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Gardener glanced at the map. Following the line through from the hospital in Leeds, he realized that it crossed over Burley in Wharfedale, running alongside the Foundation and the home of Iain Ross.
“That may not be as long a shot as you think, David.”
Gardener pointed out why.
When they had finished with pinning that location and running the cotton through, the two points formed a line that gave them a perfect cross with their previously marked locations. Sitting dead centre was Bursley Bridge, the home of the second murder, Graham Johnson’s computer shop, and Robert Sinclair. The connections were there. Although they had no proof that either of these men was responsible for the crimes committed, it was pretty bloody suspicious that both had a connection to the locations.
Gardener thought for a moment. Was Bursley Bridge the hub of activity? Had something happened there that they needed to know about?
He turned to Sergeant Williams. “David? Anything come to mind?”
“Not straight away, but I’m probably not the man you want. I’ve only been the desk sergeant here for four years. Transferred from a force in Northampton.”
Gardener didn’t think he was going to add anything else, but he did. “If I remember correctly, though, something had happened shortly before I came here, caused a bit of a stink.”
“Can you recall anything?”
“Not really, but I know a man who will. We both do.”
Chapter Forty-three
Since leaving the doctor’s house, Graham Johnson’s mind had been a complete jumble of thoughts. What to do and where to go were his primary concerns. He couldn’t go home because the police were onto him. The shop would most likely be closed, blue and white tape all over it. Everybody in the town would have gathered outside, suspecting that he had something to do with the recent murders.
Not that they’d be wrong, but he didn’t want them knowing his business. Why was it that small towns and villages bred the nosiest of bastards? They all knew everyone’s business. Didn’t they have lives in these small communities? He supposed that’s what came of being inbred. Most of them probably were.
As for somewhere to go, that was another problem. He wasn’t married, which was probably a good thing. He doubted any woman would understand what they had done, despite having sound reason. Being single meant he didn’t have a large family.
His sister, who had been married to the doctor, had died two years back. That had been a terrible affair. She had basically lost her mind after the death of their son Adam two years previous. She was finally admitted to a clinic, where she died under mysterious circumstances. That bitch of a nurse, Sonia Knight, had had something to do with that. He was damned sure.
Graham Johnson had a brother who lived in London. But he couldn’t really go there. For one thing, the police were well known for using all the latest technology. They would more than likely have his van on the Automatic Number Plate Recognition system, which meant major motorways were out. He had to stick to local roads, but there could be roadblocks.
Johnson glanced at the van speedometer. He was within the thirty miles per hour limit and the road was pretty clear. But it was a major route. If the police had set up blocks along the way, the road he was on would be one of them. He drove for another fifty yards and took a small winding lane, which led out to Burley in Wharfedale, and eventually Ilkley and Skipton.
His parents lived in that direction; he could head out that way. They were always an option. But would they understand? He doubted it. They had been gutted, naturally, at the loss of their daughter. Like all people of their generation, they had sought justice, but not in the way Graham had. In an ideal world, the police would have caught who was responsible and put them behind bars.
Imagine how they would feel if it all came out, that their son was the one going to prison for exacting revenge for his unavenged sister.
Johnson took a left and drove through Main Street. Burley was a lovely village that maintained an olde-worlde charm, with buildings made mostly of Yorkshire stone, including the pub. The whole place spoke of money. The problem was, it was very small, so he was exiting before he had realized.
His thoughts went back to what he and the doctor had done. Why had he been so stupid as to allow himself to be talked into such drastic measures? It wasn’t fair to blame the doctor completely. To exact revenge in such an intricate way certainly did need both of them.
The road in front of him was open and straight. Johnson was so frustrated by his limited options that he floored the accelerator, increasing the van’s speed. Perhaps he should live on the edge for a mile or two, see if he could replace his venom with a touch of adrenaline.
He went back over the conversation he’d had with the doctor, particularly about the police having nothing on him. That wasn’t true. They had the white van with the brake light out. They had his registration number, which must have been spotted for them to even consider consulting him in the first place. So they definitely had something on him.
The doctor had said that he could have told them anything to remove the tension for a while, till he thought of something better. What benefit would that be? It would have given him breathing space, but then they would have come back, and they’d have more on him because he’d have been lying.
The van crept up to seventy miles per hour. He’d need to slow down soon because of a bend up ahead. But for now, it felt fucking great!
Then a sudden thought hit him. One that nearly finished him off.
A vision entered his mind. Two days previous, before the young ginger twins had brought the laptop in, he had lost his temper with the machine he was working on. The screwdriver had slipped and damaged a SIM card. In a fit of anger, he had thrown it across the shop. He did not go and search for it. But the police were in the shop. If they found the card, he was toast.
His mobile phone chirped into life. It was lodged in a hands-free cradle. Johnson was so furious that he swiped his left arm across the dashboard, and sent the phone towards the footwell, immediately regretting his action. What if it was the doctor?
He tried to think if there had been any opportunity whatsoever for the doctor to have modified him in any way.
Jesus! He’d treated him for blood pressure. Johnson panicked, trying to think what he’d given him. He had to retrieve the phone.
