Death Of a Temptress

by P. F. Ford

  “A bit?” said Slater. “It’s like a dustcart!”

  “I’ll have you know that it’s actually very clean. Underneath all that rubbish,” said Norman indignantly.

  “Yeah. Right.” Slater smiled. “Of course it is.”

  He turned and swept some of the rubbish from the back seat onto the floor and placed the report in the cleared space.

  “My report on the case so far,” he said. “I’ll talk you through it in a minute, but read that later in case I miss out any details.”

  “Anyway,” said Norman as he started the car. “As I was saying, we’ve both been crapped on from a great height. But it gets worse because we were both in the same situation, helping to run a surveillance operation we weren’t trained for, helping out a DI from the SCU. Now, I don’t know about you, but I think there’s something very wrong when the SCU can balls up whatever they like with their own incompetence but can then get away with it by blaming the nearest DS from the local nick.”

  He turned to look at Slater.

  “What do you think, Dave? You don’t mind if I call you Dave, do you?”

  “Yes, I think you’re right, and no I don’t mind if you call me Dave,” answered Slater. “And knowing you feel like that makes me think you’re going to like the case I’m on.

  “Out of here and turn right,” he instructed Norman. “So what’s your name then?”

  “Norman,” said Norman, keeping his eyes on the road.

  “No, what’s your Christian name?” said Slater. “I know what your surname is.”

  “Norman,” insisted Norman. “That’s my name, Norman Norman.”

  Slater eyed him suspiciously. Norman glanced quickly his way and then back to the road.

  “It’s a family name,” he said.

  “Seriously?” asked Slater.

  “Seriously,” admitted Norman. “My mum and dad were pretty unimaginative.”

  “What was your Dad’s name?” asked Slater.

  “Norman, obviously,” answered Norman, and there was that infectious smile again, just for the briefest of moments.

  There was an awkward silence, broken only by Slater’s directions, but it didn’t last long. It was Slater who broke it.

  “So tell me, what happened to you?” he asked.

  “I was asked to assist the DI from the Serious Crime Unit on a surveillance operation. Mark Clinton was his name. When it went pear-shaped, I was made the scapegoat and he went on to be promoted. He’s the bloody DCI there now and I got shunted up North where I could ‘rebuild my career’. Where I couldn’t do any harm was more like it.”

  Slater looked across at him sympathetically. He realised how lucky he was that he was still at Tinton with Bob Murray on his side.

  “Take a good look,” said Norman, his voice sad. “If you had been based in London with a boss like mine, this could have been you too. The SCU have far too much influence, especially in London, and I had the misfortune to have a boss who’s in their pocket. I had no chance. You’re lucky because you’re just outside their real sphere of influence, and, even better, you’ve got a boss who’s on your side.”

  “So they really messed up your career, then?” said Slater.

  “Worse than that.” Norman sighed as he pulled into the car park Slater had suggested and eased into a space. “I was just seeing out my time, ready to retire. Me and my missus were going to do all those things we never had time to do because of my job…”

  He seemed to choke on his words, and for a minute or so he just sat staring through the windscreen. Then, with a huge sigh, he started again.

  “You know what it’s like. You always end up working your days off. You get dragged out when the family come round.”

  Slater nodded. Oh yes, he knew all right. That was exactly why he’d never managed to keep a steady girlfriend.

  “The thing is.” Norman sighed again, “She put up with all that. She didn’t mind because she had all her family close by so she was never really lonely. She always said we’d make up for it later. Then the bastards sent me to bloody Newcastle. What choice did I have? It was that or lose my pension, and without the pension we wouldn’t have been able to do all those things…”

  He began to choke up again, and Slater finally saw where this was going. Oh shit!. No wonder this is such a sad man.

  “But she wouldn’t come,” Norman continued. “Wouldn’t come all the way up there where she’d be away from her family. So now I’ve lost her. And she was the one thing that made my life worthwhile. And all because some arsehole called Mark Clinton didn’t have the balls to admit he’d screwed up. He didn’t ruin my career, he ruined my life. Bastard!”

