by P. F. Ford
Slater smiled. ‘That’s just what Goodnews said.’
‘So where are we?’ asked Biddeford.
‘All we know so far is that he signed out at 18.09. As he was signing out, a courier arrived with a parcel for him. He took the parcel back downstairs to his office, then five or ten minutes later he walks back through reception and out of the building. So he was gone by about 18.20, but then about three hours later, he’s sat at his desk down in the basement when something explodes, blowing him over backwards and causing bad enough injuries that when the fire service guys find him, about half an hour or so later, he had just taken his last breath.’
‘I’ve gone backwards from the time of the explosion,’ said Biddeford. ‘I’ve got back to 7pm, and so far the only sign of life in that reception area is the hands on the clock moving.’
‘Are we missing something?’ said Slater. ‘There isn’t any other way in, is there?’
‘There’s always the fire exit. He could have left it open before he went home and then sneaked back later.’
‘The fire service guys assure us the fire exit was still locked and the trip switch was still working. You can only open it from the inside, and if you did open it for more than fifteen seconds it would trigger an alarm out here as a potential security breach,’ said Slater. ‘And if he had come back, where’s his motorbike? He went everywhere on that.’
‘He could have left it somewhere and got a taxi,’ suggested Biddeford.
‘I suppose that’s something we need to check out. I wonder if Goodnews has got onto it yet.’
‘What are you on now?’ asked Biddeford.
‘I’m just going to see his ex-wife. It seems they were still close, so maybe she can shed some light on his state of mind. Maybe he had an enemy we don’t know about.’
‘Ah, the crappiest job of all.’ Biddeford aimed a grim look at his colleague. ‘Good luck with that.’
Slater returned the look. No one ever wanted to notify family members about a death. ‘Someone’s got to do it,’ he said.
‘What about what he was working on?’ asked Biddeford.
‘The boss seems to think he wasn’t working on anything that would warrant a bomb,’ said Slater.
‘Yeah, but we’ve got to check it out, haven’t we? It sounds like a no-brainer to me.’
‘We’re agreed about that. Maybe if we both keep suggesting it we can wear her down.’
‘She probably won’t like me suggesting it,’ said Biddeford. ‘But then it won’t be the first time I’ve got on her wrong side.’
‘Just mention it in passing,’ said Slater. ‘If enough of us talk about it, she can’t ignore it.’
‘But why would she want to?’ asked Biddeford. ‘Start with the obvious. It’s basic police work, isn’t it?’
‘Maybe she just sees it different to us,’ said Slater. ‘Right now she needs a quick result and that’s clouding her judgement. Perhaps we just need to do a little bit of managing upwards.’
‘Okay, I’ll drop a hint when I see her.’
‘I’d better go. Perhaps by the time I get back, the CCTV footage will have revealed the answer and we can all relax.’
‘I think you’ll find that’s called wishful thinking.’
‘Optimism,’ said Slater. ‘That’s what it is.’
‘Yeah, right.’ Biddeford returned to his TV screen. ‘Good luck with that.’
‘I’ve circulated a description of his motorbike,’ said Goodnews, ‘and I’ve asked for his private mobile phone records and emails. We should be able to access his work emails and phone records from our own servers.’
‘What about what he was working on?’ asked Slater.
‘That won’t tell us if he’s received any sort of threat, will it?’ she said.
‘No,’ agreed Slater, ‘but it might point to someone who uses this sort of extreme violence to make a point.’
‘I think we should go through the phone and email records first.’ Goodnews’s voice was firm. ‘Then, if we find a threat we can see if there’s a job we can link it to.’
The situation was making Slater feel slightly uneasy but he couldn’t put his finger on why. Anyway, her tone made it quite clear she wasn’t prepared to negotiate so he decided to let it go for now.
‘We could do with someone like Norm in this situation,’ said Slater. ‘He probably dealt with this sort of crime all the time when he was based up in London.’
