The Wrong Man (DS Dave Slater Mystery Novels Book 4)

by P. F. Ford

  "Well," he announced. "This phone record shows she called Woods three days before she died. It wasn't a very long call, but it would have been long enough to give him an ultimatum about his records going to the tip if he didn't collect them."

  "That call could have been about anything," said Norman. "We have no way of knowing exactly what was discussed."

  "You're not going to cut this guy an inch of slack, are you?" asked Slater.

  "No, I'm not," confirmed Norman. "At least, not as long as he's our prime suspect. Now where's that number for Simon Strong? I'm going to tell him we need to speak with his client again, assuming the guy hasn't already done a runner."

  Slater looked at Jolly and raised his eyebrows, but he didn't say anything.

  "They're going to be here at four," said Norman, a few minutes later. "So we've got a couple of hours to kill."

  "In that case I'm going to have a look at this CCTV footage," muttered Slater, climbing to his feet.

  "Have we got Woods' credit card records yet, Jane?" asked Norman.

  "Should be here later this afternoon," confirmed Jolly.

  "One more thing," said Slater. "We need you to contact everyone who lives on Bishops Common. Did anyone have a parcel delivered late that afternoon, or did anyone have someone working on their house? We're looking for a reason for a small white van to have been down there."

  "My client has asked for my advice regarding coming here under a voluntary basis to answer questions, and I have advised him he should stop, forthwith," announced Simon Strong when they were assembled in the interview room.

  Norman looked a bit miffed at this, but Slater could understand what Strong was saying. If they arrested Woods they would have a limit as to how long they could detain him without charging him. If they continued as they were, with Woods here as a volunteer, they could go on forever.

  "But I don't have many more questions to ask," said Norman.

  "Well, if you arrest Mr Woods you can ask as many questions as you wish," replied Strong. "Otherwise we're out of here, right now."

  "Very well," said Norman, unhappily.

  He climbed to his feet to deliver his speech.

  "Ian Woods, I'm arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Diana Woods..."

  "Okay Woody," began Norman, once the formalities were out of the way. "This is how it is. We now have a witness who saw a small white van, similar to yours, leaving Bishops Common at five forty-five on the afternoon Diana was murdered. I believe that was your van. What do you have to say to that?"

  "D'you know how many small white vans there are on the roads in this country?" asked Woody. "They're all over the place."

  "But they're not all being driven by you," said Norman.

  "Well the one your witness saw wasn't being driven by me either," said Woods, very definitely.

  "You're quite sure about that, are you?" asked Norman.

  "Absolutely," said Woods. "I already told you. I didn't go to Bishops Common. I was going to go but I changed my mind and went home instead."

  "Oh yeah, that's right," said Norman. "You chickened out in case Diana shouted at you. That's very brave of you."

  "It's got nothing to do with being brave," said Woods. "I just don't need that sort of hassle. I'm not short of money. I can buy those records and CDs again. Why put up with a load of earache when I don't need to?"

  "How come a courier is so well off?" asked Norman.

  "I don't see that it's any of your business," said Woods. "But I've got nothing to hide so I'll tell you. As a courier you can get lots of downtime when you're just waiting around. I used my downtime to educate myself about the many ways you can make a living online. Over the past three years I've built myself a business. It's how I could afford to walk out and start again. I don't need Diana's money, you see. I earn two or three times what she earns. If she had only taken a little interest in what I was doing she would have known that, and maybe she could even have been a part of it, but she chose not to know. That's also why I don't need her share of our house. I was going to sign the whole lot over to her as part of our divorce."

  They would have to check his bank statements, of course, thought Slater, but if he was telling the truth that's the financial motive crossed off the list.

  "Anyway," said Woods. "I thought you were going to check the CCTV from the services to check out my story. They will prove I'm telling the truth."

  "Yeah," said Norman. "About those CCTV cameras. The footage from the petrol station in Southampton confirms that part of the story-"

  "Of course it does," interrupted Woods. "Because I'm telling the truth."

