Dave Slater Mystery Novels Box Set Three

by P. F. Ford

  'I don't know what you're talking about,' said Bradshaw. 'It's all fantasy. You can't prove any of it. And what does it matter? The world's a better place without the likes of the Shapiros on the streets.'

  'What about Jenny?' snarled Norman. 'What about the poor kid lying in a coma?'

  'That's very unfortunate,' conceded Bradshaw, 'but when these people start to tear each other apart, there are always innocent victims.'

  'That's three murders,' said Norman, 'and possibly a fourth if the kid doesn't recover, and you think that's okay? How do you sleep at night?'

  'Oh, grow up, Norman,' sneered Bradshaw. 'The reason these people flourish is because of people like you who pussyfoot around making sure no one gets hurt.'

  'You really are behind all of this, aren't you?'

  Bradshaw folded his arms and stared at Norman. 'Rubbish,' he said. 'You can't prove it, and you know it.'

  Slater had been digging in his pockets. He threw his warrant card at Bradshaw.

  'What this?' asked Bradshaw.

  'I'm out of here,' said Slater, 'and I won't be coming back.'

  'I order you to stay right where you are.'

  'If I stay here much longer, there's going to be another murder,' said Slater, 'only I like to think I'm better than that.' He turned on his heel and marched from the office.

  'Slater, come back here,' called Bradshaw.

  Watson ran after Slater. 'Sir,' she called. 'Sir, wait.'

  He was away down the corridor, and she couldn't tell if he heard her or not, but she wasn't letting him get away that easily, and she rushed after him. It was as he pushed his way through the doors into the car park that she caught up with him. 'Sir, wait, please.'

  He stopped, but didn't turn around, so she ran to stand in front of him.

  'You can't leave like this!'

  Slater sighed and studied his feet for a moment. When he looked up, she could see the tears in his eyes.

  'D'you know,' he said, 'ever since I came to work here, that man has made a point of asking me how Jenny is, what she's up to, what she talks about. I used to think he was passing on what I said on to her parents, but when she told me about the Shapiros, Jenny also told me about her parents. He wasn't reporting back to them. He was just keeping tabs on her. That's one of the reasons why I didn't tell anyone why she left. I figured if Bradshaw didn't know, she might have a chance to get away without him finding out. I didn't know he had a guy on the inside there.'

  'Do you think he really could have arranged her death?' asked Watson.

  'I dunno, Sam. Norm seems to think so, and he's not often wrong.'

  'What are you going to do?'

  'I can't stay here. If I don't kill the man, I certainly won't ever respect him or trust him. You must be able to see that.'

  'Yes, of course I can,' she said. 'It's just . . . I don't know, I suppose I'm just being selfish, but I've really enjoyed working with you. I don't want it to stop.'

  'If it's any consolation, I think you're the best, I really do, but I can't stay here, even for you.'

  'I don't know what I'm going to do,' she said, a small tear beginning to glisten in the corner of one eye.

  'You're going to stay here and keep working,' he said. 'You've worked bloody hard to get where you are, and you'll be a DI before much longer. You don't want to throw all that away, do you?'

  'I suppose not.'

  He reached a hand to her face and gently wiped the tear away with his thumb. He smiled encouragingly. 'You look after yourself, and make sure you keep that bionic knee well oiled, d'you hear me.'

  She nodded.

  'I'd better go before I change my mind and go back in there,' he said.

  'Can I do one thing before you go?'

  'Sure,' he said.

  She stepped forward and kissed him, her lips a gentle, warm, softness on his. 'It wouldn't have been right and proper for me to kiss my boss,' she said as she stepped back, 'but now, if you're not going to be my boss, well . . .'

  She smiled a slightly shy smile, then turned and walked back through the doors, stopping to look through the window and offer a quick wave before she disappeared from view.

  Slater licked his lips, as if he needed to make sure that had really happened, and then headed for his car.

  Chapter 25

  Five minutes later Norman and Darling emerged from the building and crossed the car park. As Darling started her car, Norman's mobile phone started to ring. 'Yeah, Norman,' he called wearily into the phone.

  'It's Steve Casey here. Remember me?'

  'Yeah, of course I remember,' said Norman, 'though I have to say you're not exactly a fond memory. What do you want?'

  'It's the kid in hospital. You've been to visit him a couple of times, so I thought you'd want to know.'

  'Want to know what? Has he come round?'

  'I'm afraid not. It's gone the other way.'

  'You mean he's got worse?'

  'No, I mean he's dead.'

  Norman couldn't quite believe his ears. 'What?'

  'I just got a call from the hospital. They couldn't save him, he died a couple of hours ago.'

  Norman had been trying hard to keep the alarm out of his voice, but now he realised Darling had picked up on it, and the car hadn't moved an inch.

  'What is it?' she asked.

  'I'll call you back in a few minutes,' Norman told Casey and ended the call.

  'Norm, what is it?' she asked again.

  He tossed his phone onto the floor and turned to face her. 'It's Spiderhair,' he said. 'They couldn't save him. The poor kid died a couple of hours ago.'

  At first her face seemed to freeze in a horrible mask of shock, but then the tears came, and as they did they seemed to wash all expression away. Norman reached across and held her to him while she sobbed her heart out.

