by P. F. Ford
‘Well, Flipton’s a hundred miles away, and the village is about five miles further on.’
‘Before we go charging up there, I’d better speak to Bradshaw. Maybe he can break the ice with the Flipton police and let them know we think we might have found their missing kid from ten years ago. Maybe he can persuade them to let us have their case file.’
Chapter 7
Chief Superintendent Bradshaw had told them the person they needed to speak to was DCI Charlie Lipton, but he was proving to be a hard man to get hold of, and Slater had been holding for a good ten minutes before he heard the sounds of life at the other end of the phone.
‘Hello?’ said a voice at last.
‘DCI Lipton? This is DI Slater.’
‘Yes, Superintendent Bradshaw told me you’d be calling. What can I do for you, Slater? Bradshaw said you’d uncovered a child’s body. What makes you think it’s got anything to do with us?’
‘Our forensic pathology people have told us the body was buried between six and ten years ago. We’ve looked at every unsolved missing child case from that period, and the one that seems to fit the bill is Sonny Randall. He went mi—’
‘I don’t need you to tell me when he went missing, Slater,’ said Lipton, testily. ‘It’s not something I’m ever likely to forget, is it?’
‘Yes, sir, sorry, sir.’
‘So, what have you found?’
‘The child was wearing a pendant. According to the notes I’ve seen, it looks like we might have a match. I was wondering if I was to send you a photograph, would you be able to identify it?’
‘No, I can’t do that,’ said Lipton.
Slater was a bit taken aback by the abruptness of Lipton’s response. He had known there was a good chance Lipton wouldn’t be keen on helping them, and he could understand. No one liked handing a case on to someone else, it was like admitting you had failed. Even so, he was rather disappointed. If he had to go back to Bradshaw and ask him to intervene, it would mean using someone up high to lean on Lipton, and it was unlikely that would lead to cordial relations. The last thing they needed was a turf war. He would have to be careful how he handled this.
‘I can hear you thinking,’ said Lipton’s voice in his ear. ‘You think I’m going to make life difficult for you, don’t you?’
‘Err, well, I do understand,’ said Slater. ‘No one wants to hand a case over to someone else.’
Lipton laughed – a mirthless laugh. ‘Actually, Slater, I can’t tell you about the pendant because we have no photo and only a cursory description. I can assure you I have no problem handing this case over to you. We’re up to our necks here, and I don’t actually have the manpower to reopen that case, so you’re welcome to it. If you give me a couple of hours, I’ll get someone to copy the file and email it to you.’
Slater couldn’t quite believe his luck, but he knew there must be more to this than met the eye, and he wondered what Lipton wasn’t telling him. ‘We want to come up and speak to the parents tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Why don’t we call in and pick the file up?’
'How big's the boot of your car?' asked Lipton.
‘The file's a bit big, is it?’
‘Massive.’
‘Err, can I ask a question, sir?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Is there anything else I should know about this case?’
Lipton laughed more easily this time. ‘There are no flies on you, are there, Slater?’
‘I just get the feeling—’
‘Well, since you’re sharp enough to spot it, and ask,’ said Lipton, ‘I’ll warn you. The problem is the parents, Alan and Diana Randall. They are, shall we say, not the most helpful people I’ve ever had to deal with. Diana was once a DI herself, and she thinks she’s the only one who knows how to run an investigation.’
‘Ah, great.’ Slater heaved a sigh. ‘There’s nothing like an ex-copper to hinder an investigation.’
‘And she will hinder you,’ said Lipton. ‘I always felt she knew more than she was letting on, but I could never prove anything. My advice would be to tread very carefully, but even if you do, I expect she’ll be calling me to complain about you.’
‘Terrific,’ said Slater. ‘I’ll look forward to a bollocking from you.’
