IMPOSTURE: Hunters become the hunted in this gripping murder mystery

by Ray Clark

  A PC approached Gardener as he knelt down to examine the body, realising that the crime scene was completely unimportant, but saving a life was. It had probably been contaminated anyway.

  Reilly knelt beside him. “What in God’s name has gone on here?”

  Gardener noticed a hand and felt for a pulse. Faint though it may be, he could detect one. He wondered where the ambulance was.

  “This guy will be lucky to live much longer. Will you call the station and get the team here as well?”

  Reilly had his phone in his hand, barking his order into the machine, with an urgency that suggested he wanted everyone there by the quickest method possible.

  Gardener flinched as he lifted the blanket covering the man, which literally stank to high heaven. He had no idea if the odour emanated from the blanket or the person. Nestled inside, very close to the body was a bottle of water.

  Whoever he was he was dreadfully thin but at the same time bloated, reminding Gardener of pictures of starving children in Africa.

  Although the man was dressed it was scant and Gardener could see beyond the clothing that most of his limbs were down to skin and bone but his belly was large and round. His eyes had sunk into his cheeks, which had drawn so tight to his skull that Gardener could almost see the white of the bone showing through. Most if not all of his teeth had huge gaps, and would very likely fall out if touched. What little hair he had sprouted through the dome of his head.

  “He’s been starved,” said Reilly.

  “Looks that way.”

  “How long, do you reckon?”

  “God only knows but it looks like quite some time.” Gardener glanced upwards. “Where the hell is the ambulance, Sean?”

  “They shouldn’t be too long, but you know what traffic’s like this early in the morning.”

  The starved victim’s breathing was very harsh and raspy, almost like the sound of a purring cat. Gardener had no idea what starvation did to your lungs but if the exterior of the body was anything to go by, they must be completely knackered.

  He leaned in close, despite the smell. “Can you tell me your name, please?”

  The man made no effort to reply. In fact, his eyes were closed and had been since the two officers had pulled up.

  Gardener thought back to less than twenty-four hours ago, around the corner on Bond Street, with Michael Foreman.

  He glanced at Reilly. “Best guess, Sean, how long would you say he’s been like this?”

  Reilly shook his head. “At least a month, boss.” He glanced around and further down the street to the surveillance car. “How the hell did he get here, with those two on duty last night?”

  “I have no idea but when we’re finished with the shop assistant we’ll go and ask them.”

  “We should really try and find some ID,” said Gardener, “but what’s going to happen if we move him?” He was convinced it was connected to yesterday’s victim but realised it wasn’t Zoe Harrison. It could be James Henshaw or Anthony Palmer, but the man was too far damaged to recognise from the incident room photos.

  Gardener tried to talk to the victim again but there was no reply. He touched the man’s hand. It was cold and pale, and he didn’t even attempt to recoil from it.

  “I don’t think it will make much difference, Sean.”

  “We’re not going to save him, are we?”

  Gardener was about to answer when he heard an ambulance siren in the distance. He had no idea where it was but hoped to God it was the one they wanted. He stood up. “Sean, see if you can find something out from him; see if he’ll talk. I’m going to speak to the shop assistant.”

  “Good luck with that one, she looks like she’s in a trance.”

  Gardener walked over to the fencing, by which time another woman had joined the first one. Gardener stepped through the small gate.

  “Elaine Kirk?”

  The lady nodded but it was the other assistant who spoke. “She is.”

  “And you are?”

  “Jean Lawford.”

  “Is she able to talk, do you think?” asked Gardener. He’d seen people in shock before.

  “I’m okay,” said Elaine Kirk. She was young, thin, late twenties, blonde hair, brown eyes, large nose, and wore round, wire-rimmed glasses. She had a North East accent. Jean Lawford was the opposite: twice Kirk’s age, black hair tied up, plump, thirty years her senior, and spoke deep Yorkshire; not Leeds, maybe Sheffield.

