IMPURITY

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IMPURITY Page 10

by Ray Clark


  Reilly nodded and turned to the reporters. “Okay, gentlemen, that’s all for now.”

  “What do you mean, that’s all?”

  “We’ve said all we’re going to.”

  He raised his hand, indicating the interview was over, much to the chagrin of the reporters.

  As he moved to rejoin Gardener, one of the journalists lunged forward. He carried a recording device in one hand, and his camera in the other. “Mr Gardener? Is it true you were one of the officers involved in the Roundhay Ripper Trial?”

  Reilly spun on him, anger evident in his eyes. “I’ve told you, that’s all for today.”

  Gardener turned as the camera flash went off in his eyes. He was about to say more when Reilly pushed past him.

  “Give us the camera!”

  Gardener cringed at the comedy of errors that followed. Reilly lost his footing, fell down the steps. Somehow, his hands ended up around the journalist’s throat, and they both tumbled to the ground. Every camera present clicked in unison.

  Gardener stared into the sky and sighed.

  He could see the headlines now. “Police Brutality!”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Gardener spent the rest of the afternoon in and out of meetings with his team, issuing instructions and trying to locate Derek Summers. He had to leave a message on the agent’s answering machine. He left the station filled with thoughts of the evening ahead, narrowly missing a call from Janet Soames. The tone of her voice impressed a sense of urgency.

  The desk sergeant promised to relay her message for Gardener to return her call.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Gardener’s route to Jacqueline’s followed the meandering stream which bordered the western side of the village, allowing him to gather his thoughts and clear his head from the toil of the day.

  The problems had, as usual, spiralled out of control. Thornwell’s body on the grounds of the church, the mysterious vagrant, the press. The media coverage could, if not carefully handled, cripple them. Briggs wouldn’t be pleased about the photos when they came to print. The fact they were nowhere near catching the killer made Gardener realize the pressure on him was mounting.

  Craig Sutton’s name cropped up again. Although the evidence they had was scant, he would still have to interview him officially. Two victims, both associated with Sutton in threatening circumstances, didn’t necessarily make him a killer. He was definitely a suspect, however.

  As for the vagrant, that was something else entirely. Bob Crisp’s words had really aroused Gardener’s curiosity. He sensed today’s meeting wouldn’t be their last. But who was he? What did he really know? Was he involved, somehow?

  In an effort to really beat it out of his system, Gardener had spent an hour on the cross-trainer in the police gymnasium. He notched up a few miles, worked up a sweat, and left himself breathless. That, however, had been a waste of time. His head still buzzed, which was by no means the correct frame of mind for the evening ahead.

  He’d thought quite a lot about the meal since Jacqueline had asked him. He still couldn’t believe she had. Over the last few months, he’d found his attraction to the minister becoming stronger. Whether or not he was prepared to do anything about it was another matter. The thought of commitment scared him.

  Approaching the lane which led to Jacqueline’s house, he passed a middle-aged couple walking a spaniel. They nodded in recognition as they climbed the bank to the stream.

  Gardener opened the gate to the vicarage. He had two bottles of wine and a box of Belgian chocolates with him. As he lifted his hand to knock on the door, the words of the mysterious Bob Crisp entered his mind. In particular, his parting shot. Be careful.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Gardener took his place at the table at Jacqueline’s insistence.

  The dining room was sparsely furnished with a table and chairs and a matching writing bureau, all finished in dark oak. Adorning the walls was a selection of oils, mostly Romanian.

  Jacqueline had worked hard setting the table, using fine china and candles. The choice of music wasn’t to his taste, but she’d chosen it to create a romantic atmosphere. The Carpenters were reliving Yesterday Once More.

  Settling in her company would probably take him longer than he’d anticipated.

  Jacqueline returned to the room with a food trolley. There were two bowls of Transylvanian soup and a large bottle of wine in an ice bucket. She poured two glasses, sitting opposite.

  “It smells delicious.”