Chapter 8
The village of Flipton Dene was one of those idyllic English rural villages with a duck pond, a beautiful old church, a classic country pub, and even a village green with a cricket square in the middle. The properties around the central, original part of the village were suitably ancient, many with thatched roofs. These were interspersed with a few rather grand Georgian houses, a number of Victorian homes, and a splendid old rectory.
At the northern end of the village, the twentieth century had insinuated itself into the surroundings – first with the unwelcome addition of an estate of characterless prefabricated boxes, and then later with some rather attractive homes more in sympathy with the countryside in which they were located. It was at this end of the village, down a neat, tidy lane, that the Randalls lived.
‘Nice house,’ remarked Slater as they pulled up in the lane outside. ‘What did you say this guy does?’
‘Some sort of climate scientist,’ replied Watson. ‘He’s written loads of books, articles, and reports on climate change. He even has his own newspaper column in one of the Sundays.’
‘Nice work if you can get it.’
* * *
‘I’ve been expecting you, please come in,’ said Mr Randall abruptly, stepping back and swinging the door open. He was tall and rangy, with piercing blue eyes. His hair was greying at the temples, but he had a full head of still-dark hair. If anything gave his age away, it was his craggy face, convincing Slater he must be at least sixty. He had been expecting someone younger.
Randall led them through to a large, comfortable lounge and indicated a large settee. ‘Please sit down. My wife will join us in a minute. As you can imagine, this has been a bit of a shock for her after all this time.’
‘Yes, I can understand that,’ said Slater. ‘I’m only sorry we’re not here with good news.’
‘You have to hope for the best,’ said Randall, his face a picture of tragedy. ‘Although having been in the police, Diana knew the statistics. She told me at the end of the first week that we were unlikely to ever see our son again.’
It seemed to Slater that Alan Randall was still living through the agony of losing his son. He almost felt embarrassed to be watching. Then, Diana Randall glided through the door, and Slater and Watson stood up. She was the picture of elegance and oozed composure. If she was upset, she certainly didn’t show it.
She greeted them with a smile. ‘Good morning, sorry to keep you waiting.’
Alan Randall did the introductions and they all shook hands.
‘Do sit down, please,’ said Diana, suddenly all business-like. ‘We all know why you’re here, and I know from my own experience you’d rather be almost anywhere else, so let’s cut to the chase and get this over with.’
Slater was slightly taken aback by her attitude. It didn’t match the impression Alan Randall’s comments had created, but then again, how did anyone face up to a situation like this? Everyone handled it in a different way, and who was he to judge?
‘Okay,’ he said, ‘I’ll try not to prolong this any longer than I have to. The fact is, we’ve found a body, and we believe it may be your son.’
‘How long has this body been in the ground?’
Slater felt rather uncomfortable.
‘Come now, Inspector Slater,’ said Diana. ‘I assume you know I was a DI myself once, so I know how this goes. You don’t have to use tippy-toes with me. I’m just trying to make it easier for all of us.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Slater was irritated with himself now. ‘The forensic pathologist believes he’s been there between six and ten years.’
Alan Randall let out a little gasp, but Diana ignored him. ‘What makes you so sure it’s my son?’ she asked. ‘Surely there can’t be m
uch left if he’s been in there that long.’
‘We’re not one hundred per cent sure it is him,’ admitted Slater, ‘but we’ve managed to salvage some items that we believe are his. There’s this doll.’ He passed the first photograph across to her.
Diana looked down at the photograph, then back up at Slater. ‘This doesn’t prove anything. They must have sold millions of those dolls. Almost every little boy on the planet had one.’
Slater passed her a second photograph. ‘How about these shoes?’
Diana glanced at the photo and then rolled her eyes as she turned back to Slater. ‘It’s a pair of shoes.’
‘Okay,’ said Slater, more patiently than he felt, ‘what about this?’ He handed the photograph of the pendant to her.
She looked down at the photograph just as she had the others, but this time she took a bit longer. Slater watched as her fingers whitened where she gripped the photograph. She swallowed hard as she looked up at him. ‘This doesn’t prove anything.’
