The Kidney Donor (Dave Slater Mystery Novels Book 8)

by P. F. Ford

  ‘Of course I’m glad to see you,’ said Slater. ‘I already said that when I first saw you. But now I can see it in your face. Something’s wrong.’

  ‘Jeez, is it that obvious?’

  ‘You look unhappy, and you look guilty,’ said Slater. ‘So why are you really here, Norm?’

  Norman sighed. He started the car, reversed from the parking space, and headed for the exit ramp.

  ‘You know I have a key to your house,’ said Norman.

  ‘Yeah, of course I do. I gave it to you.’

  ‘And you keep another key in the kitchen drawer.’

  ‘So, what? You lost the spare key?’ asked Slater.

  ‘Oh it’s not lost,’ said Norman. ‘I know exactly where it is.’

  ‘Jesus, Norm,’ said Slater, exasperated. ‘This is like pulling teeth. Will you just tell me what’s wrong?’

  Norman sighed again. They were on the way out of Gatwick now, heading onto the M23 motorway.

  ‘I have this friend,’ he said. ‘He’s in trouble and needed somewhere to stay. Obviously if I had my own place, I’d have moved him in with me, but I’ve only got the room at the pub, and they don’t have any spare rooms, and your house was empty and–’

  ‘You’ve moved someone into my bloody house while I was away?’ asked Slater, aghast. ‘Without asking?’

  ‘How could I ask?’ said Norman, reasonably. ‘You were halfway around the world. Besides, you asked me to keep an eye your house while you were away. This is even better – there’s someone there 24/7 looking after it.’

  ‘I asked you to keep an eye on it and pick up the post now and then, not move a security guard into the place! Who is this bloke anyway? And what does he do? And where does he normally live?’

  ‘Ah, well, he doesn’t exactly do anything.’ Norman shifted in his seat. ‘He sort of doesn’t have a job right now, a bit like you and me.’

  ‘So where’s he from?’

  ‘It’s a bit difficult to say,’ said Norman, uncomfortably.

  Slater turned sideways to look at Norman. ‘Do I detect a certain amount of evasion?’ he asked. ‘Only considering this guy’s a friend, you seem to be having a lot of difficulty answering these questions.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Norman innocently, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the road.

  ‘Alright,’ said Slater. ‘So let’s try an easy one. Where does this guy live when he’s not squatting in my house?’

  ‘He’s not a squatter. I invited him to stay.’

  ‘Yes, but you seem to have forgotten it’s not your house. So where does he normally live?’

  ‘Err, well, up until a couple of weeks ago he was living in a skip by the old printing works.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He’s homeless, alright?’ said Norman. ‘And he’s in some sort of trouble, and I think someone ought to try and help him, but it seems no one gives a damn about people like him, so I thought I’d try. And I was hoping you might help me.’

  ‘Whoa! Wait a minute,’ said Slater. ‘You mean to say I’ve got some tramp living in my house?’

  ‘Can you hear yourself?’ said Norman. ‘This guy’s not a tramp. He’s a damned hero, who’s been fighting for his country, but now he’s finished doing that, he seems to have been discarded like some piece of trash.’

  ‘Since when have you been friends with this guy?’ asked Slater. ‘I thought I knew all your friends. In fact, I thought I was the only friend you had.’

  ‘I met him a few weeks ago. We just got talking and I fed him a few times. He’s a good guy. He’s just down on his luck that’s all.’

  ‘You felt sorry for him so you decided to invite him to come and live in my house?’

  ‘It wasn’t like that,’ said Norman. ‘It’s not that simple. I told you, he’s in trouble and he needed somewhere to hide.’

  ‘What sort of trouble?’

  ‘I’m not sure exactly.’

  ‘Are you sure he’s not just giving you a load of bullshit and taking advantage of your better nature?’

  Now Norman was clearly beginning to get irritated with the whole situation.

  ‘Look, I understand you’re annoyed with me right now, but you also know I’m not a complete idiot, right? If I thought the guy was full of shit, I would never have let him anywhere near your house.’

  ‘What’s he done that he needs to be in hiding?’ asked Slater. ‘He’s not on the run from the police, is he? I mean that would be a just a tad awkward, don’t you think?’

