by P. F. Ford
Chapter 37
‘It appears Bradshaw has been pulling strings in the background. Lipton is sending Alan Randall down here,’ said Slater as he finished his call and slipped his mobile phone into his pocket.
‘That’ll make life easier,’ said Watson, as she eased the car into a vacant space close to Ramlinstoke Police Station.
‘But it’s not making us very popular with Randall’s solicitor,’ said Slater. ‘Apparently he’s filing a complaint about the way we’re treating his client, and he intends to get his client released forthwith.’
‘Ah,’ said Watson, ‘that’s not so good.’
‘Yeah, well, Bradshaw doesn’t seem to be unduly concerned. He suggested we just carry on regardless, and he’ll deal with the shit when it actually hits the fan. Does that sound about right?’
‘Yes, he’s not fazed by much,’ said Watson. ‘This wouldn’t be the first time we’ve ruffled a few feathers.’
‘Shake the tree and let’s see what falls out,’ said Slater with a wry smile. ‘It works for me!’
They climbed from the car and made the short walk into the reception area at Ramlinstoke Police Station. A desk sergeant was perched on a stool behind the counter, studiously ignoring them. Watson marched over and flashed her warrant card. He managed a cursory glance. ‘I’m DS Brearley,’ she announced. ‘We’d like to have a few words with DS Colin Norton.’
The sergeant was unimpressed. ‘And why would you want to talk to him?’
‘He’s been helping us with an inquiry,’ explained Watson.
‘Oh, so you’re the mob over at Trillington, are you? I’m not sure I should be helping you lot.’
‘And why’s that?’
‘Apparently we’re not good enough to investigate a case right here on our own doorstep, so I doubt—’
‘What’s your name, Sergeant?’ snapped Slater.
‘Smith.’
‘Well, listen up, Sergeant Smith, just like you, we don’t get to choose what comes through that front door, we don’t get to pick and choose what cases we get, and just like you, we have to get on with whatever gets thrown at us. I’m sorry if the fact we’ve been given a case on your doorstep offends you, but that’s how it is, so I suggest you deal with it. You’re supposed to be a professional, so why don’t you grow up and try to act like one.’
Smith drew himself up from his seat and looked down his nose at Slater. He stood about six feet four, so he towered over him. ‘And who the hell are you to be telling me what to do?’ he boomed.
Slater slapped his own warrant card down on the counter. ‘Slater, detective inspector,’ he said, quietly.
Smith looked down at the warrant card and then back up to Slater. He swallowed noisily. ‘Oh, right, well, I suppose that’s different then.’
‘I suppose that’s different then, sir,’ corrected Slater. ‘Whatever you might think about us, Sergeant, you will show respect to my rank and to my colleague, who is a fellow police officer trying to do her job, okay?’
‘Yes, sir, of course.’
‘So where is DS Norton?’ asked Watson.
‘You’ll be wasting your time,’ warned Smith.
‘Yes, well that’s going to be our problem, not yours,’ said Watson.
‘You’ll find him at the County Hospital,’ said Smith, ‘in the Intensive Care Unit.’
‘What’s he doing there?’ asked Watson in surprise.
‘Trying to stay alive, I reckon. The poor bugger got run down last night by a hit-and-run driver. He’s in a coma right now.’
‘Oh, shit,’ hissed Slater.
‘Yeah, “Oh shit” is right,’ agreed Smith, with a sad smile. ‘He’s not exactly Mr Popularity around here, but even so, no one would wish that on him.’
‘No, of course not,’ said Slater. ‘Any witnesses?’
‘Just one of our young detectives, DC Pinkley. He was meeting Norton for a drink and a game of darts. But he was a fair distance away when it happened, and the light wasn’t much good.’
‘Have you got a description of the car or driver?’ asked Slater.
‘We’ve got part of the registration number, and I can tell you it was a dark-coloured saloon, but that’s about it. We’ve got everyone out looking for it, but so far there’s no sign.’
