by P. F. Ford
‘And you went straight off to sleep?’
‘I wish,’ he said, grimly. ‘I lay awake for hours, and then, just as soon as I did get to sleep, the bloody phone started to ring. It was the station to let me know about Norman’s flat being on fire.
‘Why did they call you if it was your day off? Wasn’t anyone else on duty?’
‘Yeah,’ said Slater. ‘Norm was on duty. But when they tried calling him there was no answer. That’s how they knew something was up. I rushed across to his place, and watched as they put out the fire. Then they searched his flat and couldn’t find a body, and now here we are, looking for him.’
‘And that’s it?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ he said, and then a thought occurred to him. ‘No, that’s not it. I remember now. When I ran out to get my car, it was parked facing the wrong way.’
‘What do you mean “facing the wrong way”?’ she asked.
‘I always turn it around before I park,’ he explained. ‘So, if I get called out in the early hours, I’m ready to go. I get to make a quick getaway, and my neighbours don’t have to listen to me turning around. When I left that morning, I had to turn around first.’
‘Are you saying someone had moved your car?’ she asked.
‘They must have,’ said Slater, remembering something else from that night. ‘And I think I lay in bed listening to whoever it was driving away. And then later I heard them coming back.’
‘What? And you did nothing about it?’ she asked, doubtfully.
‘I was trying to sleep,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know it was my car at the time. I thought it was one of my neighbours.’
Goodnews was still staring at Slater, as if she was trying to make up her mind. Slater watched her. Surely she didn’t think he was capable of something like this, did she? But then she hardly knew him, so he couldn’t really blame her if she was doubtful. Then again, would she have risked challenging him like this if she really thought he was involved?
Then he remembered what she had said at the coffee till about them both paying if she was wrong. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her phone ringing. She fished it from her jacket pocket and looked at the caller ID.
‘Goodnews,’ she answered, as she got up and walked from the table.
Slater watched helplessly as she turned away from him to make sure he couldn’t hear a word of her conversation. She paced slowly up and down as she spoke and listened. He didn’t have a clue what she was talking about, but he was quite sure she used a four letter word beginning with ‘f’, rather vehemently, at one point, so he guessed it wasn’t all going quite as she had hoped.
The call took less than five minutes, although for Slater it seemed more like an hour. Eventually she ended the call, walked back over to their table and sat down.
‘Your man, Steve Biddeford,’ she said, as she sat down. ‘He’s a mixture of the sublime and the bloody ridiculous, isn’t he?’
Not sure what was going on, or where he stood, Slater chose to say nothing.
‘On the one hand you owe him a drink,’ she said. ‘And, on the other hand, you should kick his arse.’
‘What’s he done?’ he asked. ‘Is he the one who pointed the finger at me?’
‘He showed me the photo of your car outside the telephone box, if that’s what you mean,’ she said. ‘But don’t hold that against him. You would have done the same if the roles had been reversed. He also told me he didn’t believe it was true, and that there was no way you would be involved in doing anything to harm Norman.’
‘Is that why I should buy him a drink?’ asked Slater. ‘Or is that why I should kick his arse?’
‘Neither,’ she said, smiling at last. ‘You should buy him a drink because he’s spent several hours going through CCTV and traffic recordings, and finally found your car on the road that night. He can’t confirm who was driving, but he can prove it’s highly unlikely it was you. The driver was wearing a hat, which hides his face, but it doesn’t hide the fact he’s several inches shorter than you.’
‘So it wasn’t me.’ Slater was relieved. ‘Someone did pinch my car that night.’
‘I believe so,’ said Goodnews.
‘So why would I want to kick his arse?’ asked Slater.
‘Ah, yes,’ she said. ‘He also had the misfortune to bump into DCI Murray earlier this evening. Murray asked him for an update on the case, so he gave him the lot, chapter and verse, including the bit about your car being photographed outside the phone box.’
‘Ah. Shit,’ said Slater.
‘Ah shit, is right. It seems Murray is still smarting about our little confrontation this afternoon, and now he’s spotted an opportunity to get his own back. He’s issued instructions that you are to be arrested at the earliest opportunity.’
