Imposture (DI Gardener 6) - Page 45
When Anthony made no reply to that outburst, Rosie asked him if he was still there.
“Yes.”
“So go on, then, where are you?”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to tell you.”
“Nothing new there, then. Any idea what it’s like for me and the kids, Palmer?” Rosie didn’t give him the chance to reply. “No, you wouldn’t have, would you? You’ve never had kids. They cry themselves to sleep every night wondering where their father is, and if he’s ever coming back. What the hell am I supposed to tell them? That everything is okay and Daddy will be back soon? Trouble is, if what they say is true, I don’t want him back. You lot killed a man and his wife in cold blood and left them to rot. You all cleared off while the heat died down. I don’t know what that makes you but I don’t want any part of it, and I don’t want my kids near it, either.”
“Look, Rosie,” protested Anthony, “let me try to explain.”
She cut him off. “Don’t bother. It’ll simply be a pack of lies. Save those for the police. You know something, Anthony Palmer – if that even is your real name – you’ve never had anyone to think about but yourself. None of you have. Well that’s okay, it’s going to come in handy while you’re still trying to hide from the police. And they will find you, you shitehawk, because they’ve also put a trace on my phone.”
The connection died.
Chapter Twenty-seven
By the time the team had assembled in the incident room late in the evening, Gardener had updated the whiteboards with the information that had filtered in throughout the day. Sitting on tables at the side of the room were hot drinks, and snacks provided by a local bakery that Reilly was on good terms with.
Gardener addressed his team. “Thanks for coming. I realise it’s been a trying day and we may not have covered much ground, but hopefully we’ll add something further to the boards. I held a press conference about an hour ago.”
That brought a chorus of noise. Everyone knew he hated the press, and why.
Gardener continued, “Has anyone gleaned anything from the witness statements?”
Bob Anderson and Frank Thornton had worked together; Anderson spoke up: “Nothing that we don’t already know.”
“One of the women who works in Waterstones noticed Michael Foreman on Butts Court around ten o’clock,” said Thornton. “She’d popped out the back for a quick smoke and she saw him staggering away, toward the town centre. He had his hands around his face at that point.”
“She didn’t see anything else – anyone else?”
“No. Even though we know he’d been dumped,” added Anderson, “she didn’t see a vehicle.”
“I’m working on
that, sir,” said Paul Benson. “After I’d finished speaking to Millie Johnson I drove back to the area and listed all the buildings and companies, so that we can prepare a list and work through it, and speak to more people, assuming CCTV doesn’t reveal anything.”
“I’m sure it will, Paul, good work. Did Millie Johnson have anything to add?”
“No. She’d been out to meet a friend for morning coffee. A lady named Stella Dent. After that, they’d both browsed the shelves in Waterstones before setting off in different directions. Millie Johnson never noticed anything when she passed Short Street, but saw him stagger around the corner when she was window-shopping. So what she said ties in with what everyone else is saying, but she couldn’t add anything new.”
“Have we interviewed Stella Dent?”
“Yes,” replied Benson. “She confirmed what Millie Johnson had said about meeting up but saw nothing.”
Usual frustrating stuff, thought Gardener. Something major happens and, even when there are a number of people milling around, no one sees anything.
“Patrick, please tell me you have something positive?”
Edwards resembled a rabbit caught in the headlights. He had a cup of tea in one hand and a half-eaten sausage roll in the other; the remainder was currently in his mouth.
“Does your mother not feed you, son?” asked Reilly.
“You’re a fine one to talk,” replied Rawson. “You’re like a human trash can.”
“There’s too much waste in this country,” said Reilly. “I’m doing my bit to help.”
“What?” replied Thornton. “By storing it all in your stomach?”
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