by Ray Clark
“So, it isn’t a game that came from the Walker Brothers’ stable?” asked Reilly.
“Not as far as I can remember,” said Sinclair, checking his watch. “Now, if there isn’t anything else, maybe you will excuse me.”
Both detectives thanked Sinclair for his time before leaving.
At the door, Gardener turned. “You wouldn’t still have a copy of all those old games, would you?”
Sinclair smiled. “I wish.”
Chapter Thirty-two
Gardener and Reilly pulled up at the mortuary. After having left Sinclair’s house, Gardener telephoned Gary Close and asked him to concentrate his Internet search on the local game manufacturer, Walker Brothers. He asked Close to find out everything he could about the company, and whether or not any of the directors were still around. More importantly, did any of them live in or around Leeds, and were they available for an interview.
After that, he spoke to Cragg and gave him the names of the two companies who made and supplied the pumps and ICDs. He then asked for two men to be sent over to the local office in Hunslet.
Gardener and Reilly entered the building and walked down the corridor leading to the pathologist’s work quarters, the sound of their heels bouncing off the walls. Gardener nodded to the receptionist as they passed. The warmth of the building was welcoming, but there was an air of trepidation. The SIO knew all too well that he had in fact tampered with a crime scene by demanding that Andrew Jackson remove the ICD. A reprimand from Fitz would be imminent.
Both men continued towards the silver steel door at the end of the corridor. Before going through, Gardener checked his reflection, adjusting his tie slightly. He glanced down. His suit now bore the hallmarks of a day’s work, and his shoes were in need of a polish. All his life, he had taken a pride in his appearance. Despite the rigours of the scenes he had to visit in his job, he still wore clean clothes and a pressed shirt and tie every day, something Sarah would have demanded.
Fitz was working on Sonia Knight. He was dressed in a green surgical gown and gloves. He wore a mask, and his glasses were incongruously perched on the end of his nose, very close to joining whatever else was in Knight’s chest cavity. Above him were a camera and a microphone. Fitz glanced up at the two men as they entered.
“I’d like a word with you two.”
Here it comes, thought Gardener.
The pathologist switched off the microphone and camera, and asked his lanky assistant Richard to clean up. He removed his work gear, and disposed of everything except the gown, which he threw into a laundry basket.
After washing his hands, he beckoned them to his office.
“What were you thinking of?” Fitz asked Gardener.
“I know what you’re going to say. I tampered with a crime scene. But I had good reason, Fitz.”
“I could understand it of him.” Fitz pointed to Reilly.
“Oh, that’s right, go on, have a go at me. What have I ever done to you to earn such a low opinion?”
“How long have you got?”
“Never mind all that now. Let’s have a cup of that lovely coffee you keep brewing.” Reilly stood up and poured three cups without the approval of the pathologist, then started poking around.
“Now what are you after?”
“I’m trying to find a wee snack. I know you have them.”
“My God, is nothing sacred?” Fitz handed out the biscuits from his desk drawer as he continued to speak to Gardener.
“It’s definitely the same hallmark. I spoke to Andrew Jackson at St. James’s Hospital. He told me it was an ICD in her throat. What I did find out was that all of the wires except one went into her teeth.”
“And where did he lead that one?” Gardener asked.
“The spinal cord. The cables in the teeth probably wouldn’t have killed her. They would almost certainly have caused diabolical pain, but once they had been removed and she was talking again, she would quite naturally tell us everything.
“He somehow managed to split the charge, so that her teeth received a separate jolt to the brain. That must have come last, because when it did, it caused the brain to explode. Literally.”
“Jesus Christ! Her brain actually blew up?” asked Reilly.
“As good as. It certainly isn’t in a position to be weighed, and the details recorded. It’s very unlikely I can take a biopsy, either, although I shouldn’t think you’ll need it.”
“Did you find anything else, Fitz?” Gardener asked. “Any clues left on the body?”
No. She’s naked, and she’s hairless. There are no further clues, and nothing else seems to have been tampered with. If you want the technical stuff on what it would do to her brain, you’ll have to ask Robert Sinclair, or his partner, Iain Ross.”
“We’ve just come from there.”
“Did he tell you anything useful?”
“You could say that.”
Gardener’s phone chimed, cutting the conversation short. “DI Gardener.”
“Mr Gardener? It’s Andrew Jackson here.”
“What can I do for you, Dr Jackson?”
“It’s about the defibrillator we found inside the mouth of your victim.”
“Go on.”
“We’ve checked all the stock here at the hospital. It’s all present and correct.”
Gardener was disappointed. “Well, thanks for checking.”
“Oh, that’s not all. I do recognize your ICD. It’s part of a number to be returned to the manufacturer, a company called KarGen, here in Leeds. We had a faulty batch, maybe four or five. I’m not quite sure what the problem was, but they should all have been returned over a month ago.
“I’ve checked the returns forms and there appears to be a discrepancy. You see, the same man always signs for returns at KarGen, only this time it was someone else. I cannot read the signature, which suggests something is amiss. I have the feeling that they were not returned at all.”
