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‘That’s the one,’ Poe confirmed. ‘Companies paid them to collect their hazardous waste. Atkinson’s job was to uplift their acids, alkalis and phenols and transport the waste back to their depot outside Distington. Sometimes it was safely disposed of, sometimes it was reconditioned and sold.’

‘Something went wrong, I take it?’

‘Human nature,’ Poe said. ‘Atkinson had had a late collection and by the time he returned to the depot it was shut. When that happened, he was supposed to call the duty manager who would come out and unlock the disposal unit. They would then get rid of whatever he’d collected together.’

‘What happened?’

‘Atkinson was going on holiday the next day and he hadn’t wanted to wait. So, instead of calling the duty manager and safely disposing of the five drums of contaminated acid he’d collected, he falsified the logbook to say he’d returned to the depot at 4 p.m. He then emptied everything onto some nearby waste ground. By the time he got back from holiday, two children had lost their sight and another had chemical burns on more than twenty per cent of their body.’

‘Oh my goodness,’ Bradshaw said. ‘That’s awful.’

‘Pretty much how everyone in Cumbria saw it. The Environment Agency charged him with unauthorised disposal of waste and, as it was a category one, deliberate offence, he was potentially looking at three years. The CPS charged him with a section twenty GBH.’

‘Grievous Bodily Harm?’ Flynn said. ‘How did they get away with that?’

‘There were culpability issues. The CPS argued that no reasonable person would illegally dispose of dangerous chemicals in a place where children were known to play.’

‘Still, it was a brave charging decision.’

‘It was in part driven to appease the local community and in part to appease the police. One of the children who lost their sight was the son of a police officer.’

‘You said “the man in the mask”. What was that about?’

‘That’s when the case took an even darker turn,’ Poe said. ‘Atkinson pleaded not guilty and it went to a full trial. He claimed that he did ring the duty manager. That the CEO’s son came and unlocked the gates for him. Took the material from him and told him that he’d dispose of it himself and that he should get away and start his holiday.’

‘Did the defence provide any evidence?’

‘None. The logbook was a key part of the prosecution’s trial strategy. It had been tampered with to look like Atkinson had returned from his rounds earlier than he did, before the disposal unit needed a duty manager to unlock it.’

‘So why …?’

‘Why did he go not guilty? The defence’s theory was that the CEO’s son didn’t know how the disposal unit worked. They suggested that, rather than humiliate himself in front of the staff by seeking help, he just dumped it and hoped no one would notice.’

‘And the jury were buying it?’

‘Nope. Not even a little bit.’

‘So?’

‘About three days before the scheduled end of the trial, something awful happened. Atkinson had been getting death threats. He’d reported them to the police and they’d said they’d have someone intermittently drive by his house.’

‘Seems light,’ Flynn said.

Poe nodded. ‘Very light. Anyway, on the morning in question, someone with a sense of irony threw concentrated acid at his face. Right outside the court.’

‘Ouch.’

‘The perp handed himself in and got sent down for GBH with intent. He got out a year ago. Nightingale’s got him in the cells already.’

‘Possible suspect?’

‘Not if I remember him correctly,’ Poe said. ‘Bit of a fuckwit. Impressionable. Mainly did it for the kudos.’

‘What happened to Atkinson?’

‘In hospital for months. Had nearly forty operations. Skin grafts, experimental surgery, everything. Nothing really worked, though, and he had to wear this burn mask twenty-four hours a day to keep his scar tissue moist.’

‘And the trial?’