by Ray Clark
Vanessa placed her hands around the back of her head. Her face changed expression a number of times, and she muttered to herself while thinking. “Yes. It’s very possible. Particularly if you know what you’re doing. Unique as well. I’ve never come across it before.”
Gardener was disappointed. Not with the botanist’s knowledge. She’d answered each question confidently. None of her responses were what he wanted to hear, however. Vanessa Chambers had given Gardener everything he needed, but little of what he wanted.
“One last question. What’s the best way to cultivate the plant?”
“Ideally, wet sphagnum bogs, rainforest leaf litter, seasonally wet sandy soils, and moist mountain soils are the best environments. You can cultivate the plant in a greenhouse, however. The compost would have to be acidic, and of low fertility. Only rainwater should be used when feeding. Plastic pots are suitable, but as many carnivorous plants have sparse root systems, shallow pans are often preferable to standard pots. Full sun is best, but artificial light from fluorescent tubes will do.”
Vanessa clapped her hands excitedly. “Oh, I must say, you gentlemen have marvellous imaginations. Fancy coming up with something like this. It would make a wonderful book.”
Gardener rose from his chair. “Wouldn’t it just.”
Chapter Sixty-two
It was a little after six o’clock when Gardener drove through the school gates. He locked the car and jogged towards the building. Once he’d collected Chris and dropped him back home, he would have to go straight back to work. Gardener flipped his mobile and called Jeff Harrison to ask about the price and availability of a seat for the Bonneville.
The reply was a shock. “That much?”
“Depends what you’re looking for, but the King & Queen seat really is the business,” replied Jeff. “Tell you what I’ll do, I’ll drop the brochure off at the station for you. Have a look and get back to me.”
Gardener put the mobile in his pocket. Two hundred and fifty pounds was a bit steep. Still, he could always dream. He rubbed his hands together, blowing into them as a cold wind encircled him. The huge glass building enlightened a darkened sky, reviving memories of his own schooldays.
As he entered the reception, he noticed the hushed atmosphere. He passed two teachers in the corridors leading to the sports area. The nearer his approach to the gym, the more he could hear voices. As he reached the changing rooms, Chris’s friend Tommo came charging out, kit bag slung over his shoulder, his hair still wet from the shower.
“Tommo! How are you?”
The boy’s expression was one of surprise. “Mister Gardener!”
Gardener detected something odd about the youth. He was normally bright and cheerful.
Today, he seemed defensive. Alarm bells started to ring in Gardener’s head. “Tommo, where’s Chris?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you mean you don’t know where he is at the moment? Or you don’t know where he is at all?”
“At all, Mister Gardener.”
Ice water surged around Gardener’s veins. He knew Tommo well enough to know the lad appreciated a joke, but he was sensible enough to realize where to draw the line. Tommo’s expression had transformed into genuine concern.
“When did you last see him?”
“Dinnertime. He said he was going to get some chips.”
“And you haven’t seen him since?”
“No. But we were in different parts of the school this afternoon. I said I’d see him at football.”
Gardener felt nauseous. There was probably a logical explanation. Maybe Chris had changed his mind, gone straight home. His son should be here, though. Chris loved football. He wanted to play today. Images of Warthead burned into his brain, unbidden.
“Where’s the sports master?”
“In the gym.” Tommo nodded his head toward it.
“I’ll catch you later, Tommo.” Gardener ran down the hall. He found Raglan and a couple of pupils cleaning up. Raglan was short but broad, with a ruddy complexion. He had powerful arms and legs, and retained a military posture. Gardener had always felt that the man couldn’t accept the fact he was no longer in the Army and refused to allow his authority to be flouted. He’d often heard reports of Raglan barking at the boys for little or no reason.
Raglan spotted Gardener on his determined approach. “Gardener! What brings you here?” That was another thing Gardener didn’t like. Raglan never used a title, only a surname.
“My son,” he replied.
“Haven’t seen him.”
“When did you last see him?”
“Can’t remember. Saw him around the school this morning. Reminded him about the football. If he can’t be bothered to show up for the game, I don’t see why I should waste my time chasing him. Good spell in the army wouldn’t do that lad any harm.”
Gardener flipped, and moved so fast he frightened even himself. Using his forearm, he pinned Raglan against the gym wall. “Don’t you read the newspapers, you pompous prick?” he growled.
Raglan was flustered, surprised by the attack. “Take your bloody hands off me, Gardener!” Although Raglan had been military trained, he struggled to break the policeman’s grip.
The two pupils assisting Raglan quickly ran off.
“There are children going missing all the time. One of them from this school, now dead!”
Gardener released Raglan, but his anger remained. “Didn’t you think it was strange that Chris didn’t show up?”
Raglan straightened his clothes. “You know what kids are like. Always changing their minds.”
“In some cases. Not Chris. He’s been going on about football for weeks.”
“It’s not my job to look after your son, Gardener.”
“It is when he’s in school!”
“But he isn’t, is he? And I didn’t know that. I’ve got more important things to do than run around after adolescent youths who are unreliable at the best of times.”
Gardener was aware that the two youths had returned with another teacher. Once again, he grabbed Raglan by his collar, shoving him against the wall.