  Slater didn’t know what to say next. He really hadn’t been expecting a story like that. He actually felt rather guilty that he thought he had been hard done by. Talk about other people’s problems putting your own into perspective.

  “I’ve not come across Clinton,” he said. “The problem I had was called DI Jimmy Jones.”

  “Who just happens to be,” said Norman, turning to look at him, “Mark Clinton’s golden boy. He’s obviously taught Jones how to use others to protect his own arse when the fire gets a bit hot, don’t you think? In fact, I’d go as far as to suggest it was Clinton’s idea to hang you out to dry.”

  It was Norman who was first to break free of the rather depressing atmosphere that had enveloped the car.

  “Right,” he said, opening his car door. “That’s enough bitterness for now. Where do we get this decent cup of tea?”

  “Follow me,” said Slater, climbing from the car.

  “And you need to fill me in on this case,” Norman reminded him.

  “As soon as we’ve got a real cup of tea,” replied Slater. “Come on, you’ll like this place.”

  Sophia’s Tea Shop was situated in a little side alley off Tinton High Street. It was owned by Sophia Ingliss, a cool, sophisticated, 50-something lady Slater had a lot of respect for. Ironically, it had been her ex-husband they had been trying to catch in the operation which had led to his current situation.

  In fact, if DI Jimmy Jones from the SCU had got his way, Sophia would have been arrested on some sort of conspiracy charge; but Slater had managed to spirit her away from the action before that happened. It had been a risky thing to do, but by that stage, he’d gone past caring about consequences and had been more concerned with making sure he kept her out of trouble.

  They had been acquaintances before that particular fiasco, as Slater was friends with Sophia’s boyfriend Alfie Bowman, but his actions that night had moved them on to become firm friends.

  During the events of that chaotic night, Slater had been sent a bizarre text from a mobile phone number he hadn’t recognised. It turned out to have been sent by Sophia’s niece Jelena, a stunning young woman Dave Slater thought he would definitely like to get to know a whole lot better than he currently did.

  It would be fair to say he found Jelena rather attractive. In fact, it would be fair to say he found her very, very attractive. He had saved the text message with the intention of sending a reply asking her out, but although he wasn’t usually backwards in coming forwards when it came to the fairer sex, for some reason he had yet to send that reply. He’d thought about it plenty of times over the past couple of weeks but somehow he just couldn’t do it. He didn’t understand why, there was just something different about her. He couldn’t explain it, and it worried him a little.

  Yet here he was walking into the tea shop that she now ran. There was a good chance she would be here and he would have to talk to her, yet he had no qualms about that. How did that work, and what did it mean? Did it mean anything?

  He was roused from these thoughts by the voice of Norman Norman.

  “Earth to Slater, earth to Slater. We appear to have lost contact. Come in, Slater, come in, Slater.”

  Slater looked around. They were outside the shop.

  “Sorry,” he said to Norman. “I was miles away.”

&n
bsp; “You’re telling me,” agreed Norman. “I thought I’d lost you there for a minute.”

  “Long story,” Slater said, sighing. “I’ll tell you about it another time.”

  Norman began to push the door open.

  “Come on. Let’s see if this tea’s as good as you say it is.”

  The tea shop was situated in what might be described as a backwater, and used to be quiet and mostly empty when it was run solely by Sophia. But then long lost niece Jelena had arrived and decided to stay. She had been more than willing to get involved in working in the shop and with her delightful mix of good looks, charm and sense of fun, allied to her keen business brain, things had soon begun to pick up.

  It was now a thriving business. Sophia had been happy to take a back seat and allow Jelena to run the shop. Now they even employed two waitresses, such was the popularity of the place.

  Norman led the way to an empty table in the corner where they sat and studied the menu. After a couple of minutes, one of the waitresses came over to take their orders. Slater was disappointed it wasn’t Jelena, but then realised it was probably a good thing. She would be a distraction and he needed to focus his attention on the job at hand and Norman.

