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

“Not driving much for pleasure at the moment,” replied Braithwaite.

“Oh dear, it’s not faulty, is it? I know what modern cars are like. You pay thousands for them and the garage have them more than you.”

“No, nothing like that. Just a bit busy at the moment.”

“I thought of you yesterday,” said Wendy, realising he didn’t want to elaborate. “That awful business with the Hunters and the hit and run. The police are appealing for witnesses. There was an awful incident in Leeds in which a man died. There were some photos, and they’re looking for a man who drives a car like yours.”

“Oh, really,” replied Braithwaite, as if he didn’t know what to say.

“Yes, it’s all over the newspapers and the TV, quite a nasty business.”

Pouch suddenly stood up and strolled into the garden of The Malt public house, sniffing around the benches. Spike joined him.

Wendy Higgins continued. “I was talking to Mary Fellows about it, one of my neighbours. She reckons she’s had some inside information.”

“From where?” asked Braithwaite.

“She never said, but her husband is quite high up in one of the newspapers, I think. Anyway from what he heard, it was something nasty. They think it’s to do with the military.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure, but there was mention of dangerous chemicals involved. She didn’t tell me what. I hope it’s not catching. Anyway, I’m not going into Leeds until it’s all sorted. You’ve no idea what goes on. Could be terrorists… could be anything.”

“I think you might be letting your imagination run away with you, Wendy.”

“Well I think he’s right. It has all the hallmarks of the military.”

“What does?”

“Whatever happened,” she replied. “Keeping it all secret, like the army always do. You should know.”

Pouch and Spike returned. Wendy Higgins placed the lead around the dog’s neck. “Anyway, I’ll have to get on.”

She bade Braithwaite and Spike goodbye but turned before they had moved ten yards. “You mark my words, when it all comes out you’ll see I’m right.”

Braithwaite nodded.

“What was it you did in the army?”

Braithwaite hesitated but finally answered. “Medical corp. Anyway, Wendy, must dash.”

All the way home, Wendy Higgins thought about that conversation.

Once inside the house, with fresh tea made, she studied the newspapers and whatever Google had to offer about the incident involving Michael Foreman, becoming increasingly concerned.

It really did sound as if someone with military experience had been up to no good. Furthermore, she thought, there was mention of chemical warfare. And she simply could not remove the idea of the large green 4x4 from her mind. The newspaper did ask for anyone with any information whatsoever to come forward.

Wendy Higgins was torn in two but she still reached for her phone.

Chapter Forty-nine

Gardener and Reilly met Rosie and her friend, Michelle, inside the hospital corridor that led to the mortuary.

“Thank you for coming, Mrs Henshaw,” said Gardener. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Rosie was dressed in black: jumper and jeans and an outer coat, as if she was ready for the funeral. She held a handkerchief to her eyes, which were red rimmed. Gardener figured she couldn’t have had much sleep. Neither had he.

“I don’t have much choice, do I?”

“I’m really sorry,” he replied, “if there was any other way.”

Rosie nodded, introducing Michelle. She was also dressed in dark colours, blue instead of black. Gardener was struck by how alike they were. They could have passed for sisters.

He led the way. Reilly walked ahead and opened the doors into the room. Michelle supported Rosie, as if she was going to crumble at any moment, and Gardener wouldn’t blame her.

On the inside, the room was spotlessly clean, smelled fresh. A small table and chairs stood to the left, with a vase of flowers. The glass window in front of Rosie revealed a gurney on the other side, with a body underneath a sheet. Rosie stepped up to the glass, sobbing, shaking. She was fragile – nothing like he’d seen the previous evening, or the fiery woman his officers had described.

Death had a way of doing that.

“My sergeant and I feel it best if we show you his right thigh, the one with the birthmark.”

“Why?” Rosie asked. “What have they done to him?”

“Let’s just say, we don’t think it’s necessary for you to see all of the body, Mrs Henshaw,” said Reilly.

“Why? Isn’t he all there?”

“Rosie, love,” said Michelle, “I think these gentlemen are trying to save you from too much distress.”

The room descended into a short silence. No one knew what to say. Rosie eventually nodded and the assistant appeared at the other side of the glass and lifted the sheet.

Rosie did crumble, falling to her knees. “Oh my God, James, what have they done to you?”

Gardener nodded and the sheet was replaced. Both officers supported Rosie out of the room and across the hall to the cafeteria. The SIO ordered four teas and had them brought to the table. The atmosphere in the café was altogether more pleasant, but it couldn’t have been any worse. The tables were clean, the staff friendly, and the light background music helped.

Allowing time to pass, Gardener asked Rosie if she was okay.

She nodded. “Who’s doing this?”

“We’re giving it everything we’ve got, Mrs Henshaw, but as yet we haven’t found the suspect.”

“What did they do to him? James?”

“I’m not sure it’s something you need to know, Mrs Henshaw.”

“I do.” She took a sip of tea. “He was like a skeleton. Looked to me like he’d been starved. Was he?”

She was staring directly at Gardener. He wasn’t going to lie. “We believe so.”

“Drink your tea, Rosie,” said Michelle, “no point upsetting yourself.”

The tears rolled down her cheeks. “What am I going to