  "But we have a problem with the Leigh Delamere footage," continued Norman. "The cameras can confirm what time you left, but they don't show you arriving. For all we know you could have arrived just five minutes before you left."

  "But my credit card receipts will show what time I paid for my meal," argued Woods. "I can't fake that, now can I?"

  "We've already requested that information," said Norman. "It should be here any minute."

  "Well, until you've checked it out," interrupted Strong. "I would suggest you have no more questions for my client. I would also like to suggest you have no real grounds for holding him."

  "But that was your idea, Mr Strong," replied Norman. "You asked me to arrest him, so I did."

  "It's okay, Simon," said Woods. "I'm innocent. If I have to stay in a cell for a couple of nights to prove it, then that's alright. I appreciate these guys have plenty of people telling them I'm responsible so they have to check me out. It's what they do, isn't it?"

  Slater wasn't sure if this was just bravado from Woods, or if he really was this laid back about the situation. Either way it was very convincing. He doubted he would have been so calm if the situation had been reversed.

  "Okay," agreed Norman, after a couple of minutes. "Let's adjourn this interview until we've had a chance to check out this credit card. Let's reconvene at six o'clock."

  Chapter Seven

  "This guy's way too cool," Norman confided to Slater as they made their way back up to their incident room. "He knows something we don't."

  "Yeah," said Slater. "He knows he's not guilty and that we're wasting our time trying to prove otherwise."

  "He hasn't convinced me yet," said Norman.

  "What about the fact the pathologist reckoned the killer was short?" argued Slater. "Woods must be six feet tall. Where I come from, that's not considered short."

  "That's not enough to rule him out," said Norman.

  "But you'd happily accept it ruled him in, if it was the other way around, wouldn't you?" said Slater.

  "Well, yeah, I guess so," agreed Norman. "But-"

  "Never mind but," interrupted Slater. "You seem to be trying to make the evidence fit, instead of taking it at face value."

  "Now wait a minute," Norman began, but Slater was having none of it.

  "You know we don't have a single shred of real evidence against this guy," he insisted. "But you won't admit it. This isn't like you, Norm. I don't know what your problem is, but it's making you blind to the facts."

  Norman stopped dead in his tracks, but Slater kept on walking. He felt sure they were wasting their time focusing on Woods, but he didn't see what more he could say to make Norman see it for himself.

  "Did you find out how long it would take to drive from Tinton to Leigh Delamere services?" Slater asked Jolly.

  "About an hour and forty-five minutes," she replied. "Of course that's if he stuck to the speed limits, so you could probably knock as much as a half hour of it if he was tearing along."

  "Yeah, but don't forget most of that journey would have been done in the rush hour," he said. "I think you'd be hard pressed to save that much time in heavy traffic, so let's call it an hour and a half at best."

  "So, it's just about possible he could have done it," surmised Jolly.

  "Ah. But only if there were no hold-ups," said Slater, unconvinced.

  "I didn'
t check," admitted Jolly. "But I can, if you want me to."

  "Yes, please," he said.

  Norman bumped his way through the doors and glared at Slater, but before he could say anything Jolly defused the situation by thrusting a handful of papers at him.

  "Ian Woods' bank and credit card statements," she said.

  "Right," he said, taking the papers and heading for his desk. "Now let's see what I can prove."

  Slater's desk phone was ringing.

  "Slater," he said into the phone.

  "There's a lady down here in reception, wants to talk to you," said the voice of the Duty Sergeant. "She says she has some information for you regarding Ian Woods."

  "Let me guess," said Slater. "Does she want to tell me what a nasty piece of work he is?"

  "I couldn't say," said the voice. "She says she'll only talk to you."

  "Okay," he sighed. "I'll be down right away."

  Wearily he dropped the phone back onto its cradle.

  "Apparently there's someone downstairs who wants to talk to me about Ian Woods," he announced. "Do you want to come, Norm?"

