IMPLANT

by Ray Clark

  “No hints about the family secret?” asked Gardener, convinced that drugs – more than anything else – would be the likely reason.

  “There were rumours, of course, but nothing definite. He’s got previous. First time we saw him was on a robbery charge, with violence. There were a spate of ’em on chemists in the area, Bursley Bridge, Ilkley, Bramley.

  “Anyway, he broke into the one in the town here, about seven year ago. The old chemist was still working. In the back room, stock-taking, had the lights in the shop switched off. Wilson got a surprise. The old man put up a good fight, but he finished up with busted ribs, a broken jaw, and lost the sight in one of his eyes. I reckon Wilson took him for dead.

  “He did a stretch in Armley, which is where I reckon he met Lance Hobson. We’ve arrested Wilson a couple of times since, selling drugs to schoolkids, dealing in the local pubs.”

  “Who’s Lance Hobson?”

  “He’s the main man, the real dealer. From what I know, Wilson was Hobson’s runner – gofer, if you like. So the big man might well be behind all this.”

  “A disagreement, maybe? Perhaps Wilson was trying to take over?” offered Gardener.

  “I doubt it very much, he hasn’t got the bottle,” replied Cragg. “But the other one you’ve dragged in, Pollard, he’s a different kettle of fish. He’s big enough to take Hobson on. And there’s been rumours that he wants to.”

  “Does he now?” replied Reilly. “That’s interesting. Could be one reason why Pollard was at the scene.”

  “Criminal returning to the scene of the crime? Pollard might well be our man,” said Gardener. “If he wants to take over Hobson’s empire, what better way than to take out the people on the inside? Where can we find Hobson?”

  “I’m not sure,” replied Cragg. “He lives in a big house out near Harrogate. I can get the details for you. Tell you the truth, I haven’t seen him for a while.”

  “Please, Maurice,” Gardener replied. “Get me everything you can on all three, Hobson, Pollard, and Wilson. And find out who they shared cells with, if you can. Sean and I are going to talk to Old Man Armitage. I think we’ve kept him waiting long enough.”

  Cragg headed for the door, when Gardener stopped him. “Just one more question. Do you think the old man knew about the drug habit?”

  “I’ve no idea, sir. I don’t think he’s been working for his uncle all that long. But I do have it on good authority that he was using the company van for his ill-gotten gains of late. Like I said, blood’s thicker than water. Maybe the old man was trying to straighten him out.”

  “Someone certainly has,” replied Reilly.

  After Cragg left, Gardener used his mobile phone to call Fitz to see if there was any news on the post-mortem. The pathologist’s assistant said he was still working on the body. Gardener put his phone back in his pocket.

  “What do you think, Sean?”

  “Same as always, boss. It’s an open playing field.”

  “I know what you mean. Too many people fit the bill. I don’t like the tarot card, but I can’t for the life of me see why a clairvoyant would want to kill Wilson.”

  “The other way round might have fit better. Someone as rash as Wilson having their fortune told might not like what they hear. I reckon that would be enough reason for him.”

  “Maybe, but it’s unlikely someone of Wilson’s calibre would want to know in the first place.”

  “Doesn’t strike me as your traditional drug killing,” offered Reilly.

  “An old man who runs a hardware shop doesn’t really fit the bill either. He’s far too old to have carried out that one. Without help, anyway.”

  “I wouldn’t disagree with that.”

  “There is one other possibility,” said Gardener.

  “Go on.”

  “The stitching. It’s clean, looks reasonably professional...”

  Cragg popped his head round the door and interrupted the two detectives.

  “Thought you might like to know, the computer’s just pulled up pre-cons for Jackie Pollard. Amongst other things he was a trainee doctor, thrown out of the NHS for stealing drugs.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Albert Armitage was already seated by the time Gardener and Reilly stepped into the room they were using to conduct interviews. Gardener would have preferred more comfortable surroundings for the old man, but they had decided to use a standard cell with recording equipment. Other than a table and four chairs, there was very little else.

  Armitage stood, raised his hand and tipped his hat. “Good morning to you, Mr Gardener.”

  He was dressed in a camel hair coat that seemed as if it had been bought only yesterday, but Gardener thought otherwise. He was the same height as him, but more chunkily built, with grey hair, grey eyes, and a grey moustache. Although he had a nose and a mouth like everyone else, his face seemed featureless. His gestures, however, said to Gardener that they probably had a real character on their hands.

  “You too, Mr Armitage.”

  Both detectives shook hands with him before taking a seat.

  “I apologise for the hospitality,” said Gardener. “You are not under arrest, but we would like to record the conversation if you’re okay with that.”

  “I have nothing to hide, Mr Gardener,” replied Armitage, his arms folded.

  Armitage removed the expensive camel hair coat and was now dressed as if ready to open his shop. He wore a beige-coloured smock that bore the stains of his trade: grease, paint, and oil to name but a few. Underneath the overalls, Gardener noticed grey trousers, and a pair of black brogue shoes.

  “I appreciate that,” said Gardener. “It’s possible you’ll say something that we might later have to come back to.”