‘When you first reported your son missing, you mentioned a St Christopher pendant, and even though you didn’t give a very thorough description, you did say it was a family piece,’ said Watson. ‘We think the pendant we have found matches the description you gave, and your son’s was the only unsolved case where the missing child was wearing a pendant.’
Diana looked at Watson as if she had just crawled from the nearest gutter. ‘If you ever lose a child of your own,’ she snapped, ‘you’ll find it’s not very easy to think clearly about something as trivial as a pendant. I also think I deserve the courtesy of being spoken to by an officer of equal rank, don’t you?’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Slater, bristling. ‘We must have been misinformed. I thought you were no longer in the force.’
‘I left fourteen years ago.’ She sniffed.
‘Which means you don’t actually have a rank,’ said Slater. ‘You’re not being interviewed under caution, and my sergeant is only doing her job, which, as you said earlier, is a job neither of us want to do.’
Diana Randall’s eyes flashed angrily as she glared at Slater for a moment and then she let out a sigh. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, eventually, ‘but this is a very stressful situation for me. Can you imagine what it’s like to have two complete strangers come into your house and tell you they’ve found your son’s body? It would be bad enough, but you’re not even sure, are you?’
‘But the pendant—’
‘There are probably dozens of them about,’ said Diana, her voice beginning to rise. ‘It doesn’t prove anything!’
All the time they had been speaking, Alan Randall had sat to one side, almost as if he didn’t belong there.
‘What about you, Mr Randall?’ asked Slater
‘He’s obviously in shock,’ said Diana, before her husband could speak. ‘Have you no sympathy? He’s only going to say the same as me anyway.’
Slater thought Alan Randall certainly appeared to be at a loss, but he wasn’t convinced shock had anything to do with it. ‘Would you be willing to provide DNA samples?’ he asked. ‘That way we would know for sure.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Diana. ‘I’ve already told you it’s not my son. DNA will only confirm that.’
‘Isn’t that what you want?’
‘No,’ she said, adamantly, raising her voice to screech. ‘It’s what you want. I already know it’s not my son!’
‘Yes, but—’ began Slater, but her screeching voice seemed to have galvanised Alan Randall into life.
‘I think it’s time you left now,’ said Alan Randall, getting to his feet. ‘How dare you come here upsetting my wife like this?’
‘It only takes a minute to get a sample,’ said Slater.
‘Get out of my house, now!’
Chapter 9
‘And that, Watson, is a lesson in how not to handle an interview,’ said Slater as they drove away from the Randall’s house.
‘I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn in there,’ she said.
‘You didn’t, it was a perfectly fair question.’
‘Well, thank you for defending me, but I think the interview went rapidly downhill from there onwards, so I feel it was my fault.’
‘Diana Randall was the reason the interview went downhill,’ said Slater grimly. She obviously thinks she’s something special, when she isn’t.’ He sighed in exasperation. ‘What a way to start my twelve-month probationary period as a DI. I’ve never had an interview go that bad. I made a right pig’s ear of it.’
‘To be fair, sir, I don’t think Mrs Randall had any intention of admitting we’ve found her son. And didn’t you find it a bit strange that Mr Randall hardly said a word? It was almost as if he was there, but he wasn’t, if you see what I mean.’
‘It was a bit weird, wasn’t it? But then so was her attitude. She clearly recognised that pendant, but then denied it could be hers.’
‘Perhaps she just doesn’t want to face the truth and admit her son’s dead,’ suggested Watson.
‘There is another possibility,’ said Slater. ‘Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions, but it’s possible she’s denying this is her son because she knows for sure that she’s right.’
‘But she could only know that if she knew—’
‘Exactly,’ said Slater. ‘She could only know this isn’t her son if she knew for sure where her son actually was.’
‘D’you really think she could have murdered her own son?’ asked Watson.
