Impurity (DI Gardener 1)

The screams on the other side of the door continued. Nash was frightened but decided to knock again. He shouted as well. And fidgeted, wondering whether or not to leave the takeaway on the step. He didn’t need the agro. He was late enough. If the guy on the other side of the door was being tortured, he probably deserved it.

Then the door opened. A black blur leapt out, crashing into him. He was aware of the Chinese takeaway hitting the wall to his right, the black blur jumping down the stairs to his left.

The force of the assault unbalanced Nash. He crashed into the banister rail, going over in slow motion.

On his way down, Nash passed the person dressed in black. His own screams equalled those he’d heard upstairs. As he plummeted, his outstretched right arm hit the first-floor banister and snapped. He continued to bounce into obstacles, but it wasn’t enough to stop him altogether.

As he hit the concrete floor at the bottom, his neck snapped.

In his dying moments, he was aware of someone walking past him.

He remembered he’d left the car engine running. The Chinese family wouldn’t be pleased.

Chapter Forty-nine

Gardener carefully negotiated the path leading to the front door. The overnight snowfall had transformed into a dirty grey slush. On either side of the walkway, the small garden had the finest display of weeds he had ever seen, overpopulated by fast-food cartons, carrier bags, and used condoms. Reilly followed close behind, with Briggs in tow, his hands clasped to his mouth, mumbling

about the cold.

Before Gardener entered the house, he turned, scanning the neighbourhood. He saw squad cars, ambulances, police officers, and a near-derelict house with scenes of crime tape. The one noticeable point over and above everything else was the fact that no one cared enough to even pry.

A young mum with a baby in a buggy scurried past the gate. She never even turned.

Further down the street, three young boys played football, shouting at each other, paying little attention to the authorities. Life continued as though he and his team were invisible. An everyday occurrence.

“Are we going in, then?” said Briggs, irritably.

A body lay where it had fallen, engorged blue lips on ashen skin, lifeless eyes staring vacantly into space. Two constables shielded the body. One was PC Benson.

“What have you found out?” asked Gardener, peering up the staircase.

“According to his wallet, his name’s Pete Nash. I can’t tell you anything else about him at the moment, sir. We’re running him through the system. We’ve had a call from a Chinese takeaway, The Golden Lotus. It seems he’s a delivery driver for them. Went missing last night. The car’s not in the lot outside.”

“Surprise, surprise.”

Reilly ascended the first three stairs. “Any witnesses?” asked the Irishman.

“No, sir.”

Gardener glanced at the ceiling, disappointed. “Who found the bodies?”

“The landlord. He came to collect the rent arrears from Frank Myers. After finding Nash, he went upstairs and found the door to Myers’ flat was open. He’s still up there.” Benson paused. “Looks like Nash fell from the top floor.”

“Okay.” Gardener pulled out his mobile and phoned Fitz, requesting his presence, and the undertaker. The procession of officers climbed the staircase to Myers’ flat. For Gardener, it was simply a repeat of the two weeks previous, but with a different address. The house was equally as run down as the Rawston place, but Myers appeared to have been the building’s sole tenant. He sidestepped the remains of the Chinese takeaway, intermingled with what he took to be the landlord’s vomit. Combined with the smell from inside the flat, it was enough to upset the most cast-iron of constitutions.

The door was open. Gardener noticed that the Crime Scene Manager, Steve Fenton, had laid out the stepping plates. He was standing on one, simply staring around the room. He wore a scene suit, but not a mask. His eyes were watering. Fenton nodded to them as they approached.

He stepped out of the room using the plates. “I was here first, sir. I thought I might as well put the plates out for you.”

Gardener suspected the repugnant smell would stay with him long after the case had been closed.

Fenton introduced Mr Singh, the landlord, who had remained outside the door.

Gardener ignored him, glancing around. The room was dirty, with a threadbare carpet. The windows were covered with old nets and tattered curtains that had never been washed, in his opinion. Apart from a small table and chairs, Myers had a bed, and an armchair placed in front of a DVD player. The television was on but the screen was blue. Gardener noticed the DVD player was switched on but not playing. He could see a tiny bathroom leading off from the room they were in.

“Jesus Christ!” said Briggs.

What was left of Myers was in the exact same condition as Plum and Thornwell when they’d been found. Stripped of innards with a layer of wet skin stretched over the skeletal frame.