IMPURITY

by Ray Clark

Gardener relived the horror of the episode as Reilly drove. They were on their way to Gardener’s home before going to see Fitz. He needed to change his clothes. “I’ve never seen anything like it, Sean.” He stared straight ahead, unable to focus on anything but the incident.

  “He disintegrated in front of me.”

  The vivid recreation of Clayton’s dissolving body refused to leave his memory. Gardener recalled his frozen expression, the terror in the man’s eyes moments before they left their sockets. As if he knew what was coming, yet still searched for a way to prevent it. His white-knuckle grip on Gardener’s jacket. The scream that had set Gardener’s nerves jangling. The smell.

  “Any news on the syringe from Myers’ flat?” Reilly asked.

  Gardener gazed at the syringe. In the car, the vile, cloying odour felt stronger. “Not yet. But that one may have been filled with curare. This one can’t be.”

  “Why the change of method?” Reilly asked as he negotiated a busy city centre roundabout, choosing the exit that would eventually lead to Churchaven.

  “Whoever’s responsible, they have some nerve. It’s one thing to kill a person in the comfort of his own home when you know you’re not going to be disturbed. Or on the grounds of a church late at night. But to do it in a store full of shoppers, mid-morning...”

  “Seems obvious to me Summers is our man. He’s the only one we know connected to all four murders. He’s the only one who knew where Harry was going to be. He has an answer for everything we throw at him.”

  “Apart from the porn.” Gardener’s brow creased. “I’d say he is too defensive when you mention porn and his film company in the same breath.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  “Having said that, he surprised me on Saturday. When I mentioned the DVD of the Santas, he immediately resigned his books and told us about Clayton. If you were involved, surely you wouldn’t be so cooperative.”

  Reilly stopped for a traffic light. “Unless he’d engineered the whole thing. Let’s face it, he knew all four of them. He doesn’t much care about their deaths. He keeps packets of syringes, supposedly for medical reasons. Perhaps the reason he told us was because it wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference. Whatever Clayton knew, he would take it to his grave. Summers would get to him before we could.”

  Gardener thought it was good enough, but he had not actually seen him in the store. Although he had not read all the witness statements before leaving, he did ask for a list of names and addresses they had collected until that point. Summers was not on that list. Which, admittedly, didn’t mean much.

  “Have you seen Colin Sharp?” Gardener asked Reilly.

  “Not since you gave him his project.”

  “I need to pin him down. If we’re going to learn anything about Summers, we need to find out what Sharp has. What does bother me is that although there’s no one else in the frame, I’m not entirely convinced it is Summers.”

  “The curare?”

  “And whatever’s in here.” Gardener lifted the syringe.

  “There might be more than one. Summers may not have the knowledge, but what about his butler?”

  Gardener rolled his eyes and shook his head. “It’s possible. The real brains behind it could be Jeeves, or whatever his name is. Summers would have the ability and the strength, the butler supplies the knowledge.”

  Reilly drove the car through the double gates to Gardener’s house, onto the red brick drive. He parked the car and switched off the engine before jumping out.

  Gardener glanced at his partner. “You’re a deep thinker for an Irishman.”

  “I’ll be taking that as a compliment, shall I?”

  “Naturally,” said Gardener.

  “You’re all heart, Yorkshireman.” Reilly slapped Gardener on the back. “To be sure, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “You need me to keep your feet on the ground. By now you’d have killed Summers and moved on to the next case.”

  Reilly erupted with laughter. “I think it’s time I moved on to the next partner.”

  Gardener checked around the house. No one was home. “I need a change of clothes, then we’ll go and see Fitz. Help yourself to coffee. And can you do me a favour? Ring and find out where Summers is.”

  Chapter Fifty-nine

  Gardener showered and donned fresh clothing within twenty minutes. He selected a new pale blue shirt he’d bought at the sales at the weekend, with a pair of black corduroy trousers. Back in the kitchen, he hung his leather jacket over a chair. His hat was on the table where he’d left it.

