Impression (DI Gardener 4)

Gardener pointed. “About a mile that way.”

“Somebody knew that. Stopped him from getting home. Bet they were both in the pub last night.”

A bus drew up on Abbey Road, collected the lone passenger, and moved off, which was perfect timing as Gardener’s team started to arrive.

“Dave,” shouted Gardener. Rawson came over, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“You’re an expert on this bloke.” Gardener pointed to the CD player. “What song is that, and what’s it about?”

Rawson listened for a few minutes before replying. “Sounds like O’Malley’s Bar. It goes on forever. It’s about a man who goes into a bar and kills people who live in the town. Killing people arouses him sexually, but the police catch him eventually. The song runs for over fourteen minutes.”

“Fucking won’t today,” said Reilly, stopping the machine.

Gardener assembled the team to one side, away from the scene. He briefed them before issuing his actions. The outdoor crime scene presented major problems. The weather conditions had obviously been good overnight, and seemed set

to stay that way, but he couldn’t risk it. A call to the Met Office would provide temperatures, rainfall – if they expected any – and wind speeds for the next few hours.

Before long, the ruined abbey would be a hive of activity. He needed a decent-sized tent organized so as to stop the rubber-neckers and the press and anyone else within a five-mile radius from taking photos. The curator, or whoever the hell was in charge of the abbey, needed contacting because the place would have to be shut down and sealed off, especially as he needed a PolSA team to do a fingertip search.

He wanted the hedge stake sent for Low Copy Number DNA testing, a super sensitive analysis that would identify DNA from sweat and spit and anyone holding the object. However, Gardener doubted he would find anything there. If the killer was using a scene suit and gloves again, they would be wasting their time.

He also suspected house-to-house inquiries would reveal very little because the grounds were not overlooked by any of the houses nearby, but they still had to do it. Maybe someone else had been in the pub, walking home around the same time, saw something they might have taken as friendly banter between two drunks and disregarded it.

He glanced at his watch. Over an hour had passed. He left his men to organize and carry out his orders before joining his partner again. Gardener glanced at Alan Sargent. “He hasn’t been robbed.”

“No,” said Reilly. “It’s personal, we know that now. Something in the past connects all three people, but we haven’t found out what it is.”

“And how many more will it connect before we do?” Gardener asked. “Let’s go and talk to the landlord of the Vesper Gate, see what he has to say.”

Gardener approached the man. He asked the constable to go and stand between the corpse and the wall separating the abbey from the road.

He turned to speak to Trevor Bannister, who was late fifties at a guess. Despite being still in the throes of summer, Bannister was dressed in a camel hair coat and trilby, with a pair of dark brown trousers and brown loafers. His eyes were as grey as his moustache. His face bore the years of working in the licencing trade, with enough lines to make a map. Down at his feet was a well-behaved black Labrador, obviously enjoying the fact that his morning stroll was taking much longer than usual. Both detectives introduced themselves.

“Do you normally walk your dog this early, Mr Bannister?”

“Aye, almost the same time every day. Have trouble sleeping, like.”

Gardener turned to Sargent’s body and pointed. “And this is how you found him, in the chair?”

“Aye. Bit of a shock, I don’t mind telling you.”

“Do you recognize him?”

“He was in last night, drinking with a stag party. He wasn’t in the chair, then.”

That really disturbed Gardener. Someone had killed him and dropped him in a wheelchair – why? Was some poor bugger going to wake up in an hour or so, and suddenly find he couldn’t make himself mobile today?

“How did he seem?”

“Seem?”

“Yes,” said Gardener. “Was he enjoying the atmosphere of the party, or did he look to you like he had something on his mind?”

“Oh. No, nothing on his mind apart from getting drunk and seeing the groom had a good time. He was okay, having a right old drink, he was.”

Bannister glanced over at Sargent, who was now surrounded by SOCOs in scene suits.

“To be honest, I thought he were sleeping off a hangover. Buster found him first, ran up to the chair and started sniffing and barking, like. I was on other side o’ wall. He’d run off into grounds afore me, like. Always does. We’re both getting on a bit, but he has better legs than me. Anyway, I came round and saw this bloke, sitting here. I thought it were odd that he was just sitting here, in the grounds, listening to music. But I’ve seen some strange stuff in my time. Anyway, I must admit I prodded him and started talking, like, but I didn’t think he was gonna answer. That’s when I called you lot.”