by Ray Clark
“You mean Bob Crisp.”
“Exactly. I told you at the time he was worth listening to. I think he knows a lot more. There’s something in his past. And it wouldn’t surprise me if Summers is connected. And what’s more, I’ll bet he knows about that bastard Warthead.”
“But why not tell us at the time? If he had information which could have led to an arrest, why not tell us?”
“Who knows? Maybe he’s frightened. Perhaps Summers has a hold on him. It goes a hell of a lot deeper than what we think.”
Gardener considered the Irishman’s words. “If I go underground, what’s Briggs going to say?”
“He doesn’t need to know. You know as well as I do he’ll take you off the case anyway. Go home. Get some rest. Tonight, find your oldest clothes and go into the city and search out the vagrants. You have to find Bob Crisp. Find him, and I think you’ll find your adversary.”
Gardener stood up and made as if to leave. “I can’t do that. Sean, we’re three days from Christmas, and my son has been abducted. I want him home with me, where he belongs.”
Reilly also stood up. “And you will! I’ve told you, we’re all looking for him. Trust me, boss. I think I have a wee bit more experience in these matters. Keep your mobile with you and keep in touch. Most of all, do what I’m asking you to.”
In the end, it sounded logical to Gardener. Perhaps Reilly was right. Maybe Bob Crisp would have the answers. No one else had.
Chapter Sixty-five
“He’s my grandson. I had a right to know what was going on!” Malcolm banged his fist on the table, causing his tea to slop over the cup. He was sitting opposite his son.
Gardener stared at the clock. Late afternoon had slowly turned into early evening. It had grown dark. He’d returned home around midday after a meeting with Briggs. The DCI had told him the same as Reilly, go home and rest. The police were already searching for Chris. Gardener had agreed only because he knew it wouldn’t affect his plans.
Once home, he’d gone to bed after reading a note left on the kitchen table from his father, who had resumed his own search. Although Gardener had slept, it wasn’t continuous. He was unable to rest, and at one point, had a nightmare in which Chris was being chased down a series of dark tunnels that finally led him to a dead end. In the dream, Gardener was unable to reach his son. The vision terminated with Chris crying for help, as Warthead approached him with a syringe. Gardener joined in the shouting and woke himself up.
“I’m sorry, Stewart, but I don’t agree with your tactics. I was worried sick after the school called and told me you’d assaulted two teachers.”
“Assault’s a bit strong. But they deserved everything they got.” Gardener and his father had been discussing the situation for almost an hour since he’d risen. Each had listed their search areas, whom they had spoken to, and the possibility that Chris may not have been abducted but lay hurt somewhere, unable to contact them.
Gardener was disappointed with himself. Chris had been complaining about his mobile phone recently. It needed a new battery. After trying to identify the cell masts at the station, a cell dump on each had revealed nothing. Which must have meant either his mobile was switched off, or the battery had failed. Either way, he needed a new one.
“Well, whatever you did, they weren’t pleased.”
“They should pay more attention to what’s going on around them, then,” shouted Gardener.
“Yes, yes, I agree. Look, sitting here bickering isn’t helping Chris. What are you doing tonight?”
“Same as last night. I’m going to look for him.”
“I’ll come with you.”
Gardener thought about where he would need to go, and realized his father couldn’t cope. “Dad, I’d prefer you to stay here. It’s pointless both of us going out. If Chris is hurt and he does manage to limp home, he’ll need a friendly face.”
“Okay. Point taken. But take your mobile, and for God’s sake, keep in touch,” Malcolm said.
“Before I do go, there is something I need to ask. What do you know about Anei?”
His father held his gaze and hesitated. “What do you mean?”
“I’d just like to know.”
“What, at a time like this? Your son has gone missing and you’re interested in your father’s girlfriend? I know you better than that, son. There’s a reason. What is it?”
“It may be something, or it may be nothing. I’m just curious, is all.”
Malcolm’s jaw dropped. “You seriously don’t think Anei has him, do you? Or that she has anything to do with it?”
