by P. F. Ford
‘I can remember 1992,’ she said. ‘It was a bad year. A pupil died in an accident right at the start of the school year. It took months for everyone to get over it.’
Slater did as he had been instructed and found the link to the school year summaries. He clicked on 1992 and began to read. When he had finished, he read through it again, making notes in his notebook as he went. Then he clicked on the 1991 link and read the summary for that year, adding more notes as he went. After twenty minutes, he pushed back his seat and stood up.
‘Thank you for your help, Mrs Spencer,’ he said. ‘I really do appreciate it.’
‘Have you found anything that will help?’ she asked.
‘Possibly. There are one or two things that might be of interest. We won’t know how helpful they are until we follow them up.’
‘If there’s anything else I can do, please let me know, won’t you?’ she said.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I’ll leave you in peace now.’
‘You’re not going to believe this,’ said Slater five minutes later, when Norman answered his phone.
‘I take it you found the missing skeleton,’ said Norman.
‘Can you believe our favourite geek wasn’t always a geek? It turns out Ian Becks wasn’t the victim of bullies at school. He was one of the bullies.’
There was silence for a few seconds.
‘You’re kidding me, right?’ asked Norman. ‘He couldn’t hurt a fly.’
‘Ah, he couldn’t now,’ agreed Slater, ‘but back at the beginning of the nineties he and two cronies were the scourge of their school. Apparently there was one kid in their class who they nearly drove nuts, and they even picked on kids a year or two older!’
‘Wow! It just goes to show you never know what’s in someone’s past,’ said Norman. ‘Do you think it’s relevant to his death?’
‘Listen to this, and see what you think,’ said Slater. ‘For the first two years at that school, Ian was very average, but then, in year three, he’s separated from his fellow thugs and he becomes a model student.’
‘So they were a bad influence,’ said Norman. ‘Lots of kids team up with the wrong friends. It happens all the time.’
‘Yeah,’ agreed Slater, ‘but wait until you hear this bit. At the beginning of what would have been year three for Ian, one of the kids at the school was riding his bike along the canal path when he was hit on the head by a brick dropped on him from a bridge above. He fell in the river and drowned.’
‘Holy shit,’ said Norman.
‘According to the headmaster at the time, it was believed by many people that Becks and his cronies were to blame, although nothing was ever proved.’
‘Jesus, that would certainly be something you’d never stop feeling guilty about,’ said Norman.
‘That only works if he committed suicide,’ said Slater, ‘and we know he didn’t.’
‘Yeah, but what if someone made him write it in an attempt to make it look like suicide?’
‘What, you mean seeking revenge?’ asked Slater.
‘Why not?’
Slater thought about it. It had to be a possibility. The same idea had crossed his own mind before Norman had mentioned it. ‘We’re getting ahead of ourselves here. We’d need to prove there was someone left to seek revenge before we go too far down that road.’
‘I take it you have some names?’ asked Norman.
‘Two cronies, one victim who survived the bullying, and a kid who was killed, possibly by the bullies.’
‘Let’s have ‘em, then,’ said Norman.
‘Did you find anything on Jimmy Huston?’ asked Slater.
‘Nothing worth getting excited about so far. I’ll tell you when you get back. You are coming back?’
‘I’ll be about half an hour or so.
‘Okay, gimme those names and I’ll make a start.’
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Slater parked his car and rushed into his house.
‘Hi, honey, I’m home,’ he called, as he opened the front door.
‘If you think I’m going to rush over and give you a kiss, you’ve got another think coming,’ said Norman.
‘You mean you haven’t got lunch ready and done the ironing?’ asked Slater, trying to sound disappointed.
‘I would have, but I couldn’t find the maid’s outfit.’
‘Damn. I should have shown you where I hide it.’
‘Are you going to carry on arseing about, or do you want to know what I’ve found?’ asked Norman.
‘Okay, what have we got?’ asked Slater, heading for the kitchen. ‘I guess it must be good.’
