IMPLANT

by Ray Clark

  “I didn’t say I lived in Bramfield, I just said I was out walking. I’d been staying with friends.”

  “You’ve actually got some, then?” asked Reilly.

  “Unlike you, I haven’t blown all mine up.”

  Reilly laughed. “Quite the comedian,” he said to his partner. “Let’s see if he’s still cracking jokes when we’ve finished with him.”

  Gardener continued. “Well, before you go, you won’t mind supplying the name and address for us to follow up.”

  Pollard stretched back in his chair and yawned. “Don’t think the husband will take too kindly to that, if you get my drift.”

  “That’s not my problem,” replied Gardener. “Back to the shop. How long had you been out walking?”

  “A few minutes. I was coming across the car park when I saw you lot arrive.”

  “So you hadn’t been near the front of the shop?”

  “No.”

  “You never noticed that it was open?”

  “How could I?”

  “And you never went inside?”

  Pollard shook his head, inched forward, and rested his elbows on the table. He was dressed in a plain black T-shirt, dark blue jogging bottoms, and black plimsoles. Standard issue custody clothing.

  “This is getting boring.”

  “Oh, I am sorry,” replied Gardener, picking up the file and pretending to study it.

  Reilly turned to Gardener. “We can’t have that, now, boss. You must watch your manners and change the subject. With no solicitor present, we don’t want him claiming harassment now, do we?”

  “Not at all, Sean.” Gardener switched his attention back to Pollard.

  “Nasty scar you’ve got above the right eye. How did you get that, Mr Pollard?”

  “You do know this is illegal?” said Pollard.

  “What is?” Gardener asked.

  “No solicitor.”

  “No it isn’t, and it’s your choice. Let’s get back to the scar.”

  “It was an accident.”

  “How did it happen?”

  “I slipped.”

  Gardener noticed that Pollard’s answers were becoming shorter.

  Reilly took over. “Have to watch those wet floors in Armley, son.”

  Pollard said nothing, so Reilly continued.

  “Ten-year stretch, you must have been a bad lad.”

  “Five, actually.”

  “Let’s cut to the chase, Jackie, lad. We know all about the stretch in Armley, so we do. You were sentenced to ten years for stealing drugs from the NHS. You were very lucky that you had a solicitor almost as bent as you who managed to knock it down to five with good behaviour, though God knows what that constitutes from a drug dealer.”

  Gardener continued. “While you were in there, you thought you could continue with your nasty little trade. But then you met Lance Hobson.”

  During the silence that followed there was a polite knock on the door. Sergeant Williams appeared and asked if he could have a word.

  Gardener noted that Reilly was leaving the room for the benefit of the tape.

  Reilly quickly returned and called Gardener over to a corner, where he informed him that the SOCOs had found Pollard’s shoes matched the same pattern as footmarks lifted off the floor inside the shop. But there were no fingerprints of any description on the padlock packaging.

  Pleased, Gardener returned to his seat. “Let’s talk about the NHS.”

  “It’s in a terrible state. That’s the government for you.”

  Gardener leaned forward. “Let’s forget politics and small talk. As you said, the quicker you answer our questions, the quicker you can leave.”

  Pollard smiled. “I thought you picked me up on a burglary charge, yet you come in here asking all sorts. So far, none of it to do with the charge I’m here for.”

  “How observant. NHS, what were you doing for them?”

  Pollard sighed and sat back, arms folded. For a short while, Gardener thought he had decided to shut up shop, so he maintained the silence as well.

  “I started as a junior doctor.”

  “Interested in that sort of thing, are you?” asked Reilly. “Anatomy?”

  “Well, I must have been.”

  “Were you specializing in anything?” asked Gardener. “Any particular field?”

  “To start with, it was general medicine. My mother died when I was ten years old. My father was a bastard, a drunken bastard...”

  Gardener had not expected the change of attitude. Pollard was cooperating, so he didn’t interrupt.

