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

by P. F. Ford

  ‘It’s about your husband, Norman,’ said Slater, now recovered from his initial shock.

  ‘Ex-husband. He doesn’t live here anymore.’

  ‘We know that,’ said Goodnews. ‘But we’re hoping you can help us. Norman’s gone missing, you see.’

  A flicker of concern crossed Jean Norman’s face, but she quickly recovered.

  ‘I haven’t seen him, or spoken to him, in ages,’ she said. ‘I don’t see how I can help.’

  ‘He was your husband for nearly thirty years,’ said Goodnews. ‘You might know things that can help us find him.’

  ‘You think?’ She sniffed. ‘I suppose you’d better come in then, but you’re probably wasting your time.’

  As she stepped back to let them inside, Slater had the feeling this was going to prove to have been a wasted journey. It soon appeared he was right. To his great disappointment, Jean Norman didn’t seem to give a damn where her former husband might be, and skilled as Goodnews was with her questions, it soon became obvious they were getting nowhere fast.

  ‘Do you know a man called Tommy Howes?’ asked Goodnews.

  ‘I know him, yes.’

  ‘I understand he’s living with you,’ Goodnews said.

  ‘You shouldn’t listen to gossip. It’s more often untrue than true.’ Jean Norman looked and sounded irritated.

  ‘So, are you telling me he’s not living with you?’ asked Goodnews.

  ‘I’m not telling you anything,’ she said. ‘It’s none of your business.’

  ‘I’m afraid it is my business when Mr Howes is known to have a grudge against Norman, and Norman’s missing.’

  ‘I can tell you Tommy’s got nothing to do with that. I already told you, you’re wasting your time.’

  ‘It would be good if you could prove that,’ said Goodnews.

  ‘When did it happen?’

  ‘We need to know where he’s been for the past four days and nights,’ said Goodnews, keeping it vague.

  ‘That’s easy,’ said Jean. ‘He’s been working nights and sleeping all day.’

  ‘Is he here now?’ asked Goodnews.

  ‘No. I don’t know when he’ll be back. He’s gone shopping, but he’ll be back before he goes to work.’

  ‘We need to check that alibi,’ said Goodnews. ‘Where does he work?’

  ‘I’ll write it down for you,’ said Jean Norman, reaching her hand out to Slater for his notepad.

  ‘She wasn’t very helpful,’ said Goodnews, as the door slammed behind them.

  ‘At least we got an alibi to check out,’ said Slater.

  They headed for their car.

  ‘We still need to speak to this Tommy Howes,’ said Goodnews.

  ‘Well then, we might just be in luck.’ Slater nodded his head towards a figure wandering down the street towards them. ‘Isn’t that him?’

  He was big man, but not in the same way Norman was big. Howes was probably six feet two inches tall, and he had obviously made use of the gym during his time inside.

  ‘My, my, that’s handy,’ said Goodnews.

  They waited while the man, who was squinting at the back page of a newspaper as he walked, continued to approach them, clearly quite unaware of their presence. Slater thought he certainly had the washed out and tired appearance of someone working nights.

  ‘Tommy Howes?’ asked Goodnews, as the man drew level with them.

  ‘Who’s askin’?’ said Howes.

  ‘DI Goodnews.’ She flashed her card. ‘And this is DS Slater.’

  ‘Oh Gawd,’ said Howes. ‘Don’t you people ever give up? I learnt my lesson. I’m straight now. I’ve settled down and I’ve even got a proper job. Go and find someone else to stitch up. Whatever it is you’re going to try and accuse me of, I didn’t do it, alright?’

  ‘We’re not going to accuse you of anything Mr Howes,’ said Goodnews. ‘We’re from Tinton CID.’

  ‘Tinton? Where’s that?’ he asked. ‘I’ve never even heard of it.’

  ‘Hampshire,’ said Slater.

  ‘That means you’ve got no jurisdiction up here, then,’ said Howes, with a grin. ‘So if you’ll just get out of my way, I’ve got to work later and I need my dinner before I go. I’ve been working nights all week and I’m knackered so-’

  ‘It’s about DS Norman Norman,’ interrupted Goodnews. ‘I believe you know him.’

