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

break. Get yourselves a coffee and something to eat. While you have a break, Sean and I will stay here and organize the HOLMES team and the operational support officers to go through the rest of the witness statements. I’ll also update the spider chart.

“When you come back, we can make a start by trawling CCTV, if there is any around there. We’ll have to do another house-to-house. Sean and I will go back to the crime scene and grill the residents more thoroughly. Any questions?”

Gardener glanced around. There were none.

Chapter Ten

A small gathering huddled at the site of David Vickers’ grave on a cold December morning. His mother Lesley, dressed in black, held a white handkerchief up to her face. Her tears flowed freely, obscuring her view, the last she would ever have of her only son. Jim, her husband, held her close, as if afraid to let her go. His contorted expression reflected the pain that could only be associated with losing a child. His other arm was wrapped around his daughter, Susan. David’s grandparents stared vacantly at the coffin, trapped within their own torment, oblivious to everyone else.

Two police officers and a press photographer had also come to pay their respects.

Despite being mid-morning, the air blew crisp and fresh. A film of white frost covered the grass. Glistening brown leaves crunched underfoot. Exhaled breath hung around the mourners’ heads, reluctant to spread to the outside world, an unsafe place where perverts killed children.

As Jacqueline Bâlcescu finished the service, she stepped back from the open grave as a mark of consideration. Lesley fell to her knees and begged for her son’s return. She promised she would not let anything happen to him again. She would look after him properly, if only the Lord would grant her another opportunity.

Jim reached down to her, tears in his eyes. He wrapped both arms around his wife, pleading with her, offering reassurance. Through clenched teeth, he whispered to her no one could have given David a better home. Their son couldn’t have had a more considerate mother. She should not blame herself.

Jacqueline wanted to reach out and comfort Jim. His haunted expression was pitiful. His son’s death had torn his family apart, and the only thing he could do was watch. She noticed a number of other villagers hovering at the gate, unwilling to intrude upon the family’s suffering. At the other end of the cemetery, a couple walked their dogs, their heads turned in the direction of the funeral. Most of the villagers had sent wreaths and sympathy cards. Jacqueline had seen the cards, and though they meant well – as people always did – she perceived in the messages the unstated relief that it was not their child.

She heard a rustling sound behind her. Turning, Jacqueline saw Stewart Gardener kneeling over his wife’s grave. He’d cleaned up the area around the headstone, placing fresh flowers in the small urn, whispering as he did so.

Gardener glanced in the minister’s direction, nodding courteously, before returning his attention to Sarah’s resting place.

Jacqueline turned back to the grieving family. She felt it was time to make her departure.

She walked around the edge of the grave toward Lesley. She pressed her handkerchief tight to her mouth, her eyes shut and her voice a series of choking, broken sobs.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Lesley?”

The bereaved mother turned to face the minister with imploring eyes.

“You can’t... bring him back… can you?”

Jacqueline felt hollow inside. What was she supposed to say, “Yes, just give me a few minutes and I’ll have a word with Him upstairs?” She may not have children of her own, but she was sensitive enough to appreciate the heartbreak Lesley endured through the loss of a child.

“I’m sorry. I wish I could.”

Time seemed to stand still before Lesley responded. She answered quite simply, “Well, I’m sorry too. There isn’t anything you can do.”

The minister nodded and gave the lamenting mother a hug.

Lesley raised her head and stared at Stewart Gardener. Jacqueline noticed the sudden change in her expression as her eyes darkened.

“But there’s someone who can!”

Lesley made her way around her son’s grave and approached the detective before Jacqueline could react.

Gardener stood and gazed at his wife’s headstone, oblivious to Lesley.

“Mr Gardener?”

He raised his head to her, startled. “Lesley. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to intrude.”

“Mr Gardener, I’m begging you. Please catch this monster...” She broke off, unable to continue as sobs took control of her once more.

Jacqueline walked over to the grieving mother, taking her hand. “Come on, Lesley, this won’t help you.”

“It will. Please. I don’t want to interfere. I know why he’s here,” she said to Jacqueline, before turning back to face the officer. “I understand what you’re going through, but I’m asking you, as a parent, please catch the animal who did this and put him behind bars. Please make sure he doesn’t do it again.”

Stewart Gardener gazed directly at Jacqueline. She sensed his torment, his inability to reply.

“It might be your son next time,” said Lesley.

The comment cut deep. The colour in the detective’s face drained.

Jacqueline noticed an immediate change of expression in his eyes. They were no longer warm, friendly. His eyes became impenetrable. He made no reply.

Lesley fell to her knees, grabbing Gardener’s hand. Through her tears she pleaded, becoming hysterical. “For God’s sake, Mr Gardener, catch him. Please! He’s taken my son, please don’t let him have any more! Oh, God, please Mr Gardener, please!”

Suddenly, Jim stood at his wife’s side.

The press photographer saw an opportunity for a front page exclusive and took photos.

“Lesley, don’t do this, lass!” He turned away from his wife, glancing at the officer. “I’m sorry, Mr Gardener, she didn’t mean to say what she said about your lad.” He gazed down