“Unless the person who normally signs off was on holiday, Dr Jackson. But that said, I want a list of all the staff, including directors, and the man responsible for returning them.”
There was a pause where Gardener could almost hear the cogs spinning round in Andrew Jackson’s mind.
“That’s a bit of a tall order,” he replied.
“I appreciate that, but this is a murder investigation.”
Chapter Thirty-three
Reilly pulled the car to a halt outside the railway station in Bursley Bridge. It was another warm day with a blue sky unspoiled by clouds. Members of the public were still present, trying to breach the scene. Even though their police car was unmarked, reporters had spotted it, converging on them before Gardener had his hand on the door handle.
As he and Reilly exited, the questions started.
“Sir, Darren Smith, Yorkshire Post. Can you tell us anything?”
Gardener ignored him and made his way to the station entrance.
“Geoff Hughes, Yorkshire Echo. Has someone been killed? The public has a right to know.”
Gardener stopped and stared at the man. He was no more than five-foot tall, and almost as round. His head desperately clung to what hair remained, and he wore half-lens spectacles.
“What they have, Mr Hughes, is a right to the truth, something you lot seem to know very little about.”
“That’s a bit strong,” shouted the reporter.
“Truth hurts, does it?” replied Gardener. “Oh, I’m sorry, you wouldn’t know, would you?”
The reporter was about to protest further when Gardener turned and walked away.
“You heard him,” said Reilly. “Now when we have something, we’ll tell you.”
Both men flashed their warrant cards to the officer guarding the entrance before continuing up the steps and into the station. Gardener was pleased he hadn’t seen Giles Middleton standing vigil.
Everywhere he stared, the POLSA team – plus his own officers – were on their hands and knees conducting a painstaking fingertip
search, which must be rankling them as much as him. It was a thankless, painstaking task that was unlikely to yield any result, but it had to be done.
Gardener was encouraged by the information he’d received during the last few hours. Though it didn’t constitute hard evidence, he was pretty sure it could only lead somewhere positive once followed up. After what Sinclair had told them about the pump and ICD manufacturers, he figured that could be the only fly in the ointment. If they proved uncooperative, he would come down on them so hard they would have to reach up to tie their shoelaces.
“Christ, I wouldn’t like this job, boss,” said Reilly.
“Well, you wouldn’t get down there, would you? All the biscuits you eat.”
Reilly smiled and glanced around the platform. “At least my age wouldn’t come into it.”
Gardener spotted Frank Thornton and called him over. “How are things?”
“Pretty quiet at the moment. These lads must be pretty pissed off.”
“It’s part of the job. Where’s Bob?”
“Had a call from a woman called Hillary Easterby, lives on Middleton Road. He’s just gone to see her. Says she has some information which might help.”
Gardener’s mobile rang. “DI Gardener speaking.”
“Mr Gardener, it’s Maurice Cragg. Where are you?”
“The railway station at Bursley Bridge.”
“Perfect,” replied Cragg. “We’ve had a call from Graham Johnson, runs the computer shop. He’s found something that he doesn’t like the look of.”
“Relating to the case?”
“Apparently, no. Something he doesn’t like the look of on a laptop that he’s repairing. Now I know it’s not strictly in your field, but I just thought if you were there you might want to check it out, save me sending any of my men.”
“Okay, Maurice. Sean and I will pop across the road.”
“Thank you. Thought you might like to know, young Gary’s had a breakthrough with Walker Brothers, got some good information for you. Still no news on KarGen.”
“Okay,” Gardener glanced at his watch. “Thank you. See you back at the incident room later.”
“Will do, sir.”
Gardener broke the connection and related to Reilly and Thornton what Cragg had told him. As they were about to move, Bob Anderson came up the station entrance steps.
“Sir, got something you’ll want to hear.”
They were all ears.
“Just been to see a woman called Hillary Easterby. She was out and about on both nights, Sunday and Monday. She’s recently recovering from an operation and she can’t sleep, so she goes for walks. It’s very quiet in the early hours. She saw Graham Johnson’s van on both occasions. It left the railway station around four o’clock, and headed off in the direction of Harrogate.”
Gardener glanced at Thornton. “He never said anything to you about having a van, did he?”
“No.” Thornton glanced at his partner, Bob Anderson. “Did she give you a reg and a colour?”
“White,” replied Anderson. “And it’s an 06 plate.”
“Have the DVLA supplied the numbers for all those in the area?”
“I haven’t seen the list if they have.”
Gardener rang Cragg, who read the numbers out to him. In total there had been an original list of two hundred within a fifty-mile radius. Cragg had narrowed that down to ten within ten miles, and three within five miles. One of which was Graham Johnson’s.
He told Anderson, who then gave him a piece of gold.
“She also said the driver’s side brake light was out.”
Chapter Thirty-four
Gardener stepped into the shop, recoiling immediately. He felt his partner bump into him.
The SIO had never seen such a mess in his life. His immediate first thought was that Graham Johnson had had an accident; perhaps he’d survived a gas explosion, and the resulting heap was how everything had landed. Gardener hated filth and dust and mess and everything that went with it. He’d seen better living conditions in war zones.