  ‘That arsehole,’ said Howes. ‘His is a name I’d rather not hear. Still fitting people up is he?’

  ‘Actually, he’s disappeared,’ said Goodnews.

  ‘Disappeared?’ Howes smiled cruelly. ‘Doing magic tricks now, is he?’

  ‘This is no laughing matter,’ snapped Goodnews. ‘He could be in danger.’

  ‘Well, now, what a shame,’ Howes said with a sneer. ‘I won’t lie to you and say I give a damn, but I don’t see why you think I should know anything about it.’

  ‘I heard you have a grudge,’ said Goodnews.

  ‘Well, you heard right,’ said Howes, defiantly.

  ‘So, what can you tell me about him disappearing?’

  ‘Why would I want to make him disappear?’

  ‘Revenge?’ suggested Goodnews. ‘Maybe you want to hurt him?’

  Howes grinned broadly.

  ‘Do you really think I could hurt him any more than I am already?’ he asked.

  Slater was puzzled for a moment, and a glance at Goodnews told him she was, too.

  ‘Think about it,’ said Howes. ‘He lost the woman he loves and now she’s with me. I call him every now and then, and send him the odd text message, just to let him know how happy me and his ex-missus are. Do you really think there’s any better revenge than making him suffer like that?’

  Slater thought Howes was probably right. If you wanted to get to Norman, that would be the best way.

  ‘We need to know your movements, for the last four days and nights,’ he said.

  ‘That’s easy,’ said Howes. ‘Like I just said, I’m on nights, so it’s work and sleep, and no time for anything else. You can check if you like.’

  ‘Oh, we will, Mr Howes,’ said Goodnews. ‘You can count on that. What’s the name and address of the company?’

  If she was hoping to catch him out, she was left disappointed. He told her exactly what Jean Norman had written in Slater’s notebook.

  ‘One more thing,’ said Slater. ‘Can you tell me your mobile phone number?’

  ‘No,’ said Howes. ‘Can you tell me yours?’

  ‘I just want to check it against his phone records. You said you’ve been calling him and texting him. If I know which is your number, it’ll help.’

  ‘Find it out for yourself,’ said Howes. ‘Now, as you’ve got no reason to detain me any longer, can I go, please? Officer?’

  He looked down menacingly at Goodnews.

  ‘Aye. On your way,’ she said, holding her ground and staring defiantly back up into his face.

  It took barely two minutes to track down the company Howes worked for.

  ‘It’s only five minutes away,’ said Goodnews. ‘We might as well go and check it out while we’re up here.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Slater. He started the car and put it into gear.

  ‘So tell me,’ she said. ‘You looked like you’d seen a ghost when she answered the door back there. What was that all about?’

  ‘Ah, yes. That was a bit weird,’ he admitted, as he followed the Satnav directions to the factory. ‘She’s got a double, Norman’s missus. They could be twins.’

  ‘Who could be twins?’

  ‘Jean Norman and PC Jane Jolly,’ said Slater. ‘It’s uncanny, they’re damned near identical.’

  ‘I haven’t met PC Jolly, have I?’ asked Goodnews.

  ‘No. She’s on leave. A family holiday, I think. She’s normally part of our team. Me, Norm, and Jolly Jane. She’s very good at digging around on the internet and stuff like that.’

  ‘But she’s just a PC?’ asked Goodnews. ‘How come she’s not CID?’

&
nbsp; ‘She’s a family woman, married with three kids,’ explained Slater. ‘She feels the demands of the job are bad enough as it is. CID would keep her away from her family too much.’

  ‘She’s probably bloody right about that. Do you think it’s relevant that she looks like Norman’s wife?’

  ‘Relevant? How do you mean?’

  ‘Blokes often go for the same type of woman,’ said Goodnews. ‘If Norman had lost his wife, did he turn to Jolly?’

  ‘What?’ said Slater, in surprise. ‘Norm and Jolly Jane? No way. I mean they get on alright. The three of us get on, but there’s no more to it than that.’

  ‘You’re sure about that, are you?’ asked Goodnews. ‘Only you were sure Norman would have told you if he was in touch with Interpol.’

