by Ray Clark
IMPOSTURE
Hunters become the hunted in this gripping murder mystery
THE DI GARDENER CRIME FICTION SERIES
BOOK 6
RAY CLARK
Published by
THE BOOK FOLKS
London, 2021
© Ray Clark
Polite note to the reader
This book is written in British English except where fidelity to other languages or accents is appropriate.
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We hope you enjoy the book.
IMPOSTURE is the sixth book in a series of murder mysteries by Ray Clark featuring DI Stewart Gardener. Full details about the other books can be found at the end of this one.
Dedicated to Frank Rimer
Imposture. 1. The act or an instance of fraudulent deception. 2. A sham.
“Virtue owns a more eternal foe than force or fraud: old custom, legal crime, and bloody faith the foulest birth of time.”
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Contents
Part One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Part Two
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
Chapter Forty-seven
Chapter Forty-eight
Chapter Forty-nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-one
Chapter Fifty-two
Chapter Fifty-three
Chapter Fifty-four
Chapter Fifty-five
Chapter Fifty-six
Chapter Fifty-seven
Chapter Fifty-eight
Chapter Fifty-nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-one
Chapter Sixty-two
Chapter Sixty-three
Chapter Sixty-four
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
More fiction in this series
Other titles of interest
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Part One
Chapter One
Sunday 30th November (01:15 a.m.)
Detective Sergeant Sean Reilly brought the pool car to a halt on Main Street in Burley in Wharfedale, parking in front of the patrol car that some PC had left across the width of the road, as if he’d been drunk.
Jumping out, Detective Inspector Stewart Gardener caught sight of the street lamp and the iron railings at the edge of the kerb, both bent over at precarious angles. A large section of grass had been ripped up into clumps, leaving evidence in the form of a tread pattern. In the distance, he noticed branches and bricks and, possibly car parts, strewn across the road, not to mention damage to a brick wall.
Both men flashed their warrant cards and introduced themselves.
The young officer tipped his helmet. “PC Roberts, sir, Ilkley.” He was early twenties and carried more weight than he ought to have, sporting a double chin and puffy eyes.
“What do we know?” Gardener asked Roberts, glancing at an old gentleman standing next to the constable.
“This is Edward,” said Roberts, “Edward Makepeace. He lives in the village. He was out for a late-night walk when he spotted the damage, and the body.”
Gardener nodded. The man was small and waif-like: timid, slim, and no more than five feet tall. He wore a thick black quilted jacket over a grey pinstriped suit with a white shirt, black tie and a black bowler hat. “How are you?” asked Gardener, tipping his hat.
“Oh, well,” said Makepeace, tipping his hat. “You know what it’s like when you get to my age.”
Gardener didn’t but felt sure he would one day. “Would you like to tell us what you found, please, Mr Makepeace?”
He repeated the story the PC had mentioned, but in more detail. On leaving the village everything had been fine. When he returned from his walk he saw what the officers could see now.
“This is how you found her, Edward?” asked Reilly.
“Yes, sir.”
“You haven’t touched anything?”
“No. I got a little closer and asked if she was okay, but even with my poor eyesight I could see that she wasn’t.”
“When did you make the call, Mr Makepeace?” asked Gardener.
Edward glanced at his watch. “About an hour ago.”
Gardener made a quick calculation. Edward left home at around a quarter to midnight. Perhaps he hadn’t walked far so all the carnage in front of them probably happened before twelve fifteen, leaving a thirty-minute window. A lot had been crammed in during that half hour.
“Do you recognise her?”
“I’ve seen her and her husband about the village, but I’m afraid I don’t know their names.”
“Have you managed to ascertain who she is?” Gardener asked Roberts.
“No, sir,” he replied. “I haven’t been here much longer than you. I checked to see if she was alive, found she wasn’t, called it in myself, and then started to question Edward.”
Gardener knelt down beside the body of a woman, late forties to early fifties, adequately dressed for the time of year. She had long blonde hair in a fashionable bob, with a slim figure, well-manicured nails and a smooth complexion. In life, he felt she would have been quite pretty.
The SIO still checked for a pulse but found none. She was cold to the touch. Her left arm was trapped underneath her body, but the right extended outwards, clutching a mobile phone. A dark blue handbag lay a few feet away.
Reilly joined Gardener, kneeling down alongside the body.
“I wonder what this is all about, Sean?”
Reilly peered down the street to the damaged wall, before staring at the ruined railings behind them. “If she’s been hit by a car down there, she’s a long way from the scene of the accident.”