  “Any luck with Summers?” Gardener asked, filling a glass of water from the tap. He put his glass down and picked up Spook, who was circling round his legs. “Hello, Spooky, what are you doing inside?” He put the cat back on the floor and poured a saucer of milk.

  “No,” said Reilly. “At least if he’d been in all morning, he would have had an alibi.”

  “We’d only have the butler’s word for it.”

  “He’ll be down in the cellar, concocting more of his potions. You know, while I’ve been sitting here on my own, I’ve been thinking...”

  “I thought I could smell burning.”

  Reilly grinned. “I hope that transfer request comes through. No, seriously. It’s an awfully big house for one person and a butler, don’t you think? I had the impression yesterday that I didn’t see all of it.”

  “False panels and secret rooms?”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me.”

  “It’s strange you should say that. On Saturday, in the study, I could smell perfume. And it was stronger by the door in the corner. The library. Is there any way out through there?”

  Reilly shrugged his shoulders. “None that I could see.”

  Gardener sipped his water, thinking about it. He flipped his mobile, called the station. Colin Sharp wasn’t there. Briggs had requested that Gardener be put through to him if he called. Gardener hung up before the conversation went any further. He tried Sharp’s mobile but gained no answer. “Try Summers again.”

  Reilly did, but there was still no answer.

  Gardener finished his drink, placed his empty glass in the sink. “Let me show you something before we go.”

  Gardener took Reilly into the garage. He switched on the lights. Reilly whistled through his teeth when he saw the Bonneville. Although not fully dismantled, there was little left to strip from the chassis. Gardener caught the smell of oil, and the paraffin he’d been using to clean the smaller parts with.

  “So, this is what Sarah bought you?”

  Gardener nodded. “Nice, isn’t it?”

  “She’s a beauty. I never took you for a biker.”

  “I was, in my younger days. Could never afford one of these. Then when I could, Sarah and Chris came along, and it seemed more practical to get a car. Couldn’t afford both, so the dream had to go.”

  “What are you going to do with it?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “What would Sarah have wanted you to do?”

  Gardener thought for a few moments. “She would have told me to ride it at least once. See if it was everything I thought it would be.”

  Reilly slapped him on the shoulder. “There’s your answer, then, son. Just promise me one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You get two crash helmets. I’d like a wee go on this beauty.”

  Gardener smiled. “You’re on.”

  “Mind you, we’ll not be getting far on this.” Reilly had what was left of the seat in his hands. “How much is a new one?”

  “I’ve no idea.”

  “Maybe you should ring your man. You know, the one we met in Rawston.”

  Gardener paused, glancing at his watch “That’s a good idea. Can’t see them being cheap, but when we’ve seen Fitz, I’ll take you up on that. You haven’t seen my Dad pottering around, have you?”

  Reilly shook his head. Although the back door was locked, Gardener still paid a visit to the p
otting shed and the greenhouse. At the door to the shed, he turned to Reilly. “He’s found himself a girlfriend, you know.”

  “You’re kidding me!”

  “No. Apparently they’ve been seeing each other for a few weeks. Meeting secretly at her house when they’re supposed to be at the gardening club.”

  Reilly chuckled. “Well, the randy old fox. And you didn’t know? You, a detective!”

  “I know. Takes some believing.”

  “Mind you. I don’t reckon he’s the only one.”

  Gardener opened the door, stepped inside. “What do you mean?”

  “Come on, son, you don’t have to act the innocent with me. My wee wife’s a good judge of character. Laura thinks there’s something going on in your life as well.” He saw Gardener hesitate. “Listen, the expression on your face has just told me everything. Well, come on, who is she?”

  “I think you and Laura have been sniffing too many shamrock seeds.” Gardener smiled, leaned back against the doorframe. “It’s not what you think.”

  “Try me.”