‘Give us what you’ve got,’ said Slater. ‘Another two pairs of eyes can’t hurt, unless you’ve got a problem with that.’
‘No, I don’t have a problem with that,’ said Smith as he passed Slater a photocopied sheet of paper. ‘That’s everything we’ve got so far.’
‘Right, well, we’ll keep our eyes open,’ said Slater.
‘Thank you, sir. Can I just apologise for earlier—’
‘I’m not going to make a big deal out of it, Sergeant,’ said Slater. ‘Let’s put it down to stress. When something like this happens to a colleague, it’s bound to upset everyone.’
‘Right, thank you, sir.’
* * *
There were police officers everywhere when Slater and Watson got to the hospital. Slater was in two minds about whether they should leave quietly or risk more hostility by going inside. In the end, he decided it wouldn’t hurt to see if they could find out how Norton was and when they might be able to speak to him.
‘Maybe it’s best if I go up there on my own,’ he said once they had got their bearings. ‘Two strangers are probably going to attract more attention.’
‘Okay,’ said Watson. ‘I’ll have a wander around down here and see if I can learn anything.’
Slater made his way quietly up the two floors to the ICU. There was a uniformed officer outside one of the rooms and another three men in suits huddled in a corner drinking coffee, talking in hushed voices. Slater guessed they must be CID officers. He quietly slipped past them and made his way to the nurses’ station, further along the corridor.
He flashed his warrant card and asked if he could have a quick update on Colin Norton’s condition, but before the nurse could start to tell him, a voice cut in from behind him. ‘That’s all right, nurse, I’m sure you’ve got plenty to do. I can bring him up to speed.’
Slater turned to find a man about his own size standing there, arms folded. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Styles,’ said the man. ‘That looked like a warrant card you showed the nurse, but I don’t recognise you from around here. Can I ask who you are and what you’re doing?’
‘DI Slater.’ He produced his warrant card again. He looked along the corridor and noticed the other two detectives had gone.
DI Styles took Slater’s card and studied it. ‘And what’s your interest in DS Norton?’
Slater could understand where Styles was coming from. He would have been exactly the same. ‘It’s a long story,’ he said.
‘That’s all right,’ said Styles, with a false smile. ‘I’ve got plenty of time.’
‘I’m leading the investigation out at Trillington,’ said Slater.
‘The body in the ditch?’
‘I suppose you’re going to give me a hard time about me working a case on your patch now, are you?’
‘Believe it or not, Slater,’ said Styles, with a broad grin, ‘I’m probably the only one at Ramlinstoke who isn’t pissed off about you being there. The moaning minnies seem to forget we haven’t got enough people to cope with our current caseload without getting lumbered with something from twenty years ago. But what does that have to do with Colin Norton?’
‘Is there somewhere we can get a cup of coffee?’ asked Slater.
‘Good idea,’ said Styles. ‘There’s a cafeteria one floor down. Follow me.’
* * *
It was good half hour before Slater got back to his car and the waiting Watson. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said as he climbed into the car. ‘I got caught by the guy leading the investigation, DI Styles. He wanted to know why we wanted to speak to Norton, and why we’ve put out an alert for Diana Randall, so I had to let him into a bit of our case, but at least I got some information back in return
. It turns out Colin Norton has sustained—
‘Severe internal injuries and multiple fractures, including a fractured skull,’ finished Watson. ‘And now he’s in a coma.’
‘How did you find that out?’ asked Slater.
‘The guy he was meeting for a drink, DC Stewart Pinkley. He’s in bits. I found him outside having a cigarette. The poor guy’s only a youngster, and he’s never seen a battered body before last night. He told me he was a good forty or fifty yards away when he saw Norton walking towards him. As Norton started to cross the road, this car suddenly accelerated down the road from behind him and just drove straight through him as if he wasn’t there.’
‘Did he think it was deliberate or an accident?’
‘Deliberate. He says he’s quite sure the car had been there for a few minutes, and the driver didn’t start the engine until Norton had passed it.’