‘So, now I’m a bloody fugitive,’ said Slater, bitterly.
‘Och, don’t worry about that,’ she said. ‘It’s no big deal. I just need to make a phone call when we get back to the car and I’ll have that sorted out. And then, when I’ve done that, we need to get our heads together and figure out where we’re going from here.’
‘So, you believe me then?’
‘I had to wonder when I saw that photo,’ she admitted. ‘But I think I’m quite a good judge, and somehow I couldn’t see you being involved. Trust me, if I had thought you were involved you would have been locked up in a cell, not driving me up to London. Steve’s findings just confirmed my suspicion that you were innocent.’
‘So, is that what you meant when you said we’d both pay if you got it wrong?’ he asked.
‘Oh aye.’ She smiled, ruefully. ‘If I’m wrong about you, the whole operation goes tits up. And with one of our own as the victim, I would have a hard job justifying such a piss-poor decision. My head would almost certainly have to roll, don’t you think?’
Slater was a little stunned.
‘You mean you were prepared to gamble your career for me?’ he asked her, incredulously.
‘Now you’re exaggerating,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t that much of a gamble. I don’t often get people wrong.’
‘Well, “thank you” sounds a bit inadequate,’ he said. ‘But I don’t know what else to say.’
‘Thank you will do just fine,’ she said, with a wicked grin. ‘And you should be grateful, because if I did lose my job over this, I can promise you’d lose your testicles and that handy little bag you carry them around in.’
Slater winced. He could easily believe she meant what she said.
‘Well, I’m glad to say that won’t be necessary. And I realise you couldn’t afford to ignore the photograph. I understand that. I would have done the same.’
‘So we’re good? Right?’ she asked him.
‘As long as I get to keep my wedding tackle,’ he said, grinning.
‘Come on then.’ Goodnews got to her feet. ‘Let’s get back. We’ve work to do.’
They headed back to the car, Slater now full of the greatest respect for his new boss. She might have said it wasn’t much of a gamble, but he knew she was just playing it down. He was beginning to think she was pretty awesome, really, although he would never tell her as much.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
As soon as they got back to the car, Goodnews produced her mobile phone, but she didn’t seem to know the number she needed. She began to fumble in her bag.
‘If you want the Tinton number it’s-,’ began Slater.
‘Och, I’m not going to waste my time talking to Murray,’ she said, cutting him off. ‘I can do much better than that. I’ve got the number I need in my bag here somewhere.’
Slater wondered what she meant by that. The only way he knew you could go over Murray’s head was by going beyond Tinton.
‘Ah! Got it,’ she mumbled, producing a small notebook.
She skimmed through the pages until she found the page she needed, then keyed in the number.
‘I suppose I ought to add it to my contacts,’ she explained to him, as the phone began to ring in
her ear. ‘But, to be honest, I didn’t think I’d actually need it.’
Slater had no idea was she was talking about, so he nodded, just to humour her.
‘Oh hello,’ she said into the phone. ‘Could you hang on just a wee minute?’
She turned to Slater.
‘You’re not listening to this conversation, right?’
He looked unsure.
‘Or perhaps you should step out of the car,’ she said, waggling an eyebrow meaningfully.
‘Oh, right. I can’t hear a thing,’ said Slater. ‘Scout’s honour.’
She gave him a look that spoke volumes.
‘Maybe I should just stretch my legs for a minute,’ he said, finally taking the hint.
‘Good evening, Sir Dennis. I’m sorry to trouble you so late,’ said Goodnews, as Slater eased open his door and stepped out. ‘It’s Marion Goodnews here.’
As he climbed from the car, Slater wondered what the hell was going on. There was only one ‘Sir Dennis’ he was aware of who could have any influence on Bob Murray. What was this woman really doing here? And how come she’s got the chief constable’s direct line?
