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

In front of him on a desk were the files the desk sergeant had found relating to the hit and run of David Hunter, with another steadily growing pile to the left, courtesy of DI Winter’s cyber team.

In the next room he could hear HOLMES setting up their equipment.

The last of his officers, young Patrick Edwards, filed in, closing the door behind him. He was pleased that Thornton and Anderson had returned to work. And thankful that DCI Briggs was still down in London at a Metropolitan Police convention, which, no doubt, was all about the latest cuts to the police budget. Shona Pearson had returned as the SPOC for the latest meeting.

“Thanks for coming, guys,” said Gardener, placing his empty bottle on the table. “Looks like we have our hands full with a new lead on the DPA hit and run.”

Gardener went on to explain in detail the incident he had stumbled upon earlier in the day in Bond Street – from Millie Johnson entering the sports shop to his team arriving.

“Is he dead?” said Dave Rawson.

“I hope so,” said Reilly. “I wouldn’t like to be inside his skin if he isn’t.”

“So what happened to him?” asked Sarah Gates. “Did this Millie Johnson actually know?”

“No, but once I’d secured the scene I slipped back into the sports shop and to her credit she was still standing where I’d left her.” Gardener held up a sheet of paper. “I have all her contact details here so I’d like someone to follow up and take a proper statement from her. We all know that once people have had time to think, all sorts of things come back to them.”

“So this Michael Foreman, who’s staggering all over the precinct,” asked Longstaff, “had he been attacked? I take it he wasn’t on drugs or anything.”

“Not attacked in the sense of beaten up,” replied Gardener. “According to what Fitz found he appears to have been injected with something. There was a mark to indicate as much on his neck.”

“Oh no, we’re not back to this again, are we?” asked Sharp. “Syringes in the neck job.”

“Hopefully not,” replied Gardener, remembering the problems they’d had with the Father Christmas murders.

“Do we know what he was given?” asked Bob Anderson, a solid dependable officer who could always be relied upon in a crisis. “Judging by the photos on that board he doesn’t look too clever. Must have been something pretty bloody lethal.”

“We’re still awaiting the results from Fitz.”

“He didn’t have any ideas, then?” asked Thornton, another one returning from compassionate leave. Thornton and Anderson worked well together but Gardener was constantly reminded of a POW when he saw Thornton because of his thin – almost emaciated – frame.

“He did,” said Gardener, “he thought it might be some sort of nerve agent.”

“Here we go,” said Rawson. “The Novichok nerds are back in town.”

“It isn’t a Hazchem scene, then?” asked Paul Benson.

Gardener glanced at Reilly, who remained silent. “I didn’t think so.”

“But it might be,” Patrick Edwards pointed out.

“I hope not,” replied Gardener. “I agree that he might have been given a dose of something rather nasty. In a short space of time his skin had blistered, and his throat swelled up, constricting his breathing. He was in constant agony before he died.”

“If it is a nerve agent,” said Rawson, “they’ll shut Leeds down. We all know what happened in Salisbury.”

“As far as I’m aware no one else has reported having similar symptoms, and I’m pretty sure they would have done by now.”

“Let’s hope you’re right,” replied Thornton.

“It might be worth checking with the hospitals,” said Gardener.

“Where had this Michael Foreman staggered from?” asked Bob Anderson, leafing through one of the reports. “Did Millie Johnson say?”

“She didn’t know, Bob,” replied Gardener. “Hopefully, this is where you guys come in. Can we work it out from the statements you took this morning?”

With a rustle of paper, the team consulted their notes. Gardener listened intently to what they had to say. They had managed to construct Foreman’s movements, which appear to have originated in Butts Court sometime after ten o’clock. He was definitely seen swaying around in Short Street, before finally making his way onto Bond Street.

“In that case,” said Gardener, “we need someone on the CCTV from Butts Court. I know for a fact there is some. How did he get there? Did he stagger out from a building? Was he brought in and dumped from a vehicle? If so, what was the vehicle and where did the driver go from there?

“We’ll also need to follow up on the names and addresses of everyone who was questioned – including Millie Johnson – from Butts Court, through Short Street and onto the precinct at Bond Street. My guess is Michael Foreman will have been given his treatment somewhere else and dropped off. I wouldn’t have thought it possible to do what was done to him outdoors and not be noticed.”

Gardener turned to Reilly. “Sean, we have a PolSA team in place on Bond Street. Can you get in touch and tell them to widen the search in view of what we now know?”

“I have a witness named Dennis Frost,” said Patrick Edwards, the youngest member of the team, who had an earring in one ear, “who works in the loading bay opposite. He saw a dark green Evoque leaving Butts Court pretty rapidly around ten.” Edwards had played a blinder in a recent case and had gone up in the SIO’s estimation.

“Good work, Patrick. Did he see the registration, or where it went?”

“No reg, sir, but the vehicle took off down Short Street. Mr Frost thinks the driver was male, but it all happened so fast, and he wasn’t looking for anything suspicious at that point.”

“Did