“Fitz!”
“What?”
“Can we stick to the point? I’ve got Briggs breathing down my neck. I need facts.”
The opera CD finished. Fitz pressed the play button again. He gave Gardener an expression of disappointment. Fitz loved nothing more than to share his encyclopaedic knowledge.
“I’m not convinced it’s a straightforward poison. I’m not aware of anything on the market that’s capable of destroying a body.” Fitz paused. “Matthew Stapleton is researching poisons and their effects for me. The only speculation I’m prepared to make is the injection into the jugular. I’ve studied it at length. From the angle and the position of the puncture wound, I’d say your killer is left-handed.”
Gardener considered the possibilities of such an action.
“How do you manage to inject a person in the neck? It’s not as if they’re going to stand there and cooperate, is it?”
“Not unless your assailant is extremely powerful, or heavy. Or very, very quick.”
Craig Sutton entered the detective’s mind. He met the requirement of being strong enough. But was he left-handed? Did he have any medical knowledge?
“Even so...” Gardener stopped, another train of thought distracting him. Sutton was a known drug dealer.
“What?” Fitz asked.
“An easy way to get someone to cooperate would be to drug them, yes? If they’re almost out of it, you can do anything you want to them.”
Gardener left Fitz thinking about his statement. On his way out, he heard the pathologist mumble something about time and accuracy.
Chapter Twenty-four
Gardener was staring into the window of the Leeds United supporters shop in The Merrion Centre. His mind wasn’t on the reason he was here – to try and find a Christmas present for Chris.
Football was a world away from when he was young. It was all about money now. The prices they charged for season tickets were horrendous: add that to what he could see here, and it soon reached extortion. He’d heard recently that there were different levels of membership and even if you were a Gold member it didn’t guarantee tickets.
A voice from behind distracted him. “Stewart?”
He turned. “Jacqueline. Nice to see you. What are you doing here?”
“Same as you, I suspect. Christmas shopping. It’s amazing how it creeps up on you.”
She paused, staring at his cheek. “What have you done to your face?”
“It’s nothing, really,” he replied, touching it. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“You look tired. Is everything all right?”
Gardener smiled. “Just a few sleepless nights.”
He was a little self-conscious and she must have picked up on it.
“I was about to have a coffee. Please say you’ll join me.”
He checked his watch. “I shouldn’t, but I will.”
“Good!”
She led him out of the building to a small, cosy café opposite a bookshop at the edge of an arcade. Despite being December, the weather was mild. She suggested they sit outside. Gardener agreed. Jacqueline went inside, emerging shortly afterwards with a latte for herself and a decaf for him.
The atmosphere in the arcade was tranquil. A few people browsed in the bookshop. A couple of Japanese tourists stared eagerly into the window of the camera shop next door.
As she sat, they both leaned forward, went to speak at the same time, then leaned back and stopped, also in unison. They shared an awkward laugh of embarrassment in an effort to disguise their discomfort.
“You first,” said Jacqueline.
“Not at all, ladies before gentlemen, and all that,” Gardener replied.
“I was going to ask you what you’d been buying?”
“I was about to ask you the same.” He laughed again. “I’m struggling to buy a Christmas present for Chris. He loves his football. He’s hoping to play for the school. Anyway, I’ve managed to find a copy of the new FIFA game for his Xbox.” Gardener paused, taking a sip of coffee. “What about you?”
“Trying to choose something for my aunt. It’s not easy to buy for the person who has everything.”
“Tell me about it. I have the same problem with my dad.” He took another sip of coffee, then stopped to observe the brew. “This coffee is good. It’s not something I usually drink. Anyway, you’re spending Christmas with your aunt. Bet you’re looking forward to it.”
Her expression changed. “There’s a lot to do before then.”
He wondered about her defensive answer. In order to break the tension, he glanced at a young couple emerging from the bookshop, holding hands, gazing intently at each other – unaware of everyone else around them.
“Are you doing anything tomorrow night?” she asked him.
Gardener hesitated. “I’ve nothing planned, no, and I’m not on call.”
“How would you like to join me for a meal… at my place?”
The question took him unawares but he answered suddenly, without further thought. “I’d love to. What time?”
He noticed another pause from her before she answered. “Eight o’clock?”
“Fine. I’ll bring the wine,” said Gardener, slipping into the spirit. “You do drink wine, don’t you?”
“Of course I do.”
“Any preference?”
“I’ll leave it to you. Lidl have a pretty good range: reasonably priced.”
Sarah came into his mind and his insides turned at the thought of what he was doing. But it didn’t stop him.
“Okay. Eight o’clock it is.” He checked his watch again, then finished his coffee. “I’m really sorry, but I have to go. Cases don’t solve themselves. I’ll see you tomorrow at eight.”
“It’s a date,” replied Jacqueline.
Chapter Twenty-five
An elderly gentleman dressed in a Santa Claus suit staggered drunk through the centre of Leeds, blissfully unaware of the freezing cold wind.
He negotiated crossing The Headrow in a disorganized series of blunders, swaying as though at sea, narrowly missing traffic.