  ‘Will you hold off with the indignation? Jeez. Remind me never to come to you when I need help.’

  For a moment, Slater’s mouth flapped open and closed silently, but only for a moment. ‘Hang on a minute,’ he said. ‘Let’s just have a quick recap of the situation here, so we can understand just why I may appear to be a tad indignant, shall we?’

  Norman looked like he was about to say something and then thought better of it.

  ‘In case you had forgotten, I’ve just been away for three weeks,’ continued Slater, ‘to celebrate my birthday. Now, on my return, the first thing I’m greeted with is the news that there’s a tramp dossing down in my house.’

  ‘For the last time, he’s not a tramp,’ said Norman, testily.

  ‘It wouldn’t matter if he was a bloody prince,’ said Slater, even more testily. ‘The point is, you invited someone to stay at my house while I was away without even asking me first.’ He raised his voice to emphasise the next bit. ‘Even more to the point, I don’t want some stranger living in my house!’

  They drove on in stony silence, each nursing his own grievance against the other. It was Norman who eventually broke the ice.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry. I was sure if you met the guy and spoke to him, you’d want to help him out, but obviously I was wrong. Maybe I don’t know you as well as I thought.’

  The comment had been designed to target Slater’s better nature and it scored a bulls-eye. ‘Now you’re trying to make me sound like a complete arse,’ he said, ‘when you know damned well you’re in the wrong for giving the guy my front door key.’

  Norman nodded his head to acknowledge his guilt. ‘Yeah, I know,’ he said. ‘And I really wouldn’t have done it if I’d had any other choice. But he really is a good guy. I promise you you’ll like him when you meet him. Just don’t call him a tramp, right? He’s just down at the moment and he needs some help. Is that a crime?’

  ‘What his name?’ asked Slater.

  ‘Ryan.’

  ‘Ryan what?’

  ‘It’s just Ryan. I don’t know if that’s his surname or his Christian name.’

  ‘So what trouble is he in?’

  ‘Like I said, I’m not exactly sure,’ admitted Norman. ‘All I know is that his skip was set on fire and another homeless guy got roasted inside it. I get the feeling Ryan thinks he was the target.’

  ‘The police must be involved – what do they say?’

  ‘Yeah, they are involved, but they don’t wanna be. They seem to be happy to accept the fire was an accident or some sort of prank and it was unfortunate there was a guy inside. They’re calling it a tragic accident, but it doesn’t look as if they’re busting a gut to find out who started the fire.’

  ‘But Ryan doesn’t think it was an accident, right?’ asked Slater. ‘Why does he think that?’

  ‘I’m hoping if you talk to him, you can help me find that out,’ said Norman.

  ‘You haven’t forgotten we’re not the police any more, have you, Norm?’

  Norman grinned. ‘Yeah, I know. But that means we don’t have someone above us to push it to one side and pretend it never happened because the victim wasn’t important enough.’

  Slater inclined his head in agreement. ‘Now that’s a fact,’ he said.

  ‘And I know you’re getting curious already,’ added Norman.

  Now Slater was grinning. ‘And that’s another fact,’ he agreed.

  ‘Anyway, last I heard you were out of wo
rk and looking for something to do. I reckon this is right up your street.’

  Slater didn’t think his little house looked any different from the outside but he had severe reservations about what to expect when they got inside. He decided to let Norman lead the way.

  ‘He knows you, so you go in first,’ he suggested, pointing towards the front door.

  He followed Norman down the path, the suitcase rumbling along behind him as he pulled it along. Norman fished the key from his pocket and noisily opened the door.

  ‘Ryan,’ he called out, as he pushed the door open. ‘It’s me, Norm. I’ve got Dave with me. Come and say hello.’

  There was no reply. Slater followed Norman into the house, still wondering what sort of mess he might find waiting for him. Once inside, he took a good look around. The lounge appeared to be spotless, so he headed for the kitchen. Meanwhile, Norman had gone upstairs, still calling Ryan’s name.

  ‘He’s not here,’ said a perplexed Norman a moment later, coming back down the stairs.

