IMPURITY

by Ray Clark

  “Quite. So, who is it?”

  Gardener was not impressed by Summers’ brusque manner. He felt as if he was merely being tolerated. Reilly produced his pad and pen and started making notes as Gardener replied.

  “Bernard Thornwell. He was found murdered yesterday. We have reason to believe he worked for you.”

  Summers inhaled deeply on the cigar, billowing smoke above his head. “He did, and he didn’t.”

  Gardener could see he was going to have trouble with Summers. He’d had a gutful of that already today. “Which means what?”

  “He did, but only on a part-time basis.”

  “What exactly do you do? I have a card here that says you’re an entertainment agent.”

  “Yes.” Summers puffed on the cigar. “Entertainment agent is only a part of it. I do employ people to work as clowns and Father Christmas for children, but I also run a casting agency for adults, and I’m actively involved with a film production company.”

  “What sort of films?”

  “Travel documentaries. I have contacts abroad. My company promotes the travel industry in Britain.”

  “So, Bernard Thornwell, what can you tell me about him?”

  “Nothing much. Worked for me as a Santa Claus in various department stores. On a number of occasions he attended children’s parties as a clown.”

  “When did you last see him?”

  “A couple of weeks ago, I think. I don’t really remember, Mr Gardener. I’m a busy man.” Summers started to inspect his nails, as though bored.

  “Had he worked for you in the last two weeks?” asked Gardener.

  Summers glanced at his watch impatiently. “Yes. I believe he was covering the Debenhams department store in the city.”

  “You believe? You either know or you don’t.”

  Summers smirked, irritating Gardener further. “Mr Gardener, I can’t mentally keep track of everyone. I would have records, however.”

  “In that case, go and get them.” It was an order, not a request. Summers rose and left the study without a word.

  “I don’t like him,” Gardener said to his partner.

  “I’m none too keen on him myself.”

  The study door opened. Summers came back in with a number of books and ledgers.

  “Here we are, gentlemen.” He placed them on the desk and sat back in his chair.

  “I’m taking these with me, Mr Summers. Is there anything else you’d like to tell me about Bernard Thornwell?”

  “Not really. He was someone who worked for me on various occasions. We certainly didn’t socialize. A pleasant enough chap, did a good job, punctual.”

  “Did you ever have any problems with him?”

  “What sort of problems?”

  “Anything. Did he ever turn up for work drunk? Did he have money problems?”

  “Nothing I can recall.”

  Gardener put the books to one side and fixed him with a steely gaze. “It would appear that Bernard Thornwell had a colleague with whom he socialized. One Herbert Plum, who also died under mysterious circumstances. Did he work for you as well?”

  The change in the agent’s manner was only slight, but it was enough for Gardener. “Yes, Mr Gardener, he did.”

  “Did they use their own names when they worked for you?”

  “Yes.”

  Summers had not taken a drag on his cigar but continued to hold it. The ash was growing in length.

  “Did Plum also work on a part-time basis?”

  “Yes. Where are you going with this, Mr Gardener?”

  “For a man who’s lost two of his employees recently, you don’t seem overly concerned,” commented Reilly.

  “As you said, Mr Reilly, they were colleagues, not relatives.”

  “All the same, I’d be asking myself a number of questions. Like who’s next? Have I done anything to upset anyone? Do you know what I mean?”

  “I know exactly what you mean. If you’re looking for me to do your job by providing you with suspects, then I’m afraid you’re wasting your time, gentlemen. I pay my taxes, which pays your wages, so I suggest you look a little harder somewhere else.” Summers stood up. “Now, if you’ve quite finished…”

  “We haven’t,” Gardener said, sternly. On the outside, Summers was cool, but underneath, he was concerned. Gardener wanted to know why. “Two people who work for you are dead. And I’d like to know a damned sight more than you’ve given us. Who else do you employ in the same line of work?”

  “Who is your superior, Mr Gardener?”

  “Detective Chief Inspector Briggs, why do you ask?”

  “Because I don’t like your attitude.”

  “Feel free to complain any time you like, Mr Summers. However, I’m conducting a serious investigation, which I intend to solve. Everything I’m doing is within the law. Until I’ve finished, you will help with that investigation. Now, Bernard Thornwell and Herbert Plum. Are you aware of any of their associates? Do you have anyone else on your books in the same line of work?”

  Summers sat back down, finally taking a drag on his cigar. “No.”

  “So, you run an entertainment agency which seems to specialize in providing amusement for the wee children, yet you only have two clowns who double up as Father Christmas. Sort of leaves you in a spot of trouble, wouldn’t you say?” Reilly fixed his glare on Summers as he spoke.

  “Not at all, Officer Reilly. If I were to rely solely on clowns and Christmas for my income, I’d hardly be living in such splendour, would I? Running the entertainment agency is only part of my business, and even then, I only used those two as a favour to them. Most of my business is concerned with acts on the cabaret circuit and theatres. I also provide look-alikes for a casting agency. Besides the travel films.”

  “Why were you doing favours for Plum and Thornwell?” asked Gardener.

