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“Did you see him with Plum when he was with Olive Bradshaw?”
“No. He were only ever with Plum.”
“And you’ve no idea what kind of relationship they had?”
“What?” Sutton’s expression suggested he was horrified by the question. “You mean, like, Felix and Plum, a couple of puffs?”
“I didn’t necessarily mean that. I meant, how close? Father and son close, for instance? Or friends?”
Sutton paused and thought. Then shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mr Gardener, I don’t know.”
Gardener realized he was going to have to terminate the interview. He’d suspected all along that Sutton was no killer. Although he was disappointed, he had picked up some useful information. He checked his watch before nodding to Briggs and Reilly. To Sutton, he said, “One more thing before you go.”
Gardener produced a document. “Can you just sign this for me?”
“What is it?” asked Sutton.
“It’s nothing. Just a release paper. Lets you know you haven’t been arrested, and you understand that you’re not being charged. You know what it’s like, all that red tape.”
Gardener observed Sutton pick up the pen and sign the papers. With his right hand.
Chapter Forty
As Gardener approached the lab, he could hear Fitz on the other side of the doors.
Judging by the shouting, the pathologist’s mood was bordering diabolical. As he opened the door, Fitz stopped mid-fury, turning and lowering his arms. He sighed at the sight of Gardener. “How many hours do they think I have in my day? I suppose you want a piece of me now, too?”
A quick survey of
the lab informed Gardener that Fitz was letting off steam. The only other occupant was a lanky, twenty-year-old assistant tucked away in the far corner, paying little heed to the senior man. Gardener cautiously approached the gurney that Fitz was working on.
“What… is… that?”
“A mummy.”
The sight of the bandaged corpse piqued Gardener’s curiosity. “Where did it come from?”
“Sheffield.”
Gardener studied it. The mummified rags were mouldy, covered in dust and cobwebs. The exterior appeared parched. He imagined one touch would disintegrate the whole thing.
Fitz continued. “Police in Sheffield found it in a cupboard at the top of the stairs. Young couple had bought the house. They were in the process of moving in, deciding what to decorate, where to put things, when they found it.”
“How long’s it been there?”
“Quite a while, I should imagine. It’s virtually a carbon copy of the one found in a house in Rhyl, North Wales, in 1960. Leslie Harvey, a taxi-driver, was redecorating his mother’s house while she was in hospital. The cupboard at the top of the stairs had always been locked since he was a boy. When curiosity got the better of him one day, he forced it open and found a mummy. It was stuck solid to the floor. They had to use a spade to prise it loose.”
Gardener was surprised by his morbid fascination.
“Apparently Leslie’s mother once had a semi-invalid lodger boarding with her. One day she found the lodger on the floor, screaming in agony. Shortly afterwards, the lodger died. His mother didn’t know what to do, so she locked the body in the cupboard.”
Gardener sighed but declined to comment.
Fitz strode over to the sink to clean up. When he’d finished, he said, “Follow me.”
Gardener anticipated bad news. The pathologist entered his office and sat behind his desk. He slid a sealed bag with the syringe from the church grounds across the desk to Gardener.
“I take it you’ve found out what was in it?” Gardener asked as he examined it.