Gardener followed the direction of his partner’s eyes. “It seems unlikely she was hit over there” – he pointed, then glanced back at Reilly – “and landed over here.”
“No,” said Reilly, “and judging by her face, and the state of the body, both of which look untouched, I don’t think she’s been dragged over here by the vehicle.”
“So
what has happened to her?” asked Gardener, standing up. He then turned to the old gent. “Can I ask why you were out so late, Mr Makepeace?”
“I’m afraid I can’t sleep; quite common when you get to my age,” replied Edward. “My wife died recently and I find it impossible to settle. I miss her terribly. Going for a walk helps clear my mind.”
Gardener nodded, accepting his explanation. He knew what Edward was going through. He asked Roberts to take a full statement.
He turned to his partner. “I think we need to go over there and see if that scene tells us anything.”
Chapter Two
Gardener noticed branches strewn across the road. Mixed in with those were pieces of plastic in various colours, and rubble and bricks from the wall of the nearest cottage, one section of which had virtually been demolished.
Reilly had a torch with him despite visibility being good, and a nearby street light allowing them a clear view.
Gardener studied the road and the deep, black tyre marks.
“What do you think?” he asked his partner.
“Something big judging by the width of the tyres and the mess that wall is in.”
Gardener glanced above his head; a number of broken branches hung loosely, which could drop at any minute.
Reilly shone his torch on a section of the wall that still remained intact. Deep gouges and scratches – if that’s what you could call them – decorated the surface.
“Conditions are good,” said Gardener. “Why would a vehicle suddenly go out of control here?”
“Could be any number of reasons, boss. Drunk driving comes to mind first.”
“An argument, maybe? One of them grabs the wheel… they lose control,” offered Gardener.
“Not sure I buy that one. I’d wager someone was over the limit here. This accident probably sobered him or her up which is why they’ve done a runner.”
“Unless the driver took a call on the mobile.”
“Texting, more like,” said Reilly.
Gardener peered at the wall. It was Yorkshire stone, five bricks high but at the moment, a large middle section around fifteen feet long was missing, and only two bricks high. “I’d say the vehicle was not only big but must have been going at some speed. Look at the damage: bricks everywhere, broken branches.”
Reilly shone his torch into the garden behind the wall, glancing at more mess. “Especially for the bricks to have travelled that far. Which might rule out texting.”
The sergeant moved the torch to his right, giving him a wider view of the area, before shining it further down Main Street.
Realising there was little either of them could do, they scurried back to the body.
Staring down, Reilly said, “Let’s assume she wasn’t hit by the vehicle, she’s still dead, so how did that happen?”
“Good question, Sean,” replied Gardener. “More than anything we need identification.”
Reilly approached the handbag, slipped on a pair of latex gloves, picked up the bag, and glanced inside. He withdrew a purse, opened it and removed a credit card. “Ann Marie Hunter.”
He placed the handbag back on the ground and approached the body, examining her neck and head very carefully, stopping rather quickly.
“She’s got a hell of a lump on the back of her head. She’s bumped into something she shouldn’t have done.”
“Someone, you mean.”
Reilly nodded. “There’s a lot more to this than meets the eye. She hasn’t been hit by a vehicle.”
“Maybe she was a witness to an accident,” suggested Gardener, “and someone’s tried to silence her.”
Reilly stood up, glancing around. His eyes suddenly stopped and focused on something behind Gardener.
“You might just be right.”
Chapter Three
Reilly shone the torch toward a green enamel electric box about twelve feet away from his partner, across a grass verge, located next to a fence leading into a field. The beam picked up a pair of feet.
Gardener scurried toward the box. The only noise he registered in the dead of night was the buzzing of the damaged street light, which created an eerie atmosphere.
At that point, a car on Ilkley Road approached the roundabout and Gardener could quite clearly see from the signal that the driver wanted to enter the village via Main Street.
“Can you stop him? Send him back the other way,” Gardener asked PC Roberts, who quickly ran off.
The second body that no one had noticed was mostly in the shadow behind the electric box, as if someone wanted it hidden. Either that or they were drunk and had passed out, which he seriously doubted.
As Reilly shone the torch, Gardener noticed a pair of legs, dressed in trousers that almost certainly belonged to a suit. Peering further in, he caught sight of a sensible pair of walking boots, both of which were soiled with mud and grass stains to name but two. He wore a thick camel hair coat and his clothes spoke of money so it was very unlikely he was intoxicated, or here of his own accord.