  ‘There’s a note in here,’ called Slater, from an immaculately clean kitchen. ‘It’s addressed to you.’

  As Norman came into the kitchen, Slater handed him an envelope.

  ‘Are you sure this isn’t some sort of joke and you’ve had a team of cleaners in here?’ he asked, not quite able to take in just how clean his house was. ‘This really isn’t what I was expecting.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I told you he was good guy,’ said Norman, carefully opening the envelope. ‘You were the one who seemed to think he was some sort of wild animal.’

  He pulled a sheet of paper from the envelope and read it. ‘Crap! He’s gone,’ he said, gloomily, passing the note to Slater. ‘It seems he thinks it wouldn’t be right for you to come home and find some stranger in your house.’

  ‘I’m liking this guy already,’ said Slater. It seemed he and Ryan were on the same page when it came to personal space and privacy.

  He quickly read through the note.

  ‘He didn’t need to do that,’ he said to Norman, guiltily. ‘I know what I said earlier, but he didn’t need to move out.’

  ‘But where the hell’s he gone?’ asked Norman.

  ‘It says here he’ll see you later.’ Slater peered at the note and then at Norman. ‘What’s that? Some sort of date?’

  ‘Err, yeah,’ said Norman, awkwardly. ‘Well, no, not a date exactly. It’s something I started doing when I retired. I just do two or three nights a week.’

  ‘Look, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,’ said Slater. ‘What you do with your evenings is your business.’

  ‘It’s not that I don’t want you to know. I just think I’d rather show you than tell you.’

  ‘This sounds very mysterious. Is it legal?’

  ‘Of course it’s legal, you idiot. Why don’t you get your head down for a few hours and catch up on some of that beauty sleep you’ve obviously missed out on, and I’ll come and pick you up later?’

  ‘Will I like whatever it is I’m going to do?’ asked Slater.

  ‘That’s what I want to find out,’ said Norman. ‘One thing’s for sure, you’ll enjoy the food, it’s amazing. And the whole evening will be an education for both of us. In the meantime, I’m going to see if I can find Ryan. I’ll pick you up around seven.’

  ‘Do I need to get tarted up?’

  ‘Your usual jeans and sweater will be fine,’ said Norman. ‘We’re not going anywhere posh.’

  Norman pulled the car to a halt and switched off the engine. ‘Okay, we’ve arrived. Before we get out of the car, I have a couple of rules I would like you to observe.’

  ‘Like what?’ asked Slater.

  ‘Like you keep an open mind, and don’t go speaking without thinking.’

  Slater thought about protesting, but he knew Norman was right. He did have a tendency to speak his thoughts.

  ‘Okay, I can do that,’ he said, looking out at their surroundings. ‘Where is this place? Is that a church?’

  ‘Just follow and stick with me, and you’ll soon see where we are,’ said Norman, opening the car door. ‘I found this place a while ago. I love it here, and you will if you’ll just open your mind and not rush to judge people.’

  Slater didn’t quite know how to respond to that, so he said nothing and stepped from the car. They were in a car park. There was a large church to the left, in complete darkness, but over to their right was what appeared to be the church hall. The curtains were drawn, but a warm welcoming light blazed from the open doorway. He had to walk quickly to catch up with Norman, who was striding purposefully towards it.

  ‘What is this?’ asked Slater as he caught up with Norman.

  ‘Welcome to St Anne’s,’ said Norman as they reached the doorway.

  ‘Why have you brought me here?’ asked Slater, dubiously. ‘You haven’t turned all religious while I’ve been away, have you?’

  ‘I suppose, in a manner of speaking,’ said Norman, ‘but not in the way you think of finding religion. What I’ve done is find something I can do that helps those less fortunate than me and makes me feel good at the same time. Just follow me, and remember, you are not here to piss anyone off.’

  They were in the hall now, and Slater looked around. Long tables and chairs were laid out randomly throughout the room. At the far end was a large serving hatch, with plates piled up on a trolley to one side. He could just make out two people busily working away in the kitchen beyond the hatch. Then he caught the aroma that was drifting across the room, and his stomach began to remind him just how long it had been since he had eaten.

