Impression (DI Gardener 4)

“Did you know that he was being treated for depression?”

“No,” said Morrison. “Not exactly a crime, is it? Like I said, the poor bloke’s been out of work for some time. Maybe that brought it on.”

“It didn’t bother you that someone who had a medical condition was driving one of your cabs?”

“One of our Barry’s cabs,” corrected Billy. “But no, it doesn’t bother me. The times that I’ve seen him, he’s been okay. Maybe he has a lid on it. Maybe he’s getting better. Maybe our job gives him something to get up for, and if that’s the case, then you could say we were helping him.”

“Are you aware of any private clinics on Bond Street in Leeds?”

Morrison shook his head. “Can you be more specific? There’s nothing wrong with me, or my family. Are you gonna tell me Barry had a problem and he was a patient there?”

“Not that we know of,” replied Gardener. “Let’s get back to Alan Sargent. Any idea where he worked when he last had a job?”

“I’m not sure,” replied Billy. “I think he was a landscape gardener, worked for a place over in Pudsey. Couldn’t tell you the name.”

“So, if you didn’t see much of him, I suspect he worked nights, am I right?” Gardener asked.

“Mostly. He alternates a little bit. I’ve seen him do day runs once or twice.”

“But it was mainly nights?”

“Yes.”

“Did you ever see the work sheets, the runs he’d been on?”

“No. Never paid any attention. That was our Barry’s job. He looked after the drivers.”

“So Barry could have had him doing anything.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, he could have had him doing local runs, trips out of town, or maybe even airport runs.”

“I’ve told you. I don’t know.”

“For someone in charge of the business, you don’t seem to keep too close an eye on the staff.”

“I didn’t need to. Me and Barry had different roles, and we looked after different aspects of the business. And if you don’t suspect people of doing anything wrong, you don’t bother watching them too closely.”

“Or he could have had him doing something else entirely,” said Reilly. “Something illegal, like running drugs.”

Morrison left his seat. “I’ve told you, I know nothing about the drugs, and I don’t believe for one minute that our Barry was running his so-called drugs operation – as you lot like to call it – from the car lot.”

“He must have run it from somewhere,” said Gardener, “considering the amount we found in his flat.” He glanced at his partner. “Street value of over forty thousand pounds, wasn’t it?”

“Something like that.”

“Forty thousand pounds worth of drugs?” Morrison was horrified, judging by his expression.

“Not to mention over a hundred and twenty thousand pounds in money. All cash,” said Reilly.

“You two are a double act, aren’t you? If you’re not, you should be. Our Barry never had that kind of money.”

“How do you know?”

“I know him, that’s why!”

“I beg to differ, Mr Morrison,” said Gardener. “You’ve told us twice already that you knew nothing about Nicola Stapleton, or the house she lived in that was owned by your brother. And you’ve also told us more than once that we seem to be talking about someone else, not your brother.”