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

by P. F. Ford

  "That'll be four minutes left," said Slater, studying his watch as they entered her office.

  "Are you naturally arrogant, and rude, or do you have to practice?" she snapped.

  "Oh he hasn't started yet," interrupted Norman. "And I can assure you I can be much worse. But let me ask you a question. Are you naturally obstructive to any police inquiry, or is it just this particular one you have a problem with? I wondered what you were up to yesterday, but it didn't take too much working out once I did a little research."

  She looked momentarily horrified.

  "Oh, sorry," he said. "Were we supposed to be too stupid to check things out? Oh dear. Now who's guilty of being arrogant? The thing is we have been doing our homework, and it seems very clear to us that this whole company relies on Bruce Rossiter to keep it afloat. Ergo, he can get away with near enough anything he wants, and you're happy to mop up any mess he leaves in his wake, just as long as he keeps on bringing in the clients to fund your salary. And let's face it, you have to do something to justify that huge salary you earn, and that nice company car you drive."

  She'd gone very pale, but she wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of caving in.

  "Now," said Slater. "You can step back out of our way, and allow us to do our jobs, or we can get seriously rude and come back with a search warrant and a dozen clumsy coppers with big boots and bad attitudes."

  There was a distinct look of alarm on her face at this suggestion.

  "This is police intimidation," she said.

  "Did you hear any intimidation, DS Norman?" asked Slater.

  "I certainly did not," said Norman. "Perhaps Mrs Rowntree didn't hear you right."

  "This is a disgrace," she snapped.

  "Obstructing a police inquiry is none too clever," smiled Norman. "And I should remind you this a not some petty crime we're talking about, this is a murder inquiry."

  Slater looked at his watch again.

  "Time's up," he said. "What's it going to be, Mrs Rowntree? The two of us in Bruce Rossiter's office? Or, twelve pairs of big boots going through the entire building?"

  She had no choice, and she knew it.

  "I think you'll find you've made the right choice," said Slater as they followed her from her office, and along yet another corridor.

  "Yeah," agreed Norman. "Some of those PCs are all thumbs. They're so clumsy."

  She swung round to face them, eyes blazing.

  "Alright," she snarled. "You've got your way, and you've made your point. Can we just leave it at that?"

  "Sure," said Norman, with an amiable grin. "Whatever you say, Mrs Rowntree."

  "You can rest assured I'll be having words with your superiors," she said.

  "For doing our jobs?" confirmed Slater. "Then you'll need DCI Murray. He's probably waiting for your call, right now."

  "Don't forget to mention how you've been obstructing our inquiry," added Norman.

  "He's in there," she snapped, pointing to a door just ahead of them.

  "That's very kind of you," said Slater, but she was already stomping back down the corridor, and she definitely wasn't listening.

  "I wonder what's upset her," smiled Norman.

  "Maybe it was something we said," suggested Slater.

  "C'mon," said Norman, reaching for the door. "This is turning out to be much more fun than I thought. I could even get to like this place."

  "You think?" asked Slater, sceptically.

  Norman stopped briefly to weigh up his response and then turned to face Slater.

  "No, you're right," he said. "I'm just getting carried away by the moment."

  He gave his colleague an exaggerated wink and then, with a theatrical flourish he swung the door open and stepped into the office.

  It was a large open plan office with a cluster of six busily occupied desks at the far end and two desks much closer to the door. One of those desks was a normal size and was clearly empty, the other was enormous and obviously belonged to the king of this particular territory.

  Rossiter was facing them as they entered, casually leaning back against the enormous desk, arms folded across his chest. Slater wasn't quite sure what he had been expecting, but the man who stood before them certainly wasn't it. He had pictured a handsome, roguish womaniser, but what he saw before him was a be-spectacled fifty-something who looked as if he would easily beat Norman at a weigh-in.

  However, that's where any similarity between Norman and Rossiter ended. Whereas Norman looked worn out by life, and his suit appeared to have been stolen from the nearest clothes bank, Rossiter looked as though he didn't have a care in the world. By contrast, his suit had obviously been expensively tailored, and probably cost more than Norman had ever spent on clothes in his entire life.