  “Right, Norm,” he said. “This case.”

  “Fire away,” said Norman. “I’m all ears.”

  “According to the report from the original investigation, carried out by your old friends in London, Ruth Thornhill just up and disappeared one day. Over the next few days, she sent some texts to her boyfriend telling him she was sorry but she’d found someone else and run away with him to start a new life. As she was an adult with a mind of her own, and there was no suspicion of foul play, they were happy to conclude that she had run away of her own free will. Case closed.”

  “Seems fair enough,” said Norman.

  “Yeah,” agreed Slater. “If you assume the investigation was thorough. But Ruth has a sister called Beverley. And Beverley is convinced there’s more to it than that. She’s also convinced the original investigation was half-hearted and gave up too easily when they saw those text messages.

  “So Beverley starts to complain and she won’t give up and she won’t go away. Eventually she catches the ear of a lady barrister with some friends in very high places.”

  “Like, how high?”

  “Like home secretary high, and local MP high,” Slater informed him.

  “Ah! People with a bit of clout, then.” Norman smiled. “Don’t tell me, she’s called in some favours.”

  “Exactly. So Tinton were then asked to re-examine the case. I was doing nothing, so I got lumbered. Apparently the Met have okayed it, but I suspect they weren’t given any choice.”

  They both sat back quietly while the waitress delivered their order and then continued.

  “I can assure you they won’t be happy about it,” said Norman. “But then if you’ve spoken to anyone up there you’ve probably found that out already. Feel a bit unwelcome, do you?”

  “More than a bit unwelcome,” agreed Slater. “I seem to be finding out things that they didn’t find, or maybe didn’t want to find.”

  “Oh, go on,” urged Norman. “I’m beginning to like the sound of this.”

  “The girl was leading a double life. She was a dowdy, mousy nobody when she was in Tinton, but she was a high-class hooker up in London.”

  “And her sister didn’t know?”

  “It seems nobody knew. There’s certainly no mention of it in the original report. And she had a flat up there too, a very expensive one. No mention of that in the report either. And when I challenged the DS who wrote the report about it, I got the distinct feeling he knew about it but had hushed it up.”

  Slater could tell he had Norman’s undivided attention now.

  “Isn’t this a job for Professional Standards?”

  “The thing is, it might be someone from there who’s behind the cover-up.”

  “So basically,” summarised Norman, “we’re working on the theory that something may have happened to this girl and that there’s some sort of police cover-up going on.”

  “That’s it more or less, yeah,” agreed Slater.

  “Bloody hell.” Norman whistled. “No wonder you’re so unpopular and unwelcome. I bet they’d love to get shot of you.”

  “Oh, they’ve tried.” Slater smiled, raising his damaged arm. “Some arsehole tried to push me under a bloody bus.”

  “Wow! That is unwelcome. You must be treading on some seriously big toes if they’re prepared to go that far. But are you sure it’s bent coppers behind it?”

  “I’m not really sure of anything right now, if I’m honest,” said Slater. “There seem to be suspects on every corner, but I’ve no idea what it is I’m supposed to suspect them of doing. It’s certainly a weird one, but the fact evidence has been deliberately kept out of a report gives the whole thing a whiff of corruption, so my money’s on the bent copper scenario, don’t you think?”

  “Oh yes, for sure,” agreed Norman.

  “So what do you reckon?” asked Slater. “Are you up for this?”

  “After three years being treated like shit, you offer me a possible opportunity to get my own back on the Met, and you’re asking if I’m up for it? What do you think?” asked Norman. “Of course I’m up for it. I might even rekindle some of my old enthusiasm for the job.”

  He picked up his knife and fork. “Can we eat now? You’ve given me an appetite.”

  “Yes.” Slater laughed. “Of course you can eat now.”

  Slater looked at Norman’s plate.

  “What have you got there anyway?”