  “What time did you find him?” Gardener asked.

  Kirk glanced at her watch and threw the unfinished cigarette on the ground. “About eight thirty.”

  “What made you come out at that time?”

  “We hadn’t been here long, got here about eight-fifteen. I’d had no breakfast so I decided to come through the back and put the kettle on before Jean got here, make us a cup of tea.”

  “What time did you arrive, Mrs Lawson?” Gardener guessed her marital status because of the wedding ring.

  “Five minutes after. I’d brought a couple of bacon sandwiches in with me from Greggs. Can’t say I’ve got the stomach for one now.”

  “Did you hear anything before you came outside?”

  “No,” replied Elaine Kirk. “Is he dead, like?”

  “Surprisingly, no. So you only came out for a cigarette, no other reason?”

  “No. Crafty fag while the kettle boiled. I’ve been trying to give them up but I don’t think I’ll bother after seeing him.”

  Elaine Kirk suddenly started shaking. In an effort to try and control it she immediately reached into her jacket and pulled out the cigarettes. “Oh, Jesus, I can’t believe the state of him. What’s happened?”

  “Come on, Elaine,” said Jean Lawford. “Let’s get you inside.”

  “If you can bear with me, please, Mrs Lawford, I do have one or two more questions.”

  “Can’t you see how traumatised she is?”

  “It’s okay, Jean,” said Elaine Kirk. “I prefer to be outside. It’s colder here. With the heat in the shop I’ll faint, or throw up, and old misery guts won’t want that.”

  Gardener continued while the going was good, aware that the emergency vehicle siren was much louder now. “Did you see anyone around, walking or driving?”

  “No, nothing like that. Place was quiet as the grave…” Elaine Kirk stopped herself, realising what she’d said.

  “And this was where he was; he hasn’t moved at all?”

  “What do you think? He hasn’t got the strength to fart, never mind move.”

  “Has he said anything?”

  “Not to me.”

  “Was there anything with him: bags, bottles, papers of any kind?”

  “No, that was how he was, poor bastard. Anyway, I didn’t check. You don’t think I was going to approach him, do you?”

  The ambulance drew up and the medics jumped out of the vehicle. One was tall and old with thinning grey hair. The younger one was stocky and balding, and immediately forgot his manners, or where he was. “Fucking hell.”

  “I’m going to have to leave you two ladies now, but I’d appreciate it if you stay around, we will need to take a statement.”

  “Doubt I’ll be going anywhere,” said Elaine Kirk.

  As Gardener exited the fenced area, he heard Reilly explaining what he knew, which was very little.

  The medics took over and both officers stood back. They asked routine questions – to which they received no answers.

  The older man said he would retrieve the stretcher and a saline drip from the ambulance, whilst the younger one stood and spoke to Gardener.

  “Where did you find him?”

  “Here,” replied Gardener.

  “We think he was dumped during the night,” said Reilly.

  “We can see that he’s been starved,” said Gardener, “would you have any idea how long for, or what shape he’s in; is he likely to make it?”

  The medic whistled through his teeth. “Hard to say. Without water, he’d die after only a fe
w days, three at the most, depending upon the temperature and other conditions. Starving someone but giving them just water, may well keep them alive for weeks; be bloody painful.”

  “Looks like that’s what’s happened,” said Reilly.

  The medic nodded. “It depends how fat they are to start with, and how well they metabolise their body fat. Using your own body fat to keep you alive makes you feel nauseous, because you can’t replenish minerals like sodium. A patient’s blood sodium levels eventually fall to the point where it induces delirium, and possibly a coma, then probably death. Without amino acids, the liver can no longer produce plasma proteins, and water then leaks out into the tissues and causes oedema fluid build-up – if the patient stays alive long enough.”

  “You seem to know your stuff,” said Gardener. “How come you’re driving ambulances?”

  “Keep failing the exams,” replied the medic, sheepishly. “Lose my bottle.”