  'I'm so sorry,' he said, when she had finally calmed down. 'You really liked him, didn't you?'

  'He was a nice kid,' she sobbed. 'Why did anyone need to hurt him?'

  'I know,' said Norman, softly. 'He didn't deserve any of this.'

  'He would have been all on his own when he died,' she wailed. 'Someone should have been there for him. I should have been there!'

  'We didn't know he was going to die,' said Norman.

  'I still should have been there,' she said. 'No one should die like that with nobody to care. I want to go back. I want to try and find his family, or at least make sure he gets a proper funeral.'

  'We'll go back down tomorrow--'

  'No, I want to go right now!' she said.

  'Okay, okay,' he said. 'But let me drive. You're way too upset.'

  'I'm fine.'

  'You are not. I'll only come with you if you let me drive.'

  'That bloody Bradshaw has to pay for this,' she said. 'He can't get away with it.'

  'Yeah, but he didn't actually kill anyone, did he?' said Norman. 'It was Driver that ran the kid down, and he's dead. We can't prove anything.'

  'There must be something we can get him for,' said Darling. 'We've got to get him, Norm.'

  'We'll never prove he killed anyone, and I doubt we can prove he set this all up. He's not denying he knows Driver, and Driver is the only one who knew the truth. C'mon, let's change places and I'll drive.'

  Reluctantly Darling eased her door open and climbed from the car.

  'Can I use your phone?' she asked, as she settled in the passenger seat.

  'Help yourself, it's on the floor down there somewhere.'

  She found the phone and hit redial. 'Casey? It's Naomi Darling.'

  'Oh, I was going to call you.'

  'You were? What for?'

  'I've been thinking about that kid. I'm partly responsible for his death, and I want to do the right thing.'

  'I'm sorry?'

  'It's my fault your friend's death was swept under the carpet, and it's my fault this kid's dead. I never meant things to go that far.'

  'What exactly do you mean, when you say "it's your fault"?'
/>   'It was just meant to be a bit of easy money, you know? Look the other way, and say what I was told to say. I admit I'm lazy, and I've taken the odd backhander before, but I didn't know anyone was going to get hurt.'

  'So what are you going to do?'

  'I'd like to make a statement.'

  'What sort of statement?'

  There was a sigh. 'I was in the middle. I passed messages from Bradshaw to Driver. I could have stopped it. If I had refused to pass the messages on, your friends might still be alive.'

  'You're serious?'

  'I am.'

  'We're on the way there now.'

  'I'm on lates,' said Casey. 'Call me when you get here and I'll come and meet you.'

  Darling ended the call and turned to Norman. 'Casey wants to make a statement about Bradshaw!'

  'Yeah? Is he for real?'

  'He sounds it. He says he was passing information from Bradshaw to Driver. It might not prove murder, but it should be enough to finish his bloody career.'

  'Well, I guess even a small victory would be better than none at all,' said Norman, as he put the car into gear.

  In the middle of the car park he could see Slater was sitting in his car, talking on his mobile phone, so he eased alongside and wound down his window. He watched as Slater ended his phone call, then his window glided smoothly down.

  'Are you okay?' asked Norman.

  'Yeah, I guess so. Jenny didn't deserve that, you know?'

  'Yeah, tell me about it. That bastard organised it, and he thinks he's got away with it.'

  'Bradshaw's a slippery sod,' said Slater. 'He will have covered his tracks. He knows you can't prove he was involved, doesn't he? The only guy who could have proved it was Driver, and he's dead.'

  Norman grinned. 'Yeah, that's what we thought, but we just got a call from Bradshaw's go-between down on the coast. It seems this guy has a conscience. He's offered to make a confession. D'you wanna come?'

  'Yeah, well, good luck with that,' said Slater, starting his car, 'and thanks for the offer, but right now I feel I've had enough of this stuff to last a lifetime.'

  'Are you going home?'

  Slater pursed his lips. 'I dunno.' He wiggled the phone in his hand. 'I was going to, but now I'm thinking I might take a detour on the way.'

  'Anywhere nice?'

  'You might call it the promised land.' Slater winked, put his car into gear, and eased away. Norman stared after him.

  'Where did he say he was going?' asked Darling.

  'I think he said, "the promised land".'

  'What does that mean?'

  'I have no idea.'

  * * *

  <<<<>>>>

  Wrongly Convicted

  © 2018 P. F. Ford

  All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events in this book are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real life counterparts is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Chapter 1

  It was 10 a.m. on Monday morning. Norman Norman was sitting at his desk, staring out of the window at the grey, lifeless day outside. A carefully folded newspaper before him exposed a neglected crossword puzzle with just two clues filled in. This was fast becoming his daily routine, and he was beginning to wonder if maybe his former partner Dave Slater had been correct when he had suggested months ago that they might struggle to find enough work.

  The only jobs he had managed to secure so far were precisely the sort he had promised himself he was never going to take: spying on supposedly errant husbands. On the plus side, he was being paid for his services, and unless someone was to knock on the door and offer to pay him to twiddle his thumbs, he had little choice but to temporarily compromise his principles. But Norman had a dream, and he was sure the work would come. It was just a question of time.

