by Ray Clark
“It’s possible,” said Gardener. “It could also be a chemist. I want every hospital consulted on curare, see if any amounts of the poison have gone missing. I want a check of all the doctors’ surgeries. Find out if any of them keep it, particularly Thornwell’s doctor.” Gardener turned to Sharp. “I presume he had one.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. We’ll need his details, check him out. I want two of you to continue digging into Plum and Thornwell’s past. Dig deep. Check the sex offenders list. Could only be one isolated incident binding these two. I want to know what it is. For the time being, we can leave the drug dealers alone. It’s not their territory, it’s too specialized.
“The manipulation of the poison suggests the killer knows what they’re doing. They are cunning. The syringe was probably left on purpose. Which means they’re playing some kind of game with us. We need to be on our guard. Sooner or later, they’re going to make a mistake. I want no stone left unturned. I also want someone checking out the dangerous drugs register. It’s a big operation, and it’ll take nearly all of you.”
Gardener allowed the information to digest before choosing his next topic. Hesitantly, he turned to Reilly. “Will you do the honours, Sean?”
Reilly passed an artist impression around the room, a composite sketch of Warthead.
“Does everyone have a copy?” Gardener held his aloft. He’d hesitated before presenting the picture because he knew what the reaction would be.
On cue, the whole room descended into silence as each of them stared on and digested.
“Isn’t this…” Brigg asked.
“Where the hell has this scum been hiding?” asked Rawson.
Briggs finally finished his sentence. “Isn’t this the bloke who pulled the trigger on your missus?”
Gardener nodded. “The information I have about the photo-fit is minimal. They call him Felix. He’s about five foot three with a face full of warts and a misshapen head. He’s usually dressed in jeans, and a black leather jacket with a golden eagle emblem on the back and an American slogan. He’s perhaps nineteen or twenty.”
“Is he involved in all of this?” asked Thornton.
Gardener nodded again. “To what extent I’m not sure, but I would like to speak to him in connection with the child abductions. He was seen with David Vickers on the day he went missing, buying him presents.”
“I don’t believe this,” said Sharp. “We’ve had stuff out on this bloke for a year… because of what he did…”
“It’s okay, Colin,” said Gardener, “you can say it.”
Sharp’s expression said that he was still too embarrassed to bring it up. “Well, since he, you know…”
“I think what he’s trying to say is,” offered Briggs, “that we’ve been looking for him since he shot Sarah, and we haven’t found a thing. Now, we’re involved in one of the biggest child abduction cases we’ve ever had, and who should rear his ugly head but this scally?”
“Well put,” said Dave Rawson. “Even ugly doesn’t do it justice.”
“How is he tied in with this lot?” asked Bob Anderson.
“From the information compiled, we know he was a colleague of Plum’s. The two appear to have been quite close.”
PC Benson put his hand up. “I think I might have seen him recently, sir.”
“Where?”
“One of the nightclubs in Leeds. But it was late and I’d had a few.”
“I appreciate that, and the fact that you haven’t been with us long so you may not know the backdrop to what we’re talking about. Have you noticed anything strange about his behaviour? Drug peddling, anything?”
Benson paused. “I’m sorry, sir. I never paid him a great deal of attention, other than to look at him.”
A mixture of emotions warred within Gardener. Disappointment, due to the lack of information surrounding Warthead. Frustration, because his wife’s killer was alive and elusive. Anger, because he desperately wanted the chance to avenge Sarah’s pointless death.
“Never mind. From now on, you’re all looking out for him. Frank, Bob, I’d like you two personally on his case. When you find him, bring him straight here. Whatever the time, day or night. When you find him, find me.”
“It might not be that simple, Stewart,” said Briggs.
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning that this might be personal.”
“Not yet, it isn’t,” replied Reilly.
Sharp nodded, agreeing. “We want him for questioning, sir, in connection with the abductions. But he might not be involved.”
“Bit of a coincidence, isn’t it?” said Briggs. “But if he is, Stewart, then it is personal and I’ll have to remove you from the case.”