Slater’s thoughts drifted to his former colleague, DS Norman Norman. He missed Norm’s portly frame pushing its way through the double doors, a tray of coffees and bacon rolls announcing his arrival. He’d only been in Tinton for a couple of years but Slater had immediately taken to Norman and vice versa.
Slater looked at DCI Goodnews, standing in front of him, looking frosty. It was her fault in a way that Norman wasn’t around any longer. She had made it clear she had no room for a Mister Roly Poly figure in her team, and when Norman refused to lose weight and get fit, he had been pensioned off at the first opportunity. Slater felt irritated all over again – Norm had been a bloody good officer. So what if he couldn’t run a marathon?
He wondered briefly if Norm would come back as a civilian researcher again, like he had on the last big case. Unlikely, he thought, sadly, as Norm had left proclaiming he wouldn’t work with DCI Goodnews again.
‘I think you’ll find it was Mr Norman’s choice to leave.’ Goodnews’s icy voice broke through Slater’s ponderings. ‘I even found a way for him to use his experience to assist the team, but he has some sort of grudge against me that he couldn’t get past.’
Slater felt a smartarse retort on the way but he managed to stop it right on the tip of his tongue. He chose instead to say nothing, wondering how his relationship with his boss had got to this point. It was as if they were tiptoeing around some sort of flashpoint that could only end in an almighty explosion. He knew he was just as much to blame as her, but he couldn’t for the life of him say why.
Chapter Eight
Bethan Becks had been horrified when Slater had broken the news to her, and it had taken the family liaison officer a good twenty minutes and a cup of strong, sweet tea before she had become composed enough to answer his questions.
‘It’s such a shock,’ she said. ‘Can you tell me what happened?’
‘All we know so far is that he signed out of work just after 6pm and left the building, but then, somehow, three hours later he was at his desk when there was an explosion,’ said Slater. As he said the words, he realised how little they really did know.
‘But how did he get back in without anyone noticing?’ asked Beth.
‘That’s just one of the things we’re trying to figure out,’ he admitted.
‘And you say there was an explosion. Was it a bomb?’
‘It’s too soon to say for sure, but at the moment it looks the most likely explanation.’
‘But who would do such a thing?’
‘That’s what we’re trying to work out,’ said Slater. ‘I was hoping you might be able to help us out there. I know you and Ian were divorced, but I believe you still kept in touch.’
Beth looked at Slater and bit her lip. He felt as if he were being assessed. ‘How well did you know Ian?’ she asked.
‘Not as well as I thought,’ he replied, carefully. ‘For a start, I didn’t know he’d been married.’
‘He only ever told people what he wanted them to know,’ she said, mysteriously. ‘It’s been very hard for him to face up to reality and deal with everything.’
‘I’m not with you,’ said Slater. ‘I’ve only worked with him for three years, and as far as I’m aware he’s not had any problems. If there’s something you know that might help us, you should tell me.’
She looked long and hard at his face, then she sighed. ‘He had a secret,’ she said. ‘I promised I would never tell anyone, but I suppose it can’t hurt now, can it?’
Slater held his breath.
‘Ian was always quite
prim and proper,’ she began. ‘We went out together for four years before we married, but in all that time we never once had sex.’
Slater found that hard to believe. Beth Becks was a very attractive woman.
‘He used to say he wanted to wait. I didn’t mind. He was quite religious, so I just assumed he was doing the right thing, you know?’
Slater nodded encouragingly. He had a feeling where this was going, but surely he would have known, wouldn’t he?
‘But then, when we were married, he found it difficult. I was sure he loved me, but he just didn’t seem to be able to show it in the way a man should, if you see what I mean.’
Slater nodded again.
‘You know what I’m saying, don’t you, Mr Slater? Poor Ian was gay, but he’d never been able to admit it. He thought if he married me...’
She stopped speaking and turned to stare out of the window. Slater gave her a few moments before he spoke. ‘Is that why you divorced?’ he asked.