  As if on cue, there was a knock on the door, and it opened just enough for a woman to peer around it. ‘I’m looking for the detectives,’ she said.

  Norman made a point of looking around the room before he answered. ‘I guess that must be me.’ He jumped to his feet, walked across to the door and swung it open.

  ‘Please, come on in,’ he said with a smile. He offered his hand. ‘Norman Norman, at your service.’

  She shook his hand and walked into the office, her eyes nervously darting back and forth.

  ‘There’s only me here,’ he said.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘You look as if you’re expecting someone else to appear.’

  ‘It says “Slater and Norman” on the door.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Norman. ‘Dave Slater’s my partner, but he’s not here right now.’

  ‘Oh.’ Her disappointment was palpable. ‘I was told there would be two of you.’

  ‘He’s out right now, but he’ll be back soon.’

  Slater was actually in Thailand that morning, as he had been for several weeks, but Norman thought sometimes a little white lie was needed here and there, and he was fairly confident Slater would return at some stage.

  ‘Take a seat,’ he said, indicating two armchairs with a small table between them. He followed across the room and lowered himself into the chair opposite hers. The visitor was carrying an impressive shoulder bag, which she placed carefully by the side of her chair before she sank into the soft cushions.

  ‘I didn’t catch your name,’ he said.

  ‘Debbie,’ she said. ‘Debbie Thomas.’

  ‘Okay, Mrs Thomas, how can I help you?’

  ‘Call me Debbie. I stopped being Mrs a long time ago.’

  Norman waited for her to continue, but instead she stared down at her hands. She seemed to have run out of words.

  ‘I don’t want to seem in a rush,’ said Norman, ‘but I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what the problem is.’

  She tried to stand up, but it was a struggle to free herself from the chair, and she didn’t seem to have the energy to fight it. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come. I probably can’t afford you anyway.’

  Norman reached across and placed a restraining hand on her arm. ‘Hold on a minute,’ he said, gently. ‘You must have felt you had good reason to come or you wouldn’t be here.’

  She stopped struggling against the chair, and for the first time, she looked him right in the eye, and he could see the weariness deep within her.

  ‘I don’t know why you came here, Debbie, but I’ve been around long enough to know you need to talk to someone about something. I don’t charge for a first consultation, and I know a thing or two about confidentiality, so now you’re here, why don’t you talk to me?’

  She stared at him, absently biting her lip as she thought.

  ‘If you’d prefer,’ said Norman, ‘I can call my girlfriend, Jane. She’s great at handling more delicate stuff.’

  ‘No, it’s not like that,’ she said. ‘It’s not about me. It’s about my brother.’

  ‘Okay. So, tell me about your brother. What’s his name?

  ‘His name is Steve Harris. He’s been in prison for ten years for something he didn’t do.’

  ‘What is he supposed to have done?’

  ‘He was accused of murdering his wife, but he didn’t do it.’

  Norman wasn’t expecting an answer quite like that, but he was professional enough not to show it. ‘You seem very sure of that,’ was all he said.

  ‘He couldn’t have done it. He just wouldn’t, and anyway, he was with another woman a hundred miles away from where she died.’

  ‘That’s quite an alibi. So how come he got convicted?’

  ‘Because the other woman denied she was with him, and someone said they saw his car near the scene of the crime.’

  ‘Ah, right,’ said Norma
n. ‘I can see how that would complicate things. Do you know why she denied it?’

  ‘She lied so her husband wouldn’t find out where she had been.’

  ‘Surely the police must have had other evidence to build a case?’

  ‘It was all circumstantial. The thing is, Steve’s marriage was in trouble. Everyone knew. There had been more than one big argument in public. I believe that counted against Steve so much that he was the only real suspect.’

  ‘And his car was seen near the scene,’ Norman reminded her. ‘That’s pretty incriminating, and it makes his alibi pretty hard to believe even if the other woman hadn’t denied it.’

  ‘You sound just like them,’ she snapped. ‘Steve was the husband – they were having problems. Therefore, he must be guilty.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant, although you need to understand that husbands are often the first suspects because, statistically, wives get murdered by their husbands more often than by strangers. And if his car was nearby, and he had no alibi ...’

  ‘But what if his alibi had come forward to say she lied all those years ago? You’d think that would make a difference, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘She’s come forward? It’s a bit late now, but it should be worth an appeal at least,’ said Norman.

  Debbie shook her head. ‘It’s not quite like that. She didn’t come forward. She had cancer and confessed to a priest before she died.’

  ‘She’s dead?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. The priest came and told me.’

  ‘Isn’t a confession supposed to be confidential?’

  ‘He said some things couldn’t stay confidential, especially when a man is wrongfully in prison.’

  Norman puffed out a breath. ‘Has he spoken to the police?’

  ‘He won’t. He says he’s done his duty by speaking to me, but the police say they won’t accept it second-hand from me, and the defence won’t risk an appeal unless they can get the priest in the witness box.’

  ‘And he won’t do it?’

  ‘He’s gone missing. No one knows where he is, or if they do know, they won’t say.’