  "No. That's okay," said Norman, frostily. "You deal with it. I've got these statements go through."

  A few minutes later it was Norman's desk extension that was ringing.

  "Yo!" he said into the phone.

  "It's me," said Slater.

  "I've just found proof Ian Woods paid for his meal at seven forty-five that evening," said Norman. "That would almost be a perfect fit if he went straight from murdering Diana."

  "It wasn't him," said Slater. "Come down here and I'll prove it."

  "What?" said Norman. "What do you mean you'll prove it?"

  "Woody has an alibi," said Slater. "Come down here and hear it for yourself."

  "Shit," said Norman, as he put the phone down.

  "Problem?" asked Jolly.

  "It seems Ian Woods might have an alibi," said Norman, his disappointment almost palpable.

  "Well," smiled Jolly. "I don't want to say I told you so-"

  "So don't," interrupted Norman. "Just don't, right?"

  She gave him her sweetest smile and poked her tongue out as he stomped his way through the doors.

  When Norman found Slater he was talking to an attractive woman, aged around fifty, who turned out to be Jim Brennan's wife Susie. Slater introduced her to Norman and then invited her to tell Norman what she had just told him.

  "Ian Woods was at my house from 3 o'clock until about five on the day Diana Woods died," she said, watching Norman's face as he added two and two and came up with five. "And before you jump to any conclusions, no, we're not having an affair."

  "So how come he was at your house?" asked Norman.

  "I do the books for my husband," she explained. "I work three days a week over there so I know all the guys who work there. They often sit in with me and have a cup of tea and, as a result, I tend to hear their problems. I suppose I'm a bit of an agony aunt to some of them. Anyway, Woody was a very unhappy man, when he was with Diana, and he used to confide in me a lot. He used to talk to Jim as well. He's a friend as well as a driver so I think he trusted us.

  "Between us we've been a bit of a shoulder for Woody to lean on over the last three or four years, but since he upped sticks and moved away, I've hardly seen him. And then, the other day he called to say he was going to be passing and would it be alright if he called in for a cup of tea."

  "So why didn't he tell us this himself?" asked Norman.

  "Probably because he didn't want to get me involved," she said.

  "Why would that be a problem?" asked Norman.

  "Why do you think?" she said. "Look at your own reaction. Straight away you assumed we're having an affair. How do you think my Jim would react?"

  "Does he have reason to be suspicious?" asked Norman.

  "No," she said. "Woody was passing so he came by to say hello, that's all. But my husband tends to be a bit suspicious, just like you are."

  Norman wanted to protest his innocence, but his red-faced embarrassment made it obvious he was guilty as charged, so he chose to let it go and pursue a different approach.

  "But the murder was committed at around six," he argued.

  "Yes, I know that," she said, calmly. "But there's no way Woody could have got from my house and back to Diana's in time."

  "And what makes you so sure about that?" asked Norman.

  "Because I live in Newbury," she smiled. "It's the best part of an hour away from here."

  "Can anyone corroborate this story?" asked Norman.

  "Actually, yes, someone can," she said. "My next door neighbour was having a cup of tea with me when he arrived. I can give you her address and telephone number if you don't believe me."

  "Now do you believe him?" asked Slater as they made their way back up the stairs.

  "This alibi's very convenient, don't you think?" asked Norman.

  "What? You think she's lying?" asked Slater, appalled at the idea.

  "I'm just saying she obviously likes the guy a lot," argued Norman. "I'm not convinced there's not something going on there."

  "Her husband likes the guy a lot," countered Slater. "Are you going to suggest there's something going on there, too? How about you try to consider the fact that he's actually a nice guy? Wouldn't that explain why these people like him?"

  "But if he left her house at five-thirty he would have been at the services by six-thirty. Yet he didn't pay for his meal until seven forty-five. If she's lying, it's still possible-"

  "Oh come on, Norm," said Slater, wearily. "Give it up, mate. We've been focused on the wrong man. End of story."