  Rossiter looked them both up and down, and tried hard not to allow his smile of greeting to turn into a smirk. He oozed confidence and gave the impression he was used to dominating the proceedings, getting his own way, and enjoying the very best of everything life had to offer. The gold Rolex watch was just one example of this.

  "Can I help you gentlemen?" he purred. "Only you look a little lost, and I'm expecting two detectives at any minute."

  From Rossiter's attitude Norman could see he probably made a habit of trying to look like the big 'I am' in front of the rest of the people who shared the large open plan office, but it was largely wasted on the two detectives. They had seen it all before, and what's more, they'd seen it done better.

  "That's very good, Mr Rossiter," said Norman. "I'll try not to burst my sides laughing."

  He produced his warrant card and waved it vaguely at Rossiter.

  "I'm DS Norman, and this is my colleague DS Slater, as you already know. You also know we're here because of the death of Diana Woods."

  "I'm not sure I can help you much," said Rossiter. "I was up in London addressing clients most of the day she died. By the time I got back she had already gone home."

  "What time was that?" asked Slater.

  "About five-fifteen," yawned Rossiter.

  "And what did you do after that?" asked Slater.

  "I was tired, so I dumped all my paperwork and went home."

  "And you got home when?" persisted Slater.

  "About five-forty-five," said Rossiter, becoming irritated with Slater's persistence.

  "Can anyone vouch for that?" asked Slater, enjoying Rossiter's irritation.

  "Yes," said Rossiter. "My wife will. I think you'll find that's an alibi. I know what you're trying to do."

  "I'm just doing my job," said Slater. "Trying to establish facts. Didn't anyone ever tell you? It's what police officers do."

  The other occupants of the office were far enough away they would have had difficulty hearing the conversation, but it was obvious Rossiter was keeping his voice down to make sure.

  "I understand you and Diana worked together quite closely," said Norman. "You must have got to know her quite well. I wonder if perhaps she had mentioned anything that might have had a bearing on why she died."

  "We had a very productive, efficient, and professional relationship," said Rossiter, haughtily. "Diana was probably the best PA I have ever had work for me. But we didn't become such a good team by sharing our private lives. If she had any problems, she didn't discuss them with me."

  "Oh," said Norman, raising his voice to give everyone a chance to hear him. "We must have got it wrong. We were under the impression you and Diana were very close."

  "Can you keep your voice down?" hissed Rossiter. "There's no need for everyone else to hear this, is there?"

  "We can make it quiet, or we can make it louder still if you want," said Slater. "It's up to you."

  Rossiter scowled at him and went to argue, but Norman interrupted him before he could start.

  "Well? Were you close?"

  "I don't know where you got that idea from," said Rossiter, trying to appear nonplussed. "It's preposterous."

  "Actually we got it from Diana's husband," said Slater. "He
seems to think you caused his marriage to break up."

  "That had absolutely nothing to do with me," said Rossiter. "Like I said my relationship with Diana was purely professional."

  "Really," said Norman. "Ian Woods seems to think it was you he caught in bed with Diana, and that was why he walked out on her."

  Rossiter's face had gone an interesting shade of red, and he didn't seem quite so confident all of a sudden.

  "I can assure you that’s rubbish," he spluttered. "I think you'll find Ian Woods is a dreamer, a fantasist who seems to think he can make money staying at home messing about on the internet. The man talks a lot of nonsense."

  "And you found this out how?" asked Slater. "I thought you said you and Diana didn't discuss personal problems."

  "And I should tell you we find we are inclined to listen to what Ian Woods says," added Norman. "You might think he talks a load of rubbish, but he's actually making a living 'messing about on the internet', as you call it."

  Rossiter was genuinely surprised to hear this piece of news and seemed briefly confused. Diana had obviously convinced him her husband was a totally useless waste of space.

  "Look. I know nothing about any of that, and I bet you don't have a single witness other than Woods, do you? So it's just his word against mine, and I deny it."

  "How many mobile phones do you own, Mr Rossiter?" asked Slater.

