The Tower Read Free Page B

killer,’ he added.
    â€˜Is there a digital record of lift movements?’
    â€˜No,’ said Randall, his amiability dropping a few notches. ‘I wish there was. The system doesn’t do that. It can do a lot. Turn a lift on and off. Make a pass inactive with the hit of a button. But there is no historical record.’
    â€˜So we don’t know how the victim got up there?’
    â€˜No. But someone was watching the CCTV monitors here all the time from the moment we knew she’d fallen. So we’re sure no one has come out of the lifts or the stairwells since she fell. There was no time. And this is the only way out.’
    â€˜Apart from the vehicle exit,’ Troy said.
    â€˜Sure. But that’s well guarded too, and we’ve checked the CCTV. Nothing.’
    â€˜We’ll need the discs.’
    â€˜Harmer has them already.’
    He continued to walk towards the lifts, but Troy stopped and pulled out his notebook to record the information he’d just been given. He’d always assumed construction sites were fairly simple places, but this didn’t sound simple. While he was writing, Inspector Harmer left the group of uniforms nearby and came over to him.
    â€˜I don’t want anyone up there until we’ve cleared the building,’ she said.
    She was very short. Whatever the lower height limit had been when she’d joined the force, she must have only just scraped in.
    Troy said, ‘I won’t get in the way of your operation.’
    â€˜I believe your colleague’s already up there?’
    He nodded, and sensed from the look in her eyes that she knew it was McIver, knew something about him, and was not entirely happy. He often saw that look in the eyes of older cops.
    â€˜I can’t spare anyone to go up with you at the moment,’ she said. ‘Give us half an hour, I’d appreciate it.’
    The cop with the clipboard called out to Harmer, waving a mobile phone. She frowned at Troy and looked as though she was about to say more, but then the man called her again, urgency in his voice, and she walked away. Troy gave her a few seconds and then continued on his way to the lifts. If you were in McIver’s team, you had to play by his logic. Fuzzy logic. If Harmer did know him, she’d realise this.
    â€˜Everything okay?’ said Randall.
    â€˜Fine.’
    The lift doors opened and they got in. The lift was big, with posters on the battered metal walls advertising safety regulations and a union finance company. As they ascended, Randall was quiet, staring at the flashing numbers above the door, biting his lip. He was wearing a bulky orange jacket now, and holding two hard hats. He handed one to Troy, and told him he had to put it on.
    â€˜OH and S,’ he said.
    Troy put it on, and thought about what he’d learned so far.
    â€˜It’s Bazzi, isn’t it?’
    The Irishman’s face was blank. ‘What’s Bazzi?’
    â€˜You record the name of everyone who comes onto the site?’
    â€˜If they’re walking. And if it’s a van, we check the driver’s ID and record the rego number. Make sure it’s supposed to be here.’
    â€˜Well,’ Troy said, ‘for a woman to be on the site with no record, the shift manager must be involved. It would take some arranging. I don’t see how it could be done otherwise.’
    Randall said nothing, his eyes still fixed on the flashing numbers. Then, as the lift stopped at level thirty: ‘Until tonight, I had every reason to trust the fellow.’
    The first thing Troy noticed when the doors opened was the wind. Randall had been zipping up his jacket in the lift, and now Troy knew why. Thirty storeys above the ground, no windows, the wind came straight at you, right through your clothes like you were being snapfrozen. The two men stepped out of the lift and the doors closed behind them. Apart from a light next to a stairwell nearby, the