Another silence descended. As Gardener peered around the room, he realized it didn’t take a genius to work out what they were thinking.
Anderson broke the tension. “Then you’ll have to remove us all, sir.”
“Pardon?” asked Briggs.
“I’m not being awkward, sir, and I’m not threatening anyone or anything,” replied Anderson, standing to address the DCI.
You could have heard a pin drop. “But I think I speak for all of us when I say that the night that scroat put a bullet in Sarah he made it personal… for all of us. He might as well have shot us all.”
The rest of the team nodded and stood in unison.
“So yes,” continued Anderson. “It is personal, but not just for the boss.”
Chapter Forty-two
Malcolm sat comfortably. He’d been wined and dined. He’d enjoyed the company. The surroundings of Anei Bâlcescu’s conservatory would be more than adequate to while away the rest of the evening. Anei wheeled in a trolley containing coffees and an assortment of homemade cakes.
“You certainly know how to spoil a man.”
“Some men are worth spoiling. We have a proverb in Romania. We don’t eat to live. We live to eat. You are a man who enjoys your food.”
“I’ve enjoyed myself tonight. That’s the best meal I’ve ever eaten.” Malcolm truly meant what he’d said. It had been his first traditional Romanian dish. Cabbage à la cluj hadn’t sounded particularly appetizing, but when he’d tasted the chopped cabbage and mince served with sour cream, his taste buds had tingled.
“You flatter me.” Anei smiled.
“I’ve always believed in credit where it’s due. It was a wonderful meal, thank you.”
“Binevenit.” Anei cut and passed over a large piece of cozonac, a traditional pound cake usually baked in Romania for religious holidays. The pair ate and drank in silence. It was the most comfortable feeling in the world.
Malcolm had known Anei for three months. They had met at the gardening club, but for the last month, they had secretly been meeting at her farmhouse. Their love of plants was not the only thing they had in common. They had the same taste in music, good food, and books. Since the death of his wife Wendy, Malcolm had not met anyone with whom he felt he could be close.
Anei was different. He wasn’t after a physical relationship. Merely companionship. He was relaxed in her company, felt no pressure. Whenever they were together, he felt a sense of belonging. A feeling he found hard to explain, yet it seemed so natural.
Anei rose from her seat. “I would like to show you something.”
She left the room, returning quickly. In her arms, she carried an old brown cardboard box, tied together with a gold ribbon. As Anei untied it, Malcolm noticed her hands. They were not the hands of an old person. The skin was youthful, no liver spots. Her nails were well manicured, despite the fact that she worked the farm herself.
Anei pulled out a number of photographs, spreading them out on the table before them.
“These are of my family. I miss them so much. In 1940, Germany helped Hungary take the North Western part of Transylvania. Our home. If we had stayed in Romania, we would probably have been killed. We left a prosperous farm, and arrived in England with nothing.”
“It must have been har
d for you.”
“It was very bad. We escaped the clutches of the Nazis in 1943. My parents and my sister, Irina, Jacqueline’s grandma, who was twelve at the time. It was a very hazardous journey.
“We had God to guide us. We arrived in Southampton and took work on a farm, living in one of the barns. When my family had proved our worth, the landowners converted the barn into a home for us. Eventually, they retired, sold up, and moved to Yorkshire. We went with them in the hope of finding work.”
Anei paused. Malcolm saw the tears in her eyes. “Tragedy struck on the journey. My parents had hired a car and were putting fuel in at a petrol station. I was only three years old, but I will never forget. My sister, Irina, took me to the toilet. The petrol station was at the bottom of a big hill. A lorry lost control. I think the brakes failed. It was carrying petrol. There was an explosion. Killing our mother and father, and the truck driver. We were shielded because we were at the back of the station. In fact, we had gone into a field to pick some flowers. Irina panicked, and we ran. We didn’t know what else to do. I think she thought we would both be sent back if we were caught.