She nodded her head and turned back to face him. ‘We still loved each other. But I needed what he couldn’t give me, and he needed what I couldn’t give him. I suppose we could have carried on, but who really wants to live a lie? You have to be who you really are, don’t you? He was trying to come to terms with it, but he’d been hiding it for years. It was very difficult for him.’
Even though Slater had guessed where the conversation was leading, he was still finding it hard to take in. It wasn’t that he cared about Becks being gay, he was just finding it hard to believe he knew so very little about someone he had worked with for over three years.
‘I know you still kept in touch,’ he said. ‘I had to go to his flat, and I found your letters.’
‘Did he keep them?’ she asked.
‘I think they meant a great deal to him. As far as I can tell, he had never confided in anyone at work, so it’s possible you were the only person he trusted where this was concerned.’
‘Poor Ian,’ she said. ‘He must have been so alone.’
A small sob escaped from her and she reached for a tissue. Slater had an uncomfortable, guilty feeling. If only he’d known. He would have been happy to talk to Becks, but he’d had no idea what the poor guy was going through.
‘Did he ever mention being worried about anything?’ he asked. ‘Did he ever suggest he was in any sort of danger or being threatened by anyone?’
Beth thought for a moment. ‘I’m not aware that he felt in danger. There was the incident a few weeks ago, but he thought that was a one-off and he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.’
‘What incident was that?’ Slater asked.
‘A few weeks ago,’ she said. ‘Someone attacked him with a baseball bat or a cricket bat. I think he was the victim of a “gay-basher”. He said it wasn’t that, but he’d been talking about going to a gay bar and it happened at night. I think it’s too much of a coincidence, don’t you?’
‘I remember that,’ said Slater. ‘It was about eight weeks ago. He told me he’d been trying out for his village cricket team. He said he’d been too slow getting out of the way of the fast bowler and the ball had smacked against his arm.’
‘He’s never played cricket in his life,’ said Beth.
‘Do you know where this gay bar is?’
‘It’s called Dickie’s Bar,’ she said. ‘He was hoping he might meet someone.’
‘I know where Dickie’s Bar is,’ he said. ‘We can pay them a visit. Maybe someone will remember something. Is there anything else you can tell us?
‘There was one thing but I’m not sure how it would be relevant. Apparently there was a lot of bullying when he was at school.’
Slater frowned.
‘Like I said, it’s probably completely irrelevant, and I wouldn’t have taken much notice except in all the time I’d known him, he had never mentioned it. Then, suddenly, someone attacked him and out it came.’
Slater found it easy to imagine the geeky Becks being the victim of a school bully. ‘Did he think it was the same person who had bullied him at school?’
‘I have no idea, he didn’t say. But it’s not likely, is it? We all had bullies at school, but even the bullies grow up eventually.’
‘Like you say, it’s probably unlikely, but right now, I’m open to all suggestions,’ said Slater. ‘Do you know any names?’
‘Good grief, no,’ she said. ‘That was before I met him, but I can tell you the name of the school if that helps.’
Slater didn’t really think it would add anything to their enquiries, but he made a note of the school anyway. He felt it was time to go.
‘Look, Beth, I’m sorry we got to meet in these circumstances, but I’m going to have to get back. The family liaison officer will stay with you, but is there anyone we can call?’
‘That’s alright,’ she said. ‘My boyfriend will be home later.’
‘What does he think about Ian?’
‘Oh, they get on just fine,’ said Beth, then corrected herself. ‘Or should I say, they got on fine. It was Jimmy’s idea that Ian should submit his manuscript. Jimmy works for a publisher, you see, and Ian had written this novel about a forensic scientist who solved all the crimes the police couldn’t.’
Slater couldn’t hide his smile. ‘He was writing about himself,’ he said. ‘He always used to tell me I’d be lost without him.’
This brought a smile to her face too. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘When he came to work he knew exactly who he was and what he was supposed to do.’
‘He was very highly thought of,’ said Slater. ‘Someone said to me earlier today that everyone at Tinton saw Ian as “our genius”.’