  Gardener fidgeted with his hands. “There is someone, but it’s one-way traffic. She’s Jacqueline Bâlcescu, she’s a minister. I’ve seen quite a bit of her over the last few months when I’ve been tending Sarah’s grave.” The memory of his late wife came to mind. Even though nothing had happened, he still felt like he was cheating on her somehow. “We’ve talked a lot. She invited me for a meal one night. She wanted me to stay.” Gardener didn’t say anything else.

  “And you couldn’t?”

  After a pause, Gardener answered. “No, I couldn’t. It was too soon, Sean. I just couldn’t commit. What does that make me?”

  “Sensible?” replied his partner.

  “That’s not how I saw it. I was frightened. Of what, I’m not sure. I was with Sarah for twenty years. She was my wife, the mother of my child. She was everything to me. I’ll never find that again. I was terrified. The thought of staying over and going to another woman’s bed, touching her in a way I’ve only ever touched one woman, genuinely terrified me. I couldn’t do it.”

  “Look, son, if that’s how you felt, then good on you. I think it’s too soon anyway. I admire you for it. It’s not every man who can show the control you did. I said sensible because you have that wee son of yours to think about. And to be sure, a relationship with a minister wouldn’t be an easy one.”

  “Do you really admire me for it?” asked Gardener.

  “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t. And you know that.”

  He did, which was why he loved Reilly like a brother. “Thanks, mate, that means a lot to me.”

  Reilly nodded. “Take it steady, you’ll know when the time’s right. Now, maybe we should get going before that psychopath of a pathologist starts to hunt us down.”

  Gardener laughed. He was about to close the door when he froze. The hairs on his neck bristled, and his legs wobbled.

  Reilly saw his eyes go wide. “What’s wrong?” He pushed past Gardener, barrelling into the shed. He turned to face his partner. “What is it?”

  Gardener turned, glancing everywhere. He felt as if his veins had frozen. “Can’t you smell it?”

  Reilly’s expression darkened. “Smell what?”

  Gardener moved around Reilly, lifting boxes, pushing inanimate objects out of the way.

  “For God’s sake, what are you looking for?” Reilly asked incredulously.

  Gardener turned, about to speak. Instead, he reached past Reilly to a shelf, pulling down a plant housed in a shallow pan. He held it close, almost dropped it.

  They both stared at it for a moment, then leaned into the plant and sniffed. Reilly drew back. “Jesus Christ!”

  Gardener grabbed the Venus flytrap again, leaned in close, and inhaled once more. The same vile odour of rotting garbage and excrement the corpses had smelled of penetrated his nostrils.

  He put the plant on the nearby work surface, then stepped out of the shed and turned slowly to his partner.

  Reilly had obviously read his thoughts. “Bit of a long shot, isn’t it, boss? It’s too much of a coincidence for my liking. Let’s go and see Fitz, see what he has to say.”

  Gardener agreed, but it didn’t make him feel any better. His partner was right. It was too much of a coincidence to ignore. After all, what were the chances his father, and possibly his father’s older girlfriend, had access to what could be the murder weapon in his investigation?

  There had to be a logical answer. So why couldn’t he see it?

  Chapter Sixty

  By the time the two detectives arrived at Fitz’s lab, the corpse of Harry Clayton had been laid out on a gurney. Fitz was working by himself, humming along to music from an opera by Verdi. The pathologist glanced up as they entered. Gardener noticed Clayton’s body was still decomposing.

  “Have you got a minute?” he asked the doctor.

  “Of course,” replied Fitz. He led them into his office and sat at his desk. Gardener closed the door behind him.

  “We’ve come across something we’d like you to take a look at,” Gardener said, nodding to Reilly.

  Reilly removed the plant from a carrier bag. He passed over the syringe at the same time.

  “Smell the plant.”

  Fitz inspected them both. “I’ve no need to.”

  “We need to know if it’s possible this plant was used to melt those men,” said Reilly.

  Fitz drew a sharp intake of breath. “Could the enzymes from the plant cause the destruction we’ve seen in the four bodies? I’m not a botanist, but it might be possible.”

  After searching around his desk, the pathologist found what he wanted.

  “The results of the syringe analysis from Frank Myers came back from the lab this morning.”