By the time Goodnews and Slater were approaching Tinton, it was almost eleven-thirty. They had spent the last hour mulling over the various possibilities regarding the attempt to implicate Slater in Norman’s disappearance, but they had so far failed to reach any real conclusions. The only thing they could say for sure was that there was no question someone had used Slater’s car and gone to the telephone box.
They did agree the most likely suspects were Jimmy Jones or Slick Tony, or at least people associated with them. There was no doubt both had a good reason to want to harm Norman and Slater. But then, at the same time, they were concerned that as frame-ups went, it had been a pretty amateurish attempt. Slick Tony and his gang were definitely capable of being much more effective, and Jimmy Jones was known to include some very professional criminals amongst his acquaintances.
Another thing to consider was Jones’ current situation. If he was a protected witness, would he have been able to organise something like this?
And what about the clues they had found? Should they now be ignored?
‘But that J. Jones thing in the telephone directory,’ said Goodnews. ‘That must make it more likely your gangster, Tony, is the one behind this. Jones wouldn’t leave a clue pointing straight to himself, would he?’
‘Maybe it’s some sort of elaborate double bluff,’ said Slater. ‘Perhaps you’re thinking exactly what he wants you to think.’
‘Jesus, we’re going round in bloody circles. How about we take Jones out of the equation until we actually find out what his situation is. Let’s forget him for a minute and focus on this Tony guy.’
‘I’ve thought of a problem with him as a suspect,’ said Slater. ‘If, as we believe, he had Norm’s flat torched in an attempt to murder him, why would he piddle about like this trying to frame me for a kidnapping? Why not frame me for the murder?
‘And there’s another thing. If they set the fire to kill Norm, they wouldn’t have planned a kidnapping as well, would they? I mean, if you had arranged to kill someone tonight, would you arrange to kidnap the victim as well? It makes no sense.’
Goodnews thought about this for a minute or two.
‘Wasn’t someone watching his flat?’ she asked.
‘Yeah. Old Mrs Gregory’s Russian arsonist. He’s the guy who leaves cigarette butts everywhere he goes.’
‘Right,’ said Goodnews. ‘So, if we assume he was keeping an eye on Norman, he would have known he had gone out. So maybe the kidnapping wasn’t planned, but was spur of the moment. Oh. No, hang on. It can’t have been spur of the moment if the plan was to implicate you, can it?’
She shook her head and groaned.
‘Let’s back up a bit,’ she said. ‘We’ve assumed, all along, that the plan was to trap Norman in the fire. But the guy watching Norman knew the flat was empty, yet he still started the fire. I think we got it wrong. He wasn’t meant to kill anyone. It was just a warning.’
Slater was impressed that Goodnews said ‘we got it wrong’. It had been his conclusion, before she had even arrived on the scene. She didn’t need to include herself. He was also feeling pretty stupid that he hadn’t even considered the possibility the fire wasn’t intended to kill.
‘It could have been a diversion,’ he said. ‘To keep us focused on the flat while they kidnapped Norm.’
‘But they had already lured him from the flat. What’s the point in starting the fire if they had already kidnapped him?’ asked Goodnews.
‘Maybe the warning is for the rest of us,’ said Slater, grimly. ‘Maybe they’ve taken Norm so they can stop him for good.’
‘Let’s not start thinking like that,’ she said, firmly. ‘We’re going to find the man, not his body, d’you hear me?’
She looked at Slater, almost defying him to argue with her, but he wasn’t going to argue. He really wanted to believe her.
‘What about the clues in the telephone box?’ she continued. ‘Should we ignore them, or what?’
‘I’ve been thinking about that. Whoever used my car knew Norm was going to be passing the old telephone box, and as they were giving him instructions, they could have told him he had to go in there.’
‘Why would they tell him to go inside?’ asked Goodnews.
‘My guess is maybe he had to collect something from inside,’ said Slater. ‘Perhaps there were more instructions.’
‘That’s a bit risky. It would almost be inviting him to leave a clue.’
‘Don’t forget this is the person who tried to set me up,’ Slater reminded her. ‘So we know they’re not always super professional.’
‘I have to admit I’m not convinced,’ said Goodnews, sceptically. ‘But carry on, don’t let me stop your train of thought.’