‘Well, I figured we wouldn’t have time to try and access old police files so I had a look online to see if I could find any old news stories about the kid who was knocked off his bike. It was a long time ago, so I didn’t expect to find too much, but I did manage to find the kid’s name. He was called Adam Radford.
‘I did a search to see if he had any brothers or sisters. It turns out he had an older brother. His name’s James. All I know for sure so far is that he didn’t go to the same school.’
‘What do you mean, the only thing you know for sure?’ asked Slater.
‘The guy leaves school and then within five years, he seems to disappear. I can’t find any trace of him anywhere, but there’s no death certificate so I figure he must still be alive. Maybe he changed his name for some reason. I’m gonna look into that after I’ve checked out the living victim. He might be worth talking to.’
‘Okay, you stay on that,’ said Slater. ‘I’ll see if I can trace these other two bullies on my old personal laptop.’
‘Yeah, who woulda thought? Becksy the bully. It just doesn’t seem possible, does it?’
‘It’s all there in his school reports,’ said Slater. ‘It even looks as if he was the ringleader. Apparently they spoke to his parents about it in the first year, but it didn’t seem to make much difference.’
‘Can I hear the sounds of a skeleton beginning to rattle, or are we being sent on a wild goose chase?’ asked Norman.
‘Yeah, you have to wonder, don’t you?’ admitted Slater, ‘but there’s only one way we’re going to find out. What gets me is how the hell did that bloody Russian know about this?’
‘Is there anything they don’t know? They seemed to know everything there was to know about us two the last time we crossed paths.’
‘It’s pretty scary when you think about it,’ said Slater as he started up his old laptop.
Norman shrugged. ‘I guess it’s probably best not to think about it, then.’
That was the last thing either of them said for the best part of an hour. Eventually, Slater got up, stretched, and went off to the kitchen. A few minutes later, he reappeared with two mugs of tea.
‘Watcha got so far, then?’ he asked, as he placed a mug in front of Norman.
‘Well, this guy Malcolm Jennings, the one they used to pick on, is still around. They might have bullied him, but it doesn’t seem to have had any lasting effects. He’s a dentist working in Winchester. He’s got his own practice, so he must be doing alright.’
‘What about the missing brother?’
‘I’m not quite there yet,’ said Norman. ‘Give me another hour on that one. Have you found anything?’
‘I’ve been looking at fellow thug number one. He’s called Terry Jones, or at least that’s what he was called.’
‘Don’t tell me he’s changed his name as well,’ said Norman.
‘Oh no,’ said Slater. ‘His name was, because he no longer is.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘It means he’s dead.’
‘How did that happen?’
‘It’s a bit vague,’ said Slater. ‘All it says on the death certificate is cardiac arrest.’
‘He’s a bit young to die from natural causes.’
‘There must be dozens of reasons why someone’s heart would stop, and it doesn’t have to be age related.’
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‘Yeah, I suppose that’s true, enough,’ agreed Norman. ‘When did it happen?’
‘Just about three months ago.’
‘Oh well, I suppose on the positive side that means there’s one less person to interview,’ said Norman. ‘What about bully number two?’
‘I haven’t got to him yet. I just needed a break for a few minutes.’
‘I read somewhere you should take a break every half hour,’ said Norman, patting his rather generous girth. ‘Apparently it stops you getting fat. Personally I think that’s a load of crap, but what do I know? One thing’s for sure, I’d never get anything done if I stopped that often.’
Slater put his head back and poured the last of his tea into his mouth. ‘I think you’re supposed to get up and move around when you stop. That’s what helps fight the fat. It’s better for your heart as well.’
‘Yeah, right, thank you for your unwelcome advice, Doctor Slater,’ said Norman.
‘Just getting my own back for the unwelcome advice about my private life.’
Norman smiled. ‘Touché.’
‘Let’s crack on,’ said Slater. ‘We need to find out if this is a waste of time, and we need to find out pretty quick.’
