The syringe was fully loaded.
He was as ready as he ever would be. If he was correct in his assumption as to who the driver was, Anthony was up shit creek without a boat, never mind a fucking paddle.
He grabbed the bag and stood up, staring at the industrial unit, wondering what was ahead, and how the hell it was going to finish.
He could only hope.
Chapter Fifty-five
“Here you go, get that down you.” Reilly passed Gardener his tea.
The SIO scrutinised the porcelain cup. “You made this yourself?”
“Well Briggs didn’t, and you can tell by the cup it’s not that crap out of the machine.”
“Well done,” replied Gardener. “Didn’t realise you were house-trained.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“There’s a lot I’d rather not know,” said Gardener.
“You’ll miss me when I’m gone.”
“Maybe.” Gardener laughed. “But not for your tea-making abilities.”
The door to the incident room was open and Gardener noticed members of his team flashing by, carrying documents, holding conversations. Something was happening.
Most of his team slipped quietly into the room, pretty dejected if their expressions were anything to go by. He didn’t much fancy chairing the incident room meeting because they had very little to go on. God knows they needed a break but when and where it would come from he had no idea.
Most of them poured a cuppa and took a seat, spreading folders around, opening chocolate bars. Before anyone said anything, Sergeant David Williams rushed in, waving a file.
“Sir? Need to speak to you.”
“Sounds urgent.”
“It might be.”
All eyes faced the front and all ears were pinned back.
“Just taken a call from a man called Sam Coulthard. He’s a draughtsman, working for a company called Transmech. They have an office on an industrial park in Harrogate.”
At the mention of those magical words, everyone stopped eating.
“Go on,” said Gardener.
“About six weeks ago, Sam and his colleague, Brian Thatcher, noticed a man in military uniform sitting on a bench outside of Transmech, watching the unit at the opposite side of the road, called CDC.”
“What was he doing?” asked Reilly.
“Apparently nothing. He had some dinner with him and a newspaper. Sam Coulthard watched him for quite some time…”
“Alright for some,” said Rawson, “when he’s supposed to be working.”
“Lucky for us he did,” continued Williams. “Anyway, he got up to make some tea and when he came back the man was gone. Same bloke was at the unit yesterday, doing exactly the same thing. He is also at the unit today. For the last week he’s been in and out of there with a white van, loading and unloading gear.”
“What sort of gear?” asked Colin Sharp.
Williams appeared flustered. “I don’t know, and will you shut up while I’m trying to get on with it?”
“Get you,” said Bob Anderson.
“Yeah,” said Thornton, “what’s eating her?”
Williams ignored him. “Anyway, apart from the van there are another five or six vehicles in that compound. One is a white Overfinch. The other is a green Evoque. I asked him for the registrations of all the cars.”
Williams spread his paperwork around on the desk. “It’s definitely them: a Ferrari Diablo, an Audi TT, and a BMW. Registrations all match up and are on the list for the DPA team.”
“Have we finally found them?” asked Reilly.
“Looks like it,” replied Williams.
“At last,” said Gardener. “Address and postcode, please, David.”
“Do you want me to arrange some backup, sir?”
“No need, we’re all going.” Gardener faced his team. “Coffee break over. Grab your coats.”
DCI Briggs walked through the door. “Gardener, Reilly, my office now!”
With that he disappeared.
“What’s eating him?” Gardener asked Reilly.
“No idea, but it must be catching because Williams is in the same mood.”
“What do you want us to do, boss?” asked Rawson.
“Hang fire while we sort this out,” replied Gardener.
Chapter Fifty-six
“Sorry about that,” said Briggs, “but I needed you in here immediately.”
Reilly glanced around, sharply.
“What are you looking for?” Briggs asked him.
“The fire.”
“Sit down, smart arse, I’ve got some stuff here that’s going to make your hair fall out. Did you find out anything in Burley, by the way? Williams told me he’d given you a lead.”
“We know it’s not Alan Braithwaite,” said Gardener.
“Same car but different registration,” added Reilly.
“And he’s been really busy for the past two weeks moving his sister into a care home,” said Gardener. “She has advanced dementia.”
“Sorry to hear that,” said Briggs. “Anyway, given what I’ve just heard, I know it’s not Alan Braithwaite, either.”
“What have you heard?” asked Gardener, glancing at the document Briggs had in front of him, which must have been a hundred pages long.
“My friend from Porton Down finally called me back,” said Briggs. “I explained what our problem was and he went off to check the stocks of this HN-3 stuff.”
“And?” asked Gardener.
“He was pretty bloody cagey when he called back. He wouldn’t exactly admit that anything was missing.”
“What did I tell you?” said Gardener.
“What did he say?” asked Reilly.
“Just that there was a discrepancy and they needed to check it out further.”
“And then arrange their own investigation and that’s the last we’ll hear of it,” added Gardener.
“Not quite,” replied Briggs. “He said he didn’t know too much about the stuff. He knows how dangerous it