  “He used to beat me whenever he got the chance, no fucking reason. I spent that much time repairing myself, I started to enjoy it, found something rewarding in it.” Pollard stopped talking for a moment before adding, “How sad is that?”

  “So what made you want to continue?”

  “My mother. I realized after a while that he must have beaten her, too. She often had cuts and bruises, which she used to tend to herself. She taught me a little bit of first aid. The interest went from there. I read books, and thought maybe it would be a good idea to become a GP.”

  “Which hospital did you apply to?”

  “St. James’s, where else?”

  “How many years did you train for?”

  “About five. Started as a junior doctor, passed through a training grade to house officer, and spent a lot of time in general surgery.”

  “So, what the hell went wrong?” asked Reilly. “Sounds to me like you had a damn good career lined up. Why did you blow it?”

  Pollard sighed heavily. “Why does anyone blow it? Money’s crap, hours too long. I got greedy. I was introduced to another side of the medical world. Saw just how rich I could be with only half the effort.”

  Gardener brought the subject back to the hospital. “How would you describe your surgical skills?”

  “Pretty good. They were training me to be a surgeon. They even expected I’d study further, become a member of the Royal College of Surgeons.”

  Gardener figured he’d struck gold, not insofar as having the killer handed to him on a plate, but he reckoned he’d found a subject that Pollard would talk about freely and without losing his temper. However, he had what he needed, so now it was time to change things. From the file he’d read, he knew the rest, and preferred to tackle another subject.

  “Tell us about Lance Hobson.”

  Lighting the touch paper was how Gardener would describe the difference. From Pollard’s expression, there must have been some real hatred between the two of them, suggesting that Cragg had been right when he reckoned that Pollard wanted to take over the patch.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Whether or not you know him, for a start,” replied Gardener.

  “Of course I know him, and you know that. You already know that he was behind the incident in the showers.”

  “And that was because?”

  “We didn’t see eye-to-eye.”

  “I doubt you’d see eye-to-eye with anybody,” said Reilly. “You’ve only got one good one.”

  Pollard ignored the jibe, but his expression could have halted a tsunami.

  “Is that because you both wanted the same territory?”

  “I’m not a drug dealer,” said Pollard.

  “The records show different, Mr Pollard. You’ve been inside for stealing drugs, a net value of over £5,000 to my knowledge. None of which was ever recovered.”

  “Once a dealer, always a dealer,” Reilly continued. “Come on, Jackie lad. What’s the crack with Hobson, if you’ll pardon the pun? Who supplies who?”

  Pollard leaned forward and started tapping the table again. Gardener also noticed one of his legs was shaking. A clear sign he was agitated.

  “I do not work for Hobson, or with him.”

  “Is there a money problem, then?” asked Gardener. “The connection between you two – does one of you owe the other money?”

  “What the hell is this? Why are you asking
questions about Lance Hobson?”

  Gardener switched topics again. He knew he had Pollard irritated, and felt he needed to keep the pressure on.

  “Know anyone named Sonia?”

  “Pardon?”

  Gardener made a point of rifling through the file before asking again.

  “Sonia. Do you know anyone named Sonia?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Strange,” said Gardener, lifting Pollard’s phone from the floor, placing it on the table. “Judging by your phone records, I’d say you know her very well. Sonia Knight.”

  Pollard remained quiet.

  “Come on, Jackie lad, you’re being less than honest with us. If you don’t tell us the truth, it’ll take much longer to sort this mess out. And do you know what I’m thinking?” Reilly deliberately left the question unanswered, waiting for Pollard.

  “Do tell me,” he finally replied.

  “That if you’re not telling me the truth over Sonia Knight, you probably haven’t told us the truth about anything else we’ve asked you.”

  Gardener leaned forward. “And you know what that means, don’t you? We’ll have to keep going round in circles until we’re completely satisfied. And you might never get out of here.”

  “Don’t want that, do you, Jackie lad?” said Reilly, grinning.

  Pollard pointed half an index finger at Reilly.

  “Stop taking the piss, Irishman.”