‘That’s nice to know,’ she said. ‘He would have liked that.’
‘If you think of anything else that might help, just give me a call.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’ll do that.’
Chapter Nine
‘
Right,’ said Biddeford, addressing his audience, notebook in his hand. ‘I’ve reviewed all the CCTV footage from the reception area from the time of the explosion right back until the time Becks signed out. I’m not going to run the footage now, but I’ve picked out the relevant events.’
Goodnews had called a full briefing so everyone would know exactly where the investigation had got to and where it was going next. She had given them a brief update, and now Biddeford was adding his findings from the CCTV footage. She listened intently – she had to solve this fast, or all her hard work over the past few months would have been in vain. Her ears were still smarting from the chief constable’s comments.
‘At 18.08, DI Grimm and DS Fury enter the building. They engage Tom Sanders at the counter and, being an arse, Grimm gives him a hard time, just because he can.’
There were one or two murmurs of agreement.
‘Let’s save the editorial comments for another time, can we?’ interrupted Goodnews. ‘A colleague has been murdered. I think that’s more important than what anyone thinks of DI Grimm, don’t you?’
Biddeford’s face turned a deep shade of red. ‘Sorry, boss,’ he mumbled, awkwardly.
‘Move on,’ said Goodnews, a small smile playing about her lips. She actually agreed with Biddeford’s assessment of Grimm’s behaviour, but now wasn’t the time.
Biddeford fidgeted awkwardly, coughed, and began again. ‘Okay. 18.09. DI Grimm is still hogging the desk sergeant’s attention when Ian Becks comes through the doors at the back of reception and makes his way over to sign the log. He’s wearing his distinctive red motorcycle leathers and he’s carrying his crash helmet. He signs the log and then it looks like his phone rings. He answers and is on the phone for a second, then hangs up and stands in reception. Sadly, it’s a blocked number so we’ve no idea who he was speaking to. Could just have been a wrong number.
‘18.11. The front door swings open and a motorcycle courier comes in carrying a package. From Becks’ body language, it looks as if he’s been waiting for the delivery. He walks up to
the courier and speaks to him, then leads him back through the doors at the back of reception. My guess is the courier has agreed to carry the package down to the lab where Becks is going to sign for it.
‘18.20. Becks comes back through the doors. This time he’s wearing his crash helmet and he heads straight for the front doors. Tom Sanders is still tied up with Grimm and Fury, but he glances up as Becks walks through. Becks raises a hand to acknowledge him and makes his way out of the doors. And that’s the last time he appears on the front desk CCTV.’
‘You’re sure it was Becks?’ asked Slater.
‘For sure,’ said Biddeford. ‘His crash helmet’s as distinctive as those red leathers.’
‘So, what happened to the courier?’ asked Goodnews.
‘I suspect Becks would have let him out the back way through the fire exit,’ said Biddeford. ‘Couriers have to park around there. It would have been the quickest way out for him. Saves him having to walk all the way back through and around the building.’
Goodnews sighed in frustration. Their security was so lax as to be almost non-existent. ‘So he didn’t sign in and he left by the back door,’ she said. ‘What’s the point in us having a bloody security system if no bugger sticks to it?’
‘It gets a bit worse, actually,’ said Biddeford. ‘Anyone wearing a crash helmet is supposed to take it off when they enter the building.’
‘But the courier didn’t?’ she asked.
Biddeford gave her a helpless little shrug.
‘Oh bloody hell,’ she said, exasperated. ‘So you’re telling me some faceless guy walked in and was taken downstairs, and we have no idea who he is?’
‘We should be able to get the registration number of his bike from the cameras outside,’ said Slater.
‘Let’s bloody hope so,’ said Goodnews. ‘Steve, I want you to get onto that as soon as we finish up here. I want to know who this guy is, and then I want him interviewed.’
‘Yes, boss.’
‘Right,’ she said, trying to maintain a good humour. ‘Next. DS Slater has been to see Ian Becks’ former wife.’