Half an hour later, Slater let out a whistle. ‘Listen to this,’ he called across to Norman. ‘This is bully number two, aka John Willand. Apparently he’s suffered from depression since his late teens. He disappeared off the radar five years ago, but resurfaced six weeks ago. It’s believed he had been living rough around this area for all that time he was missing.’
‘So where did he resurface?’ asked Norman.
‘Winchester.’
‘Do you have an address?’
‘It’s too late for that,’ said Slater. ‘Apparently he was a junkie. He overdosed six weeks ago.’
‘Jesus,’ said Norman. ‘What was his poison, heroin?’
‘It seems that was his drug of choice,’ said Slater. ‘I’m going to call Winchester Police. Apparently they found the body. Maybe they can shed some light on what exactly happened.’
‘You sound like you think this is important,’ said Norman.
‘Three bullies die in the space of three months? What do you think? If there’s anything suspicious about this guy’s death, then I’m convinced.’
‘Much as I hate that Russian arsehole, I think even I might be persuaded by that,’ said Norman.
Slater took his mobile phone and went into the kitchen. Ten minutes later he was back. ‘If you were a heroin addict, would you inject morphine?’ he asked Norman.
‘I doubt I would be able to get hold of the stuff,’ said Norman. ‘It’s not something that’s readily available out on the street, is it? I’m no expert, but as I understand it morphine is strictly regulated. Also heroin is about three times stronger, isn’t it? I guess you would need to use a heck of a lot more morphine to get the same hit. It seems to me heroin would be the easier option if only because of availability.’
‘Right,’ said Slater, ‘but if you could get hold of the stuff?’
‘Have you ever met an addict who would turn down the chance of a hit? Some of these guys would inject snake venom if you told it would make ’em high.’
‘Yeah, that’s what they decided at Winchester. According to their theory, the guy stole some morphine from the hospital and took the whole lot in one hit. The thing is, the hospital hasn’t had any stolen.’
‘So now what?’ asked Norman.
‘Death by overdose, case closed.’
‘That sounds plain lazy to me.’
‘That’s exactly what it is,’ said Slater, grimly. ‘The guy I was speaking to seems to think a junkie’s life isn’t worth spending time on, so he took the easy route. He said it saved him a lot of wasted time.’
Norman shook his head in dismay. ‘Jeez. And you wonder why I don’t wanna come back to work with the police force.’
‘It makes me ashamed to know I work with people like that,’ said Slater.
‘Let’s not waste our breath on arseholes,’ said Norman. ‘I take it you think there’s a good chance this guy didn’t inject himself, right?’
‘They reckon the syringe was still in his arm when they found him,’ said Slater, ‘but no one bothered to find out if the guy was right or left-handed.’
‘What about the pathologist?’ asked Norman. ‘I take it they did use a pathologist?’
‘I could give the lab a call I suppose. They can’t possibly be any less helpful.’
Slater went back into the kitchen and soon Norman could make out his voice as he made his call.
‘Now we’re getting somewhere,’ he said to Norman, when he finished his call. ‘It seems the pathologist has got a bit more humanity about him. He says all the old needle marks were in the crook of the left elbow, with some in the left thigh. The only one in the right arm was the one that killed him. He claims he drew attention to the fact he thought it was a suspicious death because a) the guy was right-handed, and b) morphine isn’t readily available and wasn’t stolen from the hospital, but the investigating officer didn’t seem to want to hear him.’
‘I take it that would be the same DS Arsehole who you spoke to earlier.’
‘Got it in one,’ said Slater.
‘Well, let’s ignore his conclusion and draw our own,’ said Norman. ‘In my opinion, there’s a very strong suspicion that someone injected the guy, a former school bully, with a massive overdose of morphine, right?’
‘I would say so,’ agreed Slater.
‘And that just happens to be the way our former colleague, and one-time school bully, was killed,’ said Norman.
‘Exactly.’
‘I think it would be fair to say this is unlikely to be a coincidence, wouldn’t you?’
