Imposture (DI Gardener 6)

My head

Anthony was back around the mirror within seconds. That’s all it had taken. Seconds. Evil was no longer around the bend. He had seen to that.

As the music came to an end, Anthony listened intently. He could hear nothing from the other side.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

He was so relieved. He had done it. He had survived an encounter with Godzilla.

Elated, Anthony ran back around the mirror to gloat. Job done.

Only it wasn’t.

The man bunched up in the foetal position at Anthony’s feet was not Roger Hunter.

Chapter Sixty-two

Reilly found Gardener on the floor, hunched up, his hands near his head but not covering it. His senior officer’s face was damp; his eyes were closed and slightly inflamed. He had a syringe in his shoulder with the plunger pressed home. His hat was turned upside about eighteen inches away from him, close to a can of pepper spray. He was unconscious.

“Stewart,” he called. He didn’t receive a reply and he didn’t think he would.

“What happened to you, son?” he said quietly, checking for a pulse. It was good. Gardener was still breathing.

Not knowing what was in the syringe, Reilly was very reluctant to move his partner. Who the hell had put Gardener’s life in danger? Roger Hunter? Reilly doubted it. Though he suspected Roger was responsible for the carnage, he really didn’t think he would put an officer’s life at risk and, in all honesty, Roger’s beef was not with the police.

That left Anthony Palmer. Perhaps he’d decided he had little left to lose and was prepared to go out in a blaze of glory.

Whoever had done it, sitting here trying to figure the matter out wasn’t helping either him or Gardener.

He pulled out his mobile and called the station. When the desk sergeant answered, Reilly went straight into the conversation.

“It’s DS Reilly. I have a man down.”

“Who?”

“The boss man, DI Gardener. We’re in pursuit at the industrial units in Harrogate. The St. James Business Park, about three miles out of the town centre on Grimbald Cragg Road. No idea what’s wrong but he’s unconscious with the biggest syringe I’ve ever seen sticking out of his shoulder.”

“Ambulance on its way.”

Reilly broke the connection. The music started again.

“Oh, Jesus,” he said to himself, glancing upwards. “If I find out who is responsible for this fucking racket I’m going to stick that syringe up his arse.” He glanced at Gardener. “Never mind what he’s done to you.”

Reilly checked his position. He was alone. He grabbed his phone and called Dave Rawson.

“What’s up?” asked Rawson.

“The boss man’s down, I need you in here, now.”

“Oh, Christ. Colin as well?”

“No, leave him at the door.”

Reilly called Bob Anderson next and issued the same instructions: Anderson in, Thornton out.

Reilly checked Gardener’s pulse again – still good. God only knew what was in the syringe but if luck was on his side it may only be a sleeping compound.

The question was, what did he do now? Stay with his friend and partner, or go in pursuit of the maniac responsible?