Impression (DI Gardener 4)

“Have they both crossed somebody? The prostitute can’t have killed him, because the timing’s wrong. Which means he could have killed her, and then someone got to him.”

“Or someone else killed them both. Judging by the blood on his jacket downstairs, I’d lay odds that he was made to watch, and then taken somewhere else and killed before being brought back here.”

“The footage from the CCTV camera at the end of the shops might tell us something.”

“And where’s his car?” Gardener asked. “Has someone used Morrison’s car to do all of this?”

“The brother?”

“Possible,” replied Gardener. “Couldn’t be anyone else better placed.”

“Which could mean a problem with the business.”

Gardener nodded. “Unless the brother’s straight, and he’s found out what this one’s into.”

Reilly shook his head. “I’m not so sure about that. Blood ties are usually pretty strong.”

“The butcher reckoned the brother was the complete opposite. Could be that he’s straight-laced and doesn’t approve. Maybe it was something that threatened to bring the business down around their ears.”

“There’s only one way to find out,” replied Reilly.

A knock at the door interrupted their conversation. Colin Sharp popped his head around the door.

“Sir?”

Gardener glanced at him.

“Barry Morrison’s Ford Focus has

suddenly appeared.”

“Where and when?”

“Not sure when, the engine’s cold. But it’s back where it should be – his car lot.”

Chapter Ten

Reilly brought the pool car to a halt. Gardener jumped out. Despite it still being early morning, an August sun had risen, and the temperature was already threatening to hit new records.

Gardener had no idea how to fully judge the success of a car pitch, but it was well-presented, with around sixty cars all washed and polished and ready for inspection. Most of the vehicles were family saloons, priced budget to mid-range. In a compound at the back sat another twenty or so cars.

An office constructed of glass and steel stood at one end. There were signs advertising ‘We buy cars for cash’, as well as a variety of warranty and finance deals available to attract the punters. He noticed two salesmen watching him, probably wondering whether or not he was there to buy. They obviously weren’t confident, because neither left the office.

To his right, tucked away in the corner, was a portacabin. Removing his warrant card, Gardener set off in that direction. Reilly followed.

Inside was pretty much like any other office: small, stuffy, and untidy. He saw a desk with a computer and a printer. Strewn across the top were a number of files. Near the window was a filing cabinet. On top of that was the most important thing to any cabby: tea-making facilities. A couple of chairs were lined against the wall, next to another cabinet. A radio on top was tuned to a local station playing classic gold hits.

“Help you two gentlemen?” asked the man sitting in front of the computer.

“DI Gardener and DS Reilly. We’d like to ask you a few questions about Barry Morrison.”

“Have you found him?”

“And you are?”

“Prosser, Sid Prosser.”

Prosser was overweight, with a face the colour of a ripe cherry and a big purple nose, which suggested he enjoyed a drink or two. Or more. He had a small amount of hair at the sides of his head. He wore jeans and a check lumberjack shirt.