Impression (DI Gardener 4)

“Not as far as we’re concerned,” said Goodman. “Take it someone had a grudge against her.”

“You could say that.”

“And you say the photo of Chloe Summerby was underneath her?”

“Yes. So now we know Nicola Stapleton has nothing to do with your investigation, someone has obviously put it there for a reason.”

Gardener then passed over a photo they had found of Barry Morrison, which had been given to him by Sid Prosser. “This man ring any bells? His name’s Barry Morrison, runs a car lot and taxi firm in Birstall.”

Once again, Goodman said she didn’t.

Gardener figured as much. A gut feeling on the drive over here had told him they could well be wasting their time.

“Well, thank you, Detective Inspector. We’re going to need a single point of contact from each team for the incident room meetings.”

“Yes. Leave me your mobile number and we’ll get something sorted straight away. I’ll arrange a meeting for tonight and let you know the details.”

“In that case, can we have your officer in Leeds in an hour?”

Goodman nodded, and said it shouldn’t be a problem

Before leaving, Gardener asked another question. “I take it you didn’t suspect the parents? No foul play?”

“No. The mother’s pretty sound,” replied Goodman. “Not so sure about the father, though.”

“Oh?” questioned Reilly.

“I hate to say this, but he’s a bible basher, a bit of a strange character. He never said a word when they came into the station. He put his arms around his wife a few times, but he never said anything. Before finishing the interview, I asked him if he had anything to add, and he simply said ‘God works in mysterious ways’.”

Gardener and Reilly glanced at each other.

“That it?” pushed Reilly.

“That’s all he said.”

“Do you suspect him?” asked Gardener.

Goodman sighed and spread her arms wide. “I’ve certainly had my doubts, but he has a cast-iron alibi. He was at work all day.”

“Doesn’t mean he isn’t involved,” said Reilly.

“I know, but we haven’t found anything to support the theory… yet.”

Chapter Fifteen

Following a light snack back at the police station, Gardener glanced around the incident room, pleased with Benson’s efforts. The ANACAPA charts and the phones were in place. The HOLMES team were next door. Murder was never a good thing, but Gardener always cherished the start of an investigation: the fresh challenge, recruiting a team that would become an extension of his own family.

He loaded the charts with the various crime scene photos: a range of shots featuring Nicola Stapleton and her kitchen. She and Barry Morrison covered most of one board.

On the second board he placed the photo of Chloe Summerby. He had a bad feeling about her. It was very difficult in today’s world of social media to disappear off the face of the Earth without someone knowing something. Who had her? Where was she? Why was she connected to a murder investigation?

He glanced at his watch. The door opened, his team filtered in, chattering. Most were carrying files. Each man took a seat. The Operational Support Officers were still out gathering evidence. Reilly slinked in last, chewing an apple.

Before he closed the door, DCI Alan Briggs slipped in, accompanied by an officer Gardener had never seen before, which he took to be the SPOC. Briggs introduced her as Sarah Gates. The lady was mid-forties with a tanned complexion and red hair cut fashionably in a bob. She wore a navy skirt, with a crème blouse and a blue leather jacket. Gardener started immediately following the introduction, determined to cover as much ground as he could.

“Thanks for coming back, lads,” continued Gardener, detailing the discovery of the victim in Hume Crescent, and concentrating on the weapon used to kill her. “It’s very unlikely that a prostitute would keep a bayonet in the house.”

“Depends on the punters, I suppose.” The comment came from Frank Thornton, a six-foot rake of an officer with thinning grey hair. His frame reminded Gardener of a POW. He was divorced and Gardener doubted that he overindulged in the kitchen.