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

“Of everything?” asked Reilly.

“No, just him. They returned on a regular basis before asking the caretaker to let them in. That was when they found it empty – cleared of everything. Caretaker was fuming because he knew nothing about it.”

“And he didn’t see anything suspicious? A caretaker usually has his eye on the ball. To clear an apartment out could take a couple of days. He didn’t see anyone doing that – no removal vehicle?”

“Apparently not.”

“And that was the last she heard from Michael Foreman?”

“Yes.”

“Has she heard anything from Zoe Harrison?” asked Paul Benson.

“No, nothing,” said Thornton. “But she had a call from Anthony Palmer yesterday.”

“Palmer?” said Gardener. “Yesterday?”

“Yes. She went on the attack again,” said Anderson. “He claimed he knew about the meeting in Brussels, the one that Michael Foreman apparently didn’t know about.”

“She had a go at Palmer,” said Thornton, “called him all the names under the sun, tried to extract information from him and ended up by telling him the line was tapped and the call was traceable.”

“Did we trace it?” asked Gardener.

“Yes. Through the cell masts we managed to put it somewhere in the location of Beckett’s Park.”

“That’s in Headingley,” said Dave Rawson.

“Did you check the place out?” Gardener asked.

Thornton nodded.

“I suppose it’s too much to expect we found the phone,” said Gardener.

“No, but it’s a big area,” Thornton replied. “Do you want us to get some extra help on it?”

“I doubt we’ll find anything but it’s worth a try,” said Gardener. “Has the phone been used since?”

“No.”

“He’s obviously ditched it,” said Sarah Gates.

“Okay,” said Gardener, “someone keep on that one.”

Thornton and Anderson were two of his most experienced, which is why he asked, “Do either of you suspect Rosie Henshaw is in on this?”

The room grew silent. “I know we shouldn’t rule out anything or anyone,” replied Anderson, “but I really don’t think she’s that good an actress.”

Thornton agreed.

“Apart from that, we have her landline and mobile tapped. If we’ve found no suspicious calls it seems unlikely,” said Gardener. “As I’ve said, let’s have a copy of those transcripts and I’d like someone to go over them with a fine toothcomb. Pressing on, do we have anything on the green Evoque?”

“I have, sir,” said Patrick Edwards. He tapped a few keys on the computer, which was linked to a projector, with a screen on the wall at the opposite end of the room. Everyone turned to see what Patrick had unearthed.

Butts Court in Leeds appeared in extreme clarity. The green Evoque pulled up. They noted the time. A man dressed in a white protection suit stepped out of the car and round to the back.

“What the hell is that?” asked Dave Rawson.

“It doesn’t look good,” replied Anderson. “That’s the kind of thing Hazchem would use.”

At the mention of that word, Gardener’s stomach swelled. If it was a Hazchem suit, it would suggest he needed protecting from something nasty, which would not go down well with Briggs. It could also suggest that it was someone with a background in the police or the military. The other option was that he simply didn’t want to be seen.

The man in the suit opened the vehicle tailgate and dragged Michael Foreman out of it, onto the concrete, past the ramp leading to the underground car park and then into the corner near the chain-link fence behind the shops.

Then the hoodie appeared.

“There’s Jonathan Drake,” said Rawson.

Each member of the team moved in closer as Jonathan Drake suddenly started to film the event. The man in the suit grabbed the phone, put it in his pocket and swiftly took care of Drake, disposing of him at the bottom of the ramp.

“Is that how Jonathan Drake described what happened?” Gardener asked.

“Pretty much,” replied Rawson. “He beefed it up a little, made out he’d put up more of a fight.”

“Stupid question, I know, but did he get a good look at the man in the suit?”

“No. Not enough to identify him.”

“Did he recognise the voice?” asked Reilly.

“No.”

“What happened when he came round?” Gardener asked.

“Nothing. Everyone had disappeared. Michael Foreman had gone, and the man in the suit and the Evoque, along with his phone.”

“Did he give you his phone number?” asked Julie Longstaff.

“Yes. I put a trace on it,” said Rawson. “Nothing has happened with the phone since the attack. It’s been switched off, and no doubt the SIM card removed because there is no signal.”

“That guy in the white suit obviously knows how to handle himself,” said Reilly. “Everything he did was swift and clean, professional. Almost, dare I say it, military?”

Gardener thought about it and then pressed Patrick Edwards about the Evoque’s movements.

“After leaving The Headrow it disappeared for a few minutes before doubling back. The next ping was on the A61 Roundhay Road. We lost him after that; still trying to get the information.”

“Where does the A61 lead to?” Gardener asked.

“North of Leeds: Thirsk, Ripon, Harrogate. Could be any of those places, sir,” replied Edwards.

“Okay, keep plugging away. I suspect the man with the Evoque is the one impersonating the police officer in the early hours of this morning. It could be Anthony Palmer. It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve been fooled by someone dressing up and impersonating a police officer.”

“Why would Anthony Palmer pose as a policeman and use his own name?” asked Reilly.

“To make us think it was too obvious to connect,” said Gates.

“Hiding in plain sight, you mean?” said Longstaff.

“He’s had some nerve, though, hasn’t he?” said Rawson. “Posing as an officer, and relieving our two of their duty to carry this out.”

“Wouldn’t take a lot,” said Reilly. “Boring shift,