"I'll find out who the registered keeper is."
Janssen nodded and left her to make the call. He made his way past her and around to the driver's side. Making contact with the control room, she read out the licence plate and confirmed the index as it was read back to her. Then she waited. At the foot of the cliffs the breeze coming in off of the sea was strong but comfortable. Standing on the high point as she was now, exposed and out in the open, it was a different experience as she leaned into the wind to keep herself stable. Casting a glance back towards the extensive sea wall protecting the town, and knowing how fierce the North Sea could be when roused, she wondered how different this little coastal haven might look. Their victim echoed this contrast, an event of pure ugliness depicted in such beautiful surroundings. The more she thought about it, the more she doubted this was either an accident or a suicide. It was an instinctive conclusion but the evidence would follow. She was confident of that.
The radio in her hand crackled into life, snapping her from her thoughts. Turning to put her back to the wind, sheltering the handset, she acknowledged the controller.
"Go ahead."
"Vehicle is a black Range Rover, first registered at the beginning of October last year…" Cassie did a quick mental calculation, that meant the vehicle did less than a thousand miles per month; precious little in this era. The information continued to flow. "The registered keeper is a company by the name of AMK Logistics Solutions, a limited company based in London."
The controller read out the address recorded on the database along with a landline telephone number he had found lodged against the company on the Police National Computer. Cassie placed her radio on the roof of the car as she made a note, awkwardly writing in her notebook whilst trying to listen. No more details about the company were forthcoming and Cassie tucked the radio back into her coat pocket, taking out her mobile. She had a strong reception which she found both pleasing and surprising in equal measure. Opening up a browser window she did a google search for the company by name. The list of returns came back negative with the search engine offering alternatives and querying her spelling. It was unusual for a business to have no online presence these days, reputable and legitimate ones anyway.
Janssen came back to join her, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at her thoughtful expression.
"Just checking something," she said in response to his unasked question, tapping numbers into her mobile before hitting the green button on the screen. Raising the handset to her ear, she waited for the call to connect. Almost immediately, she heard a mechanical voice repeating a recorded message.
The number you are calling has not been recognised. Please check the number and try again.
Double checking the number she dialled against the one provided by the control room, she shook her head, returning the mobile to her pocket.
"What can you tell me?" Janssen asked.
"The car's registered to a logistics company based in London, AMK Logistics Solutions. Somewhere in Lewisham. Sorry, I'm not familiar with where that is."
"South east London," he said.
She tilted her head thoughtfully to one side, considering the potential relevance of the location but nothing came to mind.
"I've done a quick search but the business has no online presence at all. If its trade is in logistics then that's moving stuff around; people, commodities or related services. The telephone number is either bogus or disconnected."
"Gone bust?" he said.
"Perhaps."
"Focus on putting a name to our victim first and the rest will follow."
"Yes, sir," she said.
Janssen frowned. She realised her error. The basic level of familiarity within the team was going to take a bit of getting used to.
"Sorry… Tom."
"Better," he replied with a warm smile. "You'll get there."
"I will," she said, inwardly knowing that she would definitely make the same mistake again.
Janssen produced the evidence bag containing the keys from his pocket.
"This one is interesting," he said, holding the bag up and pointing to one of the keys in particular. The blade of the key was brass, or was at least coloured to appear so, with the bow being made up of a plastic mix of black and orange. The bow bore an imprinted name of the manufacturer, one she had never heard of, and alongside the name was a serial number. The cuts were also unlike anything she'd seen before being inlaid concentric circles, rather than notches.
"Good luck getting Timpson's to cut you a spare for that," she said.
Janssen nodded.
"The blade is magnetic as well. Strikes me as high-end, technology-based security."
"Who uses that around here, do you think?"
Janssen shrugged.
"I don't know. Since the town has undergone its regeneration in recent years and seen the property money flowing in… it could be anywhere. It might be nothing."
"I'll call the manufacturers. Something that bespoke will need to be registered with them for spares and so on. Maybe they can help us out."
"Good thinking," Janssen said. "In the meantime, all we have locally to follow is that leaflet."
"The food bank?"
Janssen nodded.
"He might have just picked up the leaflet from a passer-by."
"Quite possibly," Janssen said. "But you never know. It's run by one of the local church groups. We can pay them a visit on the way back to the station. Maybe they can put a name to the face."
"Do you know them, the organisers?"
He shook his head. "No, can't say I do. My parents were never too fussed about religion and it's been a long time since I've set foot in a church."
"You and me both. I wouldn't be surprised if I burst into flames as soon as I cross the threshold."
Janssen grinned. "In that case, I'll keep a respectable distance."
Chapter Four
The entrance to the property from the main road was narrow and Janssen felt he had to ease his way onto the drive. The brick wall encompassing the flint-fronted house was extensive and most likely original to when the building was first constructed. The pillars set to either side were not designed with modern cars in mind. The gravel-lined drive wound its way to the front of the house, sweeping past and back to the highway via a separate access gate.
"Nice place," Cassie said, eyeing the exterior of the rectory as the wheels crunched the gravel.
"It's unusual for the church to hold onto these old houses," he said, following her gaze as he brought the car to a stop outside the front door.
The building was large and set within extensive grounds. Often, these characterful properties were sold and replaced with a more modest, modern home that required much less in the way of upkeep. The sound of their approach must have carried because Janssen saw a curtain move in one of the downstairs rooms. It could have been caused by a draught but it was a significant movement. No sooner were they out of the car than the front door opened and the vicar appeared.
"Good morning," he said, accompanied with a warm smile that spread the width of his face.
"Reverend Ebling?" Janssen asked.
The vicar nodded. "The very same. What gave it away?"