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“Armitage mentioned something about that.”
“He’s well known around these parts, sir,” replied Cragg. “A damn good doctor, as is his partner, Robert Sinclair, and he’s no stranger to tragedy. They have a private clinic, very successful.”
“Brain tumour, isn’t it?” asked Gardener. “How’s Gary coping with all this?”
“Bloody well, if you ask me,” said Cragg.
“Is she still at home?”
“No, sir. Gary phoned earlier to say she’d been taken to the clinic.”
Gardener made a mental note to speak to Gary Close. God knew if anything happened, Gary was going to need some help, and though Gardener realized it was not his place, he could make sure a word in the right ear would have the desired effect. He remembered all too well the effect of the death of a close family member: your world could crumble instantly. A picture of his late wife Sarah entered his head.
Eager to continue with the investigation, Gardener asked Williams if he had copies of the Inspector Catcher card found at the scene. The sergeant nodded and passed them over.
“Okay, Patrick,” said Gardener. “I want you to join Colin Sharp at the shop. I’m sure he’ll have his hands full. Before you go, take a copy of this card with you, and see if you can find out anything. I’m sure there’s a toy shop in the town.”
“I’m on it, sir.” Edwards left the room.
Gardener briefed Cragg and Williams on what he and Reilly had discovered while interviewing Jackie Pollard.
“I thought I hadn’t seen Lance Hobson for a while.”
“Did you find an address for us?”
“Yes, sir.” Cragg handed Gardener a slip of paper from a notepad.
“According to our files, Hobson started when he was twelve – stealing cars, breaking and entering. Did a couple of stretches in a young offender’s institute. Got into the big league when he was about eighteen, delivering parcels and prospecting youngsters. Seems he shared a cell with Alex Wilson when he spent time in Armley for violent assault.”
“What about Sonia Knight?”
“She’s another piece of work, sir,” repl
ied Cragg. “She lives with Lance Hobson; runs his empire, so to speak. Used to be a duty nurse at one of the private care homes out near Harrogate. I forget the name, but I’ll have it before long.”
“Interesting,” said Reilly. “Another one with medical knowledge?”
“Possibly”
A knock on the door captured the attention of everyone in the room, halting the conversation.
The CSM, Steve Fenton, entered. He had with him two Faraday bags containing two phones, only one of which Gardener had passed him earlier in the morning, as well as a file folder of what Gardener hoped was his findings.
“Come in, Steve.”
“Before I start, you’re not going to like this. Can I grab a coffee?”
“We have no objection to sharing our coffee,” said Reilly.
“Not that, you lunatic.”
“Just for that you can only have coffee. No biscuits, mind.”
Fenton turned to Cragg. “I should keep your biscuits under lock and key, if you haven’t already lost them all.”
Cragg smiled and Gardener laughed.
“What have you got for us, Steve?”
