Page 133 of In Too Deep

“Depends.”

“On?”

“What turns up.”

“Thirty? Forty?”

“If you like.”

Harrison nodded as though the answer had been useful. “And you personally oversee each vehicle?”

Davo frowned. “What d’you mean?”

“Is it possible a silver Ford Fiesta came through your yard without you knowing about it?”

Davo said nothing.

Harrison glanced around the cramped office. Grease-stained invoices. Empty mugs. A Playboy calendar hanging crookedly beside the door. A framed family photograph sat half-buried beneath dust on a filing cabinet. Davo, a woman Harrison assumed was his wife, and two girls between them, all sunburnt shoulders and bright grins beneath an impossibly blue sky.

He brought his attention back to Davo.

“Lauren Pike’s body was recovered from the river on Monday. Twenty-six years old. Whole life ahead of her. Vulnerable young woman.”

“Heard she were a whore.”

Harrison’s gut clenched at the flippancy of that. “And because men paid her for sex, she deserved to be raped, beaten to death and dumped in a river, did she?”

Davo adjusted himself in the chair, rubbing a hand over his mouth. So Harrison let him sit with the image for a while. Let him imagine it. And let him look at the photo of his wife and daughters while he did it.

Then, “We know Lauren Pike’s vehicle reached Hartswick. We also know it hasn’t been identified leaving by any route we’ve examined. Which rather narrows the possibilities.”

“Already told your lot. Never seen her. Never seen her motor.”

“Which brings me back to my question. Could it have come through here without you seeing it?”

Davo said nothing.

Harrison sighed. This was going to be considerably more difficult that he’d hoped. “You employ mechanics?”

“Aye.”

“How many?”

“Seven.”

“Any work nights?”

“No.”

“Weekends?”

“Sometimes.”

“Saturday the fifteenth?”

“Can’t remember.”

“You keep a rota?”