by P. F. Ford
‘Every one, so far,’ said Brent. ‘Why? D’you think there’s a connection?’
‘We caught a couple of youngsters the other night,’ said Slater. ‘One of them suggested he knew where Norman lived and would like to get his own back.’
‘Jesus,’ said Brent. ‘What is the world coming to? Do you really think they would do this?’
‘I hope not,’ said Slater. ‘But I’m not sure I know what to think about anything anymore. This used to be a quiet little old market town where nothing ever happens. Now look what we’re dealing with.’
Chapter Five
‘Hi, Sandy,’ said Slater, down the phone. ‘It’s me again.’
‘I thought you were going home to get cleaned up,’ said Mollinson.
‘No chance. We’ve got a major incident on our hands now. Norman’s flat was torched. It looks like someone poured petrol through the letterbox and set fire to it. Its lucky Norm was out, or we might have been looking at a murder.’
‘Holy, moley,’ said Mollinson, sounding alarmed. ‘We can’t wait now. I’d better call Murray. I’ll let you know what he says.’
‘Thanks, Sandy. Most of Norm’s neighbours are waiting to get back inside the building. I’ll see if I can talk to some of them. Maybe someone saw something. Oh, and can you get that kid picked up?’
‘What kid? You mean the one you and Norman caught the other night? Surely you don’t think he-’
‘They’ve been using petrol as their accelerant of choice,’ interrupted Slater. ‘The kid we caught promised Norman he knew where he lived. We can’t afford to ignore that.’
‘Okay.’ Mollinson sighed. ‘Whatever you say.’
Slater made his way to the huddle of people waiting to gain access to their flats. There were some worried faces amongst the small crowd and Slater thought it wouldn’t do to make the situation any worse by suggesting Norman had been the victim of an arson attack. But they had a missing officer and time was of the essence. He would have to tread carefully, but he figured it would be okay to ask if anyone had seen Norman earlier that evening.
‘I’m DS Slater, from Tinton CID,’ he said, once he had their attention. ‘I realise you’ve all had a nasty shock, but the fire service tell me you should all be allowed back inside soon. In the meantime, I’d like to ask for your help. I don’t know how many of you are aware, but my colleague DS Norman lives in the flat that caught fire.
‘Fortunately he wasn’t in the flat at the time, but I’ve been unable to contact him and we’re not sure where he is. Did anyone see him earlier this evening?’
There was a lot of head shaking and some negative mumbles but no one seemed to be able to help. Slater was disappointed, but then he knew it had been a long shot. These days most people kept themselves to themselves so he wasn’t really surprised.
He thanked everyone and told them he hoped they wouldn’t have to stay out in the cold for much longer, before heading back towards his own car. He had only gone a few paces when he realised he was being followed.
‘Excuse me, Sergeant,’ called a man’s voice.
Slater turned around to find a man of about 60 following him.
‘You think something has happened to your friend, don’t you?’ asked the man. ‘Was that fire started deliberately?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t discuss that,’ said Slater.
‘I understand,’ said the man. ‘That means yes, but you’d rather we didn’t know. Well, I can promise you, your secret’s safe with me. I won’t tell anyone, but I think I might be able to help you.’
‘You didn’t say so before.’
‘There are at least two people living in these flats who are paranoid,’ the man explained. ‘They won’t be able to sleep for days as it is. If they think someone’s going round setting fire to flats, well, you can imagine, can’t you?’
‘It’s certainly not the sort of thing that would encourage you to sleep easily,’ agreed Slater. ‘How can you help?’
‘I saw your friend go out earlier,’ said the man. ‘It was about seven-thirty. I passed him on the stairs. I’m sure he was going out. He had a denim jacket on.’
‘Did you speak to him?’ asked Slater.
‘Just to say hello,’ said the man. ‘We didn’t really know each other, except in passing. I thought he seemed like a nice man.’
‘Yeah,’ Slater said, nodding. ‘He is. One of the best. Did you see where he went?’
‘No, sorry. I know he went outside because I heard the door swing shut, but after that I don’t know.’