  “Let’s hope it lives up to the smell.”

  “Compared to my cooking, I’m sure it will.” Gardener tasted it. He wasn’t disappointed.

  “Do you eat like this all the time?”

  “Hardly! I’d be twenty-stone if I did. I only tend to eat such delicacies when my aunt is around.”

  “Did she cook it?”

  “No, but it’s her recipe.”

  Gardener set down his spoon and picked up his glass of wine. He thought a toast to friendship was fitting. Jacqueline agreed.

  “So, how’s your day been?” he asked, continuing with his soup.

  “I had a lovely day. A young couple came to see me. They’ve been engaged for about two years and want to get married. He’s had a recent promotion, and they’d like to start a family. They want to do things properly. They seemed to have a very old-fashioned view of life. I was really pleased,” she said.

  “I like to see young people getting their priorities right. Especially in the world we’re living in. To most, if it doesn’t have a monetary value, it’s not important.”

  “I know,” replied Jacqueline, breaking off a piece of bread and dipping it into the soup. “A throwaway world with falling moral standards. Which are responsible for a lot of problems.”

  Jacqueline paused and took a sip of wine. “Still, tonight isn’t about falling standards. Tell me about your day.”

  Gardener laughed. “All my days are about falling moral standards.” He finished his soup and sipped some more wine. The Carpenters were singing a cover version of an old Beatles song he recognized. His father was a huge fan. As he reflected on his day, he wondered how much he should tell her.

  “I have two murders on my hands. The same killer, same style. No clues. I have disappearing children, another of them dead. It’s been one problem after another, with no answers.”

  “David Vickers,” Jacqueline reflected. “It must have been awful for him. I keep wondering what he must have gone through. Was he tortured? Locked away by himself, calling out for a mother who was unable to protect him in his hour of need?”

  Gardener’s stomach tightened as he noticed Jacqueline’s eyes reddening. The subject was obviously a raw nerve. For both of them.

  She reached for her napkin, wiping her eyes. “I’m sorry. I find any crime connected with children emotionally distressing. I don’t think people who hurt children should be allowed to get away with it.”

  “You don’t have to apologize for being upset.” He wasn’t sure what else to say. He was out of practice when it came to dating. “I feel as strongly as you do, particularly with having Chris around. He’s growing up fast. I’ll probably lose him to a college in the next five years. God forbid I should lose him sooner to some pervert who can’t control himself. Worse still, a maniac I should have put behind bars.”

  Jacqueline poured them each another glass of wine before clearing the dishes. “Do you think there’s a connection between the murders and the disappearing children? Particularly with the Father Christmas angle?”

  Gardener paused mid-sip, a tingling sensation creeping up his spine.

  “How do you know about Father Christmas?”

  She hesitated before sitting back down. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m afraid ministers are no different from ordinary citizens. We gossip as much as everyone else. I saw Father O’Hanlon today. He was upset by the body on the grounds of his church. I’m sorry.”

  Gardener finished the
glass. “It’s okay. It’ll be common knowledge soon enough, especially now the press is involved. But, to answer your question, I’m not sure. With what little evidence I’ve unearthed so far, I sincerely hope not.”

  Gardener paused. Talking about work was the last thing he wanted. He wasn’t there to become tangled up in the logistics of murder with his date. “Let’s try and forget all that. This kind of evening doesn’t happen often for me. We should try to enjoy ourselves. It’s nearly Christmas. I’m enjoying the meal and the company. One of the reasons I accepted tonight’s invitation was because...” Gardener stopped talking, unsure if he should even say anything.

  “Because what?” Jacqueline was smiling.

  “Because I’d like to know more about you.”

  “I’m pleased you said that. I’ll bring the main course through and we can go from there.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  “A meal fit for a king, so it was.”

  “Such a pity to waste it on the court jester,” retorted Laura.

  Reilly chuckled. They were sprawled out across the sofa in the living room, listening to a Clannad CD.

