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“Mr Sinclair.”
“Did you not think it unusual for a doctor to ask for such stuff?” asked Reilly.
“I wouldn’t have thought so. Perhaps he had a DIY hobby. Why do you ask?”
“Doctors are pretty rich by most standards, surely they could just employ other people to do that kind of work for them?” offered Gardener.
“I think you’ll find junior doctors disagreeing with you, Mr Gardener.”
“Did you ask him what it was for?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, I did, a big order like that.”
“What did he tell you?” asked Reilly.
“It was for a patient of his who suffered chronic back pain. He’d had it for years. Most of the national health doctors couldn’t be bothered to spend the time to really find out what it was. Going private was beyond his pockets, but someone suggested Sinclair.”
“He volunteered all this information? Did he give you the patient’s name?”
“No. And I didn’t ask. You know what they’re like, all this patient confidentiality claptrap. I can understand that for a lot of things. I wouldn’t have thought he’d be giving away any secrets. I might even have known the bloke, but I couldn’t think of anyone local who fitted the bill.
r /> “Anyway, we got talking, and he’d designed this machine... contraption would be a better word for it, to relieve the pain. It was remote control as well. I could see from the drawings–”
“He showed you drawings?”
“Yes. He told me how it worked and how it was designed, and he wanted my opinion, wanted to know if I could spot anything that he’d missed.”
“And could you?”
“Not really. But I’m not a doctor. As far as I could see it was well designed and would probably do what he wanted.”
“What did it look like?” asked Gardener.
“A bloody great frame. Looked to me like you stood up in it. There was nothing to lay down on, so I don’t really see how it could help someone with back pain. But, like I said, I’m not a doctor, and a mind like his is something you can’t argue with.”
Gardener wouldn’t disagree. “Did he say where he was taking it, once it was finished?”
“No, but it was probably his private clinic. It didn’t look the sort of thing to me that you could have in your house. Not in a normal house, anyway.”
Armitage had made a good point. The clinic was one obvious place, but then again so was Sinclair’s house. A number of people had indicated how big it was. If it had a big cellar, then that might be the perfect place to keep someone. Especially if they were trussed up in a frame.
Lance Hobson came to mind. Gardener figured it was a logical conclusion now to think that Sinclair was their murderer, and that he had Hobson, who’d probably had nothing to do with the death of Knight, Wilson, or Ronson.
“Thank you, Mr Armitage, you’ve been most helpful.”
Both detectives rose to leave, and Armitage showed them to the front door.
Gardener turned. “Just one more question. Did you deliver the material, or did he have it collected?”
“He had it collected, Mr Gardener.”
“Did he collect it himself?”
“No. A friend of his, white van, big enough for everything in one go. I remember saying to Alex at the time to be careful with it all.”
How ironic, thought Gardener. Alex had even helped with his own demise.
“Thank you, Mr Armitage. We know where to find you if we need anything else.”