Gardener raised his hand to ease his father’s agitation. “No, of course I don’t. But please, just satisfy me, and tell me what you know.”
His father eyed him suspiciously, but gave in. “What can I say? She was born in Romania. Came to England during the war with her family. They eventually moved to Yorkshire, but a terrible tragedy befell them, leaving only Anei and her sister Irina. Irina managed to look after her. They got work on a farm. Irina met someone there and married him. They had a son. After a lot of hardship, they managed to keep the farm. The reason I admire her so much is not the hardship she or her family faced, it was the decision to move.”
“You mentioned a son. Have you met him?”
“I haven’t, no. The son was her sister Irina’s, not hers, which would make him Jacqueline’s father.”
“He’s dead?”
Malcolm shrugged. “I assume so. I can’t remember her exact words, but she implied he was no longer around.”
“Which doesn’t mean to say he’s dead.” Gardener had spoken more to himself than his father.
“Why do you ask?”
“I’m curious. Jacqueline once said her father wasn’t very nice. Other than that, she didn’t say much. But she didn’t say he was dead, either. All she said was, she hadn’t seen him for years. She went to live with her aunt when she was thirteen. Now, if her father isn’t dead, then something must have happened.” Gardener paused, sipping cold dregs of tea.
“Why don’t you ask Jacqueline about it?”
“We’re not as close as you’d like to think. Look, there’s something else I’d like to know. Where did you get the Venus flytrap from?”
“You’ve been in my potting shed?” His father was appalled.
“I was looking for you yesterday afternoon. Where did you get it?”
“Anei.”
“Where did she get it?”
“She cultivates them in her conservatory. Has quite a few of them.”
He’d suspected as much. The hole was deepening. The questions piling up. Was it Anei? An even more disturbing thought was, ‘how would Jacqueline feel?’ She’d admired her aunt in much the same manner he had his father. But it could very well be one of them. What then?
Gardener’s mobile rang.
“Boss?”
“Found anything?”
“Information. Get yourself ready, I’ll pick you up in ten minutes. I’m taking you into the city centre, to the Dark Arches. You’re looking for a man they call ‘The Bear’. From what I’ve gathered, you can’t get to Bob Crisp without him.”
“Is that where he is? The Dark Arches?”
“I doubt it. But it’s as good a place as any to start. Get the grubbiest clothes you can find, and I’ll see you soon.” Reilly broke the connection.
Gardener thought back to the day they’d met Bob Crisp, near the kiosk on the grounds of the church. If the vagrant had been shadowed by The Bear, neither he nor Reilly had noticed. He abhorred filth, vagrants, and anything else connected to them. Tonight, he was not only going to have to imitate one, but mix with them as well. He then thought of Chris, and why he had to do it.
Gardener left the kitchen and entered the garage through the connecting door. His work clothes were where he had left them after working on the bike, in a heap near the discarded dustsheet.
Back in the kitchen, he threw them in the tumble dryer to warm.
R
eilly arrived quicker than he said he would. Gardener changed clothes, surprised that a mixture of odours, paraffin, oil, and sweat still remained despite a tumble dryer sheet.
“How’s the search going?”
“Usual stuff. Briggs had officers at the school, he’s spoken to everyone he can think of. In fact, he’s set up a special unit to work twenty-four hours on the case. He’s using the press for an appeal.”
Gardener was touched by his superior officer’s actions. “It won’t get that far. Come hell or high water, I’ll find my son before Christmas.”
“I like your spirit, my friend. And you’re not on your own. We’ll find your son,” Reilly said.
“Dad, I’m going,” Gardener said to Malcolm as he entered the kitchen.
“Dressed like that?”
“It’s a long story.” Gardener paused. “Look, I’m sorry about what I said. Thanks for what you’re doing.”
“You’re welcome, son. Whatever you’re doing, I don’t think I’m going to like the idea, so I won’t ask. For God’s sake, be careful!”
“I will.”
