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I’ve left puzzles and clues, but you haven’t got very far
Here’s another: follow The Scarlet Car
I implore you again, to study your needs
Another is all set to fall, down and out, in Leeds.
Chapter Twenty-nine
As Reilly pulled the car to a halt outside the wrought iron gates, Gardener jumped out and surveyed what could only be described as a kingdom. He gazed upwards, wondering whether or not Corndell was simply security conscious or totally paranoid. The gates were electronically controlled, which opened onto a gravel drive surrounded by pine trees, all under the watchful eye of CCTV cameras. He couldn’t see the house, but he could guess its size.
Reilly stepped up beside Gardener. “Remind you of anyone?”
Gardener glanced at his partner. “Derek Summers?”
“One and the same. Let’s hope these entertainment types are not all tarred with the same brush.”
Gardener shuddered as he recalled the havoc a group of paedophiles led by Summers had caused him and his partner three months previously: he’d been beaten within an inch of his life, his son had been kidnapped, his father had gone through hell, and he’d lost the only woman who’d meant anything to him after his late wife Sarah. But through it all, his friend and partner Sean Reilly had stood by his side, fighting all the way.
“God forbid, Sean. I don’t think I could deal with another one.”
“I’m not sure which is worse. Summers was bad enough, I’ll grant you, but whoever is torturing and killing people the way this bloke does is on another level.”
Gardener stood with his hands in his pockets. The bright March morning with its clear blue sky added to the postcard view before him. “This is one hell of a place. I can’t wait for a proper look.”
“You’d better press the intercom, then.”
Gardener did as advised and waited, but no one answered. “Do you think he’s out?”
“I doubt it, boss, it probably takes him a week to get round it all.”
Gardener laughed as the intercom buzzed. “Yes?” asked the voice.
“Mr Corndell?” questioned Gardener.
“May I inquire who’s asking?”
Gardener glanced at Reilly, and then at the intercom. “Major Crime Team, Mr Corndell. Detective Inspector Gardener and Detective Sergeant Reilly, we’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“But you have no appointment. I don’t see people without appointments.”
Gardener pressed his authority. “We don’t need one. We are the police.”
The reply – when it came – sounded forced. “You’d better come in, then.” The gates opened. Both detectives returned to the car and drove into the grounds.
The house was a three-storey Victorian mansion with gothic turrets on either side. Built with grey Yorkshire stone and a grey slate roof, the building had dark oak frames and leaded windows, with two black arched front doors. The gardens were well landscaped, the perimeter covered in poplar trees. As they drew closer, the poplars were replaced by bay trees. To the right of the building was a double garage. Opposite the front door was a large fountain.
Reilly pulled the car to a halt and switched off the engine. “Even Derek Summers would have had trouble keeping up with this one.”
“It’s not bad for someone we’ve never heard of,” said Gardener. “How does he manage to make such a good living if he’s not in the limelight?”
“Perhaps it’s time we went and found out.”
Both men left the car and approached the house. Gardener rang the bell. Eventually, the door opened.
Chapter Thirty
An agitated Corndell glared at the detectives. They peered back with confused expressions. He didn’t like the one on the right, wearing the brown bomber jacket and jeans. He was hard and Corndell suspected there would be trouble, most likely a personality clash. The other one was well groomed, smartly dressed in a blue shirt, black slacks and a grey striped suit jacket. Corndell warmed to him, especially the grey leather hat. “Come in,” he said invitingly.
