by P. F. Ford
The Russian shrugged amiably. ‘As you wish. But I’m sure you’ll find your friend Mr Norman would agree with me. How is he by the way? Such a pity he retired, you made such a good team.’
‘That would never have happened if it wasn’t for you torching his flat,’ said Slater.
The Russian waved a dismissive hand. ‘DCI Goodnews was going to happen anyway,’ he said, ‘and she would still have forced him out. It may have taken her a little longer without my intervention, but she would have achieved her goal eventually.’
He smiled at Slater again. Slater glowered back.
‘Anyway, I didn’t come here to talk about these things,’ he said. ‘I understand you have very little time before this investigation is closed. Unlike you, it seems your chief constable is prepared to accept we’re not involved, and instead he’s prepared to accept a suicide verdict to stop you wasting any more time on us. But we both know it wasn’t suicide, don’t we?’
‘How do you know all this?’ asked Slater.
The Russian smiled his indulgent smile again. ‘How I know is unimportant. I’ve come here to help you catch your friend’s murderer before it’s too late, but you won’t do that if you waste any more time going after us. You already know who did this. Don’t waste any more time on us, you’ll prove nothing. Find your mystery man, he’s the real killer.’
‘I suppose you’ll be telling me you know his motive next,’ said Slater, indignantly.
The Russian chuckled. ‘I think I’ve given you more than enough help already, don’t you?’
He took hold of the pistol and eased himself from his armchair. Slater’s heart seemed to miss several beats and his stomach lurched violently. He stepped back involuntarily and raised his hands.
‘Please, relax,’ said the Russian. ‘I like you, Mr Slater. You have principles, you understand discretion, and you are devoted to your job. These are excellent qualities in any man.’
‘I’m supposed to feel grateful, am I?’ growled Slater.
‘We may be on opposite sides of the fence, Mr Slater, but even so, I can recognise you as a fundamentally good man. Your choice of girlfriend may be unwise, but then, none of us are perfect, are we?’
Slater’s face reddened even more.
‘My point is why on earth would I want to shoot a good man for no good reason?’ The Russian smiled, yet again, and then waved the gun to indicate what he wanted Slater to do. ‘Please, come and sit in this chair.’
At the sudden movement of the gun, Slater suddenly became unsteady on his feet and wobbled. The Russian tightened his grip on the gun and straightened his aim.
‘Now please, there’s no need to be a hero,’ he said. ‘I may not want to shoot you, but I will if you give me reason to.’
‘Don’t panic,’ said Slater, trying to maintain some sort of composure. ‘I’m not feeling heroic tonight. Guns tend to have that effect on me for some reason.’
Facing each other, they shuffled around the room until they had exchanged places, and Slater sank into the chair. He was actually quite relieved to be sitting down. His legs now seemed to be made of jelly and he was no longer in full control of them.
‘I’m going to say goodbye now,’ said the Russian. ‘Please stay where you are for five minutes.’
He walked across to the front door and pulled it open. Before he left, he stopped on the threshold and turned.
‘Remember,’ he said. ‘It’s often the oldest skeleton in the closet that rattles loudest.’
Then he turned and walked out, pulling the door closed behind him.
Slater was no coward, but the stress of facing a menacing man with a gun had taken its toll. As he tried to get up and give chase, he discovered he no longer had any control of his legs and they immediately gave way beneath him, leaving him in an untidy heap on the floor.
‘Oh bollocks,’ he muttered, as he lay there waiting for his heart to stop racing. ‘I hate bloody guns.’
After a couple of minutes, he was pretty sure his legs would now work normally, and although his heart was still beating pretty fast, at least he could now count the beats. He knew he really should get up off the floor and do something, but he didn’t. He just lay there.
Chapter Twenty-Six
It was 9pm when Norman let himself into Slater’s house.
‘It’s only me,’ he called, as he opened the door and walked in. ‘I took your spare key. I hope you don’t mi—’
He left the sentence unfinished as he did a quick double take. Slater was still lying on his back on the floor, where he had been since the Russian left. Norman rushed across to his friend and knelt down by his side.