As Gardener and Reilly were about to leave, Malcolm interrupted them. “I almost forgot.”
He walked into the living room, returning with a small parcel. “It came earlier.”
Gardener recognized Colin Sharp’s writing. He stared at it for several moments, weighing the choices he faced. Could he afford to be distracted right now?
“Do me a favour. Keep it safe. I haven’t time to read it.”
Chapter Sixty-six
“What are you doing here, Reilly? It’s late.”
Reilly glanced up and saw Briggs in the doorway. He hadn’t heard him approach.
“I could ask you the same question.”
Briggs stepped into the incident room and dropped into one of the chairs. He sighed, removed his glasses, and rubbed his fingers across his eyelids. To Reilly, he appeared done-in: a crumpled suit, his tie hung low across an open collar, glasses that probably hadn’t been cleaned for a week.
“I’m knackered,” said Briggs. “But I can’t settle. I keep thinking about Chris. Where he might be, wondering what I’d be like in Stewart’s shoes. Everything’s going round in my head. It’s all a bloody jumble.”
Reilly sighed. “I know what you mean. Have you never had kids? I didn’t mean to pry, but the comment...”
Reilly noted the softer expression on Briggs’ normally case-hardened features. “No. My wife couldn’t have them. She was involved in an accident when she was about fourteen. Car crash; did a lot of internal damage. I suppose she was lucky to live.” Briggs paused. “Drunken driver. I knew before we were married, but I loved her. Still do, after thirty years.”
“I admire you. It can’t have been easy.”
Briggs smiled. “No, it wasn’t easy. But it’s like anything, you learn to accept. You fill your life with other things, like holidays, cars, big houses. Anything to hide the real pain. We both wanted children. She came from a big family.”
“Did you not think of adoption?”
“A couple of times. It’s not the same, though, is it? No matter what you say, you can’t love the child the same as you’d love your own. Julie always said she wanted to feel the child inside her. There’s no stronger bond than that.”
“There is another way of looking at it. At least by adopting, you could provide a child with a better life.”
“Don’t get me wrong. We thought about it long and hard. But no matter how many times you discuss it, you have to feel it in here.” Briggs pointed to his heart. “And we didn’t. So, it wouldn’t be fair on the child. At the end of the day, it doesn’t stop your emotions from running over when you’re chasing perverts and paedophiles.” Briggs threw his arms in the air. “I mean, what’s the fucking use?”
Reilly had been surprised by Briggs’ emotional outburst. There was, after all, a humane side to the man. “That’s why I’m in here. I want to have another look at the DVDs we seized from Myers’ flat. The boss reckons Summers is far too defensive when we try to link the porn to his film company.”
“You think Summers is making the films? You think Summers is abducting children and running his own little empire of porn; head of his own paedophile ring?”
“That’s about the size of it. Maybe we’re wrong. I don’t know. It’s a hunch. If there’s no connection on the disc, then we’ve lost nothing. But I don’t trust the man. He’s a parasite. When we searched the house, I had the feeling we didn’t see all of it. There’s a life at stake here. I can’t stand by and do nothing. I owe it to the boss to pull my guts out on this. And if I’m right, we might know where Chris is.”
Briggs remained silent for so long, Reilly thought he was never going to speak again.
“You don’t have to watch it,” he said to Briggs. “I’m not watching because I want to. If it means getting Chris back, though, I’ll watch them continuously until I find what I’m looking for. There’s only one more anyway.”
“Okay,” replied Briggs. “Fair comment. I’ll get us a coffee and I’ll join you.”
When Briggs returned, Reilly set the disc playing. He was sick to the stomach at having to endure watching the teenage girls and the torture they were being subjected to.
Reilly paid attention to every minute detail in the background. By the end of the film, though, he had learned nothing.
He checked his watch, disappointed. It was a little after one in the morning. Reilly glanced at Briggs. “Look, I’m sorry I put you through it. I just thought…”
“I know.” Briggs finished the sentence. “You’re a good man, Reilly. I may not like your tactics, but I can’t knock your dedication, either to the job or your friend.”