“It was a long night, and I have no idea how far we kept running, but we finally ended up at a farm. We slept rough, in one of the barns again. For maybe three or four nights, evading the farmers. Irina was caught stealing food by the owner. Somehow she managed to persuade them to let us help on the farm. It was like arriving in England all over again. We stayed. Perhaps our parents would have been better off if they had stayed where they were. We’ll never know.”
Anei smiled. “That was where Irina eventually met her future husband. He didn’t want to help with the farm. He was always playing football, hiding from work. But he made good.” She found and passed over a newspaper clipping of her sister’s husband Sid, proudly holding a trophy in the air, a football underneath a raised foot. The headline told of a local boy accepted by Leeds United.
“He looks so proud,” said Malcolm. As he read the clipping, he sensed that tragedy had struck their lives again. “Something happened, didn’t it?”
“Sidney was involved in a hit and run. He lost a leg. They never caught the driver.”
“That must have been awful. How did you cope?”
“We were very lucky. Sidney’s father had been in Germany at the start of the war. He was taken prisoner. He didn’t return until many years after the war had ended. His wife, Sidney’s mother, had died during that time. But when he came back, he brought with him stolen Nazi treasure. When he saw what happened to Sidney, and how we were all struggling, he sold some of it to help us. But his father never lived long enough to see what would become of his investment. He had been treated so badly by the Germans.”
Anei’s mood darkened. “Sidney’s father killed himself one night. He had terrible dreams. When he woke up, he was convinced the Germans were coming back for him.”
She grew silent. Malcolm noticed her haunted expression. She took his hand. “We all worked hard. The farm prospered. We sold our plants and vegetables. Sidney started working for a newspaper to earn some extra money. We put that into the farm. We were proud people, you see, and we wanted it to work. For Sidney’s father.” She glanced around the conservatory. “I am the only one left, the farm is all mine now.”
Anei scooped up the photos, putting them back in the box. “Tell me about your family, Malcolm.”
He didn’t feel there was much to tell. Certainly nothing compared to Anei’s journey. “My parents were very successful. My father had his own fruit and vegetable business in the heart of Sheffield. Which had been handed down to him from his father, who had started out with a small barrow in one of the markets. But my dad was a workaholic, which was his undoing. Back then, he’d have worked night and day if my mother had let him.
“He won a large contract to supply most of the market traders and some of the local shops. It meant moving premises, something bigger. That’s when he worked all the hours God sent. My mother was not happy. She shouted at him, told him he was being stupid, that he shouldn’t work so hard. She was right. The last time she saw him alive was when she had cooked his evening meal and taken it to his office. He said he was too busy to eat. They argued because he looked so stressed. She left in tears. My mother was beside herself because her last words to him were not good ones. She apparently said she hoped his meal choked him, because if it didn’t, work would.”
Malcolm finished his coffee. “When I finally accepted what had happened, I remember thinking that I’d have to help out my mum seeing as Dad was no longer around. I found a number of jobs. A paper round before school, the village store after school. She made me stop all that. She didn’t want me ending up the same way as my dad. We didn’t need the money. The business had provided us with a good living. My mother downsized and ran the business herself. She said my father would have wanted it.”
Malcolm sighed.
Anei broke the silence that followed once Malcolm had finished. “Mai vrei o cafea?”
He paused, then laughed. She had been teaching Malcolm to speak Romanian. For practice, she often asked him a question in her native tongue, expecting the appropriate answer. He realized she’d asked him if he wanted another coffee.
“Da bine. I think.”
“Very good! You are learning fast.” She poured another. Without asking, she plied him with more cake.
“Do you get lonely out here?” he asked, glancing out the windows at her home.
“I lead a simple life, Malcolm. I ask for nothing. I rise early and bake, spend time with my animals, work the garden. I keep myself busy. The two most important values in my life are never far away. My plants and my niece.”
“That’s something I can admire. I must admit, I thought I knew a lot about plants. You’ve got me beaten, hands down.”
