by P. F. Ford
‘Maybe we’ll get this sorted quickly,’ he said. ‘Then you can get back where you belong.’
She turned to stare at him, then turned back to face the front again.
‘That sounds like you want me out of the way,’ she said. ‘I thought you didn’t have a problem with me.’
‘I didn’t mean it to come out quite like that,’ said Slater, annoyed with himself. ‘And, I really don’t have a problem with you. And, before you ask, I don’t have a problem with you being a woman either. It’s true I’ve never worked for a woman before, but I don’t see why that, in itself, should be a problem. However, I admit I do have a problem with change in general, whatever it is. I’ve always been the same.’
‘Most people don’t like change,’ Goodnews said. ‘We know where we are when nothing changes and things stay the same. It’s safe and there’s no risk. By its very nature any sort of change threatens our personal status quo, so it’s always a risk. If you have a problem with it, it’s probably down to your outlook on life.’
‘We’re back on Norm’s positive thinking thing again, aren’t we?’
‘But it’s true,’ she said. ‘You can see change as a threat, or you can see it as an opportunity. In the end it’s all a question of attitude.’
‘Okay,’ Slater said. ‘So here’s a scenario for you. Let’s suppose you were to become a permanent fixture at Tinton. That would be a change, right? But it could easily become a threat to me if we don’t get on. You could end up making my life hell. How can that be an opportunity?’
‘The opportunity is in what you do about that situation,’ she said. ‘Maybe the solution would be in changing the way you work – you might just find it’s better. Perhaps you’d ask for a transfer – you could end up somewhere you love. You might even go for the extreme solution and change your career altogether. It’s all opportunity, but only if you grab hold of it and make the best of it.’
‘You and Norm will get on like a house on fire.’
‘So how do you think you and me will get on?’ she asked.
‘Honestly?’
‘I think if you aren’t going to be honest, there’s no point in saying anything,’ she said. ‘I’m not into this idea of saying what you think people want to hear so you won’t offend them.’
‘That’s fair enough,’ said Slater. ‘In that case, I have to say I’m impressed by the way you’ve come in and taken control, and I thought you handled our sticky start particularly well. A lot of people would have eaten me for breakfast and then asked for another DS to work with.’
‘Don’t get any big ideas about why I said we should start again,’ she said. ‘Blowing you out before we’d even started would have been stupid. I would have been cutting my nose off to spite my face. You know Norman better than anyone, you know the area like the back of your hand, and you know the rest of the team and what they can do. So it’s in my own interest to have you on my side.’
‘Yeah, I already worked that one out,’ Slater said, grinning. ‘But that’s okay; it shows you can keep your cool and think straight, and that you’re in control of your temper. A lot of DIs would have just bitten my head off. I probably would have done.’
‘Do you have a short fuse, then?’
‘No, I don’t think it’s any shorter than anyone else’s,’ he said. ‘Except for you. You seem to have a very, very, long fuse, and that’s got to be a real asset in your position. It’s something I think we could all do with.’
‘I suppose I’m lucky. I’ve always been like that,’ she said, thoughtfully. ‘It’s a long, slow-burning fuse, but believe me I do compensate with the size of the explosion when I do lose it.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ Slater said, laughing. ‘I think, all in all, I’m probably going to enjoy working for you, even if it is only going to be for a brief while.’
Goodnews didn’t say anything to that. Instead, she gave a little smile. Slater wondered what she was thinking.
Chapter Nineteen
The station at Little Balding was tiny by any standards, but the cars that filled the car park hinted at the reason why the station was still open. This was commuter land and the people who lived here could easily afford the astronomical cost of a season ticket up to the City.
Slater parked their car right outside the station entrance. The rest of the small team were already in the area, knocking doors and showing photographs.
‘So this is how the other half live,’ said Goodnews, as she climbed from the car and surveyed the collection of expensive vehicles lined up in the car park. ‘I bet none of them drive more than a mile or two to get here, and then, of course, there will be another load who get dropped off by wifey every morning in some enormous, unnecessary, four-wheel drive monster.’
