IMPURITY by Ray Clark (which ebook reader txt) 📕

here too long. The press will want some local colour, and before we know it, the place will be swarming with vagrants. It wouldn’t take much for one of them to talk. The promise of a bottle of cider.”

Reilly nodded and turned to the reporters. “Okay, gentlemen, that’s all for now.”

“What do you mean, that’s all?”

“We’ve said all we’re going to.”

He raised his hand, indicating the interview was over, much to the chagrin of the reporters.

As he moved to rejoin Gardener, one of the journalists lunged forward. He carried a recording device in one hand, and his camera in the other. “Mr Gardener? Is it true you were one of the officers involved in the Roundhay Ripper Trial?”

Reilly spun on him, anger evident in his eyes. “I’ve told you, that’s all for today.”

Gardener turned as the camera flash went off in his eyes. He was about to say more when Reilly pushed past him.

“Give us the camera!”

Gardener cringed at the comedy of errors that followed. Reilly lost his footing, fell down the steps. Somehow, his hands ended up around the journalist’s throat, and they both tumbled to the ground. Every camera present clicked in unison.

Gardener stared into the sky and sighed.

He could see the headlines now. “Police Brutality!”

Chapter Thirty-one

Gardener spent the rest of the afternoon in and out of meetings with his team, issuing instructions and trying to locate Derek Summers. He had to leave a message on the agent’s answering machine. He left the station filled with thoughts of the evening ahead, narrowly missing a call from Janet Soames. The tone of her voice impressed a sense of urgency.

The desk sergeant promised to relay her message for Gardener to return her call.

Chapter Thirty-two

Gardener’s route to Jacqueline’s followed the meandering stream which bordered the western side of the village, allowing him to gather his thoughts and clear his head from the toil of the day.

The problems had, as usual, spiralled out of control. Thornwell’s body on the grounds of the church, the mysterious vagrant, the press. The media coverage could, if not carefully handled, cripple them. Briggs wouldn’t be pleased about the photos when they came to print. The fact they were nowhere near catching the killer made Gardener realize the pressure on him was mounting.

Craig Sutton’s name cropped up again. Although the evidence they had was scant, he would still have to interview him officially. Two victims, both associated with Sutton in threatening circumstances, didn’t necessarily make him a killer. He was definitely a suspect, however.

As for the vagrant, that was something else entirely. Bob Crisp’s words had really aroused Gardener’s curiosity. He sensed today’s meeting wouldn’t be their last. But who was he? What did he really know? Was he involved, somehow?

In an effort to really beat it out of his system, Gardener had spent an hour on the cross-trainer in the police gymnasium. He notched up a few miles, worked up a sweat, and left himself breathless. That, however, had been a waste of time. His head still buzzed, which was by no means the correct frame of mind for the evening ahead.

He’d thought quite a lot about the meal since Jacqueline had asked him. He still couldn’t believe she had. Over the last few months, he’d found his attraction to the minister becoming stronger. Whether or not he was prepared to do anything about it was another matter. The thought of commitment scared him.

Approaching the lane which led to Jacqueline’s house, he passed a middle-aged couple walking a spaniel. They nodded in recognition as they climbed the bank to the stream.

Gardener opened the gate to the vicarage. He had two bottles of wine and a box of Belgian chocolates with him. As he lifted his hand to knock on the door, the words of the mysterious Bob Crisp entered his mind. In particular, his parting shot. Be careful.

Chapter Thirty-three

Gardener took his place at the table at Jacqueline’s insistence.

The dining room was sparsely furnished with a table and chairs and a matching writing bureau, all finished in dark oak. Adorning the walls was a selection of oils, mostly Romanian.

Jacqueline had worked hard setting the table, using fine china and candles. The choice of music wasn’t to his taste, but she’d chosen it to create a romantic atmosphere. The Carpenters were reliving Yesterday Once More.

Settling in her company would probably take him longer than he’d anticipated.

Jacqueline returned to the room with a food trolley. There were two bowls of Transylvanian soup and a large bottle of wine in an ice bucket. She poured two glasses, sitting opposite.

“It smells delicious.”

“Let’s hope it lives up to the smell.”

“Compared to my cooking, I’m sure it will.” Gardener tasted it. He wasn’t disappointed.

“Do you eat like this all the time?”

“Hardly! I’d be twenty-stone if I did. I only tend to eat such delicacies when my aunt is around.”

“Did she cook it?”

“No, but it’s her recipe.”

Gardener set down his spoon and picked up his glass of wine. He thought a toast to friendship was fitting. Jacqueline agreed.

“So, how’s your day been?” he asked, continuing with his soup.

“I had a lovely day. A young couple came to see me. They’ve been engaged for about two years and want to get married. He’s had a recent promotion, and they’d like to start a family. They want to do things properly. They seemed to have a very old-fashioned view of life. I was really pleased,” she said.

“I like to see young people getting their priorities right. Especially in the world we’re living in. To most, if it doesn’t have a monetary value, it’s not important.”

“I know,” replied Jacqueline, breaking off a piece of bread and dipping it into the soup. “A throwaway world with falling moral standards. Which are responsible for a lot of problems.”