by P. F. Ford
‘You can go inside but keep out of the basement for now. We don’t think there are any more bombs but we can’t be sure. We’ve got an explosives team on the way down from London. They’re going to want to check it out before they’ll let you in there. Perhaps you can make sure your hot-headed boss understands that.’
‘Okay,’ said Slater, with a wry smile. ‘You’ve made your point. Let’s not overdo it, eh? She is still my boss, and I am still on her side.’
At last, Slater saw a smile creep across the other man’s face.
‘I’m sorry about your mate,’ he said, nodding across at the stretcher. ‘If it’s any consolation, I doubt he would have known much about it. It wasn’t a big explosion, but if I’m right and he was right in front of it...’
‘Yeah,’ said Slater. ‘I just can’t figure out why he would have been in there. He was one of those blokes who was a stickler, you know? Even if he had come back for some reason, he would have signed back in. It doesn’t make any sense.’
Chapter Four
‘Are you alright?’ asked Slater as Goodnews joined him in the incident room.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever had such a bollocking,’ she said, glumly. ‘The chief constable is going nuts. He’s suggesting our security must be worse than hopeless.’
‘Ah,’ said Slater, not knowing what else to say. He knew Goodnews had been instrumental in reviewing the security at Tinton. The implication was obvious.
‘What with the Darling fiasco last week and now this,’ she said, ‘I feel as if I’ve taken two enormous strides backwards.’
‘Really?’ Slater heard the disappointment in his own voice. ‘We’ve got a colleague lying dead on a stretcher downstairs and all you’re worried about is how this could affect your career?’
Goodnews looked as if she had been slapped. ‘That’s not what I mean at all. Of course what’s happened is more important.’
‘Good. I’m pleased to hear it,’ he said, not convinced.
Goodnews sighed. ‘I don’t care what you think. There’s nothing wrong in having a bit of ambition and wanting to get on in life. You should try it some time, then you might not have such a big problem with it.’
‘I don’t have a problem with it,’ replied Slater, ‘as long as it doesn’t involve using other people to get there.’
‘Is that what you think I do?’
He shrugged his shoulders, wishing he hadn’t started this conversation. ‘I’m sorry, I’m probably speaking out of turn.’
‘No, actually, I’d like to hear what you think.’
‘You would?’ he said, surprised.
‘Aye,’ she said. ‘I know you think I’m some thick-skinned bitch who doesn’t care what anyone else thinks, but it’s not quite like that.’
Now Slater felt uncomfortable. Was he pushing her into revealing some sort of vulnerability? This was something he had never expected and he didn’t think it was good idea. Then again, he had started it.
‘I don’t think this is really the time, do you?’ he asked her.
‘I suppose not,’ she admitted, ‘but you seem to be challenging me. Do you think I’m going to back down?’
He smiled. ‘That’s the last thing I would expect you to do. I don’t think it’s in your nature, is it?’
‘You’d better believe it,’ she said. ‘And you’d better believe we will come back to this conversation at a later date, but right now we should put it on hold.’
‘Fair enough,’ he agreed.
‘Okay, then,’ she said, at once all business-like. ‘Have you called everyone in?’
‘I was going to,’ he said. ‘But then I thought that was a bit of a knee-jerk reaction. I might be wrong, but in my opinion there’s not much point in flooding the place with bodies who are just going to be hanging around until we can get into that basement. We’re limited to what we can do right now and they’ll think better on a few hours’ sleep. So I’ve only called Steve Biddeford. He’s probably the best of the bunch.’
‘You’re probably right,’ said Goodnews. ‘But what about you?’
‘I was on nights anyway, remember? I’ll be good for the rest of the night and maybe a full day tomorrow. How about you?’
‘I’m good for now. I don’t think I dare take much time out while I’m under the microscope.’
‘You can’t function on no sleep,’ said Slater.
‘I know that,’ she said. ‘But sometimes you just have to make do. Anyway, what have we got so far?’