“Hey, come on, calm down!” shouted the teacher.
Gardener didn’t know his name. Didn’t care.
“You’re not fit to be a teacher.” Gardener’s voice was threateningly calm. “When I find my son, you’d better hope he’s okay. If he isn’t, and if anything’s happened to him, I’ll hold you responsible. Then I’ll come back.”
“Look! I don’t know who you are, but I think you’d better leave before I call the police.”
The other teacher tried to break Gardener’s hold.
He let go of Raglan, pushing past the other teacher.
“I am the police!”
Gardener stalked off, leaving both men open-mouthed.
Chapter Sixty-three
Reilly found Gardener in the park, sitting on the same bench where Sarah had told him she was pregnant. Gardener stared straight ahead, oblivious to his partner’s presence. An early morning frost glistened underneath a pale blue sky graced with few white clouds. In the distance, a white cat stalked a bunch of sparrows. An old couple strolled by hand in hand, casting a wary eye at the tired man with a five o’clock shadow.
At last, Gardener turned to Reilly. “How did you find me?”
“It’s our job to find people. Your dad’s worried sick.”
“I imagine he is.”
“Of course he is. He hasn’t seen you since yesterday, which is bad enough. But his grandson is also missing. How do you think he feels?”
“I know how he feels. He’s worried about his son. And I’m worried about mine. There’s a difference, though, Sean. At least I can take care of myself. My son is only thirteen.”
Gardener’s thoughts drifted back to the early part of the previous evening. After leaving the school, he’d spent some time sitting in the car, trying to put his mind in order. Feeling like an ogre. He’d found himself constantly asking the same q
uestion. Why did he keep losing the people he loved? His mother; then Sarah, a year ago. Now Chris.
As time had passed, he’d eventually forced himself to think logically. Gardener had left the school car park and checked all of Chris’s friends. Each had told a similar story. Chris had left the school at dinnertime for a bag of chips. No one had seen anyone with him. More importantly, no one could recall seeing him return. The task had taken Gardener most of the night.
Two bottles of water later and a phone call home, which remained unanswered, fired his enthusiasm to continue searching. He had toured the places he knew Chris liked to go. The parks, the cinemas, the amusement arcades. Patrolling like a vigilante in search of his prey. The longer the hunt went on, the more fruitless the task became.
His thinking had eventually altered. He’d gone from a distressed father seeking his son, to a wanton man hell-bent on revenge. His mind had become a bubbling cauldron of animosity and hatred. His quarry, Warthead. The freak with the misshapen head had been imprinted in his mind like a Polaroid snapshot.
Gardener studied the Irishman’s well-defined features. In the three years that they had been partners, Gardener realized how reliable he had been. After Sarah had died, Sean Reilly had been the man behind his return to work. He had proved to Gardener that he had the courage and the conviction to continue. He’d taught him to believe in himself. Life went on. Gardener had to persevere, if only for his son’s sake. “How did my dad find out?”
“He had a call from the school about the incident. He called me soon afterwards. I told Briggs. We set the wheels in motion. And believe me, we’re on the case with Chris. Briggs pulled out all the stops. Every officer we have is out searching for that wee boy. And I’m telling you, not one of them went home last night. I’m surprised you haven’t seen the posters all over the city.”
Reilly returned to the subject of his father. “You should have called your dad. He’s disappointed. He hasn’t said as much, but I can tell. You need each other, especially now.”
Gardener sighed, resting his head in his hands. “I did call, but there was no answer. I know I should have continued calling. With everything that happened yesterday, I didn’t know where the hell I was.”
Gardener stared at his feet. He was tired. He’d had no sleep. His body ached all over because it was cold. His mouth felt like he’d been chewing a carpet. He glanced across the park. The sparrows had flown but the white cat remained, reminding him of Spook.
Gardener finally spoke again. He stood up, staring down at Reilly. “I’m confused. I’m tired. I’m angry. Most of all, I’m hurting. My son is out there. I don’t know where he is. For all I know, he could be dead. If he’s still alive, he’ll be hurting as well. He’ll be frightened. I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m just going over it and over it in my mind. It’s tearing me apart, Sean. I’m a policeman and I can’t even find my own fucking son! How do you think it makes me feel?”
Reilly stood up. “I know exactly how you feel.”
Gardener continued. “Do you realize what I’m saying? I don’t want to think about serial killers and who’s doing what to whom. I want my son back! To hell with the investigation. My son is the only thing that matters.”
Gardener leaned back against a nearby tree. He was dizzy. When the feeling passed, he spoke again. “I don’t know where my son is, but I’ve a bloody good idea who has him. Warthead’s been following me. He must have been. He wasn’t content to kill my wife. Now he wants my son.”
“You don’t know that for certain.”
Gardener glanced upwards. A plane passed overhead. His mind was suddenly propelled into the past as he thought of himself, Sarah, Chris, and his father all jetting off for a tour of America. They had spent the first week in Disney World, and the second on the California coast. He had never seen Chris so happy. They had all been happy. Times were good.
Gardener continued. “No. You’re right, I don’t know for certain. But one thing I do know is that standing around here won’t find him.”
