IMPURITY, Ray Clark [best classic literature .txt] 📗

in some fresh air. “Not really, but you’ll be pleased to know Hazchem doesn’t think it’s contagious. From what I’ve seen, it looks like all the proteins have broken down. There’s nothing left. Nothing I can use to start my investigation.”

“Don’t suppose you know what might have caused it?”

“Not without further tests. Who found him?”

“The landlady. A woman named Olive Bradshaw.”

“What time?”

“About half past ten. Claims she went to bingo around half past six, came back, and this had happened.”

Fitz shook his head. “You can’t do this to a body in a few hours.”

Gardener stared up at the heavens. “Somebody has.”

Fitz checked his watch. “Kevin Swan will be down shortly. His team is just finishing up. They’re going to transport what’s left to the mortuary. He’s declared the scene safe, so you should be able to move things forward.”

“At least that’s something.”

Fitz left.

An hour passed before the senior Hazchem officer gave Gardener the green light.

He’d been there six and a half hours, and hadn’t moved a muscle.

He and Reilly donned scene suits and climbed up to the top storey. A stepping plate had been used for every stair. A few more on the landing led into the room. The building had been reduced to a deathly quiet.

Once inside, the Irishman held his nose. “Jesus!”

“If you think that’s bad, wait till you see the victim.”

Gardener studied the flat. On the floor behind the door sat a brown stain where the remains had been. Woodchip wallpaper, magnolia in colour and dirty, decorated the walls. The filthy nets and curtains and windows combined with the threadbare carpet created a general atmosphere of depression. Along one wall sat a stained and discoloured brown Dralon settee, which had seen better days. The springs threatened to poke through the cushions. A similar seat backed up to another wall, facing an old pre-digital TV. In the corner of a makeshift kitchen, pots and pans were stacked high, caked with stale food. Next to them lay a pile of discarded takeaway foils.

The bedroom stood equally as offensive. The paper had peeled and slid down the wall.

Filth caked the carpet, making it sticky. The unmade bed stank with the odour of stale sweat mixed with God knows what else. No curtains covered the window, but who was likely to see in when you were on the top storey?

The pair of them left the bedroom.

“Doesn’t look like he’s cleaned up in years,” Gardener said. “I really don’t want to spend any more time in here than I have to. We still need to sort through the witness statements. Let’s crack on.”

After an extensive search, the pair came up with nothing more than a few pornographic magazines and DVDs, most of them Dutch and German. Gardener kept them for the incident room exhibit store back at the station.

Chapter Nine

Gardener and Reilly returned to the station after eight. Most of the team were already processing information. Despite it being early, the building showed signs of activity. Phones rang constantly, keeping everyone busy. A handful of officers watched a small TV in the canteen, and a radio played in a tearoom close to Gardener’s office.

Paul Benson and Rick Johnson appeared, coffees in hand. Gardener waved them to his office, where he found Reilly, also with a coffee and a half-eaten doughnut. He sat with his chair tilted back and his legs stretched across the top of his desk.

Detective Constable Colin Sharp stood in front of him, a thirty-something dedicated professional with a dark complexion, a deep, resonant voice, and premature balding. Sharp had obviously said something funny because Reilly’s infectious cackle reverberated around the room.

“Here’s the boss now,” said Reilly, his feet still on his desk. “Would you care for a coffee?”

“From that machine? You must be joking.”

Gardener turned to DC Sharp. “Come with me, Colin.”

Sharp followed Gardener down a long corridor, acknowledging colleagues he passed along the way. Gardener couldn’t help but notice that although the decorations were sparse, they had a comedian on the force. A long balloon and two round ones had been arranged as a phallic symbol above one of the doors. At the end of the corridor they turned left, entering the first room on the right.

“We’ll run the investigation from here, which we’ll also use for briefing and debriefing. There’s sufficient trunking and enough power sockets for all the internal computers. I’ve also called in the HOLMES operators. We’ll put them next door.”

He faced Sharp. “Can you set up the white boards and start off the spider chart with the name Herbert Plum, which I believe is the name of the deceased tenant?”

Gardener left Sharp and returned to his office.

Reilly glanced up at him and nodded as he entered. “When you gonna fix that hat, boss?”

Gardener smiled. “When the time’s right.”

“It’s been nearly a year. You’ve not seen anything?”

Gardener grew cold inside. His stomach turned over. Not a day went by when he didn’t think about the bastard who had taken the life of his wife, Sarah.

“No. But I will.”

The rest of the team rolled in. Gardener instructed them to head over to the incident room, and told them that he would be along shortly. When he arrived, the group was sitting conferring with each other, waiting for him to start. He could hear the HOLMES team setting up their equipment next door as he addressed the team.

“I appreciate all your efforts. It’s been a long night. I’m not going to keep you up any longer than I have to. Judging by the early witness statements, no one’s seen anything, no one’s heard anything, but that’s nothing fresh. Most of the people you talked to will be lying. It’ll probably take us a lot of hard work to ferret out the truth.

“You lads could do with a