IMPURITY Ray Clark (types of ebook readers .txt) 📖

young boys played football, shouting at each other, paying little attention to the authorities. Life continued as though he and his team were invisible. An everyday occurrence.

“Are we going in, then?” said Briggs, irritably.

A body lay where it had fallen, engorged blue lips on ashen skin, lifeless eyes staring vacantly into space. Two constables shielded the body. One was PC Benson.

“What have you found out?” asked Gardener, peering up the staircase.

“According to his wallet, his name’s Pete Nash. I can’t tell you anything else about him at the moment, sir. We’re running him through the system. We’ve had a call from a Chinese takeaway, The Golden Lotus. It seems he’s a delivery driver for them. Went missing last night. The car’s not in the lot outside.”

“Surprise, surprise.”

Reilly ascended the first three stairs. “Any witnesses?” asked the Irishman.

“No, sir.”

Gardener glanced at the ceiling, disappointed. “Who found the bodies?”

“The landlord. He came to collect the rent arrears from Frank Myers. After finding Nash, he went upstairs and found the door to Myers’ flat was open. He’s still up there.” Benson paused. “Looks like Nash fell from the top floor.”

“Okay.” Gardener pulled out his mobile and phoned Fitz, requesting his presence, and the undertaker. The procession of officers climbed the staircase to Myers’ flat. For Gardener, it was simply a repeat of the two weeks previous, but with a different address. The house was equally as run down as the Rawston place, but Myers appeared to have been the building’s sole tenant. He sidestepped the remains of the Chinese takeaway, intermingled with what he took to be the landlord’s vomit. Combined with the smell from inside the flat, it was enough to upset the most cast-iron of constitutions.

The door was open. Gardener noticed that the Crime Scene Manager, Steve Fenton, had laid out the stepping plates. He was standing on one, simply staring around the room. He wore a scene suit, but not a mask. His eyes were watering. Fenton nodded to them as they approached.

He stepped out of the room using the plates. “I was here first, sir. I thought I might as well put the plates out for you.”

Gardener suspected the repugnant smell would stay with him long after the case had been closed.

Fenton introduced Mr Singh, the landlord, who had remained outside the door.

Gardener ignored him, glancing around. The room was dirty, with a threadbare carpet. The windows were covered with old nets and tattered curtains that had never been washed, in his opinion. Apart from a small table and chairs, Myers had a bed, and an armchair placed in front of a DVD player. The television was on but the screen was blue. Gardener noticed the DVD player was switched on but not playing. He could see a tiny bathroom leading off from the room they were in.

“Jesus Christ!” said Briggs.

What was left of Myers was in the exact same condition as Plum and Thornwell when they’d been found. Stripped of innards with a layer of wet skin stretched over the skeletal frame.

Gardener glanced at Singh. The senior officer estimated he was around fifty, balding, with a face full of grey curls like a ball of wire wool cascading down over his bloating belly. He was dressed in a variety of ill-fitting grey robes, which were overdue for a wash. Or perhaps they weren’t dirty. Maybe it was only their colour. His shifty eyes focused on Gardener as he started to rant and gesticulate.

“Myers, not a very nice man, oh no. He owed me money. This man did not pay rent for one month. And look at the place. How am I to rent it again?”

Gardener couldn’t figure how he’d been able to rent it at all. “How long has he been your tenant, Mr Singh? Any problems?”

“Two years. Plenty. Mostly rent. Always late.”

Gardener noticed Reilly had joined the CSM. Briggs appeared stunned. It was the first time Gardener could recall seeing him speechless. Gardener continued with a series of questions, all of which led him to the conclusion that Myers was no different than Plum. He was a loner, no friends, behind with his rent, always paid cash. It was a carbon copy. With one exception. Where there had been a difference of opinion on Plum’s popularity, there didn’t seem to be for Myers.

Gardener glanced around, thinking. Was it a business deal that had gone wrong? It seemed unlikely. None of the dead men appeared to have had a brass farthing. He was convinced they were linked by an isolated incident – but what? And were there any more involved? Would it all come back to the smarmy entertainment agent?

Gardener turned to Singh. “Any idea what he did for a living, how he earned his money?”

Singh shook his head, indicating he didn’t.

“Sir?” Fenton interrupted his train of thought. “You might like this.” Fenton held a syringe. He’d been searching through the remnants of the Chinese takeaway.

“Found it down there.” Fenton pointed to a dark corner.

Gardener observed the dilapidated structural condition of the building. A damp stain shaped like Ireland ascended the wall. Cobwebs hung in all corners. Grimy, once-white paint blistered on the skirting boards and doorjambs. He studied the banister rail. Surprisingly, it remained solid, with no signs of impact damage. The spindles were coated with Chinese gravy. He glanced over, noting the position of the body two floors below.

“What do you think, Sean?” His sergeant was standing behind him.

Reilly peeked over, thoughtfully, his arms folded across his chest. “He obviously disturbed the killer. And paid the price.”

“I wonder if he saw who it was. He was delivering the Chinese, walked in on them. Had to be disposed of. What do you reckon?”

“He definitely interrupted whatever was happening. From the position of the body, I’d say he fell all the way down. Over the edge,