  As he looked around, he realised there were other people in the room, too. A scruffy-looking man with wild hair wearing a tatty old suit was stood to one side, muttering away to himself. On the opposite side, what appeared to be a great coat standing up on its own turned around to reveal a grubby-faced individual who looked three sheets to the wind.

  ‘Do you want me to throw the scruffs out?’ asked Slater, quietly.

  Norman turned and gave him a pitying look.

  ‘Didn’t I tell you not to rush to judge?’ asked Norman. ‘These people aren’t scruffs, they’re our guests.’

  ‘Guests?’ said Slater. ‘They look like vagrants.’

  ‘We don’t call them that,’ said Norman, testily. ‘These people might be homeless, but that doesn’t make them any less human. We all fall from grace sometimes, but some people fall harder than others, and they don’t always have someone to help them get back up.’

  Slater was suitably chastened. ‘Since when have you cared about these people?’

  ‘Since someone pointed out to me that, just a few short years ago, I could have ended up like this myself,’ said Norman.

  ‘It wasn’t that bad, was it?’ asked Slater.

  Norman smiled wistfully. ‘It was a close thing. I was getting pretty desperate, I can tell you. I’d lost the wife I had loved with all my heart, I’d lost my home, I had no friends, no one wanted to even work with me. I’m pretty sure if things hadn’t changed for me, I would have hit rock bottom before much longer. But I got lucky, see? I had a job, and I got offered the chance to make a fresh start. Then I got even luckier and got teamed up with a guy who was prepared to give me a chance and trust me. I’ve never looked back.’

  He turned away from Slater, but not quite quickly enough to hide the glistening in his eyes. He headed across the room towards the kitchen. ‘Come over and join us when you’re ready,’ he called over his shoulder.

  As Slater watched his friend walk easily and comfortably towards the kitchen, he realised he had been the guy Norman was talking about. He had been the one who had been prepared to partner with Norman and give him a chance to resurrect his career and regain his self-respect. He had always known Norman had been at a pretty low point back then, but he had never realised just how low that had been.

  ‘Hey, Franky!’ Norman called across to the greatcoat as he walked. ‘What have I told you about coming he
re drunk?’

  The man in the greatcoat seemed suddenly galvanised and a crooked smile broke out across his face. He raised a hand to acknowledge Norman.

  ‘I’m sorry, Norm,’ he called, cheerfully. ‘It won’t happen again.’

  The scruffy man with the wild hair suddenly moved towards Norman and raised his hand in the air. For a moment, Slater thought he was going to slap his friend, but then he felt foolish as he realised they were simply exchanging high fives. He watched as Norman exchanged greetings with the man, hugged him, and patted him on the back. It was obvious he was totally at home here, and it was equally obvious he was hugely popular, although that didn’t surprise Slater one little bit.

  Slater felt distinctly out of his depth, but he was equally intrigued, so he made his way towards the kitchen area, nodding to the greatcoat and the other man, who watched him with a good degree of suspicion. As he approached the doorway, he slowed down, not sure of what to do next.

  ‘Come on in, Dave,’ called Norman, realising Slater’s uncertainty.

  He walked through the door and into the kitchen. A huge vat of soup bubbled away on the cooker, and he could see the oven was full to bursting point with baked potatoes. An enormous pile of vegetables was visible to one side, awaiting preparation. A man stood at a table, rapidly slicing more vegetables. Slater guessed from the dog collar he was sporting that he must be the local vicar. He had to have been in his late thirties, or early forties, but he had the youthful good looks of a teenager. An attractive young woman was stirring the soup with a huge ladle.

  ‘Chris and Diane, meet my good friend Dave Slater,’ announced Norman as Slater entered the room. ‘Dave, meet my good friends Chris and Diane Moore.’

  The vicar stopped slicing and wiped his hands on the apron he was wearing. He stepped forward and shook hands with Slater.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said. ‘Norman’s told us a lot about you.’

  ‘He has?’ asked Slater, doubtfully.

  The vicar smiled at him, encouragingly. ‘Oh, don’t worry, it’s all been good stuff so far. He must be saving the best bits for later.’