  ‘That’s different,’ he said, on the back foot now. ‘I’d know if there was anything going on.’

  ‘If you say so,’ said Goodnews, but she obviously had her doubts. ‘Just remember, if this turns out to be a jealous husband, I’m gonna be reminding you about this conversation.’

  ‘It won’t be. It can’t be. Jolly and her husband, and the three kids, have gone away.’

  He pulled into the factory car park and waited while Goodnews went inside.

  ‘Bugger,’ she said five minutes later, as she got back into the car. ‘He was telling the truth.’

  ‘You were really hoping it was him, weren’t you?’ asked Slater.

  ‘Aye, I was, but it would have been too bloody easy, wouldn’t it?’ said Goodnews. ‘Now I’ve got a nasty feeling I could end up with a real dilemma on my hands.’

  ‘Is that what you were on about earlier?’ he asked. ‘Do you want to run it past me?’

  ‘Not right now,’ said Goodnews, grimly, staring straight ahead.

  ‘Okay,’ said Slater. ‘Suit yourself.’

  And suddenly, just as Slater had thought the ice was breaking, they were back to the silent, nothing-to-say routine again. It stayed that way for the best part of an hour until the ringtone of her mobile phone shattered the silence.

  Goodnews looked at the caller ID and Slater saw her face darken.

  ‘Goodnews,’ she said.

  Sat next to her, pretending to be focused on his driving, Slater was trying to listen in to the call in the vain hope he might glean something that would tell him what the problem was, but with only half the conversation to listen to, and with Goodnews being mostly monosyllabic, it was impossible.

  All he heard was a series of ‘aye’s, and ‘really’s, one vehement ‘shit’, and then finally an ‘okay, good idea. Let me know if you find anything,’ to finish off. She ended the call with a huge sigh, and stuck the phone back in her pocket.

  ‘Anything I need to know about?’ he asked, when it became clear she wasn’t going to share what the call was about.

  ‘I’ll tell you later,’ she said.

  Slater glanced over in her direction, but she stared resolutely ahead, avoiding his gaze.

  Sat next to her, Slater had had enough. This has got to end, he thought. He couldn’t work like this.

  ‘Look,’ he said. ‘Have I done something to piss you off?’

  Now he had her attention.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ she said, turning to look at him, at last.

  ‘I thought we were getting great,’ he said. ‘We were working as a team, talking to each other, sharing ideas. We even confronted the Old Man together, just like a real team, and then suddenly it was like someone had erected a bloody great wall and you didn’t want to know me. If I’ve done something wrong, I’m happy to apologise and try to put things right, but if you don’t at least tell me what I’ve done, how can I put it right?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, you do. We’ve been shut in this car for nearly four hours now and we’ve hardly exchanged two words. What you have managed to say I’ve almost had to force out of you. I tell you, if this is your idea of working as a unit, you can stick it. I know we don’t have to be best mates, but you won’t even discuss the case with me now.’

  Goodnews stared ahead through the windscreen. A sign on the left said ‘Services 1 mile’.

  ‘You’re right, we do need to talk,’ she said. ‘Pull into the services up ahead and we’ll grab a bite to eat and a cup of coffee.’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  ‘The deal is you don’t get to ask anything until we’re sat down,’ Goodnews had instructed Slater as he parked the car and shut down the engine.

  Slater thought he could happily manage to keep quiet for another couple of minutes if it meant he would finally find out what he had done wrong. But, in fact, by the time Goodnews had made a visit to the ladies, and then made a couple of phone calls, it was closer to 15 minutes before they even got to join the queue at the coffee counter. Then it was another ten minutes before Goodnews handed him his coffee.

  ‘I’ll pay,’ Slater offered at the till.

  ‘Trust me, we’ll both pay if I get this wrong,’ she warned him, mysteriously, as she handed over her cash.

  He didn’t have a clue what that was supposed to mean, but as soon as he tried to ask, she raised a finger to silence him.

  ‘In a minute,’ she insisted, leaving him to follow, rather like an obedient dog.

  It was approaching ten pm, so the place was almost empty, but even so she made her way to a corner table at the back of the room, well away from anyone else. Slater sat opposite her and waited expectantly.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘You want to know what my problem is?’