  “Salad. It’s healthy. All part of my five a day diet.”

  There was a selection of salads on his plate. There was coleslaw, Florida salad, potato salad and a couple of others Slater wasn’t sure about. Each was blended with a rich mayonnaise sauce.

  “Don’t you think all that mayo rather takes away the benefit of the five a day?” asked Slater.

  “Do you think so?”

  “Norm, that stuff’s heaving with calories! You must know that. If you think that’s healthy eating it’s no wonder you’re not losing any weight. And you’ve got chips. Everyone knows they’re fattening.”

  “But they’re potatoes. Vegetables, right? One of my five a day.”

  “Right.” Slater chuckled, shaking his head. “I think I see the flaw in your so-called healthy eating regime.”

  Norman looked crestfallen, but nevertheless, he managed to plough his way through the plateful of salads. Eventually he sat back, pushed his empty plate away and burped happily. He congratulated Slater on his choice of venue.

  “I’ll definitely come here again,” he said. “And that’s a cracking cup of tea.”

  He smacked his lips happily.

  “So what do you want to do next then, Boss?” he asked.

  “If we’re going to work as partners,” replied Slater, “I need to know how you think. So, what I want to do next is hear what you think we should do next.”

  Norman looked surprised at this. Slater wondered if he had been expecting just to be used as a runner.

  “Look, I know it’s my inquiry,” continued Slater, “and if the shit should hit the fan for any reason, I’m happy to take the blame, but I don’t see you as a junior partner in this team. You’ve got a lot more experience than I have, and you know London far better than I ever will. The way I like to work is to share ideas and agree on the best way forward.”

  “That’s going to take a bit of getting used to,” said Norman, cautiously. “For the last three years I’ve been treated like I just don’t matter. I’d forgotten what it’s like to have my opinion respected.”

  “I’m not saying I’m necessarily going to agree with you,” explained Slater. “But I would like your input. Two heads are better than one, right? Especially when one of those heads is filled with experience and knowledge.”

  Slater knew that a little respect can go a long way when someone’s b
een through the wringer, and Norman’s demeanour appeared to change right before his eyes. It was nothing dramatic, just a tad less defeat and a little more pride, but it was a good start.

  “Coo. You’re actually serious, aren’t you?” said Norman with a smile. “Right then, here’s what I think we should do next…”

  As Norman and Slater huddled over the table discussing the way forward for their inquiry, the waitress came to clear their table. She wasn’t the same waitress who had taken their orders. This one was much more petite, and very attractive. Her long dark hair had been piled up on her head and two chopsticks appeared to have speared it into place, leaving just a wisp of hair, here and there, spilling loose.

  “You enjoy meal, yes?” she asked in heavily accented English, as she began gathering their plates.

  Slater knew that voice. He looked around.

  “Oh. Jelena. Hi,” he said.

  “I thought was you,” she smiled, her beautiful dark eyes threatening to swallow him up. “Have not seen for long time. You are okay?” Then she noticed his wrist. “Oh my goodness, what happen to your arm?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing bad. Just a little accident at work,” he replied, embarrassed. “Apart from that I’ve been working hard but I’m fine. How about you?”

  “Keep very busy here,” she replied, “But that is good thing, yes? Better busy than no work, huh? And who is this?” She smiled at Norman.

  “This is DS Norman. We call him Norm. He’s going to be working with me for a while.”

  “Ah. Please to meet you DS Norman.” She smiled again. “I think I prefer Norm. Is nice name, yes?”

  She had finished gathering up the plates now and she turned back to Slater, balancing the plates on her arm.

  “Did you lose phone number? I thought perhaps you call.” She looked disappointed and Slater felt guilty. Why hadn’t he called her?

  “It all got a bit complicated at work after that night,” he explained. “I got into a bit of trouble.”

  “Because of Aunt Sophia?” she asked, sounding concerned.

  “Oh no, I was in trouble before that.”

  “Because of Alfie and me?”