  Laura jumped up and cleared away the takeaway cartons before returning with two beers. She cuddled up next to Reilly.

  “How’s Stewart? It must be hard for him. Christmas, the anniversary of Sarah’s death.”

  “Something’s bothering him. I wouldn’t put it all down to Sarah’s death.”

  Laura straightened up. “Why do you say that?”

  “Little things. You know how professional he is. Nothing escapes him. The harder the case, the more he thrives on it. He doesn’t seem himself at the moment, though. His temper is a little shorter. He’s distracted. He’s not thinking as quick as usual.” Reilly sighed. He didn’t like to see his friend so preoccupied.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. Take today. There was an incident on the grounds of a church. We met up with an old vagrant…”

  “That would have been enough to distract him.”

  “I could tell he didn’t want to be near him. In fact, the vagrant was no threat at all. Didn’t even attempt to come near us. But there was a genuine fear in Stewart’s eyes. The man clearly had something to tell us, but the boss man hung back.”

  “Did you ask him why?”

  “No. The only reason I persuaded him to listen was because the vagrant reminded me of old Seamus.”

  “Old Seamus. I miss him.”

  Seamus was Laura’s grandfather. When Sean Reilly was seven years old, he and his family had moved to the beautiful golden coastline known as Giant’s Causeway, in a town called Portballintrae. Sean struck up a friendship with the old man, a wise old bird who taught him valuable lessons about life.

  “Anything else?”

  Reilly took a long swig of his beer. “Nothing you can put your finger on. He’s just distracted in general.”

  “I can think of something that’s capable of causing such a distraction.”

  “Oh, you can, can you? And what would that be?”

  “Sounds to me like he may have met someone.”

  Reilly nearly choked on his beer. “Would you listen to yourself? This is Stewart Gardener we’re talking about. There’s only been one woman for him, always will be.”

  “You listen to yourself, Sean Reilly! He’s only human. He’s been without close companionship for a year now. Maybe he feels it’s time, and he’s found someone. Which is why he’s distracted.”

  “I think you’ve been drinking with the faeries back home. I’m telling you there’s no woman in the boss man’s life. He doesn’t have the time. Dear God, he’s not so much as looked at another woman since Sarah.”

  “Have it your way, but you’ll see I’m right, so you will!”

  Chapter Thirty-five

  With the meal long since finished, Gardener and the minister had made themselves comfortable in the living room. Dimmed wall lights and the soft music had created a relaxed atmosphere. She’d talked about her job and he’d listened intently, but he still didn’t know a lot about the real person behind the collar.

  “What really influenced your decision to become a minister?” asked Gardener.

  “My aunt,” Jacqueline paused. “Well, I call her my aunt, but she’s my great aunt really. She’s my grandmother’s sister, not my mother’s.

  “I’d like you to meet her, Stewart. She’s been a tower of strength to me since my mother passed away. I think you’d like each other. She’s lived her entire life according to the Bible. But one thing she doesn’t do is force her opinions on you. On anyone, really.

  “I was angry when my mother died. I blamed everyone, including myself. Sometimes I thought she’d died because of me, because of something I’d done. I couldn’t work out what. It’s funny the things you think when you’re a child. If your parents argue and they mention your name, you think you’ve caused it. My aunt pulled me through.”

  Jacqueline sipped her wine. “She was only a baby when the family left Romania and came to England. They had no money, nowhere to live, but above all, they knew God would look after them. When I realized how much strength and conviction her faith had given her, I knew that it could work for me. She leads a very simple life, asks nothing of anyone, and she’s so happy. When that finally sunk in, I knew it was what I wanted. To be just like her.”

  Jacqueline filled his empty wine glass without asking if he wanted more.

  “You’ve never mentioned your father,” said Gardener. “Is he still alive?”