‘Well, it’s a start.’ Slater smiled gratefully. ‘Thanks for that. I might need you to make a statement at some stage.’
‘No problem. My name’s Ellis. Flat 4B, fourth floor.’
‘Thank you,’ said Slater. ‘I appreciate your help.’
As he spoke, his mobile phone began to ring. It was Sandy Mollinson.
‘I need to take this,’ said Slater.
‘Of course,’ said the man. ‘I’ll let you get on.’
As he turned and walked back to the huddle of neighbours, Slater answered his phone.
‘Hi, Sandy.’
‘The Old Man’s on his way over there. He wants you to stay there until he arrives.’
Shit, just what I don’t need right now.
‘Right. Okay. I’ll wait here,’ he said.
‘And I hate to disappoint you,’ added Mollinson, ‘but your main suspect has a cast iron alibi. The boy couldn’t have started your fire. His father’s taken him away for a few days. I think they’re doing some bonding.’
‘Good,’ said Slater.
‘I thought you’d be disappointed,’ said Mollinson.
‘Sandy, I’m disappointed we haven’t got a bloody clue who started this fire. But I think I’d be much more disappointed if a 15-year-old boy had attempted to murder someone.’
‘I can’t disagree with you on that,’ said Mollinson. ‘I hope I never see the day when that becomes commonplace. Anyway, have you got any news?’
‘One of Norm’s neighbours saw him leaving at around seven-thirty, but he has no idea where he went. It seems to explain why his car’s not here. Has anyone seen it?’
‘The Old Man told me to make it our number one priority,’ said Mollinson, ‘so I’ve got everyone looking, but so far there’s no sign of it.’
‘Let me know as soon as you find it, please, Sandy.’
‘Of course. And let me know if you learn anything. Everyone here wants to know.’
‘Got it,’ said Slater. ‘I’ll speak to you later.’
Slater ended the call and made his way back towards the fire crew. If he was going to have to kill time waiting for Bob Murray, he might as well see if they’d learnt anything new in the meantime.
Detective Chief Inspector Bob Murray had never been an early morning person, and being dragged out of bed at 5am had done nothing for his mood, which was mostly bad these days. It also seemed to make him look even more tired and haggard than usual.
‘Morning, David. What have we got?’ he asked, as soon as he stepped from his car.
Slater had lost all respect for Murray after a recent case, and he found it difficult to even speak to his boss these days, but this situation demanded he put aside any personal differences for now.
‘Fire service called out at 2.45 am,’ said Slater. ‘When they got here the flat was ablaze. They evacuated the building. Everyone is accounted for except Norman, but when they checked out his flat they couldn’t find him, or a body, anywhere.
‘The fire guys are saying the fire was started deliberately. Someone poured petrol through the letterbox and then set fire to it. They’ll confirm this when they’ve had time to investigate properly, but they’re convinced it’s arson.’
‘So where is Norman?’ asked Murray.
‘Yeah,’ said Slater. ‘That’s the million dollar question. All I’ve got is one of his neighbours saw him walking down the stairs and out of the main door at about seven-thirty yesterda
y evening. After that, I have no idea. Sandy Mollinson’s got everyone looking for his car, but if he left at seven-thirty he’s been gone almost ten hours. He could be anywhere by now.’
‘Right,’ said Murray. ‘Now let’s not get carried away here. We don’t know for sure that we have anything to worry about-’
‘But one of our officers has had his flat burnt down and he’s missing.’ Slater was appalled. ‘How bloody bad does it have to be before we start worrying? Should we wait until we find his body?’
‘Perhaps I should remind you who you’re talking to,’ snapped Murray, raising his voice. ‘Now listen up. DS Norman may be a police officer, but he also happens to be an adult. As an adult he has a mind of his own. If it was anyone else, we’d be telling the relatives that he’s not been gone long enough to be classed as a missing person. Now I’m telling you, Norman’s not been gone long enough to be classified as missing. Have you got that?’
