“It’s not your fault. So don’t feel guilty... That’s my job.”
He managed a half smile and she responded.
“I don’t want to make you unhappy, Tony. Not after you’ve been so good to me.”
“You don’t.”
“Good. Because I’ve been thinking about what you said to me. And you’re right. I do want to make a change.”
Tony said nothing, unsure where this was going.
“If you can get me on to the right programs, to get off the drugs, then I’ll do them. I don’t want to go back on the streets. Ever.”
“Of course. We’ll do everything we can to help.”
“You’re a good man, Tony.”
Tony laughed.
“I’m very far from that.”
“People get hurt, Tony. That’s the way life is. Doesn’t make you bad. So don’t go beating yourself up. You and I... we’ll have what we’ll have and then you can go back to your wife, no problem. I won’t hold on to you, I promise.”
Tony nodded, but not with any sense of satisfaction or relief. Was that what he wanted? A return to normality?
“Unless you want me to, of course,” she continued with a smile. “But it’s up to you. I’ve got nothing; you’ve got everything. If I were you, I’d do the smart thing and go back to your wife.”
They lapsed into silence, staring once more at the odd cracks in the ceiling. A new future was being offered to him. It was completely insane, of course, and yet strangely made sense. But would he have the courage to seize it?
91
DC Grounds stood and stared. He had never seen anything quite like it. It was utter carnage.
Anton Gardiner had proved an elusive figure in death, as he had been in life—he had liked to move base constantly to keep the police and his competitors guessing. He hadn’t owned any property, preferring short-term rentals, so that if he’d had to vanish suddenly, he would not have been left out of pocket. And in the end this had provided DS Bridges and his team with the breakthrough they needed. Anton Gardiner had dealt only in cash, hadn’t liked the trail that checks and credit cards left, so a few hours hammering the phones, pressuring landlords into giving up the details of anyone who’d paid in cash for a short rental in the past twelve months—who might match Anton’s description—had eventually yielded a result.
The landlord had been only too happy to help, opening up the basement flat on Castle Road for their inspection. But he was as shocked by what greeted them as Bridges was. Chairs were smashed, tables turned over, the only bed lay upside down on the floor, a shredded mattress lying on top of it—it was as if someone had declared war on the flat and shown it no mercy.
In the bedroom, beneath the ravaged bed, was a dirty brown stain that spread out in a jagged circle of at least a meter’s diameter. DC Grounds instructed one of his officers to call for an SOC team, but he didn’t need anyone else to tell him it was dried blood. Someone had bled out in this dingy room.
The stained patch of carpet was one of the few areas that hadn’t been turned over. Even here, in this tiny room, the wardrobe had been smashed up, the corners of the carpet lifted. Scanning the other rooms in the flat, DS Bridges digested these developments. Two things were abundantly clear. First, someone—probably Gardiner—had been attacked and killed here. And second, someone had been looking for something.
But what was it? And why were they prepared to kill to get it?
92
“Are you absolutely sure?”
Helen was aware that she had raised her voice—several heads had popped up in the incident room—so she continued the conversation more quietly, pushing shut her office door.
“One hundred percent,” said the voice on the other end of the phone. It belonged to Meredith Walker, chief forensics officer at Southampton Central. “We compared the DNA from the saliva on Gareth Hill’s face with the DNA harvested from the two sources of blood on Anton Gardiner’s body. There’s no match. If the blood under Gardiner’s fingernails is that of his killer, then he was killed by somebody else.”
“Not by Angel?”
“Doesn’t look that way. We’re running it through the database to see if we can get a match. I’ll let you know as soon as I have anything.”
Helen ended the call. Once again this case had taken a lurch sideways. Whenever they seemed to get close to Angel, she drifted away again. Marching out of her office, Helen called Charlie over. Her news was hardly better—they were still no nearer to unmasking the other Bitchfest forum users. Which meant there was only one avenue to explore.
“Ask Sanderson to take over the search for now and come with me,” Helen said to Charlie. “You and I have got a date with a liar.”