‘So, whoever was driving was waiting for him?’
‘That’s what Pinkley reckons.’
‘Male or female driver?’
‘Too dark to see.’
‘What about the colour of the car?’ asked Slater. ‘Is he sure it was blue?’
‘I made sure to ask him that,’ said Watson. ‘He says it could have been black, or even dark green, but he was more focused on trying to help Norton than studying the car.’
‘Styles wanted to know if we thought Diana Randall had run down Colin Norton.’
‘What did you tell him?’
‘There was no point in denying it’s a possibility,’ said Slater, gloomily. ‘Styles is no fool. He would have worked it out for himself soon enough.’
‘So now we’re all looking for the same fugitive,’ said Watson. ‘I suppose at least that improves the chances of finding her.’
‘Yeah, but it also means they’re going to get first dibs at questioning her when she’s found. And as their case is current, and it’s their police station, I suspect we’ll have a long wait, so we’d best make sure we find out what we can from Alan Randall when he gets here.’
‘When’s that?’ asked Watson.
‘I’m told around three this afternoon, so while we’re waiting, why don’t we go and see Ted Rivers again? Maybe he can recall something that might help us.’
Chapter 38
‘They both denied they were having an affair, of course,’ Slater told Ted Rivers. ‘Norton claimed there are still blind spots where you can lose radio contact even today.’
‘Well, you didn’t think they were going to admit it, did you?’ asked Rivers.
‘I was wondering if there was anything else you can remember that might help us,’ said Slater.
‘Such as?’
‘Anything you can tell us about the last few weeks she was at Ramlinstoke? What frame of mind she was in?’
‘I’ll tell you one thing,’ said Rivers. ‘She didn’t seem all that happy for someone who had landed a job like that at such a young age.’
‘You mean she was having second thoughts?’ asked Slater.
‘Or maybe she just couldn’t wait to start her new job and didn’t want to be there any more,’ suggested Watson.
‘I don’t think it was either of those,’ said Rivers. ‘She seemed sort of distracted, like she had some big decision on her mind.’
‘Getting cold feet at the last minute isn’t that unusual,’ said Slater. ‘She was still young, and it was big change coming her way.’
‘Oh, this wasn’t just at the last minute,’ said Rivers. ‘She was like it all summer up until the time she left.’
Watson gave Slater a look that suggested she had just solved the last clue of the Times crossword, but if so, he thought she was way ahead of him. ‘What about the week she left?’ he asked. ‘I take it there was a bit of a party?’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ recalled Rivers. ‘She came back for her party. I remember now, she had some leave in between jobs and she arranged her leaving party so she wouldn’t have to worry about getting up for work next day.’
‘When would that have been?’ asked Slater.
Rivers looked at Slater with an amused glint in his eye. ‘You don’t seriously expect me to remember exact dates, do you? It was years ago! I know she finished on a Friday, and the party was the following Friday.’
‘And she drove all the way back home after a party?’ asked Slater. ‘I didn’t have her down as a non-drinker.’
‘Oh, she can drink all right,’ said Rivers. ‘Whether she drove home that night, I don’t know. Perhaps she booked a hotel room so she wouldn’t have to drive home. Now I’m talking about it, I’m sure I remember her and Norton did the disappearing thing that night too, only this time they never reappeared. If she was booked into a hotel somewhere, maybe she took him back there.’
* * *
‘What was that look you gave me in there?’ asked Slater as soon as they were back in the car.
‘What look?’ asked Watson, innocently.
‘The one that said you know something I don’t.’
‘Oh, that look. Well, she had an abortion in March that year, yes? It might have seemed a good idea at the time, but what if she then had second thoughts? Maybe she found her hormones were telling her that actually she wanted that baby more than she wanted the promotion. She wouldn’t be the first woman to regret having an abortion.’
Slater smiled his appreciation for Watson’s thinking. ‘That would explain why Rivers thought she was preoccupied,’ he said. ‘And if she was feeling really desperate, maybe she approached someone who could provide what she wanted.’