  “No doubt I will, Mr Gardener. I must say I wouldn’t like your job.”

  “There are times when we don’t like it, but it’s not all doom and gloom. We have our fair share of rewards along the way.”

  Armitage simply nodded, as if there was little else to add. For a seventy-year-old man, he was doing well. His grey hair was still thick and wavy. He had very few lines on his face. From what Gardener could tell, his teeth were his own. His physique suggested he didn’t miss many meals either. Not that he was fat, more hale and hearty.

  Gardener started the tapes and introduced Reilly, then asked Armitage about his life and the shop.

  Armitage turned the tables almost immediately. “Mr Gardener, are you going to tell me what’s happened?”

  “In good time, Mr Armitage.”

  “You drag me out of bed quite early this morning and I’ve been here for some time now, but you don’t tell me what’s going on? I think that’s a little unfair.”

  “To be fair, you’re here of your own free will. We haven’t kept you, but we do have good reasons for not telling you anything at the moment,” replied Reilly.

  “I’m sure you do,” Armitage said with a sigh.

  He kept his arms folded. Gardener suspected he was holding up well and would probably continue to do so, even when he found out who and what was in his basement.

  “You can see for yourself, Mr Gardener. My place would be well-suited to Last of the Summer Wine, or Open All Hours. It’s a very old-fashioned place, and it’s run the way I like it. The way my father used to run it before me.”

  “How long has the business been there?” asked Gardener.

  “Since 1939. Despite being old enough to join the war effort, my father was not fit. He was turned down by the Army. That was a blow to him. He wanted to serve king and country. He told me many a time that he and my grandfather used to talk often, and it was his father’s dream to run his own business, selling tools and everyday items. Stuff that people were always going to want. When my grandfather died, he left my father a tidy little nest egg, enough to buy that place and live out the dream.”

  “When did you join him?”

  “When I was fifteen, straight out of school. It’s all I’ve ever known, and I know it well.”


  “Has it always been you?” asked Gardener. “No partners?”

  “No, sir, always me.”

  “You made a reference to running it just the way you like it. I take it by that you mean you like the old-fashioned methods? I notice there are no computers.”

  “Don’t need computers, Mr Gardener. I come from good stock, with good memories. I know where everything is, and what I have in there. I keep my stock records on cards, not a computer.”

  “Where are they?”

  “The big cabinet with all the drawers, behind the counter.”

  “I thought as much. Your suppliers, you know them all well?”

  “All of them, by name.”

  “Any problems with them?” asked Reilly.

  “What do you mean by problems?”

  “Anything. Faulty stock, late deliveries, the usual sort of thing.”

  “It’s the nature of the business, Mr Reilly. You’re always going to face things like that, but we’re all adult enough to get over them. I’ve been dealing with my suppliers for years. We know each other well enough to sort things out amicably.”

  “What about your customers, Mr Armitage?” asked Gardener. “Do you know those as well as your suppliers? Do they talk things over when there’s a problem?”

  “What are you getting at?” replied Armitage, leaning forward.

  “I’m not getting at anything. You’re helping me with my investigation, and in order to do that I’d like you to answer my questions.”

  Armitage sighed. “Once again, usual run of the mill stuff. You can’t run a business without it. If we sell faulty goods, we replace them, without question.”

  “Okay, so there are faulty goods now and again. Any disgruntled customers?”

  “Not my regulars, they understand as well as I do. New customers may not be so patient.”

  “And on that subject, have you had many new customers that would cause you concern for any reason?”

  “None that I can think of.”

  “Anyone asking strange questions that don’t fit with the business?”

  “That could mean anything,” replied Armitage. “Someone asking for directions wouldn’t really fit with my business, but I wouldn’t have a problem with it.”

  “I meant something more specific. Maybe it was a bad example. What about people asking for strange or unusual tools?”

  Armitage thought for a moment, but had to eventually say that he could not recall anything.

  “Any recent disagreements you can think of regarding pricing, or the returning of a faulty article?”

  “Like I said, Mr Gardener, we replace faulty goods immediately. As for pricing, well, you’re always going to have competition. But I like to think I sell quality goods, charge a fair price, and offer a good service. Anyone who thinks any different is quite at liberty to shop elsewhere, but we won’t fall out over it.”

  “I presume you have a lot of trade customers,” said Gardener. “Any of them have accounts with you?”

  “Only the ones I can trust. You have to remember, Mr Gardener, it’s a small business. I can’t afford to let too many people have credit.”

  “And those that have settle on time, do they?” It was only the second question Reilly had asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Any financial problems?” asked Reilly.

  “Do I look as if I have financial problems, Mr Reilly?”

  “Never can tell, Mr Armitage.”

  “I don’t pay myself unreasonable bonuses. So, if you want a straight answer, no, I do not have any financial problems.”

  “It’s a nice spot you have there, Mr Armitage,” said Gardener. “Ideally placed for all the local business and the passing trade. Anyone approached you wanting to buy the place?”