  “That would look more dangerous if it was a whole finger.”

  Pollard stood up fast and his chair crashed to the ground, but the Irishman was much quicker.

  “Sit down, Pollard! We’ve told you once already.” Reilly held Pollard’s stare, and the ex-con finally picked up the chair and sat back on it.

  “You stand up once more, and we’re out of here,” said Reilly. “And you can wait for your solicitor. Do you understand me?”

  Pollard nodded, and Reilly mentioned it for the benefit of the tape.

  Gardener wasted no time. “Sonia Knight.”

  Pollard’s foul mood continued. “It doesn’t matter who she is.”

  “Oh, but it does,” said Gardener. “It matters to me and DS Reilly, and we want to know what you know about Sonia Knight. Who is she?”

  After some time, Pollard answered. “She’s the friend I’ve been seeing in Bramfield. You know, the one whose husband won’t like me giving out the details.”

  “You’re lying, Pollard,” said Reilly.

  “What?”

  “I said you’re lying. We know damn well that she doesn’t live in Bramfield.”

  “And so do you,” said Gardener.

  “Well, if you know that, why do you need me to tell you?”

  “One more chance,” said Gardener. “And believe me, I am not bluffing when I say we’re out of here until Wednesday.”

  Pollard hesitated, and Gardener eased his chair back a little.

  “Okay, okay. She’s Lance Hobson’s girlfriend.”

  “See,” said Reilly. “Didn’t hurt, did it?”

  “What’s the connection between you and Lance Hobson’s girlfriend?” Gardener asked.

  “We’re good friends, nothing special.”

  “It will be if Hobson finds out.”

  “He’s not going to, is he?”

  “I wouldn’t put money on that,” said Reilly. “Now, stop lying. Why are you seeing her?” When Pollard didn’t answer, Reilly continued.

  “Is it because you want revenge for what he did to you in prison? Is he muscling in on your territory, Jackie lad? Maybe you’re not seeing Sonia Knight in the way that she thinks. Maybe you’re using her to set him up for something. Take over his patch.”

  Pollard shook his head repeatedly, and Gardener knew they were on to something.

  “Or maybe,” continued Reilly, “you’re setting them both up. You intend to get rid of them both. That way there’s no opposition.”

  “What vivid imaginations you two have.”

  “Comes with the job,” said Gardener. “It’s very difficult dealing with scum day in, day out, without some of it rubbing off.” He decided to switch topics again to keep Jackie on his toes. “What about Alex Wilson?”

  Pollard seemed a little more alert. “What about him?”

  “I’ve just asked you that.”

  “What are you talking about? I don’t know anything about Wilson.”

  “Yes you do,” replied Gardener. “You’re at it again. I’ve already told you we have your phone records here.”

  Gardener held up the file. “We know you’ve been talking to Sonia Knight. We know she’s Lance Hobson’s girlfriend. We also know that Alex Wilson has a connection to Lance Hobson, and so do you. What we’re struggling to piece together is why your phone calls from Sonia Knight have dried up. She hasn’t called you in a month. Until last night, that is. The very night that we find Alex Wilson’s body at the shop, and you outside it.”

  Gardener had lit the touch paper again.

  “What?”

  The fear in Pollard’s eyes told Gardener everything he needed to know. The man was very definitely guilty of something, and it would only be a matter of time before he could determine what.

  “What are you talking about, Alex Wilson’s body?”

  “Let’s finally come full circle back to the shop, shall we? I’ve given you every opportunity to do so. Didn’t think I’d leave it, did you, Mr Pollard?

  “You told us earlier that you hadn’t been in the shop. You were lying to us. We have evidence. Fingerprints, although in your case not all of them, shoe prints, and now Scenes of Crime tell us there is a fibre match from your clothing. Do you still maintain that you have not been inside?”

  Pollard remained silent.

  “We know for a fact that Alex Wilson is dead, because we found his body in the cellar below the shop.”

