Rydell lived in the detached converted barn that Gardener took to be his father’s old place, on the south side of Rodley, running along the canal: the nearest neighbour was across the stretch of water.
Gardener stepped out of the vehicle into the August afternoon heat. The pool car that Dave Rawson had taken for his tour of the builders’ merchants stood in the drive.
“What’s he doing here?” Reilly asked.
“No idea,” said Gardener. “We’ll take it as a positive step. If his investigation has brought him here, it can only be another nail in Rydell’s coffin.”
“Judging by what Pendlebury told us, he’s going to be needing that soon enough.”
Gardener thought about that. Rydell’s fate hung in the balance now that he had refused all treatment. No one could say how long he had left to live, but from the way Pendlebury had talked, probably not long enough to serve his sentence should he be arrested, charged, and found guilty.
“Nice piece of property,” said Reilly. “Wouldn’t mind a place like this myself.”
Gardener turned. “You say that everywhere we go.”
“Yeah, and most of the houses have been in the hands of the people we’ve arrested for murder.”
“Just shows, it really doesn’t pay.”
“Not in the long run.”
The pair of them walked around the building to a view of long, stretching fields and an abundance of colours, not to mention Dave Rawson staring upwards at an open window.
“Hello, chief.”
“Dave. What brings you here?”
“Same reason as you I suspect. Chris Rydell.”
“What have you found out?”
Rawson took a long swig of Coke from a can.
“I chased up all the builders’ merchants for those sealing wax kits. Why is it always the last place you look? Anyway, seems he got it from a place out Bradford way. He bought it about four weeks ago: booked it to his father’s account.”
“He still had one?” Reilly asked.
“Apparently. Anyway, the bloke who served him remembered it well, because he said the account had been inactive for ages. He hadn’t really known what was going on, whether or not someone had taken over the business and shopped elsewhere, or what. Rydell signed for it, but said very little. I have a copy of the receipt here.”
Rawson passed it over for Gardener to read.
“How long have you been here, Dave?”
“About half an hour. There’s no one home, and no one’s called since I’ve been here. Keep looking at that open window, though.”
Gardener and Reilly glanced upwards.
“You’ve not tried to access it, then?”
“No. I was going to come back later. Thought if he’d left a window open, he was planning on coming back.”
“You’d have thought so.”
Reilly disappeared without a word. On his return he was holding an aluminium ladder tall enough to reach the window on the upper level. He placed it up against the wall and started to climb.
“Be careful, Sean. If you find anything up there, it’s completely inadmissible. Briggs will have a field day.”
“If I find anything, we can always go back to the station and obtain a warrant on the information Margaret Pendlebury gave us.”