Had they found what Ann Marie Hunter had been a witness to?
The gap between the electric box and the fence was narrow. Gardener took the torch from Reilly, leaned in closer, casting the beam further. One arm was by the victim’s side, the other draped across his stomach. The left hand had a wedding ring and bore scratches but from what, Gardener had no idea. A hat covered the man’s face.
Gardener pointed the torch at the man’s chest. He could see no movement, indicating he wasn’t breathing.
“Hello,” said Gardener, feeling stupid. “Are you okay?”
No response.
Gardener pulled a pair of latex gloves from his pocket, slipped his hands into them and carefully removed the hat. He detected no breathing and asked if Reilly might have a small mirror in the car. He then checked for a pulse but found none. The sergeant returned within minutes, clutching the remains of a broken wing mirror, which he mentioned was from the boot of their own vehicle. He held it over the mouth of the male victim – to no avail. He was definitely deceased.
Gardener stood up and glanced at his partner. He removed his own hat and scratched his head. “I can’t make any sense of this.”
“Without CCTV we’re not likely to.” Reilly glanced around. “And there doesn’t seem to be much of that.”
“I have a really bad feeling about it all,” continued Gardener. “We have a heavy car travelling at some speed, that smashes into a brick wall back there. It appears to have bounced off the wall and still continued at high speed before finishing up here. Look at the clumps of overturned soil and the damage to the railings and the street lamp. Why did it stop here?” He glanced quickly at both bodies. “It doesn’t look like either of these have actually been hit.”
“I don’t think we can rule him out as not being hit yet, boss,” said Reilly, staring at the body behind the electric box. “I’ve seen some strange things over the years. I once saw a bloke hit by a car and he flew into the air, landed some distance away, but when the ambulance got to him there wasn’t a scratch – he hadn’t even lost a drop of blood. Happens that way sometimes.”
Gardener knelt back down and rummaged through the suit pockets of the male victim retrieving a leather wallet. Pulling out a credit card, he read it, rolled his eyes, and then passed it to Reilly.
“David Hunter. The plot thickens.”
Gardener grabbed his mobile and punched in a series of numbers. “Time to call this in, Sean. We need everyone here.”
Chapter Four
The scene in the village switched in an instant, in the shape of four police cars, four vans and two trucks. Gardener left Reilly with PC Roberts and Edward Makepeace, while he met with Scenes of Crime Officers and issued some tasks; he wanted an inner and outer cordon put into place immediately, with marquees constructed. Burley was sealed off in record time, resembling something out of The Quatermass Experiment.
Gardener raised his head, took it all in. A quiet country village locked down, the scene of my
sterious murders. Floating between here and the roundabout to the main A65 were a number of SOCOs, all in white paper suits. There were cars all over the place with flashing blue lights, headlights still burning; resembling an abandoned film set.
A bunch of spectators had finally gathered at either end of the crime scene tape, as they always did. Where had they been when he’d needed them? And where the hell had they come from? The amount of people that had gathered due to noise from the scene and the bright lights was now around twenty, and growing. What was the betting that no one had seen or heard anything?
Reilly had checked the statement Roberts had taken from Edward Makepeace and then asked the young PC to take the old man home. Gardener dragged his team to one side at the edge of the inner cordon: Colin Sharp, Paul Benson, Patrick Edwards and Dave Rawson were huddled together. He was also pleased to see the two newer recruits in the shape of Julie Longstaff and Sarah Gates.
Reilly explained what they had so far pieced together.
“Have you any idea what happened?” asked Colin Sharp. “Did Mr Makepeace actually see anything?”
“No,” replied Gardener. He explained what Edward was doing out and how he had discovered the scene.
“So we don’t know if anyone was actually hit by the car?” asked Sarah Gates.
“No,” replied Reilly. “It doesn’t look that way, but looks can be deceiving.”
“For what it’s worth,” said Gardener, “we certainly don’t think Ann Marie Hunter was hit by anything other than a large blunt object.”
“She has a hell of a lump on the back of her head,” added Reilly.
As his sergeant made that comment, Gardener saw the Home Office pathologist, George Fitzgerald, pull up. After he’d exited the car, the SIO spent a few minutes bringing him up to speed before rejoining his team.
“This will be really awkward; an RTC without witnesses always is. I’ve called the Collision Investigation Unit. They are the experts in fatal RTCs so we’ll let them do their job, and hopefully they can help and point us in the right direction.
