IMPERFECTION
A devious murderer confounds detectives in this gripping mystery
THE DI GARDENER CRIME FICTION SERIES
BOOK 2
RAY CLARK
Published by
THE BOOK FOLKS
London, 2019
© Ray Clark
Polite note to the reader
This book is written in British English except where fidelity to other languages or accents is appropriate.
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IMPERFECTION is the second book in a series of four murder mysteries by Ray Clark. It can be enjoyed as a standalone or alongside the others. Full details about the other books can be found at the end of this one.
Imperfection. 1. Being imperfect. 2. A fault, a blemish.
Man, by the very fact of being man, by possessing consciousness, is, in comparison with the ass or the crab, a diseased animal. Consciousness is a disease.
Miguel de Unamuno
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
Chapter Forty-seven
Chapter Forty-eight
Chapter Forty-nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-one
Chapter Fifty-two
Chapter Fifty-three
Chapter Fifty-four
Chapter Fifty-five
Chapter Fifty-six
Chapter Fifty-seven
Chapter Fifty-eight
Chapter Fifty-nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-one
Epilogue
More fiction in this series
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Chapter One
Detective Inspector Stewart Gardener ran across New Briggate before mounting the steps leading to the Grand Theatre two at a time. At the top he banged on the glass doors with his right hand whilst displaying his warrant card with his left.
They were quickly opened by a man as tall and gangly as a stork, whose eyes were so intense that Gardener thought he was staring into a double-barrelled shotgun.
“DI Gardener.”
“Good grief, that was quick! I only rang a few minutes ago.” The man extended his neck past the entrance and asked where Gardener’s car was.
Gardener glanced behind him. Two constables pulled up and parked in the loading bay. The town centre was pretty quiet: too late for shoppers, too early for the club crowd, and the theatregoers were already inside.
Gardener waved them up the steps, and all three men entered the building. “Can you close and lock the door, please?” the SIO ordered the man holding it. “And then tell me who you are?”
“Paul Price, theatre manager. Where are the others?”
“On their way.” Gardener glanced around the foyer. Members of staff huddled desperately together, some on the ground floor, others on the stairs leading to the circles. The room went quiet as soon as he entered, all eyes turning toward him.
Gardener addressed the young constables, pointing to one of them. “I’d like you to stay here and guard the entrance.” To the other, he said, “You walk all the way around the outside of the building, take a note of all the exits, including the windows.”
“How did you get here so quickly?” asked Price.
The manager had already developed a habit of interrupting Gardener, something he didn’t appreciate. He was annoyed enough.
“Let’s stick to what’s important, Mr Price. I need to see the crime scene. It has to be secured, and I can’t do that standing here.”
Price turned tail and did as he was told, but his expression told Gardener that he was used to giving orders, not taking them.
Gardener was escorted down a long, narrow corridor with cream-coloured walls that smelled of disinfectant and polish. On his right were the dressing rooms; each door was closed. On his left, a notice board displayed information about performance times, future productions, safety regulations, and very probably everything else anyone needed to know about the theatre. To the right of the board was a set of double wooden doors leading to the stage. Behind them, Gardener could hear the frenzy of panicked voices.
As he entered, he was greeted with a mixture of smells: antique leather, make-up, sweat. On his left was a man with a pale complexion standing next to a mixing desk. From his right, a powerful breeze blew into his face. A huge roller shutter door at the back of the building was open. He wasn’t pleased.
“Close that,” Gardener told Price.
He then surveyed the scene before him. The safety curtain had been lowered. Stage left was an old two-seater leather settee with a narrow rug placed in front of it. On top of the table next to it was a decanter of wine with glasses. Two small tables elsewhere on the stage had brassware and candlesticks, all of which had been neatly coated with cobweb spray.
Gardener glanced at the backdrop: an oak-panelled library, displaying shelves crammed with a selection of leather-bound, dusty tomes. Hung at strategic intervals, posters advertised films in which tonight’s guest actor, Leonard White, had had starring roles. A log-effect fire created a comforting ambience. The whole thing reminded him of the old Universal horror films of Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi.
Especially the corpse at the end of the rope.
Chapter Two
“Has anyone touched the body so far?” Gardener asked Price.
“No.”
“So, no one’s checked to see if he’s dead?”
“Looks pretty dead to me,” said Price.
Gardener had to agree with him. “How long has he been there?”
“I don’t know.”
Gardener removed his shoes, left them by the stage doors. From
