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

Gardener stood and approached his team, who were all lurking at the edge of the outer cordon. All of them were present, awaiting his instructions, which for now, was a basic, house-to-house or shop-to-shop search and question. He wanted Albion Street and the surrounding streets blocking off completely, if they hadn’t already been done, and he needed as many basic witness statements as possible in order that they could plan the follow-ups in an incident room, which he hoped would be later today.

“I thought you two might be involved,” said Fitz, as he ducked underneath the red and white tape. “Anything sinister is bound to have your name on it.”

The pathologist glanced at the man on the floor. “What’s happened here?”

Reilly stood up and moved away. “We were hoping you could tell us.”

Gardener briefed Fitz and allowed him to make an immediate inspection.

A flurry of activity a few yards away suggested the press were baying for blood. Fortunately for Gardener, the marquee was ready to block the scene completely. Gardener signalled to one of the constables to keep the press where they were for now. Not that he doubted they would already have pictures. There were enough two- or three-storey office blocks with a bird’s-eye view.

Gardener waited while the marquee was fully erected and leaned in towards Fitz. “Anything? Whatever you say might very well depend on which call I make next.”

Fitz returned his attention to the body. “Skin red and blistering. There’s a lot of swelling to the body. Judging by the eyes, whatever it is has caused blindness. Was this how he was when you first saw him?”

“Not quite as bad. His eyes were very red but he wasn’t blind. His tongue hadn’t swelled up as much on first sight.”

“Which means he’s had respiratory tract problems. He’ll have suffered nose and sinus pain, very probably a sore throat, shortness of breath. Was he coughing a lot?”

“No,” said Gardener, “he couldn’t even talk, though he did manage a scream.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if we find fluid in his lungs.” Fitz checked underneath the clothing for further signs. “I suspect he’ll have had serious abdominal pain, but I can’t see any sign of diarrhoea or vomiting. What were his movements like?”

“A bit erratic. His walking wasn’t coordinated. When he was on the ground his body was trembling. I need to know if he’s been exposed to something serious.”

“Almost certainly,” replied Fitz, “no doubt a nerve agent of some description.”

Fitz stopped talking and leaned in much closer to the victim’s neck.

Gardener suddenly wondered at the size of the Russian community in Leeds, especially at the mention of a nerve agent. The situation was growing worse.

Fitz had produced a scalpel and a magnifying glass from his case. He was peering very closely at the victim’s neck.

“What have you seen, Herr Doktor?” asked Reilly.

“Too much of you two, for one day,” replied Fitz. “Look closely here.” He pointed to the victim’s neck.

Gardener noticed a small red mark that had also swollen and blistered like the rest of the skin.

“I suspect he’s been injected with something and left to suffer the consequences. The question – and biggest problem for you two – is where and when was it done?”

“And is whatever he has, contagious?”

“Well I won’t know that until I investigate. But you know as well as I do, if you don’t call it in and something happens to the population of Leeds there’s bound to be hell to pay, and your badge will be on the line.”

“Gut feeling, Fitz?” asked Reilly.

Fitz studied the body once more and finally sighed. He glanced at both detectives. “Off the record?”

“What else?”

“I don’t think so.”

Gardener stood and breathed a sigh of relief, glancing at Reilly.

“Treat it as normal?” asked the Irishman.

“I’m going to be in so much shit if this goes wrong.”

“We both are.”

Gardener finally turned his attention to the two driving licences. Both were a UK issue, both had the same photograph – the dead man on the ground. One had the name Conrad Morse. The other was Michael Foreman.

Gardener immediately recognised both names. He passed them over to Reilly, who read them and sighed.

“I wondered when this case would surface again.”

“Question is,” said Gardener, “who knows more than we do?”

Chapter Twenty-four

Anthony stared at the floor and saw a mountain of post and a stack of newspapers behind the front door – which was the reason he couldn’t open it fully.

“What the fuck is going on here?”

He pushed harder, forcing the mound of paperwork to flatten out. The door opened wider. Anthony stepped in, dragging his suitcase behind him. Kicking the rest of the heap with his right foot he managed to spread it around enough so he could close the front door.

He hadn’t been away that long, so why all the post? And what were the newspapers all about? Anthony had not read one for years – at least not in printed form. Most everything he read was digital.

He shivered as he realised the building was cold. Anthony couldn’t understand that one. Despite not being home he’d left the heating on pilot. He felt the radiator – stone cold. He glanced up at the thermostat. It wasn’t even on. Being digital, it required a current, so in order to confirm he had power he reached out for the light switch, flicked it down.

No light. No heat. He glanced to his right, down the hall to the kitchen, wondering what was going on. The contents of his freezer must be a mess. He ran over, pushed the door open. The kitchen was empty – totally empty: no fridge freezer, no microwave, and no furniture.

He glanced into the living room, staring into another empty space – aside from a table and four chairs