IMPOSTURE: Hunters become the hunted in this gripping murder mystery Ray Clark (lightest ebook reader TXT) 📖

identity of the ghost remained a mystery. Whether he found out more and never said, or he simply couldn’t find anything, I don’t know.

“But the strangest thing ever, was that once the authorities untangled the wreckage of their car, Alfie Price was found in the boot.”

“Why was that so strange?” Gardener asked.

“Because the doll had disappeared eleven years previously – either that or it had been made to disappear, by Richard.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because Anthony actually suffers from coulrophobia: he is absolutely terrified of clowns – totally and utterly petrified.”

“We can have these, as well, can we?” Gardener asked.

“Yes, of course. They’re no use to me.”

“Well thank you for your time and patience, Mr Hunter. All of this will be a great help to us.”

“Then maybe you can help me, now, please?”

“Go on,” said Gardener.

“Now we seem to have moved ahead, and you guys have a reason for all of this, can I please bury my brother and his wife? Life has to go on and I cannot stay here forever. I have to have some normality back.”

Gardener nodded and tipped his hat. It was a reasonable request.

Chapter Seventeen

The time was shortly before midnight. The building, Millgarth police station in Leeds; the location, the incident room. Two men sat amidst a mountain of information, both on paper and on whiteboards. The atmosphere in the room was downbeat but the relationship between the two was, as always, rock solid.

Reilly sat down and placed a cup of tea in front of Gardener. A coffee and a Mars bar was his choice of pick-me-up.

Gardener stared at the whiteboards and shook his head. Three weeks had passed since the hit and run and whilst it would be fair to say that they had unearthed a number of clues as to what might have happened, and why – not to mention the identities of those involved – they were in fact no nearer to making an arrest than they had been on the night itself.

The team had retired for the day, having offered reports and information, most of which led to nothing, leaving the two at the top to try and salvage a plan of action as to where to go next.

“I thought we might have had something from the airports,” sighed Gardener, unable to believe that even the smallest piece of evidence didn’t appear to exist.

“It’s not surprising,” said Reilly, sipping his coffee. “We know how clever these people are. They obviously have more false IDs than we know about, so popping in and out of the country should be quite easy for them.”

“They must have false passports as well.”

“Wouldn’t be too difficult, would it?”

“But there wasn’t even anything on the digital software,” said Gardener. “None of the photos were recognised.”

“Which leaves another possibility.”

“That they haven’t left the country at all?” Gardener observed.

Reilly unwrapped his chocolate bar but paused before biting. “Which could make finding them even harder. They could be anywhere in the UK. We have no idea what mode of transport they are using.”

Gardener sifted through the paperwork. “Did the mobile numbers lead us anywhere?”

“I don’t think so. Longstaff and Gates spoke to all the providers they knew about. None of those numbers for the DPA team have ever existed.”

“And those two are certainly tech savvy. If they can’t find them then I’ll wager no one else can.”

“How is that possible?” Reilly asked. “Surely there must be a record of their phones and the calls they’ve made somewhere.”

“There will be,” said Gardener. “But this DPA lot know how to cover their tracks. Look at that thing they infected the bank with, that Trojan called Octopus. If they can concoct something like that, then hiding phone numbers will be a walk in the park.”

Reilly nodded in acceptance, finally taking a bite of the Mars bar.

Gardener’s mood was part defeat but mostly annoyance. Robbie Crater had slipped the net, making that a cold case. He certainly didn’t want another. “I can’t believe we’ve drawn a complete blank.”

“It’s not a complete blank, boss. We know a lot more than we did three weeks ago. We know who they are, where they live – or lived, some of what they’ve been up to. But we just can’t find them, at the moment.”

Gardener shook his head and ran his hands through his hair. “The trouble is, we know so much but so little. We know they exist but proof of their existence is only in cyberspace.”

“Apart from James Henshaw and Anthony Palmer,” offered Reilly.

Gardener nodded. “We’ve found out what they’ve been up to, and where they are supposed to have operated from. Is it possible for four people to completely disappear?”

“You wouldn’t have thought so, in this day and age, but people do it all the time.”

“They do, but there’s usually a trace of some kind. All online presence has ceased. Their phone numbers have ceased to exist. Two homes have been cleared of everything – incriminating or otherwise. And they have all disappeared from planet Earth. How is that possible?”

“Maybe not all,” said Reilly. “Palmer’s house isn’t empty. Maybe we only need to find him.”

The silence said it all. Gardener and Reilly rose in unison and headed for the door, turning out the lights as they left.

Part Two

Chapter Eighteen

Three months after the hit and run.

The plane touched down and taxied to the terminal. Despite being in first class the procedure was still the same but within seconds of the aircraft hitting the tarmac, a succession of clicks on seat belts signalled the impatience of the passengers waiting to leave.

Two of them stood up, reaching overhead, when a stewardess reminded them to sit back down and fasten their seat belts.

Anthony wondered why; why did you have to keep your seat belt fastened