AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“No, I promise.”
A wave of relief swept over Gardener. Reilly passed over Chris’s clothes. Gardener could smell the overpowering scent of stale urine. He appreciated how disturbing his son’s ordeal must have been, resurrecting painful memories of his own childhood. “Is this why you’re wearing someone else’s boxers?”
Chris didn’t answer the question. “I have to show you something.” He took his father by the hand into the room and showed him all the clothes he’d found in the cupboard.
Gardener stood up, seething inside. “I’m going to kill the bastard. I’m going to the cells tonight, and I’m going to kill him.” Gardener’s voice was even and controlled, unlike his mood.
“You’re in no fit state, boss. And if we’re going to do anything, we’ll do it by the book.”
“What? Let a jury send him to prison so you and I can pay our taxes to keep him in luxury?”
“It’ll hardly be luxury when he’s behind bars. You know as well as I do what happens to filthy perverts.”
“What kind of a smarmy bastard lawyer has he got?”
“Not good enough to keep him out of jail.”
As much as he hated the idea, he knew his partner was right. He was in no fit state to deal with Summers right now. Even if he had been, he wouldn’t have managed to persuade the duty sergeant to let him. He felt so tired, he could have slept for a month.
Gardener paused and then sighed in defeat. “Take us home, Sean.”
“You’re both coming back to ours. Laura’s running a bath, and she’s calling your old man to tell him the news.”
“I need to go home. The portfolio,” persisted Gardener.
“I’ll take you in the morning. Read it with a clear head. Then you and I can take a trip to the cells and deal with him properly.”
As much as Gardener wanted to deal with Summers personally, he knew he couldn’t. Sean was right again. He would read the report when he was in a better state to understand it, physically, mentally, and emotionally. He hoped to God it contained what he needed.
Gardener wrapped his left arm around Chris’s neck and extended his right hand towards Reilly. “I owe you one, Sean.”
“You’d have done the same for me. All that matters is that this wee lad of yours is okay.”
Gardener nodded. “I take it you didn’t find the butler.”
“Lucky for him, no.”
Chapter Seventy-six
Gardener replaced the receiver. He joined Laura, Sean, and Chris around the breakfast table. The tiled kitchen was large and spacious, coloured floor to ceiling in different shades of grey, with a black and chrome tubular-framed table and chairs. Along with fully fitted cupboards and a breakfast bar, Gardener noticed a large, full wine cooler. Strip lighting had been installed underneath the units. The kitchen opened out onto a dark wood conservatory, with a computer and a selection of prints Laura had developed during her work as a freelance photographer.
“Good news?” Reilly asked.
“I think so. Fitz confirmed the contents of the syringe were from the plants.” Gardener grabbed a slice of toast and glanced at Chris. He seemed to have settled.
Both he and his son had cleaned up before going to bed. It had been Gardener’s first opportunity to check his injuries. He had a swollen cheek and a cut across his forehead. His chest and stomach were covered in purple bruises, some of which had turned yellow. Laura had bandaged his battered body. Gardener had insisted he neither had the time nor the inclination to go to hospital.
He had also telephoned Malcolm, informing him that he and Chris were fine. His father had been unhappy about their decision to stay with Sean and Laura, saying that he wouldn’t be settled until he saw them both for himself.
Gardener had slept with Chris in the spare double bed. Although both felt secure at having found one another, neither of them had relaxed enough to sleep soundly.
“He seems more content,” said Laura.
“At least he’s safe.”
Reilly ruffled Chris’s hair. He turned to his boss. “So, where do we go from here?”
Gardener finished eating his toast, staring out the window. The sun was up, and the garden was full of chattering sparrows. Despite being Christmas Eve, there was a distinct lack of seasonal atmosphere.
