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Gardener stared at the clock. Late afternoon had slowly turned into early evening. It had grown dark. He’d returned home around midday after a meeting with Briggs. The DCI had told him the same as Reilly, go home and rest. The police were already searching for Chris. Gardener had agreed only because he knew it wouldn’t affect his plans.
Once home, he’d gone to bed after reading a note left on the kitchen table from his father, who had resumed his own search. Although Gardener had slept, it wasn’t continuous. He was unable to rest, and at one point, had a nightmare in which Chris was being chased down a series of dark tunnels that finally led him to a dead end. In the dream, Gardener was unable to reach his son. The vision terminated with Chris crying for help, as Warthead approached him with a syringe. Gardener joined in the shouting and woke himself up.
“I’m sorry, Stewart, but I don’t agree with your tactics. I was worried sick after the school called and told me you’d assaulted two teachers.”
“Assault’s a bit strong. But they deserved everything they got.” Gardener and his father had been discussing the situation for almost an hour since he’d risen. Each had listed their search areas, whom they had spoken to, and the possibility that Chris may not have been abducted but lay hurt somewhere, unable to contact them.
Gardener was disappointed with himself. Chris had been complaining about his mobile phone recently. It needed a new battery. After trying to identify the cell masts at the station, a cell dump on each had revealed nothing. Which must have meant either his mobile was switched off, or the battery had failed. Either way, he needed a new one.
“Well, whatever you did, they weren’t pleased.”
“They should pay more attention to what’s going on around them, then,” shouted Gardener.
“Yes, yes, I agree. Look, sitting here bickering isn’t helping Chris. What are you doing tonight?”
“Same as last night. I’m going to look for him.”
“I’ll come with you.”
Gardener thought about where he would need to go, and realized his father couldn’t cope. “Dad, I’d prefer you to stay here. It’s pointless both of us going out. If Chris is hurt and he does manage to limp home, he’ll need a friendly face.”
“Okay. Point taken. But take your mobile, and for God’s sake, keep in touch,” Malcolm said.
“Before I do go, there is something I need to ask. What do you know about Anei?”
His father held his gaze and hesitated. “What do you mean?”
“I’d just like to know.”
“What, at a time like this? Your son has gone missing and you’re interested in your father’s girlfriend? I know you better than that, son. There’s a reason. What is it?”
“It may be something, or it may be nothing. I’m just curious, is all.”
Malcolm’s jaw dropped. “You seriously don’t think Anei has him, do you? Or that she has anything to do with it?”
Gardener raised his hand to ease his father’s agitation. “No, of course I don’t. But please, just satisfy me, and tell me what you know.”
His father eyed him suspiciously, but gave in. “What can I say? She was born in Romania. Came to England during the war with her family. They eventually moved to Yorkshire, but a terrible tragedy befell them, leaving only Anei and her sister Irina. Irina managed to look after her. They got work on a farm. Irina met someone there and married him. They had a son. After a lot of hardship, they managed to keep the farm. The reason I admire her so much is not the hardship she or her family faced, it was the decision to move.”
“You mentioned a son. Have you met him?”
“I haven’t, no. The son was her sister Irina’s, not hers, which would make him Jacqueline’s father.”
“He’s dead?”
Malcolm shrugged. “I assume so. I can’t remember her exact words, but she implied he was no longer around.”
“Which doesn’t mean to say he’s dead.” Gardener had spoken more to himself than his father.
“Why do you ask?”
“I’m curious. Jacqueline once said her father wasn’t very nice. Other than that, she didn’t say much. But she didn’t say he was dead, either. All she said was, she hadn’t seen him for years. She went to live with her aunt when she was thirteen. Now, if her father isn’t dead, then something must have happened.” Gardener paused, sipping cold dregs of tea.
“Why don’t you ask Jacqueline about it?”
“We’re not as close as you’d like to think. Look, there’s something else I’d like to know. Where did you get the Venus flytrap from?”
“You’ve been in my potting shed?” His father was appalled.
