Implant (DI Gardener 3)

“Where is the house?” asked Gardener.

“It’s a two-up-two-down on Wentworth Street,” said Sharp.

“And you’re quite happy that it’s all above board? The man is who he says he is?”

“Definitely,” replied Rawson. “He doesn’t look as though he knows one end of a screwdriver from the other. He’s a chef. But from what he’s said, his stepfather is a bit of an enthusiast, so he’s helping them.”

“Okay,” said Gardener. “Keep at it, maybe the locksmiths will reveal something when you speak to them.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Sharp. “We’ll carry on first thing in the morning.”

Gardener nodded and turned his attention to Benson. “Paul, what do we have from the house-to-house of Bramfield?”

“Something that might be worth pursuing. I spoke to a Mrs Shaw who rents the flat above the flower shop in the town, not far from Armitage’s place. She was awake during the early hours of Sunday morning, not Monday, so this is the night before.”

“What time?” Gardener asked.

“About two o’clock. She couldn’t sleep, and decided to make herself a cup of tea. When she heard a door slam, she gazed out of the window and saw a white van parked near the shop. She was too far away to see the number plate, but she noticed that one of the brake lights wasn’t working.”

“Did she say which one?” asked Reilly.

“She thinks the driver’s side, but she wasn’t too sure.”

“It’s a start. What about the CCTV, did it reveal anything?”

“Not much, sir. It did catch the van, but the angle was all wrong to see the plate.”

“Get the IT lads on to it, see if they have software that will give us a better view.”

Gardener noticed Maurice updating the ANACAPA chart.

Gardener glanced at Thornton and Anderson. “I gather you two had a shock at Wilson’s flat.”

“You can say that again,” replied Thornton.

“The place has been totally emptied,” said Anderson. “There’s nothing left: no clothes, no personal items, no phone. But I spoke to Steve Fenton and he reckons they found Wilson’s phone in the cellar.”

“Yes,” said Gardener, “but I believe he had a computer in the place.”

“Yes,” said Thornton, “but the bloody hard drive was missing so whoever has done this knows what they’re doing.”

“We’ve had the place dusted for prints,” said Anderson, “but it’s clear so far, and I don’t think we’re going to find much.”

“Anyway,” offered Thornton, “we’re still trying to piece together his last movements and build up a network of friends.”

“And enemies,” said Anderson, “and we reckon there will be plenty of those.”

Gardener sighed. It was early days and the work was always hard in the beginning. “Keep at it.”

He addressed them as a team again. “I gave Patrick Edwards a task this morning, to find out who owns the fancy car that drove by around five o’clock. It belongs to Dr Ian Ross, an eminent neurosurgeon at St. James’s Hospital in Leeds. From what I can gather, he even has his own clinic, which he shares with one Robert Sinclair, another surgeon. Both are very highly spoken of by everyone.”

Gardener glanced at Gary by way of an apology. “Ross was attending an emergency call to Gary’s mum. Some of you know that Christine Close has been suffering of late with a brain tumour. For those of you who don’t, it’s serious, and Ross, after making another call this afternoon, has placed her in his own clinic.

“The point I am coming to here is that we have learned something from our own Home Office Pathologist this evening which confirms that we are looking for someone with medical skills. Sean and I are going to talk to Dr Sinclair tomorrow to see if he can help us further with our inquiries. With that in mind I’d like Edwards and Benson to go and see Ross to see what he has to say about the things we’ve found.

“But Fitz has thrown another spanner in the works, because he thinks we may be looking for more than one person.”

Gardener went on to explain the meeting with the elderly pathologist and what he’d found inside the body of Alex Wilson, the modified implantable insulin pump – which he held up for all to see – and the fact that it had contained a SIM card.