  He pushed his way through the doors, Norman trailing in his wake.

  "You were right," said Jolly, as soon as she saw Slater. "I checked back through the traffic reports. There was an accident causing big westbound hold-ups on the M4 that afternoon, starting from four o'clock, just in time for the rush hour. At their peak, the delays were getting on for two hours."

  Slater turned to Norman.

  "Did you hear that? It explains why it took him so long to get from Newbury to the services, and he definitely couldn't have left Tinton at six and got to the services by seven-forty-five in that traffic."

  Norman was disappointed, but at least now he was willing to accept he had been wrong.

  "Okay," he said. "I got it wrong. But you have to admit there was cause to suspect him. And don't think this gives you two an excuse to keep on telling me how you told me so. Right?"

  "But I did tell you so," said Jolly, with a wicked smile. "You just wouldn't listen."

  Norman resisted the temptation to answer her back, and instead turned to Slater.

  "So we're back to square one," he said. "Do you want to go and tell the Old Man?"

  "Oh, I don't think so," smiled Slater. "I seem to recall him issuing a very definite instruction that 'DS Norman will take the lead on this'. And then there was something along the lines of 'at least I know he'll do his duty,' or some crap like that. Apparently I can't do as I'm told, so I think it's only right you should be the one to toddle off to give him the good news, don't you?"

  Norman looked dismayed. Murray's temper was getting worse by the day, and he didn't like the idea of being the one to tell him their prime suspect had just been let off the hook.

  "Go on," said Slater. "It doesn't matter how big you make those brown eyes, you're still the lead. So, off you go and do your duty."

  "Yeah, but-" began Norman.

  "Just go," grinned Slater, pointing to the door. "Now."

  "I always seem to get all the shit jobs," mumbled Norman as he pushed his way through the doors.

  "So how was it?" asked Slater, as Norman slumped back into the room half an hour later.

  Norman turned and bent over.

  "Can you see the boot mark on my arse?" he asked. "That's where he kicked me when I told him the good news."

  "So he was pleased, then," grinned Slater.

  "He went ballistic
. He's still up in orbit right now," said Norman, heading for his desk. "Anyone would think we'd let Jack the Ripper slip through our fingers. Apparently we've just blown the chance for a quick result, wasted half the annual budget, and proved we're incompetent all in the space of just two days."

  "I thought we did that last week," laughed Slater.

  "No kidding, he went ape," said Norman, unable to stop himself from smiling. "Thanks for making me go. I've never seen him that bad before."

  "Privilege of leadership, mate," said Slater, with a smirk. "You get the glory, and the shite."

  "Well, you'll be pleased to know I've been relieved of that particular honour. Apparently now it seems I, too, can't be trusted to do as I'm told."

  "So who's in charge now?" asked Slater.

  "He didn't say," said Norman. "By that stage he had gone purple and couldn't speak any more. I guess we'll just do what we usually do and make it up as we go along."

  They enjoyed the shared moment like a pair of Cheshire cats, grinning from ear to ear, until finally they both seemed to acknowledge it was time to get back to the job in hand.

  "I guess we need to go back to the beginning and start again," suggested Norman, moving across to the white board and wiping it clean. "So what do we know?"

  "Diana Woods was killed by a single stab in the back with one of her own kitchen knives," said Slater, slowly enough for Norman to keep up as he scribbled away at the board.

  "Whoever stabbed her was either very lucky, or very skilled because the knife passed between her ribs and pierced her heart," continued Slater. "There was no sign of forced entry which suggests she knew her killer. Also, the fact she turned her back on her killer to fill the kettle would seem to suggest she invited the killer into her house and was comfortable enough to trust them. The pathologist feels the wound was inflicted by someone short. We have no fingerprints, and, so far, no forensic evidence, which again could mean someone was very lucky, or they were cool enough to clear up behind them."

  "A small, white van was seen driving along Bishops Common lane around the time of the murder," he added, finally.