Impression (DI Gardener 4)

“Everything okay?”

“No. Our Barry’s…”

Gardener realized Billy Morrison had never said the words before and didn’t think he would be able to say them now. He intervened. “I’m sorry, Mr Sargent, Barry died this morning.”

“Oh Christ.” Sargent put the mug back on the filing cabinet. “Are you alright, Billy? Is there anything I can do?”

Morrison didn’t answer.

Gardener decided to bring the interview to an end. He had everything he needed for the moment. The search of Barry’s flat and the results of the post-mortem should give them something more to go on. If and when he needed, he could call back and see Billy Morrison.

Gardener asked Alan Sargent for his details and said they would probably pay him a visit in the near future. He also asked for the accountant’s details. As they were leaving, Gardener turned and glanced at Billy Morrison again. He retrieved a photograph from his pocket.

“Do you recognize this girl?”

He took it, studied it. Gardener noticed his eyes were red rimmed, his lips pressed firmly together.

“No, who is she?” he asked.

“Just a thought.”

Morrison stood up but wavered. Alan Sargent caught him.

“I’ll be okay.” He faced Gardener. “What does she have to do with all this?”

“We don’t know… yet.”

Chapter Nineteen

As mid-afternoon approached, both detectives entered the village of Esholt, home to the ITV soap Emmerdale for many years. They drove up Chapel Lane and on to Main Street, passing The Woolpack Inn on the way. Gardener noticed a real rarity in the modern day: outside the post office on the right was a public call box. They followed the road to the dead end. A small house nestled on the left, opposite the church ground.

A short, slim, blonde-haired woman, whom Gardener took to be Sally Summerby, opened the front door.

He held out his warrant card. “DI Gardener and DS Reilly, West Yorkshire Major Incident Team.”

“Not seen you two before. Sacked the other lot, have they?” She opened the door wider so they could step into a living room decorated in a very olde-worlde style, with ceiling beams, rustic striped wallpaper, and old-fashioned gas mantle wall lights. Despite her problems, Gardener thought the room was clean and smelled fresh. He noticed all the windows were open.

She continued mumbling. “Not surprised the way they carry on. Couldn’t catch a cold, them lot.”

“I’m sure they’re doing everything they can, Mrs Summerby.”

“Then how come you two are here? Take it you still haven’t found my daughter.” She sat down without offering a seat. “I keep telling them, she could be anywhere by now. She might not even be in the country.”

“It’s very unlikely. Did your daughter have her passport with her when she went missing?”

Sally Summerby glanced at Gardener as if he’d lost his mind. “She didn’t even have a passport.”

“Then she couldn’t have left the country.”

“That makes it better, does it?” She suddenly changed moods. “Are you going to sit down, or what? If you have something to tell me about my daughter, then at least sit down. Unless it isn’t going to take long. And I can’t see how it would, because you clearly haven’t found her…”

The sentence went unfinished because Sally Summerby burst into tears. She reached for a tissue, which she had conveniently placed up her sleeve.

“I’m sorry… I bet you two think I’m a right cow. The place looks a mess. I do, and all I do is shout at you when you walk through the door.”

“It’s okay,” said Gardener. “We understand.” He waited till she’d composed herself. “I think you may have misheard us when we introduced ourselves. I said we were part of the West Yorkshire Major Incident team.”

“Which means what?”