‘Dave! Dave! Are you okay?’ Gently, he patted Slater’s cheek.
Slater opened one eye and looked at him.
‘Are you hurt?’ asked Norman, alarmed.
‘My pride is severely dented, but physically I’m fine,’ said Slater.
‘What happened? What are you doing on the floor?’
‘Honestly?’ asked Slater, still on his back. ‘I’m so pissed off I just couldn’t be arsed to get up.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ said Norman. ‘We just need to step back, see what we’ve missed and we’ll solve this case just like we’ve solved others before.’
Slater sighed, a big, heavy, sigh. ‘I’ve had enough of this shit, Norm. This is the second time I’ve had some arsehole point a bloody gun at me, and what do I have to fight back with? Bugger all, that’s what. How can we be expected to fight crime when the bloody criminals have all the weapons? And if we do fight back, we get accused of police brutality! How does that bloody work? It’s just not worth it any more.’
‘Wait, wait, wait,’ said a shocked Norman. ‘What’s this about a gun? Who’s been pointing a gun at you? What the hell’s happened?’
‘Do you remember the Russian guy?’ asked Slater.
‘How can I forget the guy who turned my flat into a fireball? What? You’re kidding me, right? Has he been here?’
Slater gave him a rueful look.
‘Have you called it in?’ asked Norman. ‘You have, haven’t you?’
‘What’s the bloody point, Norm? The guy’s like a ghost. He’ll be long gone and he never leaves a trace, does he?’
‘Jeez, you really are pissed off, aren’t you? I thought you’d got over all that negative stuff.’
Slater looked glum. ‘Yeah, so did I. Will you help me up?’
Norman stood up, gave Slater a hand and pulled him to his feet, where he wobbled unsteadily.
‘You’d better sit down a minute,’ said Norman, guiding him back into the armchair. ‘Can I get you a cup of tea?’
Slater leaned forward and scrubbed his face with his hands. ‘There are some beers in the fridge,’ he said. ‘Grab a couple and I’ll tell you what you’ve missed.’
‘Jeez, I’m sorry you’ve been through that again,’ said Norman, when Slater had finished relating his story. ‘Maybe if I’d stayed here—’
‘He waited until you went out, Norm,’ said Slater. ‘It was me he wanted to see. And it’s not your fault, you’ve got nothing to be sorry for.’
‘This all down to Goodnews,’ said Norman. ‘If she hadn’t stirred up the shit—’
‘He didn’t come here to kill me, Norm. I wouldn’t be talking to you now if that was his intention.’
‘D’you think he’s telling the truth?’
‘Now that’s the million-dollar question, but I’m not dead, am I?’
‘So you do believe him,’ said Norman.
‘Ever since I knew about the fingerprint, I was convinced it had to be them,’ said Slater. ‘But, like the guy said, if the fingerprint was the motive and it doesn’t exist any more, then neither does the motive.’
‘Yeah, but he would say that wouldn’t he?’ argued Norman. ‘It’s just as likely he’s doing this to throw you off the scent. You’ve only got two days, right? So if he sends you off in another direction it could take you those two days to realise it.’
‘Oh, I know that,’ said Slater. ‘But what if he is telling the truth and we don’t follow it up? We’re damned if we do, and we’re damned if we don’t.’
‘So what do we know that backs up his argument?’
‘Becksy was dead before the explosion,’ said Slater, ‘and we know the Mystery Man in the red leathers went down to the lab with him, and was there at, or very close to, the time he died.’
‘Well, that’s it then,’ said Norman. ‘We focus on that guy. Maybe it will lead us back to the Russian and his friends anyway.’
‘He says it won’t.’
‘We can judge that for ourselves, when the time comes. Do we know anything about this guy?’
‘The only clue we have that might help is that when Ian saw him on the CCTV footage, he seemed to know him.’
‘So we start with friends and family,’ said Norman. ‘I have to admit, I don’t trust this Russian guy.’
