Implant (DI Gardener 3)

“That must have been tricky. On the one hand, you were making people believe you were straight, and on the other hand you were still involved with drugs. I mean, how the hell did you feel when you realized that although you wanted no part of the business, you were giving Hobson customers and allowing him to make massive profits from something you hated so much?”

“The investments I’m talking about had nothing to do with drugs. The people who’ve been sponsoring the rehab centre are businessmen; they’ve been feeding me with lucrative stock market information, which I’ve been feeding to Hobson. Everyone’s happy when we make a killing. What I like the most is Hobson thinks I’m on his side completely. I give him the information. He gives the money to Knight to invest. She filters some of it off. He makes a profit and then pays me a bonus, which also goes into the rehab centre fund.”

Reilly mulled over the information.

“If he’s making so much money from the drugs, why is he bothering with what you’re telling him?”

“Because he’s greedy. People like him can never have too much money. They simply want more and more.”

“And when was the last time you saw him, exactly?” asked Gardener.

“Around the time he disappeared. I was staying at The Harrogate Arms. We met in the bar for a quick drink. I gave him what he needed, and he went.”

“And hasn’t been seen since,” said Reilly.

“That’s nothing to do with me.”

“And we know that because?” asked Gardener.

“Why would I tell you all this if I was responsible?” Pollard replied.

“Murderers do strange things, Mr Pollard,” said Gardener. “They bask in the glory of everything they are doing, and quite often they like to think they can outwit us by talking openly. They think they are more intelligent than we are.”

“Well, I’m not basking in any glory. What you’re forgetting here is that my business partner is also missing.”

“Sonia Knight,” said Reilly.

“Yes, no one’s seen her for a month, either. I’d hardly drop her in it, would I?”

“Actually, Mr Pollard, you’re mistaken there,” said Gardener.

“What about?”

“Sonia Knight has been seen. The Railway Station at Bursley Bridge, this morning.”

Jackie Pollard breathed a huge sigh of relief. It seemed as if the world had been lifted from his shoulders. “Thank God for that. I wonder where the hell she’s been. But at least she’s okay, yes?”

“You just hold your horses, Jackie lad. We never said she was okay.”

Chapter Twenty-nine

The small market town of Bursley Bridge was under siege. Not – as one might expect – from tourists, but the police and the media. Scene tape had been extended to the whole perimeter of the railway station, with officers scurrying like ants around a hill. Reporters were out in force, snapping their cameras at anything that moved. And the locals were starting to gather, asking the usual stupid questions.

Standing outside the railway station, the scene reminded Frank Thornton of a circus, and a badly managed one at that. He was pleased his boss wasn’t there.

As well as trying to run an investigation, organize all the other officers and the POLSA team, Frank had been keeping his eye on the computer shop for any sign of life.

The exterior of the building was not maintained to the standard of the town’s other shops. The windows were clean and the brickwork w

as in reasonable condition, but the paintwork was dull. Either the owner didn’t care, or didn’t have enough work to support the upkeep, or was far too busy to notice. He doubted the reason was the latter one. The shop was closed yesterday, and he had not seen a customer today.

But what he had seen within the last thirty seconds was movement in the window, and that was enough for him.

He informed his partner, Bob Anderson, and they both made a move.

Thornton opened the door, and the sight that met him made him think that the man had very little work. He had never seen so much junk in his life. There must have been a hundred carcasses of redundant machines littering every surface available.

Although he could not see the owner, Thornton could hear a conversation in the back. In the front of the shop, he noticed a cup of tea on the bench, in front of a stool next to a radio, which was switched on. He recognized a Robbie Williams tune, but he couldn’t say what it was.