‘I was only going to say perhaps we shouldn’t write off both clues,’ he said. ‘Maybe one of the clues is genuine, left by Norman, and the other one is fake, left by the kidnapper.’
Goodnews turned and stared at him for a few moments.
‘I think maybe you watch too many TV shows,’ she said, turning back to face the front.
‘I know it sounds unlikely,’ countered Slater. ‘But I don’t hear you coming up with any better ideas.’
‘Okay,’ Goodnews said, sighing. It may be unlikely, but at least Slater had a theory. ‘For the moment I’ll go along with this unlikely theory of yours. So how do we know which is the real clue and which is the fake?’
‘I don’t have all the answers,’ he protested.
‘Well, you should have,’ Goodnews said, teasingly. ‘It’s your theory.’
‘If you’re going to push me, I think I’d lean towards the drawing,’ said Slater. ‘And if Becks can’t find any of Norm’s fingerprints on the directory we’ll know I’m right. Hopefully there’s a report waiting for us when we get back.’
‘Steve Biddeford should have identified all those phone numbers from Norman’s phone records by the time we get back,’ said Goodnews. ‘Let’s see if Howes owns one of those phones.’
‘It’ll back up his story if he does. Although I think he’s in the clear anyway.’
‘Aye. We keep coming back to the same two suspects. We’ll see if Biddeford has managed to track down Jones when we get back.’
They drove on in silence for a few minutes before Goodnews spoke again.
‘Of course,’ she said, thoughtfully, ‘there is another possibility.’
‘Go on, then,’ he said. ‘I’m listening.’
‘Suppose the Jones clues are a red herring?’
‘Then we’re left with Slick Tony,’ said Slater.
‘But you said yourself it doesn’t add up, if it was just a warning. What if you’re right?’
‘That would mean we’ve been barking up the wrong tree all along,’ said Slater, grimly.
Before she could reply, her phone began to ring.
‘Go
odnews,’ she said, leaving Slater to his thoughts.
She listened for a few moments, her face darkening.
‘Right. Okay,’ she said finally. ‘No, no. If the buggers insist it has to be me they talk to, there’s not much you can do, is there? Don’t worry I’ll sort it. And go home. You need to sleep.’
She ended the call and put the phone back in her pocket.
‘Bloody Witness Protection,’ she said. ‘They admit they’ve got Jones but they won’t tell Steve Biddeford any more than that because he doesn’t have the right security credentials. They’ll only speak to me.’
‘Ah, security credentials.’ Slater grinned. ‘Where would we be without them?’
‘It’s bloody daft,’ she said. ‘They won’t tell Biddeford, who’s part of my team and acting on my behalf, but they will tell me.’
‘Isn’t it supposed to be on a “need to know” basis?’ asked Slater.
‘We do need to bloody know,’ she said. ‘And we need to know now.’
Chapter Thirty
Slater looked at the luminous hands of his alarm clock. It was 2am. He was sure he’d been asleep for no more than five minutes. But why was he awake? He had no idea what had woken him, and he lay there trying to figure out what it was. Suddenly it struck him – for 2am, it wasn’t really that dark at all.
He fumbled for his alarm clock and held it up to check again. Yep, it was 2 am. It should be pitch black, and yet there seemed to be a sort of glow coming from outside the window. Admittedly his curtains weren’t all that thick, but even so. And there was a noise as well. A sort of dull roaring, almost a whooshing noise, with the odd crackle, and…
With a start, he sat up. It was a fire. He could hear a fire, and it was outside his house. He rushed from his bed and pulled the curtains open. It took a few seconds for him to realise exactly what he was looking at. His car was ablaze, flames shooting from the windows.
He grabbed his mobile phone and dialled 999. As he stood at the window, speaking into his phone and helplessly watching his car burn, he became aware of a figure standing under a lamppost about 50 yards down the road. He appeared to be watching Slater’s windows, and was smoking a cigarette. As Slater watched, the man threw down his cigarette butt, ground it with his heel, and then walked off down the road.