The station building was barely big enough to hold more than a dozen people and when he looked around, Slater figured the platforms were only just about long enough to accommodate the length of two carriages.
‘So he would have got off about there,’ said Goodnews, standing under the CCTV camera and pointing roughly at where the train would have stopped. ‘And then he walked out past where we’re standing now.’
She looked up and down the platform.
‘There’s barely room inside for anyone to wait, so where d’you think our man would have been waiting out here?’
Slater looked up and down the platform and then turned and looked up at the CCTV camera.
‘If we assume he knew about the security camera, I reckon he would have been down that way.’ He pointed to indicate where he meant. ‘So when he comes out here, he keeps very close to the door, and takes a sharp left keeping as close to the wall as he can.’
He pointed up at the camera, and then down at the left side of the doorway. Goodnews followed his gaze.
‘See. It’s not quite in the centre. It will catch everything on the right side, but there’s a narrow channel on the left that it misses. Once you know that, you can come and go at will and no one will ever know.’
‘Let’s take a look,’ she said, leading the way slowly down the platform.
They took a slow walk down, and back, and then did the same up and down the side they thought he wouldn’t have used, just in case.
‘Bugger all,’ Goodnews said finally. ‘I was hoping he might have left some sort of clue, but it looks like someone’s been through here with a broom. It can’t stay this clean on its own.’
‘I’ll find out if it gets a regular clean or if someone’s been in specially,’ said Slater.
‘Let’s go take look out front,’ said Goodnews, heading towards the exit. Slater followed her outside. ‘As far as we know, he came out through here and walked off that way,’ she said, pointing down the road. ‘Christ, he could have gone anywhere. There could have been a car waiting for him and we’d never bloody know.’
‘And at that time of the evening there wasn’t likely to be anyone around to see,’ Slater said, gloomily.
Goodnews looked forlornly up and down the road.
‘There isn’t anyone here, to see anything, now,’ she said. ‘It’s like a ghost town.’
‘Welcome to a typical, upmarket, Hampshire commuter village,’ said Slater, grimly.
‘It looks as if it was well planned,’ said Goodnews. ‘Off-peak in a ghost town. This is where we need a bit of luck to help us out. Let’s hope one of the ghosts was out walking their dog and saw something.’
Slater’s mobile phone began to ring. He pulled it from his pocket and looked at the screen.
‘Slater,’ he said into the phone. ‘Yes. Right. Hang on a sec.’
He took the phone from his ear for a moment and looked at Goodnews.
‘Perhaps this is your bit of luck,’ he said, before returning to his call.
‘And you’re sure this is the man?’ Goodnews asked the old man who had recognised the photograph. ‘Only it’s not the best photograph we’ve ever used.’
Mr Grimmond lived in a cottage about half a mi
le from the station. It seemed he had complained to the council repeatedly about the unlicensed taxi man. He seemed pleased to see that, at last, something was going to be done about it.
‘Oh, I don’t need to see his face,’ he told them. ‘I know it’s him all right. He’s a blasted nuisance. Hangs around the station every time a train comes in, pestering people to use his taxi service. If he’s a taxi, why isn’t there some sort of plate on the back of his car? That’s what I want to know. And I’m sure that car of his isn’t legal anyway. There’s so much rust on it it’s hard to make out the real colour.’
‘What colour is it?’ asked Slater.
‘It’s supposed to be black,’ said Mr Grimmond. ‘But it’s more a sort of rusty red and black. Looks like it’s about to fall apart.’
‘So he’s always here,’ said Goodnews, disappointment etched on her face.
‘If you wait outside that station every time a train comes in you’ll probably see him, especially if it’s during the rush hour. You just take a look at his car and you’ll see what I mean. I keep telling the parish council he’s not licensed, but they don’t seem to care. I’ve even tried calling the county council, but they just refer me back to the parish council. I’ve been going round in circles like that for months.’