  "I don't see how that's any of your business," he replied indignantly.

  "It's our business," said Slater, firmly. "Because your secretary has been murdered, and her mobile phone records show several numbers she called and texted regularly. Obviously we need to figure out who these people are and eliminate them from our enquiries. I would have thought you'd want to help us, Mr Rossiter."

  "Of course," said Rossiter, contritely. "Of course I want to help. I have two mobile phones. One is provided, and paid for, by the company for company business, and I have a personal mobile that I pay for."

  "Do you mind if I see them?" asked Slater.

  "If you must," sighed Rossiter, impatiently, but he made no effort to move.

  "Maybe we need to start talking real loud," Norman suggested to Slater. "Perhaps that'll make him more co-operative."

  "Oh, for goodness sake," snapped Rossiter. But he moved around his desk and produced two mobile phones from his top drawer. He tossed them onto the desk.

  "Here, help yourself," he said. "I'm telling you now there's nothing to see. I have nothing to hide."

  Slater smiled a false smile at Rossiter.

  "I'm glad to hear it," he said. "Thank you for your co-operation. Sir."

  He took the phones in turn and checked the contacts. He knew from Diana's phone records that he was unlikely to find anything incriminating, but he was curious to see if she was listed under his contacts.

  "Thank you," said Slater, returning the phones to the desk. "You don't seem to have Diana Woods' number listed in either phone. Surely you must need to call her sometimes?"

  "Her number was in my work phone," said Rossiter. "But it seemed a bit pointless now, so I removed it."

  "So you didn't have her number on your personal phone?" asked Norman.

  "Why would I? I have already told you our relationship was purely business."

  Norman checked his watch. It was eleven thirteen. Two minutes to go.

  "We haven't managed to find Diana's mobile phone," he said. "You wouldn't have any ideas would you, Mr Rossiter?"

  "I seem to recall she took it everywhere with her," said Rossiter. "She was very secretive about it. She didn't want other people to get their hands on it."

  "Maybe she left it in her desk," suggested Slater.

  "We didn't find it," said Rossiter.

  The two detectives looked accusingly at him.

  "We had to make sure there was no outstanding company business," he explained. "We didn't find any personal stuff."

  "Who's we?" asked Norman.

  "Well, it was just me, actually," said Rossiter.

  "That's a bit of a menial task for you, isn't it?" observed Slater.

  "She worked closely with me," said Rossiter. "I was the best person to know what was what."

  Norman looked at his watch again. It was eleven fifteen. From somewhere close by, the muffled sound of a mobile phone ringing could be heard. Both Norman and Slater were watching Rossiter. He was trying hard to ignore the sound.

  "Can you hear that sound, Norm?" asked Slater. "Don't you think it sounds like a mobile phone ringing?"

  "You're right," agreed Norman. "It sounds like it's coming from Mr Rossiter's desk."

  Slater looked hard at Rossiter.

  "Aren't you going to answer that?" he asked.

  "Answer what?" asked Rossiter, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

  "You look a little peaky, Mr Rossiter," smiled Norman. "Are you sure you're okay?"

  "That's not my phone," said Rossiter. "Look, both of mine are on my desk."

  "Well, it certainly sounds like it's coming from your desk," said Slater. "Maybe I should take a look."

  "That desk is private," said Rossiter.

  "Well you answer it then," suggested Slater. "Only it's driving me mad, and it doesn't look like it's going to stop."

  "But-," began Rossiter.

  "Here," interrupted Slater, marching around the desk. "Let me help you."

  He pointed to the right hand bottom drawer.

  "It's coming from in there," he said. "I can hear it clearly now I'm round this side."

  He reached for the drawer, expecting to be challenged, but Rossiter just stepped back out of the way.

  "Someone must have put it there," he spluttered.

  "Well, it certainly can't have got there on its own," agreed Norman.

  Slater pulled on a pair of latex gloves and slid the drawer open. There, sat in a charging cradle, was a mobile phone.

  "Well, well," said Slater, lifting the phone from the drawer. "Look at that. Whoever hid the phone here installed a charging kit, too."

