“Maybe we need to pay a visit to the farm. Search the place. Talk to the farmer. Find out how the animals are slaughtered.”
“What difference does it make how the animals are slaughtered?”
“Well, is it the normal way with the bolt gun, or is it some new humane way that involves chemicals and syringes?”
“I see where you’re coming from. But the problem with our theory is that he only has a motive for Morrison, not the other three.”
“Not unless there’s something in his dark and devious past. Like I said, I’ve come across these guys before. They’ve set fire to things: buildings, cars. They terrorize people, give them grief, and then one day it’s as if a light has been switched on and they totally change. They can’t do enough for you, and they’re constantly spouting quotes from the Bible. Maybe he’s been really bad, done something he can’t forgive himself for and before it went too far, sought out God and tried to convince the Big Man up there that he’ll stop all this shit and live a life of respect.”
Gardener rose from his seat and picked up his file. “Maybe it’s time we went and found out.”
The pair of them left the interview room. Before taking the corridor to where they had Gareth Summerby, Gardener said he wanted to check if any news had come in.
Passing the office with the HOLMES people inside, was like walking into The Stock Exchange. Ninety percent of them were on phones, and the rest were logging information into computers, hoping to hit on a cross-match.
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Gardener passed by and glanced through the open door to the incident room. Patrick Edwards was standing in front of the ANACAPA chart with a puzzled expression, trying to follow a series of lines that would put the National Grid to shame.
“Everything okay, Patrick?” Gardener asked. The young man was showing a lot of promise, and Gardener liked him. He wasn’t frightened of hard work, and if you gave him a task, he stuck to it. Edwards was a young Colin Sharp in the making.
“Depends how you look at it, sir.”
“What’s wrong?” Reilly asked.
“I’ve comes across a name in one of Nicola Stapleton’s diaries that we’ve heard before.” He turned to face his superior officer. “The one involved in the collision with Barry Morrison.”
“Chris Rydell?”
“Yes.”
“What’s it say?”
“It was a couple of years back now. It was his birthday. His friends had managed to get him out for a drink. They all clubbed together and paid her a fortune – more than she would normally earn – to take him back home and show him a good time.”
Gardener and Reilly glanced at each other, before the SIO asked Patrick his next question. “Is that all? Does it say any more?”
“Not that I’ve come across.”
“Patrick, I’d like you to do me a favour.” Gardener dug out a card from the clinic and passed it to the young PC.
“That’s a private clinic on Bond Street. I’d like you to call the number and speak to Margaret Pendlebury. Ask her if Chris Rydell was ever a patient at the clinic. If he was, check to see if we have his files. Sean and I are going to interview Gareth Summerby. I’d like an answer for when we come out of the interview room.”
Chapter Fifty-three
Gareth Summerby was sitting with his arms folded, staring at the wall. He was dressed in a Rudstons green boiler suit and a flat cap. To Gardener’s way of thinking, he was the complete opposite of his wife. But they do say opposites attract. An empty coffee cup sat on the table in front of Summerby.
Both officers sat. Gardener placed his file on the table in front of him. “Sorry to keep you, Mr Summerby.”
“That’s okay. You have a job to do. Have you informed my boss?”
“Yes, we have spoken to him. As far as he’s concerned, you’re helping us with our inquiries with regards to your missing daughter.”
“Which I believe I am.”
Gardener said nothing, but decided he may as well start with that. “How is life at home at the moment? It must be tough.”
“There’s definitely a hole that needs filling.”