Gardener made to move. His right knee gave way, and he stumbled back onto the bench.
Reilly caught him, sitting down with him. “When did you last eat? How long do you think you can keep going like this?”
“Till I find him.”
“And how long will that be?”
“I don’t know,” replied Gardener, unsure where Reilly was heading.
“Precisely. It could be days. You can’t go without food all that time. You’re no good to your son if you’re dead.”
“Maybe not. But while I’m wasting time eating, I could be searching.” Gardener stood up again. So did Reilly, grasping his partner’s shoulders.
“Listen to me. You’re not on your own. You’ve got the resources of the whole team. Together, we’ll sort it out. Give me a few minutes, boss. I have something important to tell you. Spare me the time. Let’s get some food inside you, and you can listen to what I have to say.”
Gardener reluctantly agreed.
Chapter Sixty-four
The walk to the park gates and the mobile caravan felt like a marathon. Neither man spoke. The weather was improving, growing milder. When they reached the van, Gardener chose to sit at one of the tables. Reilly ordered.
Eventually, the Irishman returned and passed over a sandwich and a hot drink. To Gardener it smelled good, and though he expected it to taste like cardboard, it didn’t. Even the tea wasn’t too hot. But neither did anything to appease him.
“What did you want to tell me, Sean?”
Reilly finished his sandwich, took a long mouthful of tea. “I grew up in Ireland, as you well know. I had to learn the hard way, and I matured into an adult bloody fast, I can tell you. You had to be hard to survive. Me and my brothers were always caught up in street battles that started small and escalated into fucking wars before you knew it. It was always political.
“We moved to Portballintrae when I was seven, just off the coast, near the Giant’s Causeway. I met up with an old-timer there, Laura’s grandfather Seamus. He fascinated me. He was very wise, and he knew how to survive. Not just from the land, but almost every way you could think of. He used to take me fishing and we’d sit on the rocks for hours, listening to the water, staring out to sea. It was relaxing.
“Another thing he shared with me were the legends surrounding the Celtic people, and how they often helped him overcome his problems. Now, I’m not going to spend all morning boring you with those. So, I’m going to tell you about something that happened to Laura and myself. Something I’ve never told anyone else.”
Reilly finished his tea. “It happened a few summers back. Our daughter, Linda, had taken a train to Belfast to see a concert. An hour before it started, there was an explosion at a church on the opposite side of the street. Fair rocked the place, so it did.”
“Your daughter?”
Reilly nodded.
“I didn’t realize you had a daughter. You’ve never mentioned her.”
“Like I said, I’ve never told anyone.”
Gardener noticed, for possibly the first time since he’d known his partner, a concerned expression. Behind the stone-enhanced exterior, Sean Reilly really was capable of showing emotion. It was a rare experience. He was perhaps the only person whom Gardener knew that seemed able to keep his emotions in check.
“The building had to be evacuated,” he continued. “Hordes of people spilled out onto the street. Then another series of mini-explosions shook the place. A lot of people were killed and a lot more were hurt, I can tell you. You see, that’s the sheer senselessness of it all. Bombs are not the answer.”
“Where were you when it happened?” asked Gardener.
“I forget where I was now, but that’s not important. A political organization called Black Velvet claimed responsibility. Now Linda, God love her, she was a wee chip off the old block. When Black Velvet grabbed one of her friends as hostage, our Linda waded in and tried to save the girl.”
Reilly paused
but Gardener said nothing.
Reilly’s eyes had dampened when he glanced at his partner. “She took a shotgun blast to the face at point-blank range. The coroner said afterwards it would have been instant, she wouldn’t have known anything. But we did. Laura was devastated. Couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, crying all the time. I was given leave from the RUC. Me being who I am, I decided no one was going to get away with doing this to me.
“I went underground with the sole ambition of carrying out a one-man vendetta. Through various contacts, I found the headquarters and persuaded a couple of dogshites to give me the information I wanted.”
Reilly paused, leaving his partner with the impression that he didn’t want to go any further.
“Suffice to say, before I left, I thanked them for their cooperation. The group responsible for the bombing took a number of hostages – Linda’s friend being one of them. They were keeping them in a derelict warehouse on the outskirts of the city. I rounded up a couple of friends and paid a visit. There were only three people supervising: one of them was the man who pulled the trigger, and he was mine – all mine. We freed the hostages, and I delivered the three personally. In bags. As you can imagine, my reward was my passport to the top man. The man who’d pulled the trigger was his brother. We had a meeting, ironed a few things out, and he let me go. Nothing more was said.”
Gardener shuddered when he thought of what his friend was capable of, despite having always suspected as much.
He made light of it. “Sounds like the Sean Reilly we’ve all come to know and love. Didn’t the RUC find out what you’d done?”
“They might have suspected something, but they couldn’t prove it. My point is this, my friend: you’re going to have to follow my example.”
“I’d gladly kill the bastard if I could find him.”
“No, for God’s sake.” Reilly waved his hands in the air. “I don’t want you to kill someone. I want you to go underground. Think back to the Thornwell killing. Who was sitting on a bench, waiting patiently to speak to us?”