‘It certainly fits the theory,’ agreed Watson.
‘What date did she finish at Ramlinstoke? Was it 15 October?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘So the party would have been on 22 October?'
Watson looked his way and they exchanged a look. ‘The same date Kylie was run down.’
‘Exactly,’ said Slater. ‘Come on, let’s go and see if Alan Randall’s back yet. I think we have some questions for him.’
Chapter 39
The first thing Slater and Watson saw as they pushed their way through the front doors into Ramlinstoke Police Station was Sergeant Smith perched on his usual stool behind the counter. They might have called a truce last time they met, but the smirk on Smith’s face told Slater he knew something they weren’t going to be happy about.
‘Afternoon, Sergeant Smith,’ said Slater. ‘We’re expecting a prisoner to be delivered here for questioning this afternoon. Can you tell us if he’s arrived yet?’
‘Afternoon, sir,’ said Smith as he picked up a clipboard from his desk and made a big deal of looking through the notes on it. ‘Oh yes, Alan Randall, is that him?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘He’s in interview room two,’ said Smith, his grin widening. ‘DI Styles is with him at the moment. He left instructions for you to wait here until he’s finished, and then he’ll come and find you.’
Slater was beside himself. ‘But he’s our bloody suspect,’ he snapped.
‘Yes, sir,’ agreed Smith, ‘but I think Mr Styles feels our hit-and-run case involving one of our own officers, who’s still just about alive, takes priority over your old skeletons.’
‘Oh for God’s sake,’ said Slater, in frustration, his face beginning to redden. Watson could see trouble ahead if she didn’t do something.
‘As you told me yourself, sir,’ continued Smith, ‘that’s how it is, so I suggest—’
‘I wouldn’t finish that sentence, Sergeant,’ interrupted Watson. ‘You might get away with being smug, but I wouldn’t push your luck too far. There is a limit and, right now, you’re in grave danger of overstepping it.’
Smith turned his grin on Watson, but it faded as he took in the look on her face. The threat was real.
‘Tell DI Styles we’re in the canteen,’ said Watson. ‘We’ll have a coffee while we wait.’
She took Slater’s arm and directed him away from the counter. ‘Come on, sir
. If we make a fuss they’ll only stall us even longer.’
* * *
Half an hour later, Slater was still brooding when the chair next to him was pulled back and DI Styles sat down next to him. He glared at Styles, who raised his hands in a placatory gesture. ‘Look, I know you’re pissed off,’ he said, ‘but I’ve got an officer in intensive care. As far as I’m concerned, that’s more important than two skeletons you found in a ditch a few miles away. If the roles were reversed, you would have done exactly the same, and I’d be the one who was pissed off. I know it, and you know it.’
Slater sighed. It was frustrating, but he knew Styles was right, and he knew there was no point in arguing about it. What was done was done. ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right,’ he said. ‘It’s just that we’re so close, you know?’
‘Well, he’s all yours now,’ said Styles. ‘We’ve checked his car against Pinkley’s description and it fits the bill. He’s also admitted she has the car, although he claims he has no idea where she is. So she’s my main suspect in the hit-and-run.’
‘We think she could be responsible for a lot more than that,’ said Slater.
‘Any idea why she’d want to run him down?’
‘Twenty years ago, they were lovers. We think it’s got something to do with that,’ said Slater, vaguely.
‘Well, if she’s still in the area, it’ll be a lot easier to find her with our resources than just the two of you,’ said Styles. ‘So why don’t you share what you know?’
‘It’s what we suspect we know rather than what we actually know,’ said Slater. ‘That’s why I need to speak to Alan Randall. Rather than me sitting here talking to you, why don’t you observe our interview?’
* * *
Alan Randall had looked rough the last time Slater had seen him, but he looked a whole lot rougher now. Unshaven and unkempt, there was an air of desperation about him, but at least now his solicitor had caught up with him.