‘She wouldn’t be the first mother to do it. Suppose she had given up her career and left the force because of him? Maybe she came to resent it so much . . .’
‘What if it was both of them?’
‘Alan Randall doesn’t look as if he’s got it in him, but he knows a lot more than he’s saying, that’s for sure.’
‘They didn’t seem like a happy couple, did they?’ said Watson, thoughtfully.
‘She’s a strange one that’s for sure,’ said Slater. ‘I can’t imagine her as a detective. She’s far too feminine.’
Watson gave him a sideways look. ‘Why, thank you, sir,’ she said frostily. ‘Should I take that as a compliment or an insult?’
‘What?’ Slater realised what he’d said. ‘No. Wait. That didn’t come out right. What I mean is—’
‘I can assure you I can do feminine. I can glam up any time I want, but I wouldn’t be much use at work if I came in wearing a little black dress, killer heels, and worrying I might chip my nail varnish now, would I?’
‘I’m quite sure you can do feminine whenever you want,’ said Slater hastily, ‘but that’s exactly my point. Diana Randall doesn’t look the sort who can un-glam, if you see what I mean. She’d be too worried about her immaculate appearance to want to get her hands dirty at work. Whereas you take the practical approach and dress appropriately for the job.’
He stared straight ahead, avoiding her gaze, hoping he’d done enough to get his point over and put things right. They drove on in silence for a few minutes before he spoke again.
‘Are we good?’ he asked, looking across at her. ‘You know I didn’t mean to offend you, don’t you?’
‘D’you know,’ she said, focusing on the road ahead, ‘you are the strangest boss I have ever worked for.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Well, for a start you ask for my opinion. That’s hard enough to understand. Then you took my side against Diana Randall, and now you’re worried that you might have offended me.’
‘I value your opinion, Watson, because two heads are better than one. And there’s no way I’m going to sit there and let someone speak to you like that woman did. And I am worried I might have offended you because it wasn’t my intention.’
‘But you’re the boss.’
‘That doesn’t make me right all the time, and it certainly doesn’t give me the right to insult you.’
Now Watson was smiling. ‘No offence taken, honestly, boss. If anything, I’m rather flattered to find you have s
uch a high opinion of me. There is one thing I’d like to ask, though?’
‘Go on.’
‘Can we stop somewhere and have a coffee? I’m gasping.’
Now Slater smiled too. ‘You’re driving. Stop wherever you like. I think we’ve earned it.’
* * *
Watson took a long sip of coffee and let out a sigh of satisfaction. She looked over at Slater; she was glad he hadn't taken offence earlier when she'd told him he was the strangest boss she had worked for.
‘So how old do you think Diana Randall is?’ Slater asked her.
She thought for a moment. ‘Mid to late forties. He’s a lot older than her.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ said Slater. ‘So let’s guess at forty-eight. That means if she left the force fourteen years ago she would have been, what, thirty-four years old?’
‘Must have been about that,’ agreed Watson, wondering where Slater was going with this.
‘Yet she was already a DI and had been for four years. She must have been a bit special.’
‘I suppose.’ Watson was thirty-four herself and had worked damned hard to get to DS, so Diana Randall must have been something special.
‘Now, why would someone like that walk away from her career at such a young age? Doesn’t that strike you as a bit odd?’
‘A baby?’
‘There was no sign of anyone young in that house, and no mention of another child. Anyway, they already had the first one and that hadn’t stopped her.’
‘Perhaps she did something that put her in a position where she had to resign.’
‘Like what?’
‘Goodness, I don’t know,’ said Watson. ‘That’s like asking me why the chicken crossed the road. There are so many possibilities.’
‘Hmm,’ was Slater’s only response.
Watson observed him over her coffee cup. ‘Do you think it’s important? Because it’s obviously worrying you.’
‘I have no idea,’ said Slater, ‘but my gut tells me something’s not right, and Norm always says you should never ignore your gut. Although in his case, it would be difficult to ignore.’