  “And?” asked Gardener.

  “The problem when you start from scratch is that you don’t know what you’re looking for. Let me see. Characteristics of known chemical groups. The content of the syringe doesn’t fit into any. Opiates and amphetamines also drew a blank. The only thing we know for certain was the compound destroyed the proteins in the body. To answer your first question, gentlemen, yes, the plant enzymes from the Venus flytrap are probably powerful enough to do it.”

  It was not what Gardener wanted to hear. The fact he’d found the plant in his father’s shed stuck in his mind. Too much of a coincidence. “You’d need a good botanical knowledge to be able to carry out using this enzyme, right?”

  “Definitely. You’d have to know what you were doing in order to extract it.”

  “What about the curare? Surely you’d need to be a chemist?”

  “Not necessarily. Curare is also extracted from a plant. Before we get carried away, I think we need to test the plant and the contents of the syringe as a proteolytic acid. We need the confirmation. Let me have the plant and the syringe tested. In fact, I’ll take them over to the university myself. While I’m there, I’ll go along to the botanical department and find out what I can about the Venus flytrap.”

  Gardener checked his watch. “When are you going?”

  Fitz hesitated. “I suppose I could go now.”

  “We’ll come with you.”

  Chapter Sixty-one

  After leaving the plant and the syringe for testing, the three men sought out Vanessa Chambers. They found the botanist in her office. She was approximately thirty; blonde and bubbly. Although she gave the impression of a scatterbrain, Gardener liked what he saw. She spoke with a confident upper-class accent.

  “Doctor Fitzgerald! What a lovely surprise. What brings you here?”

  It was the first time Gardener could recall Fitz being called by his full title.

  “Business. I’d like to introduce a couple of colleagues of mine who have an intriguing problem, to say the least.”

  Vanessa glanced at Gardener. “Where have you been hiding him?”

  Reilly smiled when Gardener blushed as Fitz made the introductions.

  “Take a seat, if yo
u can find one,” Vanessa said as she rushed around the office clearing books and magazines.

  Gardener found a seat and briefly went through what he knew, disclosing a little about the case and his possible theories.

  “Oh, this is interesting,” she squealed. “What can I tell you about the Venus flytrap? It was described by Darwin as ‘one of the most wonderful plants in the world.’ Insects are attracted by red pigment and secretions of nectar on the inner surface of the trap lobes where the sensitive trigger hairs are. A single touch has no effect. But a second touch within a few seconds will induce sudden closure of the jaws.

  “Specialized glandular hairs on the upper surface of the leaf secrete a fluid that helps digest the prey. It’s thought that the movement of hydrogen ions, giving changes of acidity, occurs in the walls of some of the cells. What is now well established is that the secretion of the glandular hairs contains a mixture of enzymes, the most important being proteolytic.”

  “Which is what, in English?” Gardener was growing impatient. Fitz had a habit of doing exactly the same thing to him, talking gibberish.

  “Breaking proteins into smaller fragments. The fluid kills and digests the prey. When the trap reopens, it reveals a skeleton.”

  A series of images of the dead men swept through Gardener’s mind.

  Vanessa continued. “The digestive enzymes include proteinases, peptidases, and phosphatases, all of which break down the body of the insect.”

  Gardener leaned back in his chair. “So, if the fluid secreted by the flytrap was injected directly into the jugular vein, would it have the same effect on the human body?”

  “Very probably.” Vanessa giggled – an excited, childish laugh. “How ghastly. What an awful way to die. Would be terribly painful. As it travelled around the body, it would literally dissolve everything, reduce it to a liquid mush, leaving only the skeleton.”

  Fitz interrupted. “Vanessa, would the enzymes disappear?”

  “Oh, yes. Leave no trace of themselves, only amino acids.”

  Gardener noted an expression of confirmation from Fitz. “I’d say we’ve found our answer, gentlemen.”

  Gardener turned to Vanessa. “Be honest with me. Would it be possible to extract the fluid from the plant?”