  “I’ve known the two gentlemen a number of years. They approached me for work and there was a time when I kept them both busy. But times change, Mr Gardener. Children no longer want parties with clowns. Nowadays it’s off to McHerbert’s and a computer game when you get home.”

  When Summers failed to elaborate, Gardener pushed. “You still haven’t explained the favour.”

  Summers drew on the cigar, blowing smoke up toward the ceiling. “They were hardly what you’d call flush. Since I’d known and seen them both through the good times, I thought, as a favour, I could help them through the bad.”

  “Well, they’ve hit rock bottom now, have they not?” said Reilly. “So, you don’t know any of their associates?”

  “As I said, we didn’t socialize.”

  Gardener stood and paced the room with his hands in his pockets. “Judging by what you’ve said, you’d have no idea why anyone would want to kill them?”

  “None at all.”

  “You were never involved with either of them for any reason other than business?”

  “I had no reason to be, Mr Gardener.”

  Gardener was beginning to sense the little man’s smug attitude returning. “During what little time you did spend together, did either man seem worried about anything?”

  “I’ve already told you, I didn’t socialize with them. I hardly knew them.”

  “You said a few minutes ago you’d known them a number of years.”

  “Yes, but only as business associates.”

  Reilly leaned on his desk. “Tell me, aren’t you the least bit curious why two people who work for you have both been killed within a week of each other?”

  “I should think it obvious I don’t travel in the same circles as my employees. Especially the part-time ones.” Summers smirked.

  “How do you know?” Gardener asked. “You said you don’t socialize.”

  Summers shook his head before answering. “Look, gentlemen, I don’t feel threatened. Now, or at any other time. I’m a simple man. I do my job, keep to myself, and I pay my way. Whatever those two were into, it’s none of my business.”

  “Any ex
perience with drugs?”

  “Drugs?”

  “Yes... drugs. The entertainment industry is notorious for drug taking. I wondered if you’d encountered any drug problems?”

  “Occasionally. I am aware of the narcotic problems within the business. There were a couple of instances some time ago where I had to stop using a couple of artists. They nearly brought a theatre into disrepute. Nothing more than that. I certainly don’t take them.”

  Gardener switched topics. “Does the name Craig Sutton mean anything to you?”

  “I can’t say it does.”

  Gardener sat back down. “We discovered a number of pornographic films and magazines in Herbert Plum’s flat. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  “Should I?”

  “Doesn’t it concern you that a man you employed to entertain children also indulges in pornography?”

  Summers stubbed out his cigar and glanced at his watch. “We all have our dark side, Mr Gardener.”

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  “No, it doesn’t concern me too much. What they chose to get up to in their own time is up to them. Did you find any porn involving children?”

  “Not yet,” replied Gardener.

  “Was Herbert Plum a convicted paedophile?”

  “Not a convicted one, to my knowledge.”

  “Then there’s no reason for me to be concerned.”

  “As I said, not a convicted paedophile. He may have been one, for all we know.”

  “I’m sure you’ll understand how difficult it is to extract everything from employees. My only interest was how well he did his job. I had no cause for complaint on that score.”

  “Would you have employed him had you known?” asked Reilly.

  “What kind of a question is that?”

  “A straightforward one.”

  “I didn’t know, so it doesn’t matter,” Summers replied.

  “Herbert Plum was recently involved in an incident in a public house,” continued Gardener. “Apparently, he told someone he had contacts in the film world. He then went on to offer a woman the chance to star in a pornographic film. You wouldn’t have any idea who the contact might be, would you?”

  Summers seemed surprised. “Why should I?” He gazed at the ceiling. “What a bloody mess!”

  “Forgive me,” said Gardener, standing. “I’m putting two and two together. It crossed my mind. Films. Entertainers. Entertainment agency. Plum’s implicated you by association, Mr Summers. Is it possible he used your name without your knowledge? Let’s face it, you’re there in the Yellow Pages. Legitimate. Plum could have been riding on the back of your business for his own private reasons, without you realizing. Then again, maybe you did.”

  Summers flew out of his chair. “How dare you?” His cheeks were red, and the corners of his mouth were flecked with spittle.

  Gardener said nothing but casually wiped his collar and smiled.

  “I’ll have your badge for this, Gardener.”

  “I don’t have a badge.”

  “You know what I mean,” Summers shouted.

  “No,” replied Gardener. “Maybe you should explain.”

  “Your outrageous accusations.” Summers danced around the desk before standing directly in front of the two detectives.

  “I haven’t made any.”

  Summers raised a hand. “You intimated I made pornography!”

  “But I didn’t accuse you. Look at the facts, Mr Summers. Two corpses connected with your company. One with an unsavoury interest in pornography. Both, until recently, regularly employed by you. What conclusions would you draw?” Gardener turned to Reilly. “Are you ready, Sean?”

  The detectives made for the door. As Gardener opened it, he turned back toward Summers, who had not moved. “One more question. I’m not a handwriting expert, but from your books, I’d say you were left-handed. Am I right?”

  The little man gave him a perplexed expression. “What does my being left-handed have to do with anything?”

  “Answer the question!”

  “Yes, I am. Now, will you please leave? I do have appointments to keep.”

