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Summers opened a cupboard door in the desk, grasping a bottle of whiskey and a tumbler. After pouring, he downed the fiery liquid in one. He poured another.
Gardener could see he was shaking. He felt he needed to be sympathetic, make the man think he was apologizing to him. Perhaps that would knock him off balance.
“Mr Summers, I’m only trying to do my job. If it looks like I’m persecuting you, it’s only because I’m trying to get to the bottom of things and, at the same time, help you prove your innocence.”
It was some time before Summers spoke. When he did, his mood had changed yet again.
He stood up, closed all his diaries, placed them at the end of the desk. “You said you wanted my books. They’re all here. I think it’s only fair to tell you, there is a fourth person employed within the group. His name’s Harry Clayton. You’ll find all his details in the red diary on top. But you won’t find him until Monday. He’s on holiday in Spain. On Monday morning, you’ll find him at the Debenhams department store in the city.” Summers sat down.
Gardener wasn’t sure how to read his mood. In the short time he’d been there, he’d seen so many changes. Self-confidence, surprise, fear. “Why didn’t you tell me before? It would have made my job easier. It may have led us to the killer. We may have prevented Myers being killed, which could have led to information about what’s going on. Have you any idea why someone would want to kill these men?”
“No, Mr Gardener, I haven’t.” Summers sipped his whiskey. “I should have thought the fact that they were child molesters and killers would be reason enough.”
A knock on the door disturbed them. It was Steve Fenton. “Sir, have you got a minute?”
Gardener glanced at Summers. “Stay there. I’ll be back.”
Outside the study, the rest of the squad assembled with Fenton and Reilly. Fenton held out a pack of syringes.
Gardener’s stomach turned. “Where did you find them?”
“Bathroom, in the en-suite bedroom.”
Gardener took them from Fenton.
The butler broke the suffocating silence, as though he’d read Gardener’s mind.
“They’re for Mr Summers, sir. His condition, you know.”
“What condition?” Reilly asked.
“He’s a diabetic, sir. I sometimes have to help him.”
Reilly shook his head, raised his arms in the air. “He has an answer for everything.”
Gardener grew irritated by the fact everyone had an alibi. “In that case, I want you to get a sample of the insulin, and give it to one of my officers for testing.”
The butler turned, but Gardener stopped him. “The room in the corner of the study. Where does it lead to?”
“It’s the library, sir.”
He turned to Fenton. “Well done, Steve. Have you found anything else?”
“No. Clean as a whistle.”
“In that case, follow him and get the insulin sample.” Gardener was disappointed he hadn’t found more, but the syringe was a start. He and Reilly returned to the study. Reilly strode past Summers and into the library. Gardener watched Summers, wishing he had the ability to read minds. Reilly came back out of the library, nodding. “It’s clean.”
Gardener gazed at Summers. “Write down the name and address of your doctor.”
“Pardon?” asked Summers.
“Just do it,” said Gardener.
The agent did so, passing over the paper.
Gardener took his hat from the desk and placed it on his head. Both policemen headed for the door, but Gardener turned back. “There is one more thing, Mr Summers.”
The agent glanced up. “Yes?”
