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Gardener hesitated. “No, maybe it doesn’t matter.” He turned to leave.
Summers stopped him. “What is it?”
“It’s a long shot. I really don’t think you can help me.”
“Try me.”
Gardener pulled the photo-fit of Warthead from his inside pocket, unfolded it, and held it aloft for Summers to examine. “You wouldn’t happen to know him, would you?”
The hesitation was so minimal, that unless you had an obsession with catching the person who had killed your wife, you would never have noticed it.
“No, I’m sorry, Mr Gardener, I don’t.”
“I didn’t think you would.”
Gardener and Reilly left the mansion and headed out to the car. “Did you find anything, Sean, anything at all?”
“No. The butler was like a shadow.” Reilly sighed. “Look, I’m sorry, boss. I want to wrap this case up as much as you do, but I couldn’t find anything to tie Summers in. I feel the same as you. He’s a creepy little bastard. He has an answer for everything, but there’s no evidence to suggest he’s your man. You know, as much as I hate him, if he has killed three paedophiles, who cares?”
“Don’t t
hink I haven’t thought of that already. But at the end of the day, we have a job to do, whatever we think.”
“More’s the pity.” Reilly started the car and drove off. “More’s the fucking pity.”
Chapter Fifty-one
It was a little after six-thirty when Gardener arrived home. Back at the station, he’d had another run in with Briggs about the lack of evidence to support his theories. More annoyingly, the incident in Beechtown with the press had reached his ears. All he really wanted was to take a shower, go to bed, pull the covers over his head, and stay there forever.
As he entered the kitchen, the various aromas of a full Christmas dinner made his mouth water. Malcolm was by the cooker, wearing an apron and oven gloves. Chris was next to him, also wearing an apron, and a chef hat. The heat was welcoming.
“Come on, Dad.” Chris offered his father a glass of wine, taking him by the hand.
In the living room, the table had been set for five. The place had been transformed with decorations, balloons, spray snow, and a huge tree with dangly toys and presents in one corner. A log fire roared heartily. Spook jumped down from Gardener’s armchair, curling around his legs, meowing.
A lump formed in his throat. It was exactly the same sort of greeting Sarah would have given him. She’d always believed Christmas should be special, no matter what was happening in their lives. Particularly with his job. He could see her clearly in his mind. The pitch of her voice rising the more excited she became. How her eyes glistened with emotion, especially on Christmas morning when they were all unwrapping presents.
Gardener hadn’t realized, but his father was standing behind him. He glanced at Chris.
The pair of them must have worked so hard. In the time it had taken to walk from the kitchen to the living room, he had all but forgotten about serial killers, paedophiles, drug dealers, and smarmy entertainment agents. It was nearly Christmas. Tonight was about his family.
“Don’t you like it, Dad?”
Gardener placed his arm around his son’s shoulder. “I love it, son.” He turned to his father. “You must have been at it all day. You look tired, Dad. Come and sit down.”
“I’m fine, but I’ll have a few minutes. Everything is almost done.”
Gardener sat down and put his slippers on. Spook curled up on the mat in front of the fire. His father sat next to him.
“I’ve invited Anei and Jacqueline. I wanted us all to have Christmas dinner together. No doubt you’ll think I’m a sentimental old fool, but Anei has made me feel special, and I wanted to do something for her.”
“Why tonight? Why not Christmas Day?” asked Gardener, a little taken aback, unsure of how he really felt about it.
“Jacqueline and Anei are spending Christmas in Romania. Anei wants to go. She’s not been back to her homeland since she left. Chris, you go and run your poor old dad a hot bath, and I’ll finish off in the kitchen,” said Malcolm, glancing at his watch. “They’ll be here by seven-thirty, and I want everything just so.”
Chapter Fifty-two
Gardener found himself running through the park. Up above, grey storm clouds were brewing. Brown leaves crunched underfoot due to a mild ground frost. The park was empty of people and animals, creating a feeling of isolation.
