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Gardener couldn’t work out whether or not the cards were, in fact, red herrings. He certainly didn’t think the tarot cards were meant to point him in any direction other than the killer telling them he knew the victims extremely well. That led Gardener to surmise that the level of success the killer had was due to extensive planning, which would also indicate that he or she – he couldn’t rule out the possibility their killer was female – had been harbouring a grudge for a while.
The board game cards were completely baffling to him. He’d had board games when he was young, and he’d also bought them for his own son, Chris. Like everyone else, he had the popular ones: Monopoly, Cluedo, Scrabble, and even some of the less popular games like Exploration and Campaign. The cards that were being left at the scene he could not recognize. Nor could anyone else, for that matter.
Had the cards been specifically printed by the killer for no other purpose than to throw them off the scent? Make them think outside the box, allowing him to buy time? He figured anyone who was clever enough to use Photoshop and had a decent enough imagination would be able to knock out a few cards that would resemble a board game from the past, but never actually exist in the first place.
All these possibilities were beginning to make his head hurt. Given that he was paid to produce results, he did not feel like he was earning his money. They needed a break. Maybe they would find one here, thought Gardener, as the car pulled up at the house of Robert Sinclair.
A wall had been constructed all around the house, with two wrought iron gates leading onto a red brick drive. As Reilly drove the car in, Gardener noticed a black sports car – a Peugeot RCZ – parked in front of the double door garage.
An array of potted plants enhanced the exterior of the building – not that it needed any. Apart from the predominant green, other colours were out in abundance: russet, purple, yellow, white, all of which added to the splendour of the environment. Extremely healthy Dutch elms and oaks stood across the grounds. Gardener was beginning to wonder if Sinclair was a tree surgeon as well. The whole of the drive was spotless.
Despite being a large house, it was only two-storeys high. The entrance had a curved arch with double doors, and carriage lamps. Most of the building was Yorkshire stone, a good portion of it covered with ivy and a variety of other creeping plants. The roof was thatched.
They stepped up to the entrance and rang the bell. The housekeeper answered and let them in.
Gardener glanced around the hall. The sound of a train chugging round a track from the first level of the staircase took his attention. Nothing in the house could have been described as cheap, and the item that drew his attention to the model train was absolutely no exception.
The grandfather clock was an impressive six feet tall. The face was centred between two gold columns, featuring a commemorative image of The Flying Scotsman on its plate. A plaque beneath the clock displayed the train’s number, 4472. The pendulum was reminiscent of the original wooden half-way signpost between London and Edinburgh. A miniature of the locomotive encircled the base of the clock on a track, with several model buildings positioned between them. Amongst them were a Tudor-fronted pub, a post office, a garage, a railway station, and a church, the diorama complete with trees, lawns, lampposts and street lighting. On the top, above the clock face were a number of figures, which included a ticket inspector, railway porter, a driver, and a few passengers. A gold bell on the top of the clock chimed the hour.
Sean Reilly whistled through his teeth. “What do you think something like that would be costing, boss?”
“I shudder to think, Sean. What would all of this place cost?”
“Doubt you’d have any change from a million.”
“He must be good,” said Gardener.
“I think we’re about to find out.”
Miss Bradshaw had appeared at the foot of the stairs. “The doctor has a window for you. If you’d like to go into his study?” She pointed to the door. “Would you both like afternoon tea?”
“Thank you,” said Gardener. “That would be nice.”
“I don’t suppose you could manage a few biscuits with that, could you now?”
The Irishman placed an arm around the housekeeper’s shoulder. “Or maybe some fine home-baking. I bet you’re a dab wee hand at that, so you are. You look to me like a woman who could bake a grand scone, and no mistake.”
Gardener chuckled. He wasn’t sure which was funnier, the fact that Sean Reilly could charm the birds from the trees, or he’d never forget his stomach no matter what the occasion.
It had quite clearly worked. “I’m sure I can, Mr Reilly. You go on through, and I’ll be along shortly.”
Both men entered the study and drew out their warrant cards as they approached one of the largest desks Gardener had ever seen.
Rising from the chair was the doctor they had heard so much about, Robert Sinclair, dressed in a pale blue suit that was definitely designer and no doubt cost more than Gardener’s. He wore a white shirt and blue tie. His hair was immaculately groomed, and his fingers well-manicured. Gardener noticed the wedding band. He felt compassionate towards the man, because he still wore his own despite having lost Sarah.
“Please, gentleman, take a seat,” said Sincla
ir. “I’m afraid I don’t have a lot of time, but it’s a pleasure to see you all the same.”
“Thank you, Mr Sinclair,” replied Gardener after the introductions. In the background he could hear music at a very low volume, something classical. The speakers were well hidden and must have been of exceptional quality, because he could hear every single instrument.
“What can I help you with?” asked Sinclair as he sat down.
“It’s your technical expertise that we need, but before I get into that, can I ask how Christine Close is? I’m not prying, and I understand patient confidentiality, but at the moment, Gary works as part of my team. I’m asking as a friend and colleague.”
Sinclair clasped his hands together in front of him and rested them on the desk. “She’s doing as well as can be expected, Mr Gardener. You’ll no doubt be aware that her condition is very serious, but we have her at the Ross & Sinclair Foundation, and she is receiving the best care.”
“I’m sure Gary is grateful for what you’re doing, but surely the cost of such treatment is out of his league?”
