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Gardener and Reilly were back in the incident room after the SIO ha
d introduced himself to the officer in charge of HOLMES, a man named Mike Sands.
“What do you think, Sean?”
“I think the whole thing has been well planned, judging by what the old man had to tell us.”
“I agree. Somebody’s been watching the shop for a while. Had to have known Armitage was away for the weekend.”
“Not only that,” said Reilly, “he knows Alex Wilson very well. Think about the tarot card and its meanings.”
“I have done, Sean, especially the reversed meanings. He was impulsive, took risks, made rash decisions. He was a fool, and gambling was involved.”
“Most of which was backed up by Cragg. He said Alex was a waste of space, hot-headed, argumentative, didn’t think things through.”
“He also said he was edgy around people. Armitage confirmed the gambling. Everything we’ve found out this morning was covered by the tarot card.”
“In other words, that card tells us just how well the killer knows his victim.”
“Looks that way to me,” said Gardener. “The killer obviously knows the victim well, but is he trying to lead us astray?”
“Make us think there’s a darker side to it?”
“Possibly. It might all hinge on what’s inside Alex Wilson’s mouth, if anything. Why was it sewn up?”
“Who’s to say there’s anything in the mouth? What’s behind the suture might be more important.”
“If there’s nothing inside the mouth, why sew it up?”
“To keep him quiet?”
Reilly had a point. Gardener was itching to read the pathology report, but he knew Fitz well enough to know you couldn’t hurry him. It was a specialized job. Fitz was the best he’d ever come across. He could be cranky, but he was good at what he did, and Gardener had worked with him for more years than he cared to remember. That alone allowed the old man some liberties.
Gardener’s thoughts were distracted as Sergeant Williams knocked and entered the room carrying a file.
“Got some interesting reading on Jackie Pollard, sir. We took his outer clothing for a fibre match from the scene, and gave him a black light scan. We also gave him a live scan for fingerprints, not that it was necessary. He’s well known to us. The SOCOs lifted his prints and put them into FISH, which then loaded them onto NAFIS. He was definitely inside that shop. We’re still waiting on fibres.”
“Thank you...” Gardener hesitated. Cragg had introduced Williams but not given a first name. Gardener asked.
“David, sir. Everything we have on Pollard is in the file. He definitely has form, sacked as a trainee doctor and taken to court by the NHS for stealing drugs.”
“Was he sentenced?”
“Yes, but he had it reduced by his brief, Wilfred Ronson.”
“Not that old soak,” replied Reilly. “He’s more twisted then a corkscrew.”
Gardener smiled. They’d come across Ronson before. He was a solicitor who seemed to specialize in cases that very few other people would touch. Stood to reason he would represent drug dealers. It was common knowledge that he was a drunk and he was bent, but the latter had been almost impossible to prove.
“Is there any connection between Alex Wilson and Wilfred Ronson?” Gardener asked.
“I believe so,” said Williams.
“Thought there might be. Who was the arresting officer when all this happened?”
“Peter Browne,” replied Williams. “But that was a long time ago, and I’m afraid Browne is no longer with us now. Died of a heart attack about three years ago, brought on by the drug dealers of this parish, I shouldn’t wonder.”
Gardener was disappointed. Reading the file probably wouldn’t tell him everything he wanted to know. First-hand contact was always better; you usually picked up gut feelings, which were not always in the report.
