Implant (DI Gardener 3)

“I want copies of that card for the next meeting in the incident room.”

“He could also be telling us something else,” offered Reilly. “Like the fact that Wilson got away with something big in the past, and we didn’t put him away.”

“You may be right, Sean. Maurice, what do you know about Wilson?” Gardener asked, finishing his tea.

“A bit of a waste of space. He didn’t just live above the shop, he also worked for Armitage. Part-time, mind. He was hot-headed, argumentative; didn’t think things through. I reckon he used drugs as well as sold ’em, because he was always edgy around people. Could never stand still, or sit still, for that matter. One of those people who constantly shook his leg. Would drive you bloody mad when you were interviewing him. He was always trying to make a fast buck, bend the rules wherever he could.

“From what I can gather his parents disowned him years ago; it was a bit of a family secret. Never did find out what for. Armitage took him on because no one else would. Nobody would employ him. Blood’s thicker than water. I suspect old Armitage didn’t want to see him out on the street.”

“No hints about the family secret?” asked Gardener, convinced that drugs – more than anything else – would be the likely reason.

“There were rumours, of course, but nothing definite. He’s got previous. First time we saw him was on a robbery charge, with violence. There were a spate of ’em on chemists in the area, Bursley Bridge, Ilkley, Bramley.

“Anyway, he broke into the one in the town here, about seven year ago. The old chemist was still working. In the back room, stock-taking, had the lights in the shop switched off. Wilson got a surprise. The old man put up a good fight, but he finished up with busted ribs, a broken jaw, and lost the sight in one of his eyes. I reckon Wilson took him for dead.

“He did a stretch in Armley, which is where I reckon he met Lance Hobson. We’ve arrested Wilson a couple of times since, selling drugs to schoolkids, dealing in the local pubs.”

“Who’s Lance Hobson?”

“He’s the main man, the real dealer. From what I know, Wilson was Hobson’s runner – gofer, if you like. So the big man might well be behind all this.”

“A disagreement, maybe? Perhaps Wilson was trying to take over?” offered Gardener.

“I doubt it very much, he hasn’t got the bottle,” replied Cragg. “But the other one you’ve dragged in, Pollard, he’s a different kettle of fish. He’s big enough to take Hobson on. And there’s been rumours that he wants to.”

“Does he now?” replied Reilly. “That’s interesting. Could be one reason why Pollard was at the scene.”

“Criminal returning to the scene of the crime? Pollard might well be our man,” said Gardener. “If he wants to take over Hobson’s empire, what better way than to take out the people on the inside? Where can we find Hobson?”

“I’m not sure,” replied Cragg. “He lives in a big house out near Harrogate. I can get the details for you. Tell you the truth, I haven’t seen him for a while.”

“Please, Maurice,” Gardener replied. “Get me everything you can on all three, Hobson, Pollard, and Wilson. And find out who they shared cells with, if you can. Sean and I are going to talk to Old Man Armitage. I think we’ve kept him waiting long enough.”

Cragg headed for the door, when Gardener stopped him. “Just one more question. Do you think the old man knew about the drug habit?”

“I’ve no idea, sir. I don’t think he’s been working for his uncle all that long. But I do have it on good authority that he was using the company van for his ill-gotten gains of late. Like I said, blood’s thicker than water. Maybe the old man was trying to straighten him out.”

“Someone certainly has,” replied Reilly.

After Cragg left, Gardener used his mobile phone to call Fitz to see if there was any news on the post-mortem. The pathologist’s assistant said he was still working on the body. Gardener put his phone back in his pocket.

“What do you think, Sean?”

“Same as always, boss. It’s an open playing field.”

“I know what you mean. Too many people fit the bill. I don’t like the tarot card, but I can’t for the life of me see why a clairvoyant would want to kill Wilson.”

“The other way round might have fit better. Someone as rash as Wilson having their fortune told might not like what they hear. I reckon that would be enough reason for him.”

“Maybe, but it’s unlikely someone of Wilson’s calibre would want to know in the first place.”

“Doesn’t strike me as your traditional drug killing,” offered Reilly.

“An old man who runs a hardware shop doesn’t really fit the bill either. He’s far too old to have carried out that one. Without help, anyway.”

“I wouldn’t disagree with that.”

“There is one other possibility,” said Gardener.