman criminal such as Callum McCall. In and out of prison for most of his adult life, convictions for petty theft along with various other offences, he worked sporadically, labouring on farms and doing odd jobs. He wasn’t a hardcore criminal merely an opportunist always looking for an angle to exploit. It was this approach to life, alcoholism and a propensity towards violence that kept him in focus not some conspiratorial police prejudice. “We’re looking for stolen property, Mark.” The young man glanced at him and possibly feeling the burn of his father’s eyes quickly looked away. “You wouldn’t know of anything, would you?” Mark shook his head.
“Wasting your time,” Callum stated along with a dismissive wave of the hand. The hand was bandaged and it looked fresh, soiled slightly, no doubt from assembling the bonfire.
“That looks painful,” he said, pointing it out. Callum looked at his hand, flexing the fingers and frowning before dropping it to his side. “How did you do that?”
“I don’t remember. Must have sprained it or something.”
The remark was throwaway. Casual. He didn’t believe him for a second. Movement to his right caught his eye. Tamara was at the corner of the building beckoning him over.
“Tom. Come and have a look at this!” For the first time he saw the mask of indifference slip in Callum’s expression. It lasted barely a second before the veil of defiance reappeared but Mark saw it too, his agitation apparently increasing. Crossing to where she stood, Tamara inclined her head indicating for him to follow. They went to the rear. A lean-to was constructed against the back of the property. Little more than some off-cut planks, nailed together with a grey tarpaulin thrown over the top to offer some protection from the rain. It housed split logs, presumably for a burner, a rainwater barrel, filled from the guttering edging the roof and a few wooden crates. These were a foot square and filled with odds and ends, cans of oil, some rusty tools and smaller plastic sheets
