Chapter Twenty-eight
When his team arrived, Gardener gave them their instructions. He asked for a tent around the body, as well as an inner cordon on it. He wanted an outer cordon around the scene.
He introduced himself to Mike Sanderson, the PolSA team leader, before he and Reilly paid the priest a visit. Father O’Hanlon was young and efficient, careful but confident with his answers.
He spoke with a southern Irish lilt. Confirming he’d arrived at the church at approximately seven o’clock that morning, he stated he didn’t notice anything at first. He’d used the front entrance, however. From that angle, the body would have been difficult to see.
The cleaner arrived an hour later, informing him of what she’d found. She also noticed a vagrant on the grounds, perched on a low stone wall near the kiosk. Father O’Hanlon had investigated the body before raising the alarm.
Gardener asked a number of routine questions, concentrating on the priest’s daily duties and his whereabouts the previous night. Father O’Hanlon said he left the church around ten o’clock. He hadn’t noticed anything suspicious. He hadn’t inspected the grounds either. The cleaner was unable to add anything constructive. Reilly took down the details, and both detectives returned to the scene.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Back outside, Gardener noticed scene tape stretching around the circumference of the small marquee. He and Sean Reilly stepped inside, stared down at the corpse. Fitz turned and stood to greet them. “We must stop meeting like this.”
“The MO looks the same. Don’t suppose you can give me an estimated time of death?” Gardener asked.
“Difficult to say. Probably around midnight.”
“Are we declaring a Hazchem scene?” Reilly asked.
“Not this time,” Gardener replied. “At least not until it’s safely back with Fitz.”
Gardener rose, stepped outside the marquee, and surveyed the area. Beyond the railings around the grounds of the church, people had come to a standstill, trying to watch what was happening. The PolSA team search was underway, scouring the nearby bushes and the surrounding area. The CSM, Steve Fenton, shouted to Gardener: he’d found something.
As Gardener approached, Fenton held out a syringe. Gardener produced a plastic bag from his inside jacket pocket. Fenton dropped it in.
“Any more?” he asked.
“Not so far.”
Gardener sealed the bag and took it back to Fitz, who was still inside the marquee. He passed it over. “Can you analyse it today?”
“I’ll do my best. It could be tomorrow before I get the results. It may not tell us anything. In fact, it might have nothing to do with the body.”
“I’m well aware of that.”
“I’ll take it back to the lab. There’s nothing more I can do here.” Fitz stood up. “Can I have what’s left of the corpse as soon as you’ve finished?”
“Of course. I won’t be much longer.”
Gardener and Reilly returned their attention to the body. “What’s happening, Sean? A week ago today we found the first. We barely know anything about him. Now we have another, same MO. There are two missing children, another dead. Every avenue we explore is a virtual dead end. If you ask me, someone is carefully controlling the situation.”
“We’ll need to find some answers soon, boss. Those press boys will not be giving us a break. Not now.”
The officers stepped outside. Gardener noticed the gathering journalists still jostling the two uniformed guards. One of the undertakers approached him. “Can we move the body yet, sir?”
“No. I’ll give you a shout when we’ve finished.” Gardener turned to Reilly. “I want another word with the priest.”
The second meeting was fractious. When Gardener asked about any drug-related problems, Father O’Hanlon appeared outraged. He vehemently asserted there had never been a problem in his parish. He’d refused to accept a syringe had been found in the grounds of his church, claiming it had to be connected to the murder.
Chapter Thirty
Outside, the press hounded the uniformed guards. By now, the television cameras had joined them. The medics and the undertakers were unsettled. The two senior officers walked back to the marquee.
Once inside, Gardener produced a fresh pair of gloves. He made a systematic search of the body whilst doing his best to hold his breath. Underneath the Santa suit, the victim had worn a plain black shirt and underpants. All the clothing was stained and smelled disgusting.
“Check the shirt pocket, boss. Something bulging,” said Reilly.
Gardener kept the clothing separated. Reilly extracted the sodden wallet, which squelched as he opened it. Amongst the contents were money, possibly a business card – illegible – and a couple of credit cards. Reilly held up a Visa card and sighed.
Gardener’s heart sank as he read the name. “B Thornwell.”
The Irishman kept the wallet and the cards. Gardener let the clothing fall. The watch around the skeletal wrist was engraved with Thornwell’s name. Gardener stood up.
“Like I said, Sean, control. Someone has a lot to lose, for one reason or another.”
Reilly turned to his superior officer. “Craig Sutton?”
“It’s possible,” replied Gardener. “But it’s all circumstantial.”
“We have enough to talk to him. He has a motive. We have reasonable suspicion.”
“Oh, God.” Gardener held his nose. They stepped outside.
“Looks like our man has something to say,” Reilly smiled.
Gardener spotted an old vagrant standing by the smokers’ kiosk. He had his hands inside the pockets of his aged, tattered duffel coat. He wore jeans, trainers, and a Panama hat. He watched the two detectives curiously.
Although he didn’t want to, Gardener couldn’t help but stare at the man. He noticed the vagrant’s skin was dark and wrinkled, and difficult to put an age to.
The vagrant coughed before speaking. “I assume you’ll want to speak to me now, sir?”
Gardener was astonished. The vagrant’s voice was