“Jesus Christ! How the hell does he find anything?” asked Reilly over Gardener’s shoulder.
Gardener moved further in, if only to let his sergeant make some headway. He could hear a radio playing, and a voice in the back of the shop.
“You can’t believe that anyone could work like this,” he replied.
“Some people actually do, boss. There’s probably some kind of organization to his chaos.”
“So, what does it say about his mind?” asked Gardener.
“It’s probably full of shit, like this place. I reckon he’d be great in a pub quiz. He’s probably one of these people that stores all sorts of crap in his head.”
“Thornton reckoned he was a bit of a specialist with electronics.”
“The type of person we’re looking for.”
“It doesn’t look good for him, does it? If you’d been in his position and you had nothing to hide, wouldn’t you have told us that you had a white van, even let us have a look at the lights, just so we could eliminate you?”
“You’re talking about the general public here, boss, most of whom go around with their eyes shut and their ears closed. We’ve had posters up outside the station and around the town asking for help, but how many have come forward and told us anything?”
“Yet they expect us to clean their backyard up. If the next victim was one of their own, they’d soon come running.”
“Too right.”
Reilly lifted one tower carcass and glanced underneath. Gardener couldn’t help but notice the layer of dust.
Gardener studied Graham Johnson as he walked through to see who was in his shop. He was as tall as the SIO, with unruly hair, peppered grey and brown. He had brown eyes, thin lips, and a very straight walk. He was wearing a brown smock. Underneath, Gardener could see a black T-shirt.
“Can I help you gentleman?”
The two officers showed their warrant cards and introduced themselves. “I believe you called the station about a laptop, Mr Johnson,” said Gardener.
“Christ, that was quick. I only called about five minutes ago. Guess you guys really must take this seriously.”
“We just happened to be across the road.”
“Nasty business, that.”
“What is?” Gardener wondered how much he really knew.
“Whatever’s happened. You guys have been round it like a swarm of flies and now it’s covered in scene tape. It can’t be a case of shoplifting.”
Graham Johnson glanced over Gardener’s shoulder, watching Sean Reilly sift his way through the debris. His manner suggested he was a little nervous. That could be due to either what he’d found on the laptop, or that he had something to hide. If it was the latter, then he probably couldn’t have picked a better place than his shop, judging by the mess.
“You wanna watch you’re doing, mate? You never know what’s lurking under there.”
“I’ll bet you do,” replied Reilly.
“Funny you should say that.”
“About the laptop, Mr Johnson?”
“Oh right, I’ll bring it through.”
Johnson went into the back of the shop, returning immediately. He placed the laptop on a bench in front of him, hooked it up to some kind of electrical testing equipment, and powered up the machine.
“Couple of young guys brought it in yesterday. I just want to say that I don’t think they’re responsible for what I’ve found.”
“What did they bring it in for?” asked Gardener.
“Usual thing, machine has a virus. They told me their dad’s away, and they’d been using it to do their homework. Likely story. Cut a long story short, they’d been surfing a little porn, nothing bad, but the machine got a virus and then the Blue Screen of Death, and they couldn’t do another thing with it.”
Gardener knew better than to probe further. He didn’t fully understand what Johnson had said, but suspected he’d be there all night if he asked the man t
o explain it.
The tune on the radio changed, but it was nothing that Gardener recognized. A noise behind him, followed by a curse, suggested that Reilly had dropped something. Johnson glanced over at him.
“And what have you found on the laptop?”
“I found what they’d been looking at. All the usual stuff. It’s only when I located and removed the virus and powered the machine up again that my software discovered a load of hidden files. And when I say hidden, I mean hidden. The encryption system was better than the one they have in the Pentagon.” Johnson stopped talking and fiddled with the laptop.
“Here they are, Inspector. They’re not very nice.”
Gardener took one glance. Reilly had joined him. The material was very extreme, most of it connected to the National Front.
“How much is on there?”
“I don’t think I’ve discovered all of it.”
“Okay, Mr Johnson. If you’d like to switch off the machine and let us have all the details. I take it you keep documents relating to whose machine you’re repairing?”
“Oh, yes, got it right here.”
Gardener was relieved. At least there was some organization within the place.
“We’ll pass this on to the relevant authorities.”
“Oh, are you not connected with that branch, then?”
“No, as I said, we were across the road at the station. We’re with the Major Crime Team.”
“Isn’t this a major crime?” asked Johnson.
“It is, but not our jurisdiction.”
“When we said major crime, we were talking about murder, son,” said Reilly.
“We actually came to talk to you about something else.”
“Oh?” said Johnson.
Gardener was beginning to suspect that Johnson was very unhappy about them being there, now that their interest in the laptop was not a high priority. He’d started biting his nails and moving his tools from one place to another.
“Two of our officers were in here earlier today, questioning you about the incident.”
“I remember that.”
“Do you remember what they asked you?”
“Most of it.”
“Let’s jog your memory a little, son,” said Reilly. “Did they mention a white van to you?”
