Imperfection (DI Gardener 2)

“I’m afraid I didn’t. I do have a hotel to run.”

“So, you just let them go without asking for identification? Afterwards, you did no checking?” pushed Reilly. “If he was such a regular customer, I would have expected a little more courtesy towards him. Surprising, really.”

“What is?” asked Sparrow.

“The fact that you didn’t,” said Reilly. “You don’t seem to have missed much else, Mr Sparrow.”

The receptionist didn’t answer, preferring instead to study his nails.

“Let’s see the room,” said Gardener.

“Of course.”

The three of them left the bar and walked up a wide, sprawling staircase with a well-polished banister and a luxurious wool carpet. A door opened into a small square lobby, the entrance to three of the hotel rooms.

Gardener took a pair of gloves from his jacket pocket and removed the scene tape. He opened the door. An entrance hall led to the bathroom on the right. The main room – beyond glass doors – was enormous, possibly the largest Gardener had ever seen for a hotel.

“Jesus Christ!” said Reilly. Obviously the biggest he’d seen as well.

It must have been forty feet long, and the window on the far side took up almost the entire section of wall, affording a panoramic view of the sprawling gardens and the breathtaking valley that lay beyond. He saw smoke from a steam train – probably the Keighley and Worth Valley Railway. Everything was to hand. A TV, DVD, stereo system. A bed that was even bigger than king size. A trouser press, tea and coffee facilities, everything you could want, and probably everything you were unlikely to need. And the room was spotless. Clean, nothing out of place.

Gardener and Reilly immediately began checking wardrobes and drawers, which were all empty.

“I don’t understand,” said Sparrow.

“I do,” said Gardener.

“No one has been in the room since Inspector Burke.”

Gardener turned to stare at Sparrow. “There is no Inspector Burke.”

“He was probably the feckin’ limo driver as well,” added Reilly.

“Who was?” asked Sparrow, agitated.

Gardener turned and stood in the centre of the room, before walking over and staring out of the window, across the valley.

“What are we missing, Sean?”

“A message?”

“So, where is it?”

“Would you gentlemen mind telling me what this is all about?” pleaded Sparrow.

Gardener faced him. “You’ve been taken in, Mr Sparrow. Inspector Burke does not exist, neither does the limo driver or, for that matter, Executive Cars. It’s all been an elaborate set-up.” He turned to Reilly with an expression of bewilderment. “Where would you put the message, Sean, if you were him?”

“I reckon he’s going to make it more of a challenge. He’ll leave puzzles, but we’ll have to dig for them.”

Gardener glanced beyond his partner. “Step to your left, will you, Sean?”

As he did so, Gardener stared at the TV. He kneeled down, noticing that the DVD power light was still lit. He switched on the TV, and pressed the play button on the DVD. The machine came to life and the screen was filled with their first image of the man they were searching for.

“That’s Inspector Burke!” shouted Sparrow. The officer was exactly as Sparrow had described.

Gardener studied the background behind the actor, but there was nothing he recognised. The room was nondescript.

Burke spoke. Whether the voice was his own or dubbed was anyone’s guess, but the message was loud and clear.