Out of Sight by Paul Gitsham

Author:Paul Gitsham [Gitsham, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2021-04-07T17:00:00+00:00

Thursday 8th December

Chapter 32

By the time Warren arrived in the office that morning, Karen Hardwick had tracked down the chair of the local allotment association. She gave him a thumbs-up when she saw him enter.

‘Yes, we do have a valid search warrant for Mr Grime’s allotment and any other outbuildings that he has access to, however we don’t know where his plot is. That’s why I am calling you,’ she rolled her eyes theatrically. Warren could hear a high-pitched squawking from the other end of the line.

‘No, it won’t be a breach of data protection for you to give us his plot number,’ she said politely.

After a few more seconds listening, she finally picked up her pen and scribbled in her notepad.

‘Thank you for your help. We’ll have an officer waiting for you at the main gates.’

Finally she hung up and let out a puff of air. ‘Done. Leon Grime leases a full-size plot just off the A506, roughly half-way between his house and the Easy Break Hotel.’

‘That’s convenient,’ said Warren.

‘The chair of the allotment association doesn’t know him personally, but according to her records he has rented the plot for the past fifteen years. He keeps it in good order, forks out the forty quid rent each year on time and has never had any complaints,’ she looked up and smiled. ‘And eight years ago, he applied for – and was granted – permission to erect a wooden shed.’

Traipsing around a muddy allotment in December was not Tony Sutton’s idea of fun. By contrast, Moray Ruskin was characteristically enthusiastic as they climbed out of the car and made their way through the sturdy double gates. A uniformed constable greeted them as they entered; white-suited technicians could be seen on the third plot from the end, providing entertainment for an older couple who’d given up any pretence of gardening.

‘Alex and I have been on the waiting list for a council allotment for the past two years,’ Ruskin said. ‘We’ll never afford a house with a garden, so it’s the only way we’ll ever be able to grow our own vegetables.’

‘You aren’t exactly their target demographic,’ said Sutton, motioning with his head towards the older couple.

‘You’d be surprised,’ said Ruskin. ‘It’s not all old codgers in their eighties. My cousin has had one since his twenties. Mad not to really; for forty quid a year, we’ll save a fortune on food.’ He lowered his voice slightly. ‘Besides, it’ll be good exercise for Alex and a lot cheaper than the gym subscription he never uses.’

Sutton laughed. ‘You’re a bad ’un, Moray.’

The plot had been sealed off, police tape fluttering on metal poles set into the ground. A CSI with a pair of bolt cutters was snipping the padlock off a small shed.

The outhouse was nothing special. It looked a lot like the one that Sutton had in his own garden: a treated wooden frame with a single window and door. The roof was covered in grey, tarred felt and angled to stop

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