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Gardener had reached the steps leading up to the only entrance door available. He had a much better view of Corndell, and the character he was playing, the Phantom. Even from where he was standing, the attention to detail was so intricate that Gardener felt lost for words.
Corndell’s head was little more than a skull with an up-tilted nose. The dark shading around his eyes gave them a hollow-eyed expression, emphasised even more by the line of colour under the lower eyelashes. And his ears seemed flattened against the sides of the skull, so much so that at first glance, he didn’t appear to have any. His face was very pale and the head itself bore very little hair save a few fine strands. Gardener was impressed, and at the same time disturbed.
“How do you like what I’ve done, Mr Gardener?”
“Where are they?” he asked.
“All in good time. Now, perhaps you can answer my question.”
Gardener sighed. Whether he liked it or not he would have to play the game. “If you mean, do I actually enjoy watching lunatics mutilate people, leaving puzzles all around the city, I can’t really say I am that impressed, Mr Corndell. It’s people like you who make my job extremely unpleasant.”
“I’m not talking about that, you peasant!”
He realised he’d touched a raw nerve because Corndell’s left eye had started to twitch, something he had noticed only once before when he thought he was being threatened. Corndell gripped the sides of the arch in which he was standing, and Gardener found himself praying that he had not done too good a job when erecting the exterior: hopefully the whole fucking lot would collapse and kill him!
“But seeing as you brought up the subject, perhaps we can discuss what I’ve done... why I’ve done it? Isn’t that what you shrinks are all about?”
“I am not a psychiatrist, I’m a police officer.” Gardener was growing tired of the conversation, and he certainly wasn’t about to pander to the whims of an egomaniac, particularly when he was holding two people hostage who were not necessarily here.
Corndell leaned forward. “You should be very interested in me–”
Gardener realised there was no stopping Corndell now, even if he wanted to. He had the microphone, and there was probably very little that could be done but let him have his finest hour. It would – after all – be his last, thought Gardener.
“Chaney was a true legend, Mr Gardener, and could only be admired. He was an inspiration, and I have taken his place: I am the modern-day master of the silver screen, the modern day ‘man of a thousand faces’. Or at least I would have been if your father and his friends hadn’t meddled. Who did they think they were? What right did they have to pass judgement on my masterpiece, to ruin my career? Well, let me tell you Mr Gardener, no r–”
Gardener cut him dead as he shouted, “If you’ve quite finished, I have no wish to stand here all night while you give me what you think will amount to your finest hour. I want to know where my father and my friend’s wife are. Now, if you don’t tell me in precisely ten seconds, I’m going to forget that I’m a police officer and fucking throttle you with my bare hands. Do you understand?”
Corndell burst out laughing. “Such language, Mr Gardener. I really don’t think your superiors would take kindly to that. I do have rights, you know.”
“His superior officer is having trouble with his eyes and ears at the moment,” said Alan Briggs, appearing in front of the curtain at the back of the warehouse. “And as for any rights, as far as I’m concerned, you gave up those when you started murdering people all over the city, and then decided to kidnap one of my officers’ wives.” Briggs glanced at Gardener. “So, you go right
ahead, Stewart, do what you have to, so long as you get the information we need.”
Briggs walked slowly towards Gardener, who had never been more pleased to see him than now.
But where was Sean?
Briggs whispered to him. “He doesn’t have your dad, Stewart. He’s back at the station with a couple of junior officers. I left word with the desk sergeant to locate the rest of the squad and get them here, pronto.”
Gardener turned and glanced at Corndell. He wore a long dark cloak with one arm swept across his chest. Even his clothes were covered in dust for emphasis. The other arm was reaching to something that Gardener could not see because of a low-slung velvet drape.
“Where is she?” asked Gardener. “Your time is up.”
“How true that statement is, Mr Gardener,” said Corndell.
Gardener realised how much confidence Corndell had. You couldn’t do what he’d done without self-assurance. That thought alone was worrying, because right now, he was holding all the cards.
“You’ll find what you’re looking for inside. And by the way... best of luck.” Corndell pulled the rope behind the low-slung drape.
Two things happened.
Firstly, he disappeared behind the curtain. Secondly, the front doors of the opera house clicked open.
Chapter Fifty-five
The warehouse lights dimmed, leaving only those of the opera house for guidance.
“Right, forget that mad bastard for the moment,” said Briggs. “Let’s get inside and see what we have to do.”