‘You’re kidding me, right?’ asked Slater. ‘This is Norm we’re talking about-’
‘We don’t have the budget to launch a full scale investigation on the evidence we have so far,’ interrupted Murray.
‘That’s all it’s ever about isn’t it?’ Slater was shouting now. ‘Tell me which is more important to you, the money or the person? Because I know what matters more to me.’
‘That’s enough, Sergeant,’ snarled Murray, his face turning red with anger. ‘I didn’t get out of bed at this time of the morning so I could listen to a lecture from the likes of you. As of now, you will look into Norman’s whereabouts. If you find any evidence to suggest there’s cause for concern, I will provide more staff to help with the investigation. This is something I will decide. Do you understand?’
Slater really wanted to argue his case. Norman had to be in trouble. Surely he wouldn’t have just disappeared? It was so out of character. But the look on Murray’s face told him it wouldn’t be a good idea.
‘Yes. Sir,’ he said, quietly. ‘I understand.’
‘Are you sure you can handle this?’ asked Murray, sounding much calmer now.
‘Sorry? What do you mean, can I handle it?’ Slater was puzzled.
‘I know how close you and Norman have become. Sometimes when you’re too close it can cloud your judgement. Are you sure this won’t affect your judgement?’
‘I think I can handle it, sir,’ replied Slater, somewhat irritated that the Old Man thought he couldn’t cope.
‘Hmm. Well I hope so,’ said Murray. ‘I’ll be keeping my eye on you. And I want to be kept informed. Have you got that?’
‘Right. Okay. Yes, Sir,’ said Slater, his nose now distinctly put out of joint. Since when did he need someone to keep an eye on him?
‘Now get off home, and get yourself cleaned up,’ said Murray. ‘If I can spare some help I’ll let you know.’
Slater looked down at his clothes. Murray was right. He was dirty with smudges of soot from the fire. A quick shower and shave and he’d be ready to go.
Chapter Six
It was 9am and Slater was getting impatient. So far, they had everyone keeping an eye out for Norman’s car, and Murray had reluctantly come up with two PCs who were canvassing the flats to see if anyone could remember seeing Norman around seven-thirty yesterday evening. Slater badly wanted Norman’s mobile phone records, but Murray wouldn’t agree to that, so basically he had nothing to go on. He was finding it incredibly frustrating.
At least Murray had relented enough to find a DC to work with Slater on this case. DC Steve Biddeford was on his way to Tinton right now. Slater had worked successfully with Biddeford before, but then things had gone slightly awry between them. As a result, Biddeford had been seconded to another, much larger, station for several months to help bring him on. So, there was a bit of history between the two.
Slater felt it might not be ideal, and they might not exactly be best mates, but he had always thought Biddeford was good at his job when he was at Tinton. After several months away for further development, he should be even better. As far as he was concerned, there was no reason why they couldn’t work together again. He just hoped Biddeford felt the same way.
The phone on Slater’s desk was buzzing angrily.
‘Slater.’
‘They’ve spotted his car,’ said a breathless voice. ‘It’s at a local garage.’
‘I’m on my way down,’ said Slater.
He slammed the phone down and rushed for the stairs. A quick stop at the front desk to grab the address and he was on his way. Maybe now they could start to make some progress.
Porter Brothers Motor Servicing was one of a dozen small industrial units that had been built around twenty years ago close to the railway station. Norman’s car was brazenly parked out front. If someone had been trying to hide it, they hadn’t done a very good job.
Slater made his way inside the unit. There was a small office to one side and two hydraulic car lifts opposite. A car had been raised on the lift to the left and a man in a stained blue overall was using a lamp to investigate the underside of the car.
A slightly out-of-tune radio was playing a fuzzy version of Delilah, and the man sang lustily along with it. Sadly, his pitch didn’t match his volume and Slater winced at the awful sound as he approached. The man wore a woolly hat pulled down over his ears, presumably to protect him from any dirt and grime that might fall from the car.
‘Are you Mr Porter?’ shouted Slater, above the din.
The man looked around in surprise. He hung up his lamp and walked out from under the car.