  “Very nasty, that was, Jackie lad,” said Reilly. “Looked to me like he’d met with a terrible accident.”

  “Bits of him were missing,” said Gardener. “Areas that had been stitched up...”

  “Just a minute.” Pollard was on his feet quickly, and the chair fell over once more.

  Reilly was soon up as well. “We’ve told you, no more standing. Pick that chair up, and do it now!”

  The cocky attitude had all but left Pollard as he quickly did what he was told. “I’ve killed no one.”

  “Doesn’t look like that to us,” said Gardener. “From the information we have, we reckon you’ve been plotting something with Sonia Knight, something involving Lance Hobson’s right-hand man, Alex Wilson. She takes a month out, and then phones you to tell you it’s all on, and you do the deed.”

  “It’s not like that,” shouted Pollard.

  “No, maybe it isn’t,” replied Gardener. “Maybe you’ve already done away with Knight, and that was someone else phoning you tonight.”

  “I haven’t done anything to Sonia Knight. How many more times? I haven’t killed anybody.” Pollard stared at them.

  “Go on,” said Reilly.

  “I haven’t seen Knight for a month. I have no idea where she is. She suddenly stopped contacting me. I don’t know, maybe Hobson found out, and he’s sorted her out.”

  “In which case, you’ll be next,” said Reilly. “Maybe we should stop worrying, boss. We’ll just leave Hobson to sort this scum out for us.”

  “I’m not so sure, Sean.” Gardener glanced at his partner. “Hobson couldn’t have butchered Alex Wilson. Why would he? They were close friends.”

  “Which leaves us with you again.” Reilly stared at Pollard.

  “It’s not me, I swear. I might be a lot of things, but I’m not a murderer.”

  “So, what were you doing outside the shop, and who called you on Knight’s phone?”

  “I don’t know,” shouted Pollard, slamming his fists on the table.

  “What did they say?” demanded Gardener.

  “Not much. They just said if I went to the shop, I would see someth
ing to my advantage.”

  “And you believed them? Just like that?”

  “Not really, no.”

  “Why?” Gardener asked.

  “Because it wasn’t Sonia. Well, yes it was her, it sounded like her, but...”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” asked Reilly.

  Gardener didn’t give him the chance to answer before he asked. “Was her voice live, or recorded?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Simple enough question. Did you have a conversation with Sonia Knight? Or did she say what she had to, and then cut it short?”

  Pollard was thinking. “She only said what she had to.”

  “Nothing else?”

  “No.”

  “You mean your phone rang, you answered, she told you she’d meet you outside the shop, and then ended the conversation?”

  “Something like that. I can’t remember exactly.”

  “Didn’t you try to phone her back?”

  “No... yes... I don’t know, that was when you lot turned up.”

  “Bullshit!” said Reilly. “You’ve told so many lies you don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “Doesn’t it strike you as odd?” Gardener asked. “You plot to take over Hobson’s business with Sonia Knight, and then you don’t hear anything for a month, and then out of the blue she phones you and tells you to meet her at the shop?”

  Pollard said nothing. He was obviously trying to calculate how much trouble he was in by having agreed to talk without his brief.

  “Which leaves you with three options, Mr Pollard,” said Gardener. “Either Knight is setting you up, she’s changed her mind, or you got to her first and engineered the rest. Which is it?”

  “I have not killed anyone!” Pollard screamed, slamming his fists on the table again. He ran his hands through his hair. He was obviously panicking, but Gardener still felt he hadn’t told them everything he knew.

  Gardener stood up. “Try looking at this from our point of view. You want revenge on Hobson. You collude with Sonia Knight, but then she decides to go quiet and could very well be missing. Alex Wilson is dead, and you’re found at the scene. You’re the common denominator, the catalyst, shall we say? That leaves you in a whole stack of trouble. You’d better pray that Ronson doesn’t extend his vacation.”

  Gardener glanced at the tapes. “You’ll be with us a lot longer than you thought, Mr Pollard. Interview terminated at 14:00 hours.”