  Gardener felt sorry for him.

  The medic turned when his colleague called him over. As time was of the essence they figured it best to move the victim immediately, despite the ramifications. They had no idea if he would live, or if he did, how long it would be; but they knew for a fact that his best chance was not here, on solid concrete in the middle of Leeds on a cold February morning, despite it being mild for the time of year. Both men then discussed a technique they thought best for transferring him to the stretcher.

  Either side of the body, they gently lifted him an inch from the ground and held him steady.

  Still the victim made no sound.

  “Okay?” said one of them.

  His colleague nodded.

  If Gardener thought the shocks had ended for the time being, what he saw underneath the body once it was clear and onto the stretcher, nearly stopped his heart and made his stomach lurch.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  “Hold it,” shouted Gardener.

  Both medics glanced in his direction with an expression that said “are you out of your mind, stopping us now”.

  Reilly knelt down and crawled carefully on his knees, retrieving a pair of disposable gloves from his jacket.

  “Sir,” said the medic, “if we have any chance of saving this man we need to get him to the hospital.”

  “Sorry,” said Gardener. “When you get there I want his clothes.”

  “His clothes?”

  “Yes, his clothes and his body are a crime scene. I need them removing carefully and bagging up.”

  “Right,” said the older medic, “can we go now?”

  “Yes,” said Gardener, “I’ll have two of my men at the hospital as soon as possible.”

  Gardener glanced at Reilly who had now collected the three items from underneath the victim. Gardener doubted he would like what he was going to see, but he knew he’d been right to persuade Briggs to let him have the job.

  In his right hand, Reilly held two passports, and an A4 sheet of scrolled paper inside a plastic wallet.

  Gardener glanced at both passports, aware that the first of his team had arrived in the distance, drawing their car up to the crime scene tape, further blocking entry to the street. A crowd had gathered, as usual.

  He showed them to Reilly. “Jack Heaton and James Henshaw. No surprise there, boss.”

  “Certainly proves he isn’t in Brussels.”

  “No, but the passports suggest he might have had every intention of going somewhere,” replied Reilly.

  “Unlike the others,” replied Gardener, “I doubt he got there.” He held up the A4 wallet, reading the quote on the paper:

  When He broke the third seal, I heard the third living creature saying, “Come.” I looked, and behold, a black horse; and he who sat on it had a pair of scales in his hand. And I heard something like a voice in the centre of the four living creatures saying, “A quart of wheat for a denarius, and three quarts of barley for a denarius; but do not damage the oil and the wine.” Revelation 6:5-6

  Reilly finished reading and raised his head. “That’s just brilliant. We’ve got a fecking religious nut on our hands.”

  “Where’s the quote from?

  “The Book of Revelation.”

  “What do you think it means?”

  “I’m not sure. This stuff can be quite deep; might have more than one meaning. I’d have to think about it.”

  Gardener folded his arms and stared at the sky. “Someone’s well ahead of us here, Sean.”

  “Who?”

  “I had four in mind yesterday but Rosie Henshaw was one of them.”

  More of the team started to arrive, lining up at the end of Butts Court, waiting to be called.

  Gardener continued, “We’ve now found two members of this so called DPA outfit who were involved in the hit and run which killed David Hunter: Michael Foreman and James Henshaw.”

  “Leaving Zoe Harrison, and Anthony Palmer,” said Reilly, “so who’s your third possibility?”

  Gardener turned to face Reilly. “It’s a long shot but I can’t rule out Rosie Henshaw.”

  “First rule of thumb – always look at family.”

  “Her husband disappears after he’s been involved in a hit and run in which two people die. His business partners also disappear; suddenly, one returns, and dies.”

  “She claims to know nothing about the hit and run. The damaged car is not where she believes it to be.”

  “Nor are the business premises,” added Gardener.

  Reilly glanced at the ambulance as it pulled away. “Now we find the husband in a critical condition.”