  “As a matter of fact, there are a number of companies that have shown some interest, especially for when I decide to retire. In fact, one of my trade customers said he would like first refusal.”

  “Before you go, we need a list of those customers, in particular the one who’s interested in taking it off your hands.”

  “Certainly. Are you going to tell me what this is all about now?”

  “Who has keys to the shop?”

  “Just me and Alex, apart from a spare set my wife keeps for emergencies.”

  “Is the building alarmed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who knows the codes?”

  “Same again, me and Alex and my wife.”

  “Alex Wilson? Your nephew?”

  “Yes, have you spoken to him?”

  “No.”

  “Well, when you do, tell him I’d like a word.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “Back end of last week, lazy little tyke.”

  “And how did he seem?”

  “Same as always. He’s a bloody airhead, can’t keep his mind on any one thing for too long. You have to keep at him if you want a job done.”

  “Did he seem nervous about anything?”

  “You obviously don’t know him,” replied the old man. “He was always nervous.”

  “Any idea why?”

  “He’s always been like it. You get used to it after a while.”

  Gardener knew the time was fast approaching when he was going to have to break the bad news to the old man.

  “What do you keep in the basement?”

  “Mostly empty boxes, some excess stock, nothing else.”

  “You have no safe down there? No money, or anything of any financial value?”

  “No. Do you mind if I have a cup of tea, Mr Gardener? It’s dinnertime, and I’m partial to a mid-day drink.”

  “Not at all,” he turned to Reilly. “Can you organize that please, Sean?”

  “What did your last slave die of?”

  “Answering me back,” replied the detective.

  Reilly laughed but did as he was asked.

  “So, to come back to the basement. If you have nothing of any value down there, you wouldn’t need a padlock, would you?” Gardener said.

  “Not at all.”

  “So, you definitely didn’t use one?”

  “No.”

  Gardener produced the empty box from the combination padlock he’d found on the trapdoor, sealed in a forensic bag.

  “Do you recognize that, Mr Armitage?”

  “Looks like one of mine, top of the range job as well. An ABUS 190. There should be four in stock. Where did you find that?”

  “On the floor of your shop behind the counter. The lock itself was attached to the trapdoor. The hasp had been fixed with round-headed bolts, the nuts underneath.”

  It was the first time Gardener had seen an expression of concern on Armitage’s features. “That was on the trapdoor leading to my basement?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Well, it’s not my doing, Mr Gardener. For the first time in thirty years I actually took a break this weekend. Me and my wife went to visit my sister. She lives on the east coast, Whitby. She’d been nagging us to go for long enough. My wife reckoned it was high time I relaxed a little. So, whoever did that had to have done so between Friday and Sunday.”

  “Can you give us your sister’s details, address, phone number?”

  “If I need to.”

  Reilly returned with teas and a plateful of chocolate Hobnobs. Gardener glanced at them. “You’ve just had breakfast.”

  “That was ages ago. Anyway, I’m a growing lad, so I am.”

  “Which way?”

  Gardener glanced at Armitage and passed his tea over. “Sorry, please carry on.”

  Armitage did so. “See what happens when you take time off and leave the place to someone else? Wait till I see that bloody nephew of mine. I’d like to know what he knows about this.”

  “When exactly did you last see him?”

  Armitage thought for a moment. “That would have been Thursday night. He should have turned up for work on Friday, but I saw nothing of him.”

>   “Does he normally take days off without your consent?”

  “He’s family. He feels he has a right to.”

  “Does he ever contact you when he is off?”

  “Sometimes, but he’s not that far away, is he? You’ve had a good look around my place. I suspect you know by now where he lives.”

  “Did you try and contact him on Friday?” asked Gardener.

  “I knocked on his door a couple of times, but there was no answer.”

  “Try his mobile?”

  “Only once. It went to answer-phone. ‘Leave a message.’ I left him a bloody message alright.”

  “Was he supposed to open the shop on Saturday?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you check to see if he had?”

  “It was my first weekend off in thirty years. Quite frankly I could afford to lose the trade if he wasn’t there. What I couldn’t afford to do was upset my wife. You’ve not seen my wife when she’s angry, have you?”

  Gardener could guess.

  “When did you return from Whitby?”

  “Sunday night.”

  “Did you check to see if he was around?”

  “No, it was a bit late. Has something happened with Alex? Has he been up to something I should know about?”

  Gardener avoided the question and pressed on. “Does he have a track record for getting up to no good in your absence?”

  “I reckon you’ve done your homework, Mr Gardener. He has had his problems.”

  “And you’ve stuck by him when others wouldn’t. We do happen to know that he had a disagreement with his parents, but we don’t know over what. Can you tell us anything?”

  Armitage sipped his tea, as if he was buying time till he thought of an excuse. Or working out how much to actually tell them. Gardener knew what people from close-knit communities were like. Family secrets stayed buried for generations.

  Armitage put his cup back on the table. “Someone hasn’t missed an opportunity to talk, have they?”

  “It’s a small town.”

  “Well, I don’t feel inclined to air my dirty washing in public. Let’s just say he brought the family name into question.”