Impurity (DI Gardener 1)

To Gardener, not only was Olive Bradshaw’s flat a complete contrast, so was her attitude – giving him the impression of a Jekyll and Hyde personality.

Olive passed them both a cup of tea using a Chinese bone tea service.

“Biscuit?” She pushed a plate towards him.

“No, thank you.” Eager to move on, Gardener decided to open the investigation with an apology, suspecting it would appeal to her better nature. If she had one. “I’ll have the mess upstairs cleaned up as soon as possible.”

Olive nodded her approval, rubbing the jug vigorously. Gardener noticed the brassware in the room outnumbered every other trinket. The collection included plates, jugs, bowls, candleholders, and pine surround mirrors, all of which sparkled.

“So, how can I help you, Inspector?”

“You can start by telling me a little about yourself and the setup here.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Just some general information, etcetera. How old are you?”

“I’m in my golden years, Inspector.”

“You mean diamond, don’t you, Olive, love?” offered Reilly.

She narrowed her eyes, shooting him a withering stare.

“Married?” asked Gardener, quickly.

“No.” She paused, before adding, “I’m saving myself.”

Gardener’s eyes met Reilly’s, pleading silently with him not to follow that comment.

The Irishman smirked and continued with his notes.

“How long have you lived here?”

“About five years. It was my brother’s house to start with. He’d always suffered with asthma, and as he got older, it got worse; didn’t it, Mabel?” She nodded to her sister. “Anyway, he asked me if I’d like to come and live here. In return for doing a bit of caretaking and looking after his affairs, I was allowed to live rent-free.”

“Is he still alive?”

“No, Inspector,” said Mabel. “Our Maurice died a year back now. Poor love had a stroke.”

“I’m afraid I’ve let the place fall into rack and ruin,” continued Olive. “Grief is a funny thing. Anyway, we’re selling up now, aren’t we, Mabel?”

Her sister nodded.

“She’s just sold her house in Burley-in-Wharfedale,” Olive informed Gardener. “We’re both living here temporarily until the sale goes through.” By the time she finished, Gardener’s cup sat empty. Mabel cleared all the dishes, was

hed, and replaced them at the table.

“And Herbert Plum?”

“I’m not sure I know that much.”

“You’d be surprised,” said Reilly.

“Anything would be useful,” Gardener added.

“He was about sixty. A big man, not very house-proud. His clothes were clean enough, always washed them at the launderette.” She glanced at her sister. “You know the one, Mabel, on Dewsbury Road. Small shop, mucky windows, smells. Her who always takes her dog to bingo runs it. Don’t like her myself. Too secretive.” She turned back to Gardener. “Anyway, he washed his clothes there. Never ironed ’em, mind. Well, what man can?”

She smiled at Gardener before continuing.