‘Eamon says Becksy died because the morphine caused him to stop breathing,’ said Slater. ‘I reckon if you stopped breathing that would probably stop your heart pretty quickly too, don’t you?’
‘You might have a problem trying to prove that. I bet someone, somewhere, is going to say you’re jumping to conclusions.’
‘Yeah, well let ’em,’ said Slater, ‘because that’s exactly what I am going to do. We don’t have time to mess about trying to prove everything beyond doubt, we’re just going to have to go with what looks to be the most likely scenario.’
‘Oh, I’m with you,’ said Norman. ‘I’m just playing devil’s advocate.’
‘My hunch is it wouldn’t be a problem, now we’re moving away from the Serbian connection,’ said Slater. ‘But rather than take any chances, let’s just keep on going as we are.’
‘So, are we assuming this is probably a case of revenge?’ asked Norman. ‘Like perhaps someone whose younger brother was killed might seek to even the score?’
‘It fits, doesn’t it?’ said Slater. ‘It’s a pretty powerful reason for wanting revenge. Just imagine how the resentment might build after all these years?’
‘In that case, you’re going to love what I’ve just found,’ said Norman. ‘Remember I said the dead kid, Adam Radford, had a brother called James who seemed to have disappeared? Well, he re-appeared when he changed his name by deed poll.’
Slater’s mind was racing. ‘Bethan Becks’ boyfriend is called Jimmy. It’s not him, is it?’
‘Aww, you’ve spoiled my surprise.’
‘Is it him? Jimmy Huston? You’re kidding me,’ said Slater, the words rushing from his mouth.
‘The very same,’ said Norman.
‘Bloody hell, the slimy bugger’s been watching Becksy for months, worming his way into his life, even climbing into bed with his ex-wife.’
‘And if he works in the mailing room at the publisher’s he would have known when that package was going to be delivered,’ Norman said. ‘Does he ride a motorbike?’
‘I dunno,’ said Slater, ‘but it’s not going to be hard to find out, is it?’
Chapter Thirty
Slater was on his mobile phone, talking to Goodnews
.
‘So you’re asking me to believe this Russian guy let himself into your house and waited for you to come home, just so he could tell you he’s innocent?’ she asked, when he had finished telling her what had happened.
‘I’m not asking you to believe me, I’m telling you what happened.’
‘But why would he tell you?’
‘Because he feels he knows me and he trusts me,’ said Slater, patiently.
‘He trusts you? What the bloody hell does that mean? You’re supposed to be on opposite sides!’
‘Of course we are, but he says that doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate the other man’s qualities.’
‘You make it sound like you’ve become best mates all of a sudden,’ she said, suspiciously.
‘Don’t be daft,’ he said. ‘He’d still blow my brains out if I crossed him. It’s just that he thinks I would rather catch the person who killed my friend than waste time chasing after the wrong people.’
‘His lot are still guilty of breaking into the lab, stealing evidence and setting a fire bomb.’
‘None of which we’re likely to be able to prove very easily,’ said Slater.
‘Or so he says,’ argued Goodnews.
‘Have you found any evidence down in that lab? Did we find any evidence at Becksy’s place?’
‘Well no,’ conceded Goodnews. ‘But why do you think we should believe him?
Slater’s patience was being tested. He really couldn’t see why she had a problem with this.
‘Because everything he says makes sense,’ he said, ‘and from what I’ve found so far, he’s spot on. And he just seems to know too much to be bullshitting us. In fact, he seems to know everything we know, and a heck of a lot more. I’m beginning to think he must have someone on the inside.’
‘For God’s sake, don’t say that,’ said Goodnews. ‘That really would bring the curtain down on my career.’
‘I don’t think it’s anyone local. These people wouldn’t mess around with minions. They’d want someone who knows what’s going on everywhere.’
‘He told you this did he?’
‘He made one or two comments of interest,’ said Slater. ‘But we’re getting off track here. Are you going to bring this bloke in or what?’
