The Red Telephone Box (DS Dave Slater Mystery Novels Book 5)

by P. F. Ford

  ‘Wow!’ she said. ‘I hope I can live up to that.’

  He chose not to respond to that, and pulled away from the station.

  ‘Of course someone could easily have picked him up in a car,’ he mused.

  ‘Just pootle along here and let’s see where it goes,’ she suggested. ‘I know we’ve got no idea what we’re looking for, but at least we’ll maybe get a feel for the place.’

  They crawled slowly down the road for a few seconds before she added another comment.

  ‘But you’re right, he could have been picked up by someone and driven miles away from here.’

  They spent the next ten minutes driving along the road, taking in the surroundings. After about a hundred yards, they came to the village green on the left. It was a rough triangle, with houses on all three sides. The road they were following ran along the right hand side, and then turned left across the far end. An old-fashioned red telephone box stood resplendent at the roadside, with a matching post box close by.

  ‘There you go,’ Slater said, grandly. ‘Ye oldey red telephone boxey.’

  They followed the road down the side of the green, and then around to the left and across the bottom of the green. After another half mile, the houses seemed to be few and far between, but there were also a couple of side roads that wandered off into the countryside offering the possibility of more houses.

  ‘We could just raid every house,’ Slater said.

  ‘Yes, that probably wouldn’t be such a bad idea if we knew he was here somewhere, but it’s farming country, isn’t it?’ Goodnews sighed. ‘There’ll be hundreds of barns and outbuildings. We’d need an army to carry out an exercise like that, and without any sort of proof we’ll get a result – that sort of expensive operation just isn’t going to happen.

  ‘I know he’s your friend and you’re worried about him, but don’t forget we have no idea what’s really going on. I know you don’t want to think about it, but we still have to consider the possibility he’s planned all this and just doesn’t want to be found.’

  Slater pulled the car to the side of the road and stopped.

  ‘I can’t believe Norm would have planned something like this,’ he said. ‘He wouldn’t fake it. If he really wanted to disappear, he’s the sort of bloke who would tell everyone he was going and that he didn’t want to be followed.’

  He turned to look at her.

  ‘But that’s exactly why you’re here, right?’

  ‘Aye, Miss Objectivity, that’s me,’ she said, with a wry smile. ‘Come on, let’s head for the pub and see if we can grab some lunch. Maybe we can learn something there that actually helps us.’

  The Red Oak looked like it had once been a small village pub, judging by some of the décor and the small bar area at the front. However, it had clearly been transformed into a ‘family friendly’ establishment, with a children’s play area and huge garden with tables and benches scattered freely around. A sign proudly proclaimed that the chef had recently won an award, and even on a weekday lunchtime it was fairly busy.

  Having flashed his warrant card at the landlord and explained why they were there, Slater had been delighted to learn that the girl not only worked as a part-time waitress, but that she was actually working that very lunchtime. The landlord promised he would send her to their table with two menus in a couple of minutes.

  ‘I wish it was that easy to find all our suspects and witnesses,’ Goodnews said, as they made their way out to the garden. ‘It would save so much time.’

  There were at least twenty tables scattered around, but Goodnews seemed to be looking for something in particular. She surveyed the garden for a suitable table, finally spotting one.

  ‘That one over there looks like a good one,’ she said, pointing at the table in question.

  ‘Why that one?’ asked Slater. ‘They all look the same to me.’

  ‘Granted they’re all made of the same materials,’ she said, leading the way. ‘But what I’m looking for is one that’s got plenty of shade. It’s the price I pay for having fair skin, you see. I burn very easily.’

  ‘Ah! I see.’ Slater smiled as he followed her. ‘You’re not one for beach holidays, then.’

  ‘Och, no.’ Goodnews laughed as she reached the table. ‘That’s hopeless. I can bathe in factor 50 and still burn after five minutes.’

  Most of the time her accent was hardly noticeable, just enough to give a musical tone to her voice, but then, just occasionally, an odd word or expression would give her voice a sudden Scottish twang. Slater found it very pleasant to listen to.