‘Right,’ said Goodnews, eventually. ‘Thank you for your help. We’ll see if we can catch him for you.’
‘I know that girl, too,’ said Mr Grimmond, almost as an afterthought. ‘She lives in the village somewhere. One of the new houses I think. Chinese, she is. She works in the pub, sometimes, as a waitress. They’ll know where she lives.’
‘Excellent,’ said Goodnews, cheering up immediately. ‘It looks like you’ve solved both our puzzles.’
Chapter Twenty
‘What time’s the next train?’ asked Goodnews when they were back in the car.
‘There’s a timetable outside the station,’ said Slater. ‘I’ll have a look when we get back there. They don’t all stop here, so it might be a while yet.’
‘Well, we’ve got some time to kill before the pub opens. ‘So we might as well wait and see if a train comes and our taxi man comes to meet it.’
‘He doesn’t sound so much like a kidnapper now, does he?’ said Slater. ‘Being a regular nuisance doesn’t quite fit the right profile, does it?’
‘Aye, you’re probably right. But he did appear to be running after Norman. At least he might have seen something.’
‘What about the girl?’ asked Slater. ‘If she’s local that’s probably another blind alley.’
‘But, again, she might have seen something,’ said Goodnews. ‘Try to be a bit more optimistic. They’re two leads we didn’t have yesterday, and at the very least they’re potential witnesses. Anyway, it’s a nice day, and the sun’s shining. Would you rather be out here or stuck in an office?’
‘No offence to you,’ Slater said, sighing, ‘but, to be honest, I’d rather be listening to Norm prattling on about being positive.’
‘No offence taken,’ she said. ‘And if I have my way you will be doing that very soon.’
Slater couldn’t argue with that, so he kept quiet and concentrated on driving back to the station. He stopped outside and left the engine running as he walked across to the timetable posted on the wall. He studied it for a while, keen to make sure he got it right, before he walked back to the car and climbed inside.
‘The next one that stops arrives in fifteen minutes,’ he said, as he drove on down the road a bit further before parking. ‘Then there’s another within a few minutes. One going down to Southampton and one going up to London.’
‘Somehow I can’t imagine people stampeding from either train,’ said Goodnews. ‘But if there are two so close together he might fancy his chances. If not, we’ll come back during the evening rush hour. In the meantime, I’d like to know the story behind your problem with DC Sulky back at the station.’
‘Really?’ asked Slater. ‘But it was nothing, no big deal, just a misunderstanding.’
‘A big enough misunderstanding to get him posted elsewhere for nearly six months,’ said Goodnews. ‘And it’s still simmering away under the surface. If I have to work with an atmosphere in my team, I should at least be told why. Don’t you think that’s fair?’
‘Err, well, yes. I suppose it is, when you put it like that,’ he admitted. ‘But it’s quite a dull, boring story.’
‘Let me be the judge of that. Oh, and when you’ve told me about that, I want to know how you came to fall out with the Serious Crime Unit. I’ve worked up in town and never even crossed paths with them, and yet here you are out in the sticks and you’ve not only managed to cross them, you nearly lost your job because of them. This I have to know.’
‘Do you ask all your sergeants for their life story?’ asked Slater.
‘Only the ones who have an interesting past,’ she said, grinning.
‘It’s gossip.’
‘No. It’s background research,’ she countered. ‘It enables me to form a more rounded opinion of you.’
‘Do I get to ask you about your history?’ he asked, optimistically.
‘Probably not.’ She smiled at him. ‘Anyway, I think you’d find it rather dull and boring compared with yours.’
‘I could refuse.’
‘But why would you?’ she asked, her grin growing wider. ‘Unless you’ve got something to hide. You haven’t, have you?’
‘No, I haven’t,’ he protested.
‘Good. So, come on, then.’
‘You could read all about it back at the station,’ Slater said, looking for a last-ditch attempt out of the situation he now found himself in.
‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘I could. But, if I’m going to find out anyway, you might as well tell me yourself and save me the time.’
‘You’re not going to let up, are you?’
She flashed him another grin.
‘Alright.’ He sighed resignedly. ‘If you really want to know…’
Slater went through the whole sorry ordeal – from Biddeford’s affair with his colleague, PC Flight, to the anti-dogging operation where Slater had discovered she was the main attraction. Goodnews let out a sharp breath when Slater told her how PC Flight had then claimed Slater had sexually assaulted her, and how Biddeford had gone straight to Bob Murray without even asking for his side of the story. It had all been nonsense of course, but he still felt angry remembering it.
‘Wow! This PC Flight sounds the sort you wouldn’t want to cross,’ said Goodnews, when Slater had finally finished his story. ‘What’s happened to her now?’
‘Last I heard she was in some sort of rehab place,’ he said. ‘It was all a bit sad really, she just went right off the rails.’
‘She’s a potential bunny boiler,’ said Goodnews.
‘Fortunately I don’t have any bunnies for her to boil.
‘Just as well you didn’t have an affair with her,’ Goodnews said. ‘Who knows what she might have done.’
‘That was never going to happen,’ Slater said vehemently. ‘I happen to believe in loyalty to my mates, and I always try to steer clear of married women. It gets too complicated.’
‘So Biddeford was totally taken in by her.’ Goodnews sounded thoughtful. ‘You said he was naive.’
‘He still is naive,’ said Slater. ‘But he likes to make out he’s a man of the world and he’s seen it all and done it all.’
‘And that gets up your nose?’
‘I can’t stand that fake shit,’ said Slater. ‘All that “mine’s bigger then yours” and “I can piss higher up the wall than you” crap just leaves me cold. I don’t get it. That’s not what matters, is it?’
‘Whoa,’ said Goodnews, turning to look him up and down. ‘That’s a very grown up attitude for a man. You are a contradiction, aren’t you? One minute you’re stamping your feet and throwing your toys everywhere, now you’re proving that underneath all that you’re actually quite mature.’
Slater had no
idea how to respond, so just sat in silence.
‘Should I take it, then, from that statement, that you’re not very competitive?’ Goodnews asked. ‘If so, it’s no wonder he pisses you off so much, and it’s no wonder you’ve never applied for DI.’
‘Sorry, but you’re wrong there,’ countered Slater. ‘If I couldn’t compete, I would have sunk without trace by now. I certainly wouldn’t have survived the SCU stitch-up. I just don’t see the need to keep telling everyone how big your nob is. It’s what you do with it that counts, isn’t it?’
‘You’re certainly different, I’ll give you that,’ said Goodnews. ‘It makes a change from the usual stuff I get.’
‘I’m sorry if I’m a disappointment. But I am what I am.’
‘Don’t apologise for being yourself.’ She smiled at him. ‘It makes a change not to have to deal with waves of testosterone coming my way. Usually they either want to impress me with how macho and brilliant they are, or prove I’m too weak to cope on my own. I even had one who thought he was going to sweet talk his way into my knickers.’
‘No chance of that happening,’ said Slater.
Then he thought perhaps that hadn’t come out quite right. She might think he was suggesting she was ugly or something.
‘Not that I wouldn’t want to,’ he blurted out.
Oh no. Now that sounded even worse. His face began to burn as he scrabbled around for a way to make it better.
‘What I mean is-’
‘Stop digging that hole before you bury yourself completely.’ Goodnews was grinning at his discomfort. ‘I understand your point, but if you keep trying to explain it you’ll just embarrass both of us.’
At that moment, to Slater’s relief, a car appeared coming up the road towards them.
‘Here we go,’ said Goodnews. ‘You’ve not been saved by the bell, but by a rusty black car. This looks like it might be our man.’
They ducked their heads down and waited as the car drove past them.
‘He’s stopping right outside the entrance,’ said Slater, watching in the mirror. ‘He’s getting out and going inside.’