‘I’m struggling to understand why Ian Becks, one of the most anal rule followers I’ve ever met, would sign out and then come back in again without signing in. It’s just completely out of character. We need to go through the CCTV footage from the reception area and see if we can find out what happened.’
‘Does he have any family?’ asked Goodnews. ‘There must be someone we should notify.’
‘He’s never mentioned anyone,’ said Slater, ‘but his personnel record should tell us that. Oh, and it might be an idea to take a look at whatever he’s been working on. Maybe someone had a grudge because he caught them out.’
Goodnews looked doubtful. ‘I’m sure it won’t be that,’ she said, hastily. ‘We’ve not had anything major in months.’
‘Yeah, but we can’t ignore it, though, can we?’ he said. ‘What about anyone who’s just been convicted because of Becks? That might be worth checking out.’
She pulled another face. ‘Alright. Get Biddeford to take a look at that CCTV footage when he gets here. I’ll check his file and see who we have to notify. I’ll be upstairs in my office. Let me know when those bomb guys get here. We need to know what they find.’
Chapter Five
Goodnews had soon discovered Ian Becks’ personnel file wasn’t going to be much help with finding next of kin. His mother was the only person listed, but she had died two years ago. For whatever reason, Becks’ next of kin had never been updated, so Slater had volunteered to go and see what he could find.
It was close to 4.30am when Slater pulled up outside Ian Becks’ flat. He’d had a pint with Becks enough times to have considered him a mate, but he’d never been here before, and now he thought about it, he realised he actually knew very little about him. They had always tended to talk shop, or football, or bicker about who brought more to an investigation, but they had never spoken about their families or anything even vaguely personal.
He had felt rather uncomfortable rifling through the dead man’s pockets earlier, but having a key to unlock the door was preferable to breaking in. He slipped on a pair of latex gloves, slid the key quietly into the lock, and turned it. The door swung open and he walked inside, flicking the lights on as he passed the switch.
There was a small hall with four doors leading off. The first one was half open and was obviously the kitchen. He pushed the door fully open and looked inside. As he expected, everything was very neat and tidy. There wasn’t so much as a single thing out of place that he could see. He opened one of the cupboards and peered inside. A smile crept across his face as he noticed every can was carefully lined up with its neighbours, all the labels facing the same way.
‘It wasn’t just at work then, Becksy,’ he said, quietly.
He quickly opened the other cupboards and drawers, but he wasn’t surprised to find nothing of interest. Becks wouldn’t have considered the kitchen the right place to keep paperwork.
He went back into the hallway and pushed open the next door. It was a tiny bathroom. A quick glance told him he wasn’t going to find anything of interest in there so he moved on. The next doorway was opposite the front door and opened to reveal the lounge. At first glance, Slater thought it must be furnished in a style that would be labelled minimalist. But as he scanned the room, he was surprised at the sparseness of the furniture. There was a large, slightly threadbare armchair in one corner, a quite small TV in the opposite corner, and an ancient desk standing against one wall. He thought this wasn’t so much minimalist as almost no
n-existent. This was a surprise. He knew Becks must have been on a pretty good salary, so how come he didn’t have any decent furniture?
His eye was drawn to a photograph in a silver frame on the sideboard. It looked like someone’s wedding. He picked up the photo and stared at it. He had been correct; it was a wedding photo. It was a classic wedding pose, clearly showing a beautiful, smiling bride and her equally happy groom. This was a bit of a shock. Slater had known Becks for three years and he had never once mentioned that he was married.
For a moment, he had the horrible thought that this mystery wife might well be asleep in the bedroom while he was poking around in her home, but that thought quickly receded as he realised this flat bore none of the hallmarks that would suggest a woman lived here. Even so, he held his breath as he quietly crept over to the bedroom and gently pushed the door open. He peered inside. To his great relief, the bed was empty and he noisily released his breath.
