IMPERFECTION by Ray Clark (good books to read for women TXT) 📕

“Suicide,” replied Gardener.

“Anyone read the note?”

“Not yet.”

Briggs tore open the envelope. With a confused expression he glanced at Gardener. “It’s addressed to you, Stewart.” He handed over the letter and studied the corpse.

“Why has he written a letter to you?” Reilly asked.

“I’ve no idea.”

Gardener read it:

Dear Mr Gardener,

I appreciate you had a job to do and I want you to know that in no way do I hold you responsible for my suicide. It is fair to say that I have lost everything: the business I had spent years building, my assistant, who meant more to me than you’ll ever know, and the lifestyle I tried so hard to keep secret, becoming public knowledge. There are two things you need to know: Firstly, I am not your killer and have no idea who is. Secondly, proof which backs up the first statement, I could never have killed my own daughter. Janine was my flesh and blood, born from an illicit affair. Though why the secret had been kept after Jack Harper’s death I shall never know.

Gardener sighed and passed the letter over to Briggs. He read it. “Do you think she knew?” he asked.

“I’ve no idea,” replied Gardener.

“I still can’t understand why he’d write a letter to you,” said Briggs.

“Maybe he didn’t,” suggested Reilly.

“Meaning what?” asked Briggs.

“I’ll grant you it’s not the killer’s style, but maybe he staged all of this and then wrote the note to throw us of the scent.”

“If that’s the case, how did he know Janine Harper was Alan Cuthbertson’s daughter?” asked Briggs.

“He knew enough about Janine Harper to kill her for the reasons he did,” added Reilly.

“I appreciate your point, Sean,” said Gardener, “but Alan Cuthbertson wasn’t a member of the watch committee, and that’s what this seems to be about. The watch committee and the banned film.”

“Unless it isn’t,” said Briggs. “Do you know anything about this banned film yet?”

“I think I’m on to something, but nothing concrete.”

“Then how do you know the murders are connected to a banned film?” asked Briggs. “I’m sorry, Stewart, but we’re no nearer to solving the case now than we were at the beginning. So for all we know, Alan Cuthbertson’s death might well be tied into it. For God’s sake, this bloke moves around like a fucking spectre. No one ever sees him, and he’s managed to commit the most brutal killings, and have time to write notes.”

“It still looks like suicide to me, nothing more,” said Gardener.

“Maybe Fitz can tell us,” replied Briggs. “Which reminds me, where the bloody hell is he?”

Before Gardener had time to answer, his mobile rang.

Briggs and Reilly turned their attention to the corpse while he took the call.

“We’re on our way,” said Gardener. “That was Fitz. Apparently he’s found something unusual connected to Janine Harper’s death. He wants us over there now.”

Chapter Forty-four

Fitz threw a folder on to his desk and ran his hands down his tired face. His expression was a mixture of fatigue and elation at having possibly found a piece of the puzzle. “Would you gentlemen like coffee?”

Gardener and Reilly nodded, and Fitz turned around from his desk. He reached for the percolator, a new addition to his office, and a much needed one from what Gardener could see.

“Smells good,” said Reilly.

“So, what have you got for us?” asked Gardener.

Fitz sat back in his chair. “Janine Harper. You remember that she had a lethal cocktail of ephedrine in her system. I suggested that the killer may have perfected the technique.”

Both men nodded, sipping their coffee.

“I’ve found some new evidence. I consulted Mathew Stapleton about it. He’s one of the country’s leading toxicologists up in Edinburgh. When I spoke to him, he was in London. The method unsettled him for a week. He’d heard of a similar case. He used the computers at the University College Hospital. Surprisingly enough there were no records, nothing in the archives, nothing on paper. Having said that, the paper files only date back to the Eighties. Anything further back had been stored electronically.”

“Had the files been erased?” said Gardener.

“They think so, but they’re still checking. You see, all other records of suspicious deaths around that time were still on file.”

“Murder isn’t the only technique he’s perfected,” said Gardener.

“Mathew spoke to his father. Turns out that one of his colleagues had performed the autopsy on the lady in question.” Fitz opened his folder, removed the notes. “Her name was Elizabeth Cranshaw. She was sixty-one years of age and worked as a nanny for a well-to-do family who lived in Weybridge in Surrey.”

Gardener’s heart sunk a little when he thought of how far back the incident may have occurred.

Fitz continued. “It was the next morning before the old lady had been found dead in her room, still sitting in her favourite chair with her novel resting on her lap. According to the report she looked quite peaceful, despite what she must have gone through.”

“So, we’re not talking exactly the same MO here?” asked Gardener.

“She hadn’t been hung and brutalised, if that’s what you mean,” replied Fitz.

“So, the link is the ephedrine?”

Fitz nodded. “Elizabeth Cranshaw had suffered from asthma all her life. The results of the autopsy discovered sherry in her system, believed to be her favourite tipple while she was reading. Mixed in with the alcohol was a pretty hefty dosage of nuts that had been ground into a fine powder. A massive heart attack caused her death. In fact, the report confirms that her heart had been so overworked that it had literally exploded.”

“Was the family she worked for interviewed?” asked Gardener.

“Yes, they were cleared. Apparently, Elizabeth Cranshaw had been to London on a shopping expedition. She’d been out of the