The Trail Killer

Six

As they waited for the secretary to return from the manager's office, Shields studied the large framed photo on the wall of the waiting room. A black-and-white shot, turn of the century perhaps - grubby-faced workers up to their elbows in piles of fleece outside a modest-looking barn, the words Dixon's Wool painted above the door. It was a family-run business, clearly, one passed down from generation to generation and which had expanded considerably over the decades.

With a slow creak of the door, the petite, retirement-aged secretary re-emerged, offered a much-practised smile.

"Mr Dixon's currently on a call. He'll be happy to speak to you when it's---"

"No, he'll be happy to speak to us right now, actually."

Before the secretary was able to close the door, Shields thrust a forceful palm to it and strode on through. After mouthing 'sorry' to the secretary, Bridcutt followed a little more sheepishly behind.

With the phone receiver still clamped to his ear, the suited figure behind the large sleek desk glanced up at them with an opened mouth.

"Sorry Bert, something's come up. Going to have to call you back I'm afraid."

Shields judged him to be in his late-forties. Balding, pale, just a little rotund. A man clearly used to a generous business lunch or two. From the overflowing glass ashtray in the corner, something of a chain-smoker too it seemed.

Replacing the receiver, he gestured a hand to the Chesterfield settee beneath the window.

"Please, take a seat."

It was an invitation which Bridcutt gratefully accepted. After lowering himself down and stretching his arms along the shoulder, he let out a contented sigh. Shields glared at him unambiguously enough for him to shift forward once more, reassume the air of a CID officer conducting a murder investigation. It wasn't that she was completely against the idea of sinking herself down onto a comfy settee next to him - and maybe, just maybe, at some point in the future such a pleasant scenario might become a reality - but right at that moment she preferred to remain standing. The first rule of aggressive interviewing: whenever possible, stay at a higher eye-level than the person you were talking to. For a female officer interviewing a man, the added sense of authority it projected was essential.

"I'm DS Shields, my colleague here's DC Bridcutt. Branstead CID."

The man nodded. "Bryan Dixon, managing director." His welcoming smile was flickered by an obvious sense of preoccupation. "So, how can I help you officers?" His gaze veered from Bridcutt then back up to Shields.

"Shivay Gupta is one of your employees, right?" she began.

Dixon's eyebrows arched in surprise. "Shivay, yea. What...but I mean, what's he done exactly?"

Shields' response was cryptic. "Possibly nothing, possibly everything. Is he here somewhere on site?"

"Think I saw him earlier, yes."

"You think you saw him or did see him?"

Dixon stammered a little as he corrected himself. "I...I s-saw him, yes. I remember now"

"I need you to do two things for us, Mr Dixon. We need confirmation that Gupta wasn't at work on Tuesday morning and---"

"Tuesday morning. When that woman went missing?"

But Shields wasn't the sort to be side-tracked by an interruption. "And the fifth of June last year. We need you to---"

"Last June? But wasn't that when the other woman went missing?" Dixon's facial muscles flexed and tautened as he grappled with the implications. "Are you saying that---"