So where was this mysterious beauty? Perhaps they were divorced. It seemed most people were these days. Then he had another thought. What if she had died of some illness? Cancer didn’t care how old you were, did it?
He suddenly realised he was just speculating and rather wildly at that. He was supposed to be a professional, investigating a murder. Instead of making wild guesses, he should be looking for a clue that might identify her or tell him what had happened to her. He went back to the desk in the lounge. If Becks kept paperwork anywhere, this would surely be the place.
It was an old kneehole desk with three narrow drawers down each side and two wider drawers across the top. He started with the bottom drawers and worked his way up. Most of the paperwork seemed to be old household bills, bank statements, and junk mail. Slater flipped quickly through the paperwork. He absently thought it rather odd that Becks should keep junk mail, but he would worry about that later when they came back to carry out a more thorough search. For now, he was just looking for a letter, a birthday card, or anything that might give him a clue as to the mystery wife or any other next of kin. He found it in the very last drawer he looked at.
There was a small bundle of letters from someone called Beth. As Slater read the first one, he could see she was now an ex-wife. It was obvious they were either divorced or living apart, but it was equally obvious they were still very fond of each other. There was an address at the top of each of her letters, so Slater took the bundle and slipped it into his pocket.
He turned off all the lights and made sure the door was locked behind him. He glanced at his watch as he climbed into his car. It was just coming up to 5am. There wasn’t much point in calling the former Mrs Becks just yet. It wasn’t as if she could do anything to bring him back, so he might as well give her a couple more hours.
Chapter Six
The explosives team had refused to give Goodnews permission to access the basement, but even so, she had decided to call the entire day shift in early. As Slater arrived back at the station, the first few bleary-eyed officers were arriving. One of the new arrivals was the day shift duty sergeant, Tom Sanders. He had just climbed from his car as Slater pulled up, and by the time they reached the back doors Slater had caught him up.
‘And you’re sure he signed out and didn’t come back, Tom?’ Slater asked him as they signed the log.
‘Let me think,’ said Sanders, as he flipped the page back and studied the previous day’s log. ‘Here it is. Ian Becks, 18.09, signed out. Something else happened about then. Yeah, here we are, look. Those two miserable gits from out of town turned up.’ He pointed to the two signatures of DI Grimm and DS Fury, signed in at 18.10. ‘I seem to recall a courier coming in at the same time, but the parcel was for Becksy and I was busy with DI Misery Guts, so he said he’d deal with it and not to worry.’
‘So what happened with the courier?’ asked Slater.
‘I don’t know. Like I say, it was for Becks. He dealt with it.’
‘And did the courier sign in?’
Sanders looked at the log. ‘Obviously not,’ he said.
‘Did you see Becks come back out?’ asked Slater.
‘Yes,’ said Sanders. ‘I was still busy but he waved as he came through.’
‘How long was he down in the basement?’
‘Five or ten minutes. I can’t be sure. That moron Grimm was giving me a hard time. He was such an annoying bastard. It’ll be on the CCTV though.’
‘Okay, thanks, Tom,’ said Slater. ‘You know we’ll have to take a proper statement from you later, right?’
‘Of course. Anything I can do to help. Old Becksy was a bit weird, but he was a bloody genius and he was our bloody genius. We’ll all want to help if we can.’
Slater didn’t want to spoil Sanders’ day before it got started, but he could see there was going to be a shit storm over the security at the front desk, and blaming Grimm wasn’t going to help, especially if he ended up leading the inevitable investigation.
When Slater reached the incident room, he was pleased to see it was becoming a hive of activity. There was only a small team at Tinton so their resources were limited, but Goodnews had been busy while Slater had been out and she was delegating tasks as people arrived.
‘Any luck?’ she asked him.
‘I think so,’ he said. ‘It appears there’s a Mrs Becks, but I think they’re probably divorced.’
‘Christ!’ said Goodnews. ‘He kept that bloody quiet. But you were his mate. You must have known.’
‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But the more I think about it, the more I realise he never, ever mentioned anything about his personal life.’
‘But you used to go to the pub together, didn’t you?’
‘Well, yeah, now and then, but it was never a regular thing. And we were never really close, you know? We just exchanged banter about work, and football, and stuff like that.’
‘Oh, sophisticated stuff then.’ Goodnews smiled. ‘I suppose page three would have been a hot topic.’
‘Actually, now I think about it, I don’t think we ever talked about anything like that,’ said Slater.
‘Oh, come on. I thought beer, football, and sex, was all you blokes ever talked about,’ she scoffed.
‘I admit they would normally be hot topics with most blokes, but I swear Becks never spoke about sex, or women, or his past.’
‘Do you think that’s significant?’
‘I haven’t a clue if it’s significant,’ said Slater, ‘but you have to admit it’s a bit strange.’
Goodnews sighed. ‘Aye, but then he was one strange guy, wasn’t he?’
Slater smiled sadly. ‘I can’t argue with that.’ He emptied the letters from his pocket and sat down. ‘So where have we got to?’
‘I’m waiting for Tom Sanders to come in,’ she said. ‘He was on the desk when Becks signed out. We need to get a statement from him.’
‘He’s just come in,’ said Slater. ‘I signed in with him.’
‘I take it you had a little chat with him.’
‘He remembers Becks signing out but he was also dealing with the happy twins, Grimm and Fury. And then, just to add to the general chaos, a courier arrived.’
Goodnews suddenly perked up. ‘Oh aye,’ she said. ‘Go on.’
‘According to Tom, the parcel was for Becks. He could see Tom was busy so he dealt with the courier himself. He says he’s pretty sure Becks must have taken the parcel back down to the basement, and he thinks he left five or ten minutes later.’
‘What do you mean he “thinks” he saw Becks leave?’
‘DI Arsey was still giving him a hard time so he was distracted and not sure about the time, but he says Becks made a point of waving to him as he left.’
‘So Becks signs out, receives a parcel while he’s in reception, takes it back downstairs, and then leaves a few minutes later,’ summarised Goodnews. ‘Is that right?’
‘That’s how it looks,’ said Slater. ‘CCTV will prove it. Has anyone looked at it yet?’
‘Steve Biddeford’s
working on it. He’s working backwards to see if we can find out when Becks came back into the building. If he timed it right, and the front desk was unmanned for a minute or two, he could have got in without signing.’
‘But why would he want to?’ asked Slater. ‘And anyway, he knows there’s CCTV watching reception. He’s not stupid enough to think he can get in unnoticed.’
Goodnews was looking through the letters Slater had brought back from Becks’ flat. There was a photograph in amongst them and it slipped out on to the table.
‘Is this her?’ she asked, looking up at Slater.
He nodded. ‘Yeah, that’s her.’
‘Wow! Talk about batting above your average. Who would have thought a nerd like him could pull a lovely looking girl like this?’
‘Not just pull, but tie the knot as well,’ said Slater. ‘And from what I’ve read in those letters, they’re still pretty close.’
‘Have you called her yet?’ asked Goodnews.
‘I thought I’d leave it until seven,’ he said. ‘She’s not down as next of kin and she can’t bring him back...’
‘Go and get yourself a cup of coffee. I’ll have look through these letters and see if I can learn anything useful.’
Chapter Seven
‘
Coffee?’ asked Slater, pushing open the door to the tech room.
Steve Biddeford looked up from his position in front of the bank of screens as Slater walked across with a steaming cup.
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Look, I’m sorry about Becks. I know we all knew him and appreciated his work, but you and him were mates—’
‘It’s okay,’ said Slater. ‘We shared a few pints now and then but I’m just learning we weren’t really mates. It turns out I hardly knew anything about him. Three years, and I’ve only just found out he had been married and was divorced.’
‘Really? He kept that bloody quiet.’