‘I wouldn’t trust him as far as I can throw him,’ said Slater, ‘but he seems to know a whole lot of stuff that he’s right about.’
‘You have to wonder how he knows all that,’ said Norman. ‘It’s not all in the file, is it? I mean, how does he know what the chief constable thinks?’
‘Yeah, it’s almost as if he’s directing operations himself, isn’t it?’ suggested Slater.
‘That doesn’t bear thinking about,’ said Norman. ‘We know they’ve got someone inside at Interpol, but d’you think they’ve got someone in their pocket here as well? Jesus, that would have to be someone pretty high up to know what the CC’s thinking, don’t you think? It would need to be a DCI or someone like that.’
They both knew what Norman was implying, but Slater wasn’t going to get into that conversation. ‘Let’s not go down that road, Norm,’ he said.
Before either of them could say anything else, his landline began to ring.
‘Who the hell is that, at this time of night?’ asked Norman.
The phone continued to ring but Slater made no attempt to get up and answer it.
‘Are you gonna get that?’
‘No, bugger it, I can’t be arsed. If it’s important they’ll leave a message.’
The answer machine kicked in and they heard his voice telling the caller to leave a message after the beep. Then the machine did beep and they heard a voice. Slater immediately regretted his decision to ignore the call.
‘Hi, it’s Marion,’ said the voice of DCI Marion Goodnews. ‘I’m sorry I missed you. I just called to apologise for what I said this morning, and to thank you for last night. I really did have a lovely time. You made me forget all about work for a few hours, and that’s something I haven’t done for a long time. It was just what I needed. Thanks again.’
Norman looked enquiringly at Slater but said nothing. Not for the first time that day, Slater felt his face redden.
‘Look,’ he said, flustered. ‘She had a load of shit from the CC, she was pretty down, and we went for a drink after work. I just tried to cheer her up. That’s all there was to it.’
‘But you both ended up back here,’ said Norman.
‘She’d had a lot to drink. I couldn’t let her drive home,’ explained Slater, sounding desperate. ‘It’s not what you think.’
Norman held up his hands. ‘Hey, what I think doesn’t matter. It’s none of my business what you do with your boss in your spare time. I just hope you realise what you’re doing, that’s all.’
Slater’s face reddened even more, but now he was angry. First the Russian was telling him how to run his personal life and now his best friend was having a go.
‘It’s no different to me and you going out for a pint and me letting you sleep here because you’ve had too much to drink,’ he said, angrily.
‘Don’t start getting arsey with me,’ said Norman. ‘I’m just a friend looking out for you. I just think you need to remember what we were saying a couple of minutes ago about someone being in the Russian guy’s pocket.’
‘Look, I know you don’t like her,’ said Slater, ‘but I can tell you one thing for sure – she’s not in anyone’s pocket. Anyway, she’s been running this investigation so it’s not as if she needs to pick my brains for information.’
‘Wasn’t it Shakespeare who said something about protesting too much?’ asked Norman, innocently.
Slater was smarting, but he was also trying hard to make sure this didn’t get out of hand. ‘We’re not going to fall out over this, are we?’ he asked.
‘There’s no reason why we should, is there?’
‘Not as long as you remember it’s my life.’
‘Look, I’m sorry,’ said Norman. ‘I’m probably the last person who should be giving out advice about relationships after the car crash my life became. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.’
‘Jesus, Norm, she just used my spare room for a night that’s all. She was having a bad day and I took her for a drink. I’d have done the same for you.’
‘Just don’t ask me to be best man, that’s all,’ said Norman. ‘That would be a step too far.’
‘Oh, for f—’ Slater just caught Norman’s cheeky grin before the word escaped his lips. ‘Oh, ha, ha, very funny.’
‘Come on,’ said Norman, amicably. ‘We’ve got better things to do, right?’
‘You’re right,’ Slater agreed, knowing Norman only had his best interests at heart. ‘We can argue about my life’s choices another time. We should focus on what we do best.’
‘Okay. So where do you think we should go from here?’
