IMPOSTURE: Hunters become the hunted in this gripping murder mystery by Ray Clark (book series for 10 year olds TXT) 📕

Gardener had walked into a scene from hell. It wasn’t immediately evident what was wrong with the man, where he’d come from, or what had happened to him. Or whether or not someone had actually done something to him.

He doubted it was an acid attack. What really concerned him was that he didn’t know what it could be, whether or not it was contagious; or if there was a lunatic around the next corner plying whatever substance he had to someone else’s face.

He definitely needed to contain the situation, but how? The whole world and his brother had suddenly turned up. The crime scene was contaminated to buggery now.

Saving the man’s life was a bigger concern. He was going to need backup.

Gardener glanced at the man. “Did someone do this to you?”

There was no reply but Gardener detected what he thought was a perceptible nod of the head.

Suddenly the man let out a scream that sounded like a chainsaw backfiring. Whatever was wrong with him it had affected his breathing. Gardener saw that his breathing was becoming even more erratic. The man fell to the ground with body tremors, as if he had gone into a seizure.

Gardener had absolutely no idea what to do. He’d been on the force all of his working life; he’d seen things that would turn people’s stomachs without trying but he’d never witnessed anything like the man on the floor.

Hazchem and Special Ops ran through his mind. That would be a game changer.

As he raised his head he noticed a rather tall vehicle with flashing lights but it wasn’t an ambulance. The council refuse wagon had pulled to a stop in front of the NCP Car Park. Four men with hi-vis jackets jumped out, two of them staring at him. The other two were peering down the ramp leading to the underground car park.

Gardener glanced at the injured man who was now writhing around on the ground. He really needed to think very quickly about what to do and how to contain everything.

He dialled the station, setting off immediately toward the bin wagon, blowing his whistle, as if he’d lost his mind.

“You lot, stay exactly where you are. Don’t move.”

“Who, me?” asked the desk sergeant on the other end of Gardener’s mobile.

Gardener explained who he was, what he’d been caught up in, and requested immediate backup from anywhere close at hand – and very possibly his own team, as he knew instinctively where the incident was heading.

Putting the phone in his pocket he shouted at the bin men, flashing his warrant card. “I need you lot to come with me, now.”

“Can’t do that, guv, we’re on council business.” The man was at least twenty-stone, with a fat lumpy face that appeared to have been the sick joke of a bad pottery session. His eyes were bulbous and he had more hair sprouting from his nose than his head. But the biggest mistake he was making was pushing his luck.

Gardener’s temper hit new heights, which meant he stared solely at the man with the big mouth and spoke very slowly.

“You see this badge? It means I can override any council orders you have. When I say I want you lot to come with me now – that is exactly what I mean. No argument.”

He had all of their attention. “Follow me. I need you to create a cordon.”

“What do you mean?”

“I need you to create a boundary. Don’t let anyone inside. Now come on!”

Gardener ran back to the injured man who was still face down on the ground, moaning and writhing.

He directed the bin men to form a square, standing in opposing corners. That was a task in itself because each and every one of them kept glancing at the man on the floor and then at Gardener, asking stupid questions.

He stared around at the shoppers, blowing his whistle again.

“Can I have your attention, please? Do not, I repeat, do not move from where you are now.”

“Excuse me, guv,” said lump head.

Gardener noticed he was holding a roll of red and white tape – from where he had no idea. “Thought you might need this. Wrap it round us all and create a proper boundary, like.”

Gardener smiled; perhaps the man wasn’t so bad after all. He quickly rolled the tape around the man’s body before setting off for the next. Once he’d finished he blew the whistle again, addressing a crowd he would have preferred not to have been there.

“Please stay where you are and do not try to walk through the tape. I have called for an ambulance, and more police officers to deal with what’s happening. We’ll need to take a statement from every one of you.”

He dropped to his knees and told the man to hang on – which was probably pointless – repeating that he had called for an ambulance. He then asked once again if he could do anything to help.

With a very serious effort the man raised his head. His face was now so red Gardener thought it had been set on fire. His milky white eyes signified that he might even have gone blind in the short time he’d been on the floor.

What in God’s name had happened?

In the distance, Gardener heard the siren of the ambulance. He wondered if they might have a problem reaching him, unsure if the bin wagon was blocking their path.

He was suddenly shoved and a scream in his right ear distracted his attention. The man on the floor had reared upwards, gripping Gardener’s shoulders.

He would never forget the expression of sheer terror carved into the injured man’s features; wide eyes with deep crow’s feet underneath them. His mouth was fully open but Gardener could see very little because his tongue had ballooned to twice its size, probably