  They had barely got settled before Goodnews spoke.

  ‘Aye, aye, heads up,’ she said, looking over his shoulder. ‘Here comes our girl now.’

  When she arrived and placed the menus on the table, the girl looked very nervous. She was small, with long, jet black hair.

  ‘Mr Harris said you wish to speak to me,’ she said.

  ‘It’s Josie, isn’t it? I’m DI Goodnews, and this is DS Slater. We’re from Tinton CID. We’d like to ask you some questions about an incident that happened at Little Balding train station. Why don’t you sit down for a minute?’

  Goodnews indicated the chair on the end of the table and the girl sat so she had Slater to her left and Goodnews to the right.

  ‘What incident? Am I in some sort of trouble?’

  ‘A man has gone missing,’ said Goodnews. ‘He was on the same train as you and he got off just before you at Little Balding. We thought perhaps you might know something that might help us to find him.’

  ‘Me? Why would I know anything?’

  ‘CCTV shows he got off the train, and then about a minute or two later you got off as well,’ said Goodnews. ‘Maybe there was someone else on the train with him. Perhaps you saw someone meet him at the station. Anything you can tell us might help.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t know anything,’ said Josie.

  ‘You seem very sure about that,’ said Goodnews. ‘We thought you might be able to help us a bit more than that.’

  ‘Why would you think that? I can’t even remember seeing the man.’

  Goodnews stared at her but said nothing.

  ‘That’s funny you can’t remember him,’ said Slater. ‘Do you remember picking up his jacket, and then stopping to stuff it into your bag as soon as you got off the train?’

  The girl’s cheeks flushed guiltily.

  ‘I did no such thing,’ she said.

  ‘You were clever enough to turn your back so the CCTV camera overlooking the platform couldn’t see what you were doing,’ said Slater. ‘But unfortunately you didn’t make a very good job of packing the bag. When you left the station there was a sleeve hanging out. It shows up clearly on the CCTV camera at the front of the station. Josie, the missing man is a friend of mine. I’d know that jacket anywhere.’

  Her mouth flapped open once or twice, but she seemed to be lost for words.

  ‘Do you make a habit of stealing other people’s clothes?’ asked Goodnews.

  ‘It was just lying there,’ said Josie. ‘It would only have ended up in lost property.’

  ‘So that’s a yes,’ said Goodnews.

  ‘You can’t tell my parents about this.’ Josie looked and sounded horrified.

  ‘Oh, but I can,’ said Goodnews.

  She let Josie stew for a minute. The girl stared at the table and fidgeted uncomfortably.

  ‘Do you live in the village here, Josie?’ asked Slater.

  She nodded.

  ‘In one of the new houses,’ she said.

  ‘And you work here while you study?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, nodding again.

  ‘Well, if you’re not stealing clothes because you’re short of money,’ said Goodnews, ‘why are you doing it?’

  ‘I’m studying fashion.’ Josie sounded unhappy. ‘Re-styling old clothes is something I do.’

  ‘Well I hope you haven’t restyled DS Norman’s denim jacket yet,’ said Goodnews. ‘It
could be very useful to our enquiries.’

  Josie was crying quietly now.

  ‘I’ve never been in trouble before,’ she said, tears running down her cheeks. ‘Please don’t tell my parents.’

  Slater fished a clean handkerchief from his pocket and passed it to her. He always carried one for use on these occasions.

  ‘Thank you.’ She wiped her eyes.

  ‘How old are you, Josie?’ asked Goodnews.

  ‘Eighteen.’

  ‘Well, technically you’re an adult,’ said Goodnews. ‘So maybe I won’t have to tell your parents. It depends.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We want that jacket,’ said Goodnews firmly. ‘And I want you to tell us everything you recall about your journey home that night, especially anything you can remember about DS Norman. Can you do that?’

  ‘I’ll try,’ said Josie.

  ‘Right,’ said Goodnews, when Josie had finished her story. ‘Rather than send two of my officers to your house, I’m going to arrange for them to meet you here when you finish work today and you’re going to sit with them and make a full statement.’

