Implant
Gardener and Reilly Crime Series #3

Publication Day: 9th August 2018
Publisher: Urbane Publications
ISBN: 978-1911583981
Pages: 376
Category: Fiction, Genre: Thriller / Crime / Psychological

Bramfield, near Leeds, a sleepy little market town nestled on the borders of West and North Yorkshire. Detectives Stewart Gardener and Sean Reilly discover the naked corpse of Alex Wilson, nailed to the wall of a cellar in his uncle’s hardware store. His lips are sewn together and his body bears only one mark, a fresh scar near his abdomen.

Within forty-eight hours, their investigation results in dead ends, more victims, no suspects and very little in the way of solid evidence. Gardener and Reilly have a problem and a question on their hands: are the residents of Bramfield prepared for one of history’s most sadistic killers, The Tooth Fairy?

Implant is the perfect read for fans of Peter May, Mark Billingham and Peter James.

Amazon / AmazonUK / Foyles / Waterstones

 

5:00 a.m.

Reilly brought the car to a halt outside the station on Park Street, and Gardener jumped out and glanced around.

      Bursley Bridge was a typically elegant, small Yorkshire town, a pleasant mix of residential homes sharing space with business premises. Opposite was a pub called The Station Hotel; to the left, a row of stone cottages, while to the right, an art gallery, a computer repair store, and a model shop.

      As Reilly locked the car, Gardener turned and studied the station. To his right he saw gates leading to the car park. The entrance was to his left, flanked by LNER information boards and a small post box in the wall underneath a window.

      Reilly nodded. “Is that our man?”

      Standing on the steps leading into the station was a man around sixty years of age. He’d lost most of his hair, had a bulbous nose and wore thin wire-rimmed glasses. To his credit, he was dressed in a black business suit, and carried a briefcase and an umbrella. He was overweight, but for all that his posture was erect, militaristic. Judging by the way he went on the attack, so too was his manner.

      “Are you the police?”

      Gardener and Reilly both flashed warrant cards. Before Gardener had a chance to say anything, the man started again.

      “Now look here, I don’t know what you think you’re playing at, but I’m a very busy man. I have two meetings today, one in York, and the other in Leeds, and I’m none too happy about having my sleep disturbed on what appears to be a wild goose chase.”

      “Have you quite finished?” asked Gardener

      “Don’t you take that tone with me, young man.”

      “Who are you?” Gardener demanded.

      “Giles Middleton, General Manager.”

     “Good. Well, from now on Mr. Middleton, my partner and I will do all the talking and you’ll do all the listening-”

      Middleton raised his umbrella and opened his mouth to speak.

      “Don’t interrupt me when I’m talking,” said Gardener, cutting him off. “We’re investigating a crime. We don’t like it any more than you, so the quicker you cooperate, the better for all of us. Have you just arrived, Mr. Middleton?”

      “Yes.”

      “Have you found anything unusual?”

      “No.”

      “Is the station locked at night?”

      “Yes, I see to it myself.” He glanced at his watch, as if to show proof of his irritation.

      “Have you unlocked it now?”

      “Yes.”

      “Then let’s have a look round, shall we?”

      “I don’t know what you expect to find, I run a tight ship here.”

      “Mr. Middleton, I don’t know what to expect, but I doubt very much that what I do find will have any bearing on your record. Unless, of course, I find out you’re involved.”

      “How dare you?” Middleton protested. “I shall speak to your superior.”

      “I’ll give you his number before we leave.”

      All three men went up the steps into the station. On their left was a ticket booth, a frame to stand by, a poster advertising the services and timetables of the trains, and a plaque presented to the residents of the town for opening their doors to evacuated children in World War II. On the right stood a London & North Eastern Railway board with timetables, and more plaques.

      “Where have you been so far, Mr. Middleton?”

      “Only to here.”

      Gardener stepped forward and turned left. On the platform was another window for the ticket office, a waiting room, a weighbridge, a bench, and some fire buckets.

      “This is no slur on you, but I want you to go and sit on that bench near the fire buckets and stay there.”

      “Why?” Middleton demanded.

      “Now, now, Mr. Middleton,” said Reilly, “You’ve been told not to ask questions and to cooperate with us, so the quicker you do that the better. My partner’s a little more polite than I am, so I’ll tell you straight. We’re treating this as a crime scene, so the less distance you cover, the better it will be for us. Go and sit down!”

      Gardener smiled. He and Sean Reilly had worked together for years, and he had come to love the man like a brother; particularly in the way that he dealt with people who seemed unable to grasp the basic necessities.

      Giles Middleton did as he was told, but not without a mumbled protest.

      “Okay, Sean, we’re looking for a needle in a haystack, and we haven’t got long.”

      “In that case, let’s split up. I’ll take the platform across the other side.”

      The Irishman didn’t bother with the footbridge; he jumped down right onto the tracks instead.

      “You ought to be careful, young man,” shouted Giles Middleton.

      Gardener set off down the deserted platform. Despite being quite a few miles outside of Leeds, Bursley Bridge was on the very fringe of North Yorkshire, but still fell within his territory. It was so unusual to see a popular tourist spot like the Bursley Bridge station empty. It was normally full of visitors for steam gala weekends, vintage train days, and summer steam tours.

      He passed a café and a shop. Before reaching the toilets, he saw a huge tiled map of the area. He came across another footbridge and noticed an old red telephone box and some wooden buildings. On the gate to the right of the footbridge were a couple of signs: one marked “Private,” and the other advertising something called Pratt’s Perfection Motor Spirit. God only knew what that was, or more importantly, how old.

      Gardener glanced at his watch. 5:20

      What the hell were they doing here? Who had sent them on such a mission, and why? What was in the cellar underneath the shop at Bramfield? Someone had obviously gone to a lot of trouble to stage  the incident, and at no point did he feel he was wasting his time. But how much time did they really have? And what were they trying to find?

      Maybe nothing. It might all be part of an elaborate plan to keep them out of the way while the real trouble started.

      He thought again about the text message on the phone, and the clue in the word “key.” Where did you start searching for a key in a station as big as Bursley?

      “Boss,” shouted Reilly.

      Gardener stared back across the tracks. His partner was standing in front of a line of four station lockers. “Over here.”

      He noticed Giles Middleton had stood up and was about to walk towards them.

      “Stay put, Mr. Middleton,” shouted Gardener.

      He used the footbridge over the tracks to reach the other side. As he drew level with his partner, he saw a message on the front of the fourth locker. It had obviously been written using a marker pen.

 

Time to play a game

The clock is ticking

But time’s not on your side

And neither am I

What are you waiting for?

 

The British Fantasy Society published Ray Clark’s first work in 1995 – Manitou Man: The World of Graham Masterton, was nominated for both the World and British Fantasy Awards. In 2009, Ray’s short story, Promises To Keep, made the final shortlist for the best short story award from The Tom Howard Foundation. Ray is based in Goole, and has set his Gardener and Reilly crime series in nearby Leeds.

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