‘Can I help you?’ he asked. ‘D’you want your car serviced? MOT test?’
‘Police,’ said Slater, flashing his warrant card.
He had thought the man might show some reaction to the badge, but he didn’t show anything more than normal curiosity.
‘Are you Mr Porter?’ he asked again.
‘One of ‘em,’ said the man. ‘My brother works with me but he’s starting late today.’
That’s interesting, thought Slater. Norman’s car’s outside and the brother’s starting late.
‘That blue car outside,’ he said. ‘Can I ask you what it’s doing here?’
‘If you mean that old heap of scrap metal that calls itself a car,’ replied Porter, with a grin, ‘it’s waiting for my brother to come in and perform a miracle.’
Slater was confused.
‘How did it get here?’ he asked.
‘Some bloke brought it in the other day and asked us if we could make it work. Said he was fed up with everyone taking the piss. I told him I wasn’t surprised they were taking the piss and he should scrap it and buy a real car, but my brother took pity on him and said if the guy left it with us he’d have a look and see what he could do.’
‘When did he drop it off?’ asked Slater.
‘Well it wasn’t there when we went home at five yesterday afternoon, but it was there when I came in at eight this morning,’ said Porter. ‘He stuffed the keys through the letterbox. People like to drop their cars off on the way to work or on the way home. It happens all the time.’
‘Have you got his name?’ asked Slater, realising this was probably a wild goose chase.
‘It’ll be in the book.’ Porter led the way across to his office. ‘Here we are,’ he said, looking down at the book. ‘Mr Norman. He even left his mobile number so my brother can warn him what it’s going to cost.’
‘Can you remember what he looked like?’ asked Slater.
‘Oh yeah.’ Porter grinned. ‘How should I put it? Err, rather a large gent, if you know what I mean. A bit untidy, but a nice bloke, though. His hair was bit weird.’
‘Sort of doing its own thing?’ suggested Slater.
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ Porter said, nodding and smiling. ‘D’you know him?’
‘I work with him,’ said Slater, feeling incredibly disappointed as the lead evaporated in front of his eyes.
‘Is there a problem?’ asked Porter. ‘I mean he asked us to do the
job and left his car. That’s how it works, you know?’
‘There is a problem,’ said Slater, ‘but it’s nothing to do with you. He’s gone missing and I was hoping if we found his car it would tell us where he was. I don’t suppose you have CCTV, do you? It might tell me what time he left the car here.’
‘Ha! Sorry, mate,’ said Porter, with a wry smile. ‘We don’t make enough money to spend it on such luxuries, and to be honest, in twenty years we’ve never needed it.’
‘Oh well.’ Slater sighed heavily. ‘At least now I know finding his car’s not going to lead me to him. Can I have the keys? There might be something inside that’ll help me.’
Porter handed over the keys and Slater made his way over to the faded blue car. Inside it was like a rubbish tip, as usual, but despite a thorough search, there didn’t seem to be anything that would help him work out where Norman was.
What a waste of time that was, thought Slater, as he headed back to Tinton. He looked at his watch. It was ten-thirty. Norman had been missing for fifteen hours now and he still had absolutely zilch to go on.
Chapter Seven
As Slater indicated a left and turned into the car park back at Tinton Police Station, he realised the car behind was following him in. It was a small, red, sporty-looking Ford, not one he recognised. The car followed him through the gates and parked next to him. Then, as the door opened and the driver emerged, Slater saw it was Steve Biddeford.
‘Hi, Steve,’ he said, as he emerged from his own car.
He waited for Biddeford to catch up, and then stuck his hand out in greeting. Biddeford accepted the handshake with a smile.
‘Hi, Boss,’ he said, smiling. ‘It’s good to be back.’
‘That’s bullshit and you know it.’ Slater laughed. ‘You must have been having a lot more fun in the big town.’
‘Well, okay,’ Biddeford said, his grin widening. ‘I can’t deny that, and I wasn’t best pleased when they told me I was coming back early. But when they told me Norm was missing it became a no-brainer. I couldn’t ignore my mates at a time like this.’