  Josie looked relieved to know she wouldn’t have to explain the arrival of two police officers at home.

  ‘But I need that jacket as soon as possible,’ continued Goodnews. ‘How long would it take to get to your house?’

  ‘Five minutes.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Goodnews. ‘I’ll square it with your boss to give you ten minutes off while Sergeant Slater here arranges for someone to drive you home and back.’

  ‘So, what do we think?’ she asked as Josie headed back into the pub.

  ‘I dunno about you,’ said Slater. ‘But I think she’s probably for real. It’s a bit weird going around stealing clothes like that, but if everything checks out okay that’ll do it for me.’

  ‘So you don’t think she’s some sort of ninja kidnapper in disguise, then?’

  ‘I accept she looks a bit Oriental, but that in itself doesn’t make her a ninja anything,’ Slater said, smiling. ‘I don’t think any sort of ninja would burst into tears, do you?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Goodnews sighed loudly. ‘I know. We’ve drawn another blank. Bugger it.’

  ‘Maybe Norm’s jacket will help us.’

  ‘What? You really think it’s going to give us some sort of clue?’ asked Goodnews.

  ‘Norm’s attached to that jacket like it was super glue,’ explained Slater. ‘When he’s wearing it he doesn’t usually take it off, so it would have taken some sort of seismic event to make him leave it on the train. There has to be a good reason why he left it there.’

  ‘Don’t you think his situation would have been a big enough event?’ asked Goodnews. ‘I mean if it was me being directed like some sort of puppet, I think forgetting my jacket would be the least of my worries.’

  ‘Well, with respect,’ said Slater, ‘let’s hope you’re wrong and I’m right about this, because like you said, all we’ve done so far is draw blanks.’

  ‘Your respect is acknowledged,’ she said. ‘And I hope you’re right, too. Because if you’re wrong, we’ve not got much else to go on, and the longer this goes on… Well, you know the odds.’

  Slater knew exactly what she meant. The longer it took to make progress, the more likely they were to find a corpse at the end of the trail.

  ‘Two club sandwiches,’ called a voice, breaking his morbid train of thought.

  ‘Over here, please,’ Goodnews called back.

  ‘How much do I owe you?’ asked Slater.

  ‘I’ve already paid for them,’ she said. ‘You’re paying next time.’

  ‘Oh. Right. Fair enough.’

  He was beginning to admit to himself that, so far, working for Marion Goodnews wasn’t as bad as he’d thought it might be. He had no doubt she could be as hard as nails when she needed to be, but she also seemed to be fair, was prepared to listen to his opinion, and didn’t seem to mind paying her way. He could think of more than one boss he had worked for in the past who couldn’t match any one of those things, never mind all three.

  They chewed in silence for a minute or two before she spoke again.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ she said. ‘I can see it written all over your face. It won’t help, you know. You need to stop thinking about the worst-case scenario and start thinking about a positive outcome. We are going to find him.’

  And there’s another thing, thought Slater. It was like she could read his mind.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Just as Josie had said, it took almost exactly ten minutes for her to retrieve Norman’s old denim jacket from home. She handed it over rather sheepishly.

  ‘I haven’t taken anything from it,’ she said.

  ‘Good,’ said Goodnews. ‘I’m glad to hear it. Now you’d better get back to work, and don’t forget, if you don’t want your parents to know about this, you need to make that statement before you go home.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Josie hurried away, her relief palpable.

  Slater fished a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and snapped them onto his hands. He began to work his way through the jacket. First he checked for anything obvious on the outside, and then on the inside – but there didn’t appear to be anything to see. Then he went through the pockets. There was nothing of interest in the side pockets, so that just left the two button-down pockets at the front.

  In the left one, he found the ticket to Southampton that Norman had paid for. He placed it on the table and turned his attention to the remaining pocket.

  Goodnews studied the ticket Slater had placed on the table.

  ‘Can you turn that over for me?’ she asked Slater.

  He looked at her quizzically.

  ‘I can’t, can I?’ she said, wiggling her fingers at him. ‘No gloves.’