“More compliments?”
Briggs laughed. “I think we’d better call it a night. Your missus won’t be pleased.”
Reilly sighed in defeat. “No. I don’t suppose she will.”
They were about to leave the room when a noise from the TV attracted their attention.
Reilly had forgotten to switch off the machine. On the screen, the disc loaded the final untitled chapter.
As Reilly watched on, his blood curdled, and his heart missed a beat.
Chapter Sixty-seven
Gardener studied his watch. Six hours he’d been in the city centre. It felt like six years. At two o’clock in the morning, the bustling metropolis was an alien environment to him – a collection of unfamiliar landscapes in a world where he no longer felt socially adept. Late night revellers spilled out of clubs singing Christmas carols, filling their faces, or groping each other while waiting in taxi ranks.
In the early hours, the city streets smelled of fuel and vomit and urine as drunks fought to gain access to doorways or telephone booths or anywhere they could find to perform bodily functions. The noise was phenomenal, more akin to rush hour on a Friday night. Unlike peak time, however, the noise and the crowds died quickly, leaving Gardener alone.
He was sitting on a park bench on the grounds of St John’s Church, next to the kiosk where he’d first met Bob Crisp. Despite not knowing where to start, the obvious answer had been the city’s down-and-outs. Surprisingly, there were very few around. Those he had come across were either intoxicated or refused to speak to him, possibly realizing that no matter how he dressed, he was not one of them. The few who were prepared to give him the time of day were rendered mentally incapacitated at the mere mention of Bob Crisp, or The Bear.
Gardener felt totally inadequate. More than once he’d questioned his motives and his actions. Shouldn’t he be out searching for Chris, rather than some vagrant that may or may not have the answer? Gardener was confident his son had been lured away by Warthead. Like the other teenagers. Shouldn’t he be searching for Felix, or whatever he called himself?
His spine crawled. He felt sick to the stomach as the words of Lesley Vickers returned to haunt him. A vivid mental picture of the day they stood by her son’s grave entered his head. It might be y
our son next time. He couldn’t let that happen. Anger was building within Gardener like a volcano. If he so much as caught sight of Warthead, he’d kill him on the spot with his bare hands. After he’d found out where Chris was.
He stood up and sighed. It was late. He was tired, hungry, and cold. He smelled. His mood was totally despondent. The only person in the world that mattered to him was missing – God knows where, being subjected to God knows what. He didn’t have a clue where to start his search. Nor could he find the one person his partner suspected may provide him with answers.
Could life be any worse?
As if on cue, a voice behind him spoke up and said, “Well, look what we have here, boys.”
Chapter Sixty-eight
Chris heard the rattle of crockery beyond the door at the far side of the room. The door unlocked, and in stepped the small man and the elderly butler he’d seen yesterday. At least, Chris thought he was a butler.
“Ah, Christopher. And how are you this morning?”
Chris didn’t reply. He didn’t want to. He was struggling to remember exactly what had happened. He could recall leaving school to go to the chip shop, but he’d never made it there. The next thing he remembered was waking up in the room in which he was now being held prisoner.
“I’ve brought your breakfast, young man. Of course, not knowing your preference, I’ve chosen cereal and toast. I hope you like it.”
Chris was frightened. No one had done anything to him since he’d woken, but he was still unsettled. He had no idea where he was, how long he’d been here, or why. Or what these two wanted of him. As he glanced around the room, it reminded him a little of his dad’s bedroom. It had a big bed, a sink in the corner, a separate shower room. It was clean and warm, but not to his taste.
“I do wish you’d talk to me, Christopher.” The small, bespectacled man turned to the butler. “Don’t you, Alfred?” He turned his attention back to Chris. “It’ll make things easier for you in the long run.”
Chris realized the advice was probably good. It may be better for him if he played along. He found himself thinking about David Vickers, wondering if he’d been in the same situation. He didn’t want to end up like his friend. His guts swelled, his fear mounting. “Where am I?” he asked.