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“I know it’s a tough question, Colin,” said Gardener, “but did he look anything like the man in Butts Court?”
“Sorry, sir, neither one was clear enough. The only thing I will say is similar build.”
Gardener updated the boards again.
“Okay, did anyone have any luck with Porton Down?”
“Not yet,” said Briggs. “I’ve put the call in and started the ball rolling but I’ve no idea how long it takes. A government establishment like that might take ages to come back to us.”
“If at all,” added Reilly.
“They’ll have to come back to us,” said Gardener, “even if they don’t care to admit anything. A place like that could say everything tallies up even if it doesn’t, and then they’ll start their own investigation and we’ll probably never know.”
Gardener ran his hands through his hair and down his face. “I want to thank you all for what you’ve done here, you’ve pulled a double shift and filled in lots of blanks. For that you can be pleased with yourselves. But we still have one big question remaining, that we have yet to answer. Who is killing people?”
Chapter Forty-seven
Gardener was sitting in a car. It was late, dark, cold and desolate, and he had no idea where he was.
The engine wasn’t running; the lights and the radio were on, but there was no sound emanating from the latter. As he glanced through the windscreen he figured he was in a large car park, or on a piece of wasteland, but there were no buildings nearby. He couldn’t see any trees, or any lights, yet he could still see quite clearly.
Glancing at the passenger seat, he noticed he was alone. He wondered where Reilly was. If they were investigating a case, he should be close by.
Within the blink of an eye Gardener was outside of the car. To his left he saw a stretch of river with a narrowboat running along it. The man at the back, steering it, gave him a wave.
Nothing made sense. Since when did you have a river running through a car park?
Gardener’s phone rang. He reached into his pocket. Staring at the display he didn’t recognise the number but he answered anyway.
“Stewart, it’s your mother. What time will you be home?”
Gardener didn’t answer.
“Don’t be late, I don’t want you out on your own when it’s dark, there’s a lot of strange people around.”
“How old do you think I am, Mum?”
The line disconnected, leaving Gardener staring at the device.
When he’d replaced the phone in his pocket the landscape had changed completely. He was now in the middle of an industrial estate, with buildings all around, a chain-link fence, and good lighting. A number of cars drove by on the road on the outside of the fence.
The building he was standing against had an aluminium exterior with a number of windows on the upper level for the offices. In the distance on his right he saw a roller shutter door, and next to that a smaller metal door that was open.
Standing in front of it was Sarah. He’d recognise the shoulder-length blonde hair anywhere. Not to mention the white leather jacket he had bought her for her birthday. She was also wearing jeans.
“Come on, we don’t want to be late.” She beckoned him over.
“On my way,” he shouted. For what, he had no idea.
Sarah disappeared through the door and he followed her. The inside of the building was huge but not well lit. There were so many corridors he thought he was in a maze. He could hear music playing from speakers he couldn’t
locate. He had no idea what it was. All he knew was how strange it sounded; some lunatic was singing about somewhere in the night, and turning to the right, when something clicks inside of your head. Then there would be trouble ahead.
“Chris?” shouted Sarah. It was distant, so she must be.
Gardener took off down one of the corridors, not knowing where he was going or why.
“Chris?” Sarah shouted again. “Where are you? It’s getting late and we’re supposed to be meeting your father.”
