Imposture (DI Gardener 6)

The PC pointed. “Down there, on the right, sir.”

“How bad?” Reilly asked as both officers started to run.

“Bad enough for me to stay where I am.”

Stepping to his right, around the corner of a building, at the rear of the shops, Gardener noticed a ramp leading to an underground car park. In front of him, the rear of all the shops had been sealed off with concrete posts, accompanied by wire fencing. He remembered years previously that it had been a popular area with the down and outs in Leeds, all of whom congregated here overnight.

Gardener noticed another police car further down Butts Court, which were very possibly the two officers who had been on overnight surveillance. He needed to talk to them but it could wait.

On the ground in front of him, huddled into what could only be described as a pile of rags – like a down and out – was the body. Standing behind the wire fence, a shop assistant cowered against the wall of the shop, arms folded, and as white as a sheet. She had a cigarette in her left hand but at the moment no attempt was being made to smoke it.

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?”