Implant (DI Gardener 3)

The room was lit. On the wall opposite the opening, the naked body of a man had been crucified, using pretty big screws from what Gardener could see. His head dropped towards the floor, and his body hung limply upon the cross.

Gardener wondered if he’d been alive while he was being fixed to the wall.

Reaching the corpse – and he was pretty sure by now that the man was dead – would not be a problem. The rustling of the paper suits created an eerie atmosphere as they made their way to him. Gardener could hear the distant sounds of traffic outside.

“Jesus Christ,” said Gary Close, bringing his hand to his mouth.

Reilly turned. “Do that outside if you’re going to.”

Gardener approached the body very slowly. He could see no signs of life; the man’s chest was not rising and falling, and he could hear no breathing. Then again, he wouldn’t: the victim’s lips had been sewn together.

“There must be a mirror in here somewhere, Sean.”

One was soon found and passed over. Gardener held it under the victim’s nose. He then tested for a pulse, which confirmed the man was very definitely dead.

With Reilly one side and Gardener the other, they searched the room for something that might give them a clue as to what had happened. Peering at the body, Gardener noticed puncture marks in his arms.

“Is he a user, Sean, or has this been done to him?”

“I think he’s a user, boss. Look at the veins. There’s a bit of damage where he’s tried to find one. If someone had done that, I’m pretty sure it would be more clinical.”

Gardener stared at the small, sutured wound in the area of the abdomen. “I wonder what the story is there.”

Reilly leaned in a little closer. “It looks fresh. Do you think someone is harvesting organs?”

“I hope not, but it’s a big business.”

“Dangerous as well.”

“And a lot of misery to go with it, especially with the rampant poverty in some of the lesser-developed countries.”

The DS studied two white envelopes placed against the wall above the victim’s hands. “What do you make of these?”

>

Gardener was itching to take them down and see what they revealed, but he was reluctant to contaminate the scene any more than they already had.

“They’re obviously significant. But I think it’s time we called in the team. Let the SOCOs do their job. We need to find and speak to Mr Armitage, and set up an incident room, the closer the better. So the station at Bramfield will be our best option.”

“We’ll also need to call in your friend and mine,” said Reilly. “Good old Fitz, and his bespoke body removing friends.”

“God help us,” replied Gardener, smiling. Despite Fitz’s offhand manner, he was very probably the best Home Office pathologist in the country.

Reilly turned to Gary Close. “Don’t happen to know him, do you?” Gardener lifted the head of the deceased.

“Yes,” replied Gary Close. “His name’s Alex Wilson. He lives in the flat above the shop. Albert Armitage is his uncle.”

Chapter Eleven

Gardener had spent the last hour bringing his team up to speed, with actions including an inner and outer cordon around the shop and a chat with the two officers from Bramfield – PCs Nice and Graham. Everyone else had been given door-to-door duties. By the time they were leaving, Steve Fenton and his team had run the scene tape around the area.

He now studied the police station as Reilly brought the pool car to a halt outside.

It was a huge building that resembled a town hall, or a Methodist church. There were four steps leading to the front door, flanked either side by Grecian pillars, with mock battlements. Above the front door was a wrought iron canopy with potted plants that suggested the second storey was still in use. The windows were old-fashioned wood, not double-glazed, and the exterior was surrounded by lamps with gas mantles, which was probably more for effect.

Once inside, Gardener smelled lavender and furniture polish, and saw a middle-aged cleaner hard at work. She simply smiled as he passed.

Gardener and Reilly flashed their warrant cards and introduced themselves to the desk sergeant.