  “I haven’t seen him for years. I’ve never forgiven him for the nasty things he said and did after my mother died. He was awful to me. I think he blamed me for her death. He used to shout at me, hit me, criticize me for the slightest thing. Which is how I ended up with a chipped tooth and a broken little finger.” She held her left hand aloft for him to see. “I think he wanted me to take my mother’s place, be everything she was. How could I? I was only ten years old. I could barely make toast, yet he expected his meals to be there.”

  “Didn’t your aunt help?”

  “I don’t think she was aware of what was going on. He tried to keep a lid on everything. Kept us apart, instead of bringing us together so we could all help each other. He was selfish, manipulative. Sly. He never truly learned to love someone, not even my mother.”

  “When did you go and live with your aunt?”

  “When I was thirteen. My mother had been dead three years. My father spent too much time at work to notice me. He had nothing but his precious newspaper.”

  “He was a journalist?”

  “I think he started as a tea boy and worked his way up. The period of time I’m talking about, he was the owner. Don’t ask me how. I’ve no idea where the money came from to buy the newspaper. He always said we were broke. I was never given pocket money. He didn’t seem to trust me with the housekeeping. Can you imagine how embarrassed I was when I needed items of personal hygiene? I couldn’t take any more.”

  Jacqueline sat in silence, perhaps composing herself. “He never came to see me. Do you know I never even had a birthday card from him?” Her eyes filled with tears. “So, you see, no mother, no father.”

  “It must have been hard.”

  “Which is why I looked towards my aunt. She was my mother, in every sense of the word.”

  Jacqueline smiled. “My aunt always claimed she had more children than any other woman alive. She’s a walking encyclopaedia on plants. She has them all over the house and calls them her children.”

  Gardener laughed loudly. “She should meet my father. They’d get on like a house on fire.”

  He finished his wine. Jacqueline fetched another bottle from the kitchen. “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “No. But I’m relaxed, I’m enjoying our evening together, and I’d like it to continue.”

  He didn’t comment, so she poured another, before asking: “So, your father is a plant man?”

  “Oh, you wouldn’t believe
it. He found something he wanted out of life and stuck with it. He inherited the business from his father. Apparently, my grandfather was a workaholic. Ran himself into an early grave. My grandmother took the business on and eventually passed it down to my father. He’s retired now, but you still can’t get him out of the greenhouse. Even in winter!”

  “Your father and my aunt should definitely meet.” Jacqueline paused, hesitated before continuing. “When we were laughing earlier, about your father and my aunt being a good match, maybe we are.”

  That one comment completely turned his mood. His stomach flipped. His legs weakened.

  If he managed to keep his food down, it would be a bonus. It was the one thing he’d been terrified of hearing.

  Jacqueline took his hand and stood up. She was obviously expecting him to do the same.

  He did, but his emotions were all over the place. Any red-blooded man would have jumped at the chance the minister was offering. But he wasn’t any man.

  Her expression grew concerned. “What’s wrong?”

  A little over a year had passed since Sarah’s death. He had never allowed his thoughts to stray from her memory. She had meant the world to him. Still did. The situation between him and Jacqueline wasn’t right. She wanted more than he could give.

  “Is it me?” she asked.

  He had only ever made love to Sarah. She had been his only partner. He simply couldn’t deal with what Jacqueline was asking for.

  “No. I’m afraid it’s me. I’m sorry.”

  He found his hat and made his exit, leaving Jacqueline alone.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Gardener stood up and stretched his aching muscles, sighing loudly as he did so. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was still early, a little after seven o’clock. He’d spent the last three hours in the garage tending to the needs of the Bonneville.

  He’d arrived home a little after one o’clock. The house was still warm. Everyone had retired for the night. He’d made some tea and sat near the fireplace, trying to figure out the mess he called his mind. As much as he liked the minister, he simply couldn’t see himself being anything more than a friend. It was far too early to start a relationship with anyone. Maybe he never would again. Even if he hadn’t been frightened of starting something physical, the timing was not right. His workload was too demanding.

 

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