Imperfection (DI Gardener 2)

“Doing what, for heaven’s sake?”

“That’s what I want to talk to you about,” replied Harry.

Stan made for the door, knocking over a chair in the process. “I can’t. I just can’t.” He turned to Harry. “Don’t you realise, Henry, here is all I know? I may not have much of a life, I may be in danger, but I know here. We drive on the right side of the road. We don’t eat pancakes smothered in syrup for breakfast. We drink Earl Grey tea, not coffee in Styrofoam cups...”

Harry thought he had stopped but the barrage continued. “We are civilised human beings.” He pointed a crooked finger at Harry. “We don’t carry guns.”

Harry sensed the man was physically distraught and suspected the situation was about to spiral out of control when Mary Phillips came into the room. Her appearance momentarily calmed Stan down.

“Is everything all right, Mr Fowkes?” asked Mary.

“It’s fine, Mary, Stan’s just a little worried about something. But I’ve asked him to come and stay here tonight, haven’t I, Stan?”

His friend hesitated before replying. “If you’re sure I’m not intruding.”

“Don’t be soft, man.” Harry turned to Mary. “Can you make up a spare bed for me?”

“Of course I can.” She turned to Stan. “You’ll be more than welcome, love.”

He tipped his deerstalker. “If you’re sure it’s no bother.”

“None at all,” said Harry.

He tipped his hat once again and bowed. “I must be on my way.”

“Where are you going?” asked Harry.

“There are things I need to attend to, but I shall return. And only if you are sure.” It was a point he kept making.

“I’ve said so. You stay here tonight, we’ll have a meal and a talk, and I’m sure everything will seem much better in the morning.”

“You’re very kind.” He stepped back into the hallway. “Till tonight, Harry.” His friend was gone in an instant.

“That’s odd, Mr Fowkes,” said Mary.

“What is?” asked Harry, clearing away the pots into the kitchen.

“He just called you Harry.”

Chapter Thirty-seven

Despite Reilly having made a little more effort with his attire, he was still dressed in denims. Laura wore an expensive two-piece suit in emerald green with matching jewellery. Gardener, however, had once again used his son as a guide. He was wearing a plain black jacket tailored by Pinstripe, a midnight blue Lee Cooper shirt, and a pair of bleached black Koman original vintage jeans imported from the United States. He wasn’t convinced, but Chris told him they were in. More than half the students must have thought so, because they had glanced in his direction as if he played a part in the events about to unfold.

The stage had been prepared to create the perfect ambience to an evening which he suspected would be full of surprises; the fact that Corndell could actually act, for one. Two blackout curtains had been used to maintain the secrecy of what lay behind. There were speakers either side, positioned top to bottom. A fog machine belched out a fine mist at carefully timed intervals, and the lighting created an eerie silhouette of a sinister figure, rising up and down on the surface of the curtain. The background music was Mike Oldfield’s Tubular Bells. The idea was clever, but Gardener was unable to concentrate fully because of what had been said at the meeting earlier in the day.

He turned to Sean, noticing that Laura was deep in conversation with the person next to her. “Did you manage to find Cuthbertson, Sean?”

“No. Called him three or four times, and then took a car round his place. Neighbour said she hadn’t seen him for a couple of days, which was unusual, because if he ever went anywhere for long, he normally left her a key to look after the place.”

“Has she gone round to see if he’s okay, or still there?”

“Only once. She was out in the garden and heard his phone ringing. If he was in, he never answered. After that I drove round to Ruffin Street to Madame Two-swords. They haven’t seen him for a couple of days either.”

“I don’t like the sound of this. You don’t think he’s done anything stupid?”

“Like topping himself and leaving a suicide note to say that we’re responsible because we wouldn’t leave him alone? It’s a possibility.”

“I wasn’t actually thinking of that. More along the lines of fleeing the country. Have you tried the shop?”