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Gardener flipped, and moved so fast he frightened even himself. Using his forearm, he pinned Raglan against the gym wall. “Don’t you read the newspapers, you pompous prick?” he growled.
Raglan was flustered, surprised by the attack. “Take your bloody hands off me, Gardener!” Although Raglan had been military trained, he struggled to break the policeman’s grip.
The two pupils assisting Raglan quickly ran off.
“There are children going missing all the time. One of them from this school, now dead!”
Gardener released Raglan, but his anger remained. “Didn’t you think it was strange that Chris didn’t show up?”
Raglan straightened his clothes. “You know what kids are like. Always changing their minds.”
“In some cases. Not Chris. He’s been going on about football for weeks.”
“It’s not my job to look after your son, Gardener.”
“It is when he’s in school!”
“But he isn’t, is he? And I didn’t know that. I’ve got more important things to do than run around after adolescent youths who are unreliable at the best of times.”
Gardener was aware that the two youths had returned with another teacher. Once again, he grabbed Raglan by his collar, shoving him against the wall.
“Hey, come on, calm down!” shouted the teacher.
Gardener didn’t know his name. Didn’t care.
“You’re not fit to be a teacher.” Gardener’s voice was threateningly calm. “When I find my son, you’d better hope he’s okay. If he isn’t, and if anything’s happened to him, I’ll hold you responsible. Then I’ll come back.”
“Look! I don’t know who you are, but I think you’d better leave before I call the police.”
The other teacher tried to break Gardener’s hold.
He let go of Raglan, pushing past the other teacher.
“I am the police!”
Gardener stalked off, leaving both men open-mouthed.
Chapter Sixty-three
Reilly found Gardener in the park, sitting on the same bench where Sarah had told him she was pregnant. Gardener stared straight ahead, oblivious to his partner’s presence. An early morning frost glistened underneath a pale blue sky graced with few white clouds. In the distance, a white cat stalked a bunch of sparrows. An old couple strolled by hand in hand, casting a wary eye at the tired man with a five o’clock shadow.
At last, Gardener turned to Reilly. “How did you find me?”
“It’s our job to find people. Your dad’s worried sick.”
“I imagine he is.”
“Of course he is. He hasn’t seen you since yesterday, which is bad enough. But his grandson is also missing. How do you think he feels?”
“I know how he feels. He’s worried about his son. And I’m worried about mine. There’s a difference, though, Sean. At least I can take care of myself. My son is only thirteen.”
Gardener’s thoughts drifted back to the early part of the previous evening. After leaving the school, he’d spent some time sitting in the car, trying to put his mind in order. Feeling like an ogre. He’d found himself constantly asking the same q
uestion. Why did he keep losing the people he loved? His mother; then Sarah, a year ago. Now Chris.
As time had passed, he’d eventually forced himself to think logically. Gardener had left the school car park and checked all of Chris’s friends. Each had told a similar story. Chris had left the school at dinnertime for a bag of chips. No one had seen anyone with him. More importantly, no one could recall seeing him return. The task had taken Gardener most of the night.
Two bottles of water later and a phone call home, which remained unanswered, fired his enthusiasm to continue searching. He had toured the places he knew Chris liked to go. The parks, the cinemas, the amusement arcades. Patrolling like a vigilante in search of his prey. The longer the hunt went on, the more fruitless the task became.