“Please, do not underestimate yourself. You are a clever man with plants.”
“Not as good as you. Take these, for instance.” Malcolm pointed to the Venus flytraps.
“You’ve managed to cultivate those year-round.”
“It is not as difficult as you might think. In its native country, the plant grows in bogs which lack nitrogen. The insects that land inside supply this. So, for me to grow the plant, I need a nitrogen supplement, good compost, and rainwater.”
Malcolm finished his cake, placing his empty plate back on the trolley.
“More?”
“Oh, not for me, thank you. If I eat anything else tonight, I’ll burst.”
Anei smiled. “You’re like Jacqueline. She does not have a large appetite.”
“I can see that you’re proud of your niece, the way you talk about her.”
“Yes. And you are equally as proud of your son. It is time to put our plan into practice, no? Are you sure about my niece and your son seeing each other?”
“To be honest, I’m not.” Malcolm thought back to his conversation with Gardener, who had claimed nothing had happened.
“From what Jacqueline has said, there is definitely something happening.”
“Maybe. It can’t hurt to give them a little help.”
Malcolm left the conservatory and phoned Stewart to tell him he would be out for the night and wondered if he could collect him sometime the following day.
“All set?” asked Anei, as Malcolm returned.
“Yes. He was curious, though.”
“He’s a policeman. He’ll be asking questions of himself all evening.”
“I could tell he wanted to know what was going on, but he was very tactful.” Malcolm settled back, relaxed. He’d enjoyed his evening, and it was made all the better for not having to rush home.
“I phoned Jacqueline earlier. She was visiting me tomorrow anyway. I made an excuse and asked her to do a little shopping for me. She suspects nothing.” Anei sipped her coffee. “I’m pleased she has settled in the village and made new friends. Her life has not been easy.”
“You’ve never talked about her parents.”
It
was a while before Anei answered. Malcolm wondered if he had upset her with his remark.
“Her mother died of breast cancer when she was ten years old. She came to live with me when she was thirteen.” Anei sighed. “She no longer has a father, either.”
“I’m sorry.” He placed his hand on Anei’s, offering what little comfort he could. There had been genuine hardship in her life. He admired not only Anei’s spirit, but that of the whole family. Despite the difficulties, they supported each other, drew strength from their unity and God.
Anei broke the silence, tightening her grip on Malcolm’s hand. “We should not be sad. It is nearly Christmas, a time for celebration. In Romania, all families come together at Christmas.”
She suddenly fell silent again, staring at their clasped hands.
“Is something wrong?”
She turned to gaze into Malcolm’s eyes. “I have to go away for a little while. Don’t worry. I have to make a journey, to my patrie, my Romania. I left when I was so young, and I have never been back. I am old now. I want to go back and visit while I am strong enough to do so. I want to show Jacqueline where I was born, what it was like to be with people you could trust. I need to feel it once more before anything happens to prevent it.”
Malcolm smiled, relieved that it wasn’t a problem. “Is that all? I’m happy for you, Anei. I think you should go. You and Jacqueline will have a wonderful time.”
“Thank you.” Anei smiled, not only with her lips, but with her eyes as well.
“And I’ll be waiting for you when you return, you can tell me all about it.” He kissed her lightly on the cheek.
“You are a kind man, Malcolm Gardener. I’m going to miss you.”
Malcolm laughed. He didn’t know what to say.
“But tonight, we will celebrate. Where’s the wine?”
Chapter Forty-three
Olive Bradshaw’s hardened expression reminded Gardener of a gargoyle. Her features then softened as she entered the denial stage. “Pornography? No. I’m sorry, Inspector, but I think you have the wrong man.”
Since Gardener’s last visit, the landlady’s living accommodation had been stripped bare. He’d been surprised to learn that contracts had been exchanged, and she and her sister had packed everything into boxes ready for moving. Gardener stood with his back to the window, amused by her indignant repudiation. “I have not got the wrong man. I’ve done my homework. I believe that Herbert Plum was a paedophile.”