  “I appreciate your time, Mr Summers,” Gardener smiled, tipping his hat. “But I’m not happy. I think you’re hiding something. I will be back.”

  On the way back to the car, Gardener said to Reilly, “I want a full investigation on that man. I want to know everything he’s done since the day he was born.”

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  “Have you seen the papers?”

  Briggs slammed a copy of The Yorkshire Post down on his desk. The two detectives stared at the headline: “Police Violence!”

  It was no less than Gardener expected. As he read through it, the article was filled with details of the murder, uncooperative detectives, and police brutality. The broadsheet had then decided to run an opinion poll, ‘Did the public have a right to know?’ One diligent reporter had also insinuated a link between the Rawston incident and the corpse found within the grounds of St John’s Church.

  Briggs glared at Reilly. “Slipped your mind, did it, Reilly? The fact that you’d assaulted a reporter?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “It’s not what he says.”

  “He sells papers.”

  “You took his camera away from him,” said Briggs, leaning back in his chair.

  “Which isn’t assault,” argued Reilly.

  Briggs turned over the front page. “I think the photograph taken here paints a different picture.”

  In the shot, Reilly had his hands around the photographer’s throat as they tumbled. “It isn’t how it looks.”

  “So you keep saying. How is it, then? ’cause from where I’m sitting, it’s assault.”

  “I tried to stop him taking any more photos, and I fell down the steps.”

  “Oh, come on, Reilly, even you can do better than that. You’re not exactly known for using kid gloves. Are you really trying to tell me it was an accident?”

  “What’s the point in me saying anything? You’ll believe what you want, at the end of the day.”

  Briggs turned to Gardener. “What have you got to say about it?”

  “I’m with him. You’ve seen the photo, and you’ve obviously made your mind up.”

  Briggs stood, knocking his chair over in the process. “There’s a lot of point! I want your version of events. All I’ve had from you two so far is a boat load of trouble, and you’re no nearer to catching the killer. You’ve no idea what’s being used to kill the victims. I have a landlord putting in a claim against us because you wrecked his pub. Now, we have the newspapers claiming police brutality. The Chief Constable is furious. I’ve had him breathing down my neck all bloody morning. So now can you see why I want an explanation?”

  Gardener didn’t need the aggravation or the pressure the case was putting on them. He was well aware of how it appeared without Briggs listing his grievances. “I know how bad things look at the moment, but the case is not cut and dried. You’ve seen all the reports. Whichever line of inquiry we take, it’s a dead end.”

  Briggs sighed, repositioning his chair before sitting down. “We can’t afford bad publicity. The newspapers could cripple us. Have you any idea of the repercussions a picture like this will have?”

  “Of course I have. I’ve been in the force long enough to realize what parasites reporters are, and how they manipulate the public. But I can’t pull answers out of thin air.”

  “More’s the pity! Because before long, we’ll need to.” The atmosphere in the room descended into an icy silence before Briggs spoke again. “How did you get on with Summers?”

  Gardener was surprised by the question. He’d expected Summers to have placed a formal complaint. Perhaps Briggs was playing his cards close to his chest. “I don’t like him.”

  “I didn’t ask whether or not you liked him.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.” Gardener told Briggs about the interview, how h
e felt about Summers, and the fact that it was what he didn’t say as opposed to what he did that led Gardener to believe a further investigation of the entertainment agent was necessary.

  “So, what now?” Briggs asked.

  “It’s time we arrested Sutton.”

  “For what?”

  “Suspicion of murder. He withheld information from you,” Gardener said matter-of-factly.

  Briggs sighed. “Tell me what you know.”

  “The landlord of the pub in Rawston said he’d overheard Sutton threatening to kill Plum and Thornwell if he ever saw them in the pub again. Later, he was overheard swearing revenge.”

  Briggs held his hands up. “None of which makes him a killer.”

  “Maybe not, but he didn’t tell you, did he?”

  “Well, he was never going to tell me everything. It was off the record. He was trying to bargain his way out of trouble.”

  “That may be, but couple it with Fitz’s information about the syringe, and he’s definitely a suspect. Although Fitz doesn’t know what’s being used, he knows it’s injected directly into the jugular vein.

  “The only way you’re going to be able to do that without a major struggle is if you drug the victim first. Or you’re extremely powerful.” Gardener sensed his superior officer’s reluctance to bring in his informant.

  Briggs sighed. “Okay. Bring him in. Talk to him.”

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Gardener studied Sutton, wondering what made him tick. Covered in tattoos, he weighed well over twenty stone, most of which was a huge beer belly. His face still bore the bruises from his last meeting with Reilly. He didn’t work, he was unsociable, and his main source of income was drug money, according to gossip. Gardener hadn’t seen Sutton’s girlfriend, but the thought alone made him shudder.

  “Let’s make it clear,” Gardener started. “You haven’t been arrested. You’re simply here to help with our inquiries. You’re free to leave whenever you want. You’ve not requested the attendance of your own solicitor, nor the duty solicitor. And you’re quite happy with DCI Briggs sitting in. Detective Sergeant Reilly and I are investigating the deaths of Herbert Plum and Bernard Thornwell. How well did you know those men?”