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Chris smiled. That would make a change from stools that resembled a Jaffa Cake.
“You really don’t want me to go on, do you, Mr Rydell?”
“That’s why I’m here. I’m not leaving until you tell me everything.”
“I suspect the brain will be affected next, as various toxins accumulate in the blood. It’s possible you will suffer seizures, and then pass into a coma, or just become comatose straight away. By this time, you will be in hospital, because you will probably die within a few days. Or maybe hours.
“During all of this, and especially if the process is slow – taking several days or weeks to happen – your legs and abdomen will swell up as fluid comes out of the blood and accumulates in the tissues, because the liver normally makes plasma proteins which help maintain the fluid levels in the blood by an osmotic effect.”
Chris managed to work the last bit out for himself. “So this would also affect the brain, adding to the risk of fits, then a coma, and then death.”
“You don’t have to go down that road, Mr Rydell. I will continue to do everything I can for you.”
Chris stood up and offered his hand. “I appreciate everything you have done, but we both know that the end of the road has come.”
He gave Trent no further time to answer as he confidently strode towards the door.
Chapter Fourteen
Gardener and Reilly were sitting in an interview room in Trafalgar House on Nelson Street in Bradford, waiting to speak to DI Karen Goodman. Sergeant Williams had shown them through. He’d assured them they would only have to wait a few minutes.
During their time waiting for Goodman, the pair of them had tried to assess the events of the morning. If Nicola Stapleton or Barry Morrison had taken Chloe Summerby, where the hell was she? Judging by their lifestyles, neither would want her. Living arrangements were a mystery. He had a house he rented to a prostitute and holed himself up in a pokey flat.
But if Stapleton or Morrison hadn’t taken her, who had?
Gardener glanced up as the door opened, revealing a slim lady with black hair and an oval face. She was dressed in a royal blue trouser suit and white blouse. She had a thick folder tucked under her left arm.
“DI Karen Goodman.” She extended her right hand. “How can I help you?”
Gardener introduced himself and his partner before returning to his seat. He reached inside his jacket pocket and retrieved the photo of the girl.
“I believe you’re investigating a missing from home involving the young girl in this picture.”
Goodman glanced at it. “Chloe Summerby, yes. Where did you get this?”
“She’s come up in our murder investigation.”
Goodman ran her hands down her face. “I don’t think I’m going to like this.”
“She’s not the victim,” assured Gardener. He briefly related his case and what he had so far discovered.
Goodman opened her file and showed Gardener one of the photos they had of Chloe. She asked if she could keep the one Gardener had.
“I’m afraid not, but I can get you a copy.”
Goodman nodded. “Okay.”
“When was the girl reported missing?”
“Just over two weeks ago, August fifth.”
“What happened?”
“Her mother and father came barging into the station about seven o’clock on the Friday night. The mother, Sally, was pretty distraught. What mother wouldn’t be?” Goodman continued with a brief version of the night’s events.
“So, what did you do?” asked Gardener.
“It’s a tricky one with a missing child. You really have to calm the parents down, ask questions. They hate you for it. Think you’re not doing anything. They shout and swear and tell you their baby is out there, could be in all kinds of trouble, and you’re doing nothing. Some of them start that before you’ve even asked for a name.”