‘Right now I’m shattered,’ said Slater, climbing to his feet. ‘I think I should go to bed and get a few hours’ sleep.’
‘Yeah,’ said Norman. ‘I think that’s a good idea. You look like you haven’t slept for days.’
‘What about you?’ asked Slater. ‘Are you coming up?’
‘It’s very sweet of you to offer,’ said Norman, the cheeky grin all over his face again, ‘but I really don’t want to share with you.’
‘Yeah, right. You know very well what I mean. Don’t tell me you don’t sleep these days.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m wide awake,’ said Norman. ‘That’s another thing about being retired – you get the chance to sleep whenever you want. I’ve caught up all that sleep I used to miss out on and then some. If it’s okay with you, I’ll sit down here and go through this file again. Then I might use your laptop and do some digging around online.’
‘Sure. Fill your boots,’ said Slater. ‘When you get tired, you know there’s a spare bed, right?’
‘What time are we starting in the morning?’ asked Norman.
‘I’m going to set my alarm for six.’
‘I’ll be there.’
Slater climbed slowly up the stairs and struggled out of his clothes. He was dead on his feet as he climbed into bed. As his head hit the pillow he caught a faint whiff of perfume and for a moment he was confused, but only for a moment.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
When Slater came down next morning, his lounge walls were adorned with assorted sheets of paper, some with photographs attached and some linked by lengths of red string.
‘I take it you’ve been up all night?’ he asked.
‘Too right I have,’ said Norman. ‘It’s like I was Frankenstein’s monster and I just got that electric shock. I really didn’t realise how much I missed all this.’
‘So, what have you learnt?’
‘I’ve been wondering how your friend the Russian could have known Becksy died a couple of hours before the bomb went off. There are three possibilities. He could have read it in the file while he was waiting for you last night, someone could have told him, or, he was there and saw what happened.’
‘But you think he was there?’ asked Slater.
‘I do, yes,’ said Norman. ‘Or if he wasn’t there in person, he had someone working for him.’
‘What makes you so sure?’
‘You said he told you he knew
it wasn’t suicide. Now, how could he know that, and why would he care? I mean a suicide verdict clears them of a murder charge, so what difference does it make to him?’
Slater stared at Norman’s patchwork of papers on his wall.
‘So who was watch—,’ he began. ‘Oh, hang on. The cleaner was abducted, wasn’t he?’
‘Right,’ said Norman. ‘It’s an easy switch to make, and there’s not too much risk. Who’s gonna take any notice of a cleaner down in the basement? Who’s even going to see him, unless they go down there?’
‘Christ, we should have been onto that sooner. I knew it was important,’ said Slater. ‘It was never going to be a bloody coincidence, was it?’
‘We can worry about what you should have done another time,’ said Norman. ‘Right now we need to try and figure out what he saw.’
‘Well, let’s make an assumption for a minute,’ said Slater. ‘Let’s accept the Russian’s telling the truth and they did put a fake cleaner into the basement. He waits for Becksy to leave, then he goes into the lab, finds the fingerprint, removes it and sets up the incendiary device. He was quick, but even so, before he can escape, Becksy comes back down to the lab, this time with the mystery rider.’
‘Right,’ said Norman, picking up the thread. ‘So he hides somewhere in the lab and he watches as Becksy gets bumped off. Then, somehow, he manages to find an escape route and he legs it as quick as he can, and who can blame him? This should have been a nice easy job. He was just supposed to nick some evidence and set a fire bomb. No one told him anything about getting involved in murder.’
‘This is starting to make the Russian’s story sound even more credible,’ said Slater.
‘Yeah, tell me about it,’ said Norman. ‘Much as I hate to admit it, I think we have to take a chance and do what he suggested.’
‘I need to eat first,’ said Slater, heading for the kitchen.
‘There’s something else about all this that worries me,’ said Norman, following in Slater’s wake. ‘Why is the chief constable so keen to believe it’s a suicide?’
‘He’s trying to put Goodnews in her place,’ said Slater. ‘She’s got too big for her boots. This is his chance to show her who’s boss.’
