“When was the last time?”
“No one can remember. It doesn’t seem the sort of a place where people mix. New apartment block, I don’t think anyone really knows anyone else. Anyway, I’ve left a message for the caretaker to call us, see if he can shed any light on it.”
“I think we’ll find they’ve all disappeared, boss,” said Reilly.
Sharp took over. “Edna Hart, real name Zoe Harrison, has a Wharfe apartment on the River Aire. It’s pretty much the same type of place, very upmarket. I’d be surprised if anyone actually knew their neighbour. We did speak to the apartment either side, but they said they’d only spoken to her a couple of times and even then it was only pleasantries. No one knew what car she drove.”
“And she’s not home, either?”
“Nope. Neither is Alfie Price, real name Anthony Palmer, who lives in Burley.”
“Burley?”
“That’s the address we have,” said Sharp.
Same village as where the Hunters lived, thought Gardener. Perhaps it might be worth running the name past Roger Hunter. “I know we’ll need warrants to search the places but have you looked through windows, or letter boxes, to see if there is any sign of life?”
Rawson nodded. “Here’s the big one. We did find the caretaker in Zoe Harrison’s block. After some gentle persuasion he let us have a quick look round. The place appeared to have been cleared, of everything – incriminating or otherwise.”
“It’s empty?” asked Gardener.
“Apart from mail piling up on the mat, yes, almost as if she’s moved,” said Sharp. “The only problem is, we have no idea where. There aren’t enough hours in the day at the moment.”
Gardener nodded. He knew they were right, and he may now need further operational support officers to help with the legwork. What he’d really like was Anderson and Thornton back with him.
“I feel like we’re back at square one,” said Reilly. “Like we’re in one of those bastard computer games where if you make a mistake you’re transported back to level one so you have to start all over again.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Anthony Palmer?” said Roger Hunter. “Yes, I know of him. Why has he sprung up?”
Gardener and Reilly had taken the opportunity to leave the office for a while. Their first stop in Burley was a three-bedroom detached bungalow in Manor Park, the home of Anthony Palmer. There was no answer, as expected. But his house wasn’t totally empty from what they could see through the windows. The garage was closed and locked so he couldn’t check on a car. Gardener wondered why his place had not been cleared.
After a scout around the building they dropped in on Roger Hunter to see if he knew the man who lived so close, and who appeared to be involved in the death of his brother.
Gardener explained to Roger Hunter what he had been told.
Roger Hunter stood up. “Please, let me make you a drink and I’ll explain something that might help you considerably.”
Roger returned with mugs of tea, placed them on a small table in a sparsely decorated living room and took his seat.
“I can’t believe what’s happening here. How does he come to be involved in the hit and run? He’s family, for God’s sake.”
“Family?” repeated Reilly.
Gardener was suddenly reminded of the rule of thumb with a murder inquiry; any suspicious deaths and you always start with the family.
“My brother and his wife were Anthony’s only real family. He was Ann Marie’s nephew. Anthony’s parents died when he was in his late teens. He has no brothers or sisters.
“Prior to their death, his parents were music hall entertainers. They travelled all over the UK with a variety of theatre companies. They died tragically when their car was in a collision with a coach on the M62 returning to Leeds from Liverpool.”
“When was that?” asked Reilly.
“About fifteen years ago, I think, in December. Anthony was originally born in Leeds but until the time he was six, the family moved around: two years in Bristol, and another two in Milton Keynes before a stint in Liverpool. They moved back to Leeds and found a house in Wellington Hill when Anthony was nine.”
“So you think he was late teens when his parents died. Can you remember how old?” asked Gardener.
“Possibly sixteen, maybe a little older.”