  “Where are the other two?” asked Gardener. “What does she know? Is she involved?”

  “She might have known about everything from the start,” offered Reilly. “Maybe she still has the other two holed up somewhere. But why would she turn on them; what sparked it off?”

  “I’ve no idea, Sean, but we’ve seen enough murders to know that it doesn’t take much.”

  “She’d have her work cut out with two kids to clothe and feed.”

  “She needs to be added to the list of visits. Let’s see if she knows about Michael Foreman’s death, and how she reacts.”

  As Gardener’s team had all now arrived, he joined them out on Short Street. He very quickly briefed each of them on what he’d found before Reilly joined him.

  Gardener glanced back toward Slaters Menswear. Both shop assistants had now returned indoors but the back door was still open.

  “Time for actions,” said Gardener, turning back to the team. “I’d like two of you in Slaters to take statements from the two shop assistants, and in fact anyone else who was around, or arriving for work at that time. It’s a long shot because I believe the victim was placed here overnight. If on the other hand he wasn’t and it was early this morning, someone may have seen something.

  “Sean, can you go down there?” Gardener pointed to the surveillance car and the two officers who were standing beside it. “Find out what they know and ask them how the hell this could have happened when they were supposed to be on duty watching the place.”

  Reilly turned without question. Gardener knew it was exactly the type of job he relished.

  “I need someone at the hospital. With the victim clear of the scene where he was found, his clothing is now a crime scene, as is his body. But they won’t let you near him until he’s stable. Stay there for as long as is necessary, and I need a progress report on his condition by the hour, or the minute if necessary.

  “We need some operational support officers and all the forensic angles working, usual stuff: house-to-house, shop-to-shop, CCTV trawl from the cameras on the corner of the street, and I’m sorry to do this to you guys because I know you’re already chasing up existing leads but I need everything we can get in time for the next incident room meeting.”

  “When will that be, sir?” asked Patrick Edwards.

  Gardener glanced at his watch. “No later than three o’clock. But before you all go there is one big priority action and
it really is a long shot.”

  “You want to know where he’s been held,” said Colin Sharp, “makes sense, I would.”

  Gardener nodded. “I said it was a big one, but you guys go about the actions I’ve given you. Sean and I will concentrate on that last one, which ranks in importance with speaking to Rosie Henshaw.”

  “She’ll defo have to be told,” said Edwards.

  “She will, Patrick, but I don’t want her to know we’ve found her husband just yet. I need to know if she knows about Michael Foreman, and what her reaction is either way. This will be a tough one, but we need answers, and fast!”

  As his men dispersed, Reilly approached.

  “This doesn’t look good,” said Gardener.

  “Apparently they were relieved of their duty at midnight last night.”

  “By whom?”

  “You’re gonna love this. Detective Superintendent Palmer.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Following a really awful night’s sleep, Anthony had dragged himself out of bed an hour before, deciding breakfast might help him perk up.

  That was a laugh. The dining room was another outdated box with peeling wallpaper, cobwebs, and a carpet held together through a variety of stains. Breakfast, which was not the usual full English, consisted of tea and coffee facilities, and two tables with individual packets of cereals, milk, pastries and an odd selection of continental meats and cheeses.

  Anthony was hungry so he devoured a bowl of cereal, a plateful of meat and cheese, a bread roll, followed by two croissants and two doughnuts, all washed down with two cups of strong coffee. The quality of it all surprised him somewhat.

  Back in his room, following a shower he was sitting on the end of the bed in a T-shirt, jeans and trainers, trying to figure out a plan of action.

  Zoe Harrison had to be the key suspect in his downfall. Michael wasn’t bright enough to complete such a task. He was a follower, not a leader. Besides, he didn’t have the guts.

  He doubted James was behind it either. He was a family man and perhaps the most stable of them all. Following David Hunter’s death, James was the most concerned, and the least likely to draw attention to himself. It was also very possible that he had in fact made it out of the country. Probably started running before they found him.