  ‘Ah, right. Of course.’

  He turned the ticket over and placed it back down in front of her.

  ‘Aye, aye,’ said Goodnews, as soon as she looked at the back of the ticket. ‘What’s this?’

  Someone had drawn an arrow on the back of the ticket.

  ‘Norm must have done that,’ said Slater. ‘But what the hell does it mean?’

  ‘Is he a doodler?’ asked Goodnews.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Does he doodle?’ she said. ‘You know what doodles are, don’t you?’

  ‘Well, yeah. Of course I do,’ said Slater. ‘But what’s that got to do with anything?’

  ‘Oh come on.’ She sighed. ‘Just when I was beginning to think we were on the same wavelength.’

  ‘I’m not with you,’ said Slater.

  ‘Obviously,’ she said, patiently, pointing at the arrow. ‘If Norman’s a doodler, it might be that’s just what this is. A doodle. But if he’s not a doodler, that would suggest this arrow is very deliberate and is supposed to tell us something.’

  ‘Right. I see what you mean,’ said Slater. ‘No he’s not a great doodler, and when he does it’s cartoon characters, not random stuff, nothing like this arrow. That’s way too deliberate to be one of his doodles.’

  ‘So what the hell is it telling us?’ asked Goodnews, almost to herself.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said Slater, carefully picking up the ticket. ‘I pulled it from his pocket like this.’

  He moved the ticket so it was in the same position as it had been when he had pulled it from the jacket pocket.

  ‘So the arrow was pointing to the right as we’re looking at it,’ said Goodnews, looking puzzled. ‘So what’s it pointing at?’

  ‘The right hand pocket, of course,’ said Slater. ‘He’s telling us to look in the other pocket.’

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ asked Goodnews, sceptically. ‘It seems a bit unlikely, doesn’t it? Do you really think he would do that?’

  ‘Who knows Norm? You or me?’ asked Slater. ‘You did say you wanted me along because I knew him well.’

  Goodnews looked dubious.

  ‘Okay,’ she sa
id, doubtfully. ‘For the moment, and because we have nothing better to go on right now, I’ll bow to your greater knowledge of our victim. Let’s see if you’re right.’

  Slater had been struggling to undo the final button, but after a good deal of fumbling, he eventually managed it. He carefully lifted the flap and peered inside, then, using two fingers, he gently teased a folded piece of foil from the pocket and placed it on the table.

  ‘Bugger it,’ said Goodnews, disappointed. ‘It’s just an old chewing gum wrapper.’

  ‘Which has been folded, not screwed up,’ said Slater. ‘That’s way too tidy for the normal Norm. I think he’s done that very deliberately.’

  He carefully unfolded the foil to reveal a scrap of paper, with what appeared to be a rather hurried scribble across it.

  ‘What’s that say on there?’ asked Goodnews, squinting at the scrap of paper. ‘Something about an old box? Lock the old box? Is that it?’

  Slater studied the faint pencil markings.

  ‘No,’ he said finally. ‘It says check the old box, not lock the old box.’

  ‘Aye, but what sodding box?’ Goodnews sounded exasperated.

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed Slater. ‘It would help wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Does he have some sort of old box at home that he keeps treasured stuff in?’ asked Goodnews. ‘Or a safety deposit box?’

  ‘Somehow I can’t imagine Norm having a safety deposit box,’ replied Slater. ‘And if he had an old wooden box at home, it’s probably burnt to a bloody cinder in that fire.’

  ‘Maybe that’s why they set the fire,’ said Goodnews. ‘If it was the kidnapper they would have known he wasn’t at home. Maybe it wasn’t meant to kill him, just to destroy any evidence he might have.’

  ‘Yes, but evidence of what?’ asked Slater.

  ‘If we can work that out,’ said Goodnews, ‘we’ll probably know who the kidnapper is. I’ll get someone to check his flat for a box of some sort.’

  ‘It’s worth a try I suppose,’ Slater said. ‘But I’ve got the feeling we’re missing something, and it’s right under our noses.’