  Slater pressed a key and raised the phone close to his ear.

  "Hi Jane," he said. "Right on time. Well done. Oh yes. Perfect."

  He ended the call and looked at the contact list.

  "Only one contact number listed," said Slater. "Care to tell us who's it is, Mr Rossiter?"

  "How would I know? I've never seen that before in my life," mumbled Rossiter. "Someone has put it there."

  "Yeah. You already told us that," said Norman. "And you reckon Ian Woods talks a load of rubbish. It's Diana's mobile number isn't it?"

  "You can't prove that phone is mine," said Rossiter. "Someone's planted it there."

  "And why would anyone do that?" asked Norman.

  "To make me look guilty, of course," spluttered Rossiter.

  “Well, it’s done that alright,” said Slater.

  "I think you have some explaining to do, Mr Rossiter," said Norman. "Don't you?"

  "I've done nothing wrong," said Rossiter.

  "My, my," said Slater, looking at the sent and received text messages on the phone. "Look at these messages. There's a lot of 'X' rated content here. They all seem to be from someone called 'D' and they all seem to have been sent to someone called 'B'. Now I reckon 'D' is Diana Woods, but d'you know I just can't seem to think of anyone who has the initial 'B'. Can you think of anyone, Norm?"

  "I'm wracking my brain," said Norman. "How about you read one of those messages out? Maybe that will help me think."

  "Here you go," said Slater. "There's a word here that my mum says I should never use so I'll just use the first letter. I'm sure you'll know the one I mean. It goes like this: Hi B, Fancy a lunchtime 'f'?"

  He looked at Rossiter.

  "Wow. Not much doubt about what that can mean, is there? Explicit and straight to the point. And it's signed 'D' and there's two little 'x's. D'you think they're sort of kissey, kisseys?"

  "It sounds like a real romantic lovey-dovey message to me," agreed Norman. "So yeah, I think you're
right. Kissey, kisseys. It's gotta be.”

  With a theatrical flourish he put his hands up.

  “Oh my, wait a minute!” he said. “ I’ve just realised. Mr Rossiter's initial is 'B'. How's that for a coincidence?"

  "Now, you know I'm not one for coincidences," said Slater. "But, how about you, Mr Rossiter? Do you think it's a coincidence?"

  "I've told you I don't know how that phone got there," snapped Rossiter. "And if you want to ask me any more questions you'll have to do it in front of my solicitor."

  "Are you volunteering, Mr Rossiter?" asked Slater.

  "It'll be down at the station," said Norman.

  "Right," said Rossiter, managing to restore some of his lost confidence. "I'll phone him right now and we can make an appointment."

  "I'll take this phone in and get it checked for fingerprints," said Slater. "That should tell us who planted it in your drawer. Of course we'll need to take your prints too, just for elimination purposes. I'm sure your solicitor will explain how that works if you have a problem."

  It was no real surprise to find Rossiter's solicitor was also the company solicitor, a weary looking man called Brian Humphreys who didn't exactly seem to be overjoyed at the prospect of getting involved when he walked into the room two minutes later.

  "What the bloody hell have you done this time?" he asked as he marched in, quite unaware who Slater and Norman were.

  "These two police officers would like me to answer some questions," said Rossiter, hastily. "I've told them I'm happy to do so, but that I wish you to be present."

  "I'm DS Norman, and this is DS Slater," said Norman.

  Humphreys, acknowledged them before turning his attention to Rossiter.

  "Well, I'm afraid I can't do it now, Bruce," he said, testily. "I'm not here solely at your beck and call. I do have other duties besides representing you. I'm busy right now. You'll have to wait."

  "Err, I was thinking maybe tomorrow morning at Tinton police station, Mr Humphreys," suggested Norman.

  "Oh. Right. I see," said Humphreys, scowling at Rossiter. "But I need some time with my client. If I have to represent his interests I need to know what he's supposed to have done."

  "We're not saying he's done anything," replied Norman. "We're conducting an inquiry into the murder of Diana Woods, and we need Mr Rossiter to answer some questions to help us out, that's all."