Impurity (DI Gardener 1)

Nicki fell silent again.

Gardener glanced over at Reilly busy taking notes.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” she spoke up, “but I’ve got to be somewhere.”

“So, last night, you were here all night?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you notice whether or not he had any visitors?”

“Can’t say as I did. But then, I spent half the night tryin’ to calm me son down.”

Gardener changed topics. “Who lives in the flat next door?”

“Not sure.”

“You’re not sure. What does that mean?”

“It means, I hear the door opening and closing every now and again, but I never see anyone. It happens at odd hours as well.”

“You’ve never seen anyone,” Gardener pressed.

“No. You’ll have to ask Olive Bloody Bradshaw about that as well. It’s her house.” Nicki glanced at her watch.

She seemed agitated. Gardener was surprised she’d been so forthright with her information. He still suspected her hatred of Plum went deeper than she was letting on, which may or may not have a bearing on the case.

“Okay, we’ll leave it at that for now. I may want to ask you some more questions later, though. If you do remember anything, give me a call.” He passed her a card. She jumped quickly to her feet, following them both out onto the landing.

“Oh, one more thing,” said Gardener. “Which pub did he drink in?”

“The Black Bull, I think, a couple of streets away.”

Gardener nodded. “Thank you for your time. If you do remember anything, no matter how trivial, give me a ring.”

He stopped her as she went to close the door. “I think you’re hiding something. I will be back.”

Nicki didn’t respond. She locked the door behind and leapt down the stairs two at a time, leaving them standing in front of her apartment.

Gardener turned to Reilly. “What do you think?”

“I think we need to speak to Olive Bradshaw.”

Chapter Fourteen

“You’d better come in.”

The eye-catching decor and level of hygiene in Olive Bradshaw’s flat pleasantly surprised Gardener as he entered. It created a remarkable contrast to the other flats, the building’s exterior, and the neighbourhood itself. He wondered what possessed her to live in a crumbling, derelict, plague-infested area like Rawston.

He noticed her residence was bigger. The living room was one large open space, into which she had crammed an eccentric number of personal belongings. Queen Anne chairs carefully coordinated around Wilton rugs. The woman was obsessed with trinkets.

“Would you like to join me and my sister Mabel for tea, Inspector?” She pointed to a chair at the table. Once seated, she picked up a brass jug and started polishing it.

Mabel had a petite frame and a relatively smooth complexion. She clasped her cup with arthritic fingers. She wore her blue rinse hair in a tightly packed bun, and wire-rimmed spectacles.

“Thank you, I’d love a cup.”

Reilly nodded his agreement.