Gardener put the mobile in his pocket. Two hundred and fifty pounds was a bit steep. Still, he could always dream. He rubbed his hands together, blowing into them as a cold wind encircled him. The huge glass building enlightened a darkened sky, reviving memories of his own schooldays.
As he entered the reception, he noticed the hushed atmosphere. He passed two teachers in the corridors leading to the sports area. The nearer his approach to the gym, the more he could hear voices. As he reached the changing rooms, Chris’s friend Tommo came charging out, kit bag slung over his shoulder, his hair still wet from the shower.
“Tommo! How are you?”
The boy’s expression was one of surprise. “Mister Gardener!”
Gardener detected something odd about the youth. He was normally bright and cheerful.
Today, he seemed defensive. Alarm bells started to ring in Gardener’s head. “Tommo, where’s Chris?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you mean you don’t know where he is at the moment? Or you don’t know where he is at all?”
“At all, Mister Gardener.”
Ice water surged around Gardener’s veins. He knew Tommo well enough to know the lad appreciated a joke, but he was sensible enough to realize where to draw the line. Tommo’s expression had transformed into genuine concern.
“When did you last see him?”
“Dinnertime. He said he was going to get some chips.”
“And you haven’t seen him since?”
“No. But we were in different parts of the school this afternoon. I said I’d see him at football.”
Gardener felt nauseous. There was probably a logical explanation. Maybe Chris had changed his mind, gone straight home. His son should be here, though. Chris loved football. He wanted to play today. Images of Warthead burned into his brain, unbidden.
“Where’s the sports master?”
“In the gym.” Tommo nodded his head toward it.
“I’ll catch you later, Tommo.” Gardener ran down the hall. He found Raglan and a couple of pupils cleaning up. Raglan was short but broad, with a ruddy complexion. He had powerful arms and legs, and retained a military posture. Gardener had always felt that the man couldn’t accept the fact he was no longer in the Army and refused to allow his authority to be flouted. He’d often heard reports of Raglan barking at the boys for little or no reason.
Raglan spotted Gardener on his determined approach. “Gardener! What brings you here?” That was another thing Gardener didn’t like. Raglan never used a title, only a surname.
“My son,” he replied.
“Haven’t seen him.”
“When did you last see him?”
“Can’t remember. Saw him around the school this morning. Reminded him about the football. If he can’t be bothered to show up for the game, I don’t see why I should waste my time chasing him. Good spell in the army wouldn’t do that lad any harm.”
Gardener flipped, and moved so fast he frightened even himself. Using his forearm, he pinned Raglan against the gym wall. “Don’t you read the newspapers, you pompous prick?” he growled.
Raglan was flustered, surprised by the attack. “Take your bloody hands off me, Gardener!” Although Raglan had been military trained, he struggled to break the policeman’s grip.
The two pupils assisting Raglan quickly ran off.
“There are children going missing all the time. One of them from this school, now dead!”
Gardener released Raglan, but his anger remained. “Didn’t you think it was strange that Chris didn’t show up?”
Raglan straightened his clothes. “You know what kids are like. Always changing their minds.”
“In some cases. Not Chris. He’s been going on about football for weeks.”
“It’s not my job to look after your son, Gardener.”
“It is when he’s in school!”
“But he isn’t, is he? And I didn’t know that. I’ve got more important things to do than run around after adolescent youths who are unreliable at the best of times.”
Gardener was aware that the two youths had returned with another teacher. Once again, he grabbed Raglan by his collar, shoving him against the wall.
“Hey, come on, calm down!” shouted the teacher.
Gardener didn’t know his name. Didn’t care.
“You’re not fit to be a teacher.” Gardener’s voice was threateningly calm. “When I find my son, you’d better hope he’s okay. If he isn’t, and if anything’s happened to him, I’ll hold you responsible. Then I’ll come back.”
“Look! I don’t know who you are, but I think you’d better leave before I call the police.”
The other teacher tried to break Gardener’s hold.
He let go of Raglan, pushing past the other teacher.
“I am the police!”
Gardener stalked off, leaving both men open-mouthed.
Chapter Sixty-three
Reilly found Gardener in the park, sitting on the same bench where Sarah had told him she was pregnant. Gardener stared straight ahead, oblivious to his partner’s presence. An early morning frost glistened underneath a pale blue sky graced with few white clouds. In the distance, a white cat stalked a bunch of sparrows. An old couple strolled by hand in hand, casting a wary eye at the tired man with a five o’clock shadow.
At last, Gardener turned to Reilly. “How did you find me?”
“It’s our job to find people. Your dad’s worried sick.”
“I imagine he is.”
“Of course he is. He hasn’t seen you since yesterday, which is bad enough. But his grandson is also missing. How do you think he feels?”
“I know how he feels. He’s worried about his son. And I’m worried about mine. There’s a difference, though, Sean. At least I can take care of myself. My son is only thirteen.”
Gardener’s thoughts drifted back to the early part of the previous evening. After leaving the school, he’d spent some time sitting in the car, trying to put his mind in order. Feeling like an ogre. He’d