  ‘It would help don’t you think?’ he said.

  ‘You have to understand this is a very awkward situation. And I hope you appreciate I’m taking a bloody big risk here.’

  ‘I’ll reserve judgement on that, until you’ve actually told me what’s up.’ He sighed, impatiently.

  ‘Fair comment,’ she said. ‘So here’s your starter for ten. Where were you the night Norman disappeared?’

  ‘What the-,’ began Slater. ‘What am I? A bloody suspect?’

  ‘Right now you don’t get to ask questions,’ she said. ‘You just answer them.’

  ‘Is this some sort of joke?’ he snapped.

  ‘Do I look as if I’m finding it funny?’ she asked him, patiently.

  Something about her attitude made him stop and think. He studied her face. There wasn’t even a hint of a smile.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ he said, finally. ‘You surely can’t think I could have anything to do with Norm’s disappearance. We’re mates for God’s sake. I’m the one who went tearing over to his flat as soon as I learnt it was on fire.’

  ‘You haven’t answered my question,’ said Goodnews. ‘So how about you try this one. Why do we have a photograph of your car outside the red telephone box in Little Balding, not long before Norman’s flat was reported on fire?’

  ‘What?’ asked a shocked Slater. ‘It can’t have been. I was at home trying to get to sleep.’

  ‘Can anyone confirm that?’ she asked, quietly.

  ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’ He was stunned at what she was implying.

  ‘The old boy, Major Ray,’ she explained. ‘He’s rigged a camera to keep an eye on his precious telephone box overnight. It took a photo of your car that night. Were you doing the ‘Norman woz ‘ere’ drawing, and rigging the telephone directory?’

  ‘You can’t be serious,’ he said, struggling to take it in. ‘There must be some mistake.’

  ‘We’ve checked the photograph again and again,’ said Goodnews. ‘I can promise you there is no mistake. It’s definitely your car.’

  ‘But it’s just not true. What possible motive could I have for kidnapping Norm?’

  Goodnews stared impassively at him.

  ‘So it’s not true, then?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m being set up,’ he said.

  ‘I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how many times I’ve heard people tell me that,’ she said, continuing to look hi
m right in the eye. ‘You must have heard it hundreds of times yourself.’

  He couldn’t argue with that.

  ‘But I am,’ he insisted. ‘Come on, then, tell me. Why would I want to do it?’

  She took a sip of her coffee, but said nothing.

  ‘You see,’ he said. ‘You can’t think of a motive, can you? Shall I tell you why? Because there bloody well isn’t one, that’s why.’

  He was almost snarling by the time he spat the last few words out, but Goodnews didn’t flinch.

  ‘So tell me about that night,’ she said. ‘What did you do? Talk me through it.’

  Slater couldn’t quite believe he was having to explain himself, but he also knew he needed to try and get Goodnews on his side. If he really was being framed, he would need all the help he could get.

  ‘I’d had the day off,’ he said. ‘You know what it’s like. I had nothing planned, and nothing to do. By the evening I was well pissed off, so I went down the pub.’

  ‘Did you use your car?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I was intending to have a few pints, so I called a taxi.’

  ‘So you went down the pub,’ she encouraged. ‘What time did you get there?’

  ‘It was about eight,’ he remembered. ‘I know it was because the football was just kicking off on the big screen. Just as well, because there was no-one in there to talk to. I watched the match for an hour or so, but there was still no-one to talk to, so I gave it up as bad job and went back home.’

  ‘What time was that?’ asked Goodnews.

  ‘It would have been some time between nine-thirty and ten,’ he said.

  ‘Then what?’ she asked.

  ‘I was pretty depressed by then,’ he said. ‘I tried watching a bit of TV, but couldn’t find anything to watch so I went to bed.’

  ‘Do you always get depressed when you have a day off?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t often have days off,’ he said, non-committal.

  ‘And you’re sure you didn’t go out again?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course I’m sure,’ he said, irritated. ‘I think I’d remember.’

  ‘So what time did you go to bed?’

  ‘Probably about eleven-thirty,’ he said.