by P. F. Ford
"He just wants no strings sex," she explained. "Or, at least that's what he's told us all. The problem is he also wants to be able to cop a feel anytime he's passing. How she put up with it I just don't know. Just thinking about those fat, podgy, fingers groping through your underwear, well, it's just horrible."
She actually shivered at the thought.
"So he's actually been groping her in the office?" asked Slater.
"Oh yes. They think no-one can see what they're up to, but it's a hand up her skirt here, a grope of her boobs there. Honestly it's like watching two teenagers who've just discovered sex for the first time. But he's in his fifties, and she was well into her forties."
"So why hasn't anyone ever complained about him?" asked Norman.
"Apparently someone did, once," she sighed. "They were escorted off the premises and told never to come back. No-one can criticise the company's top asset you see. And, of course, for the last three years he's also had Diana by his side, telling everyone what a paragon of virtue he is."
"Now let me get this straight. You're saying he's made the same offer to everyone?" asked Slater.
"Oh yes," she said. "He worked his way through every woman in the company, having his revolting offer turned down, and then he found Diana. She was the only one who was willing. Apparently he approached her when a group of them were on some sort of business trip up in London. They stayed in some fancy hotel. He made his offer to Diana in the bar on the first night. They were there for three nights in all. Rumour has it Rossiter didn't sleep in his own room once. I'm told you could hear him grunting from his efforts all night long."
"So what's the attraction?" asked Norman.
"Well, it's obviously not physical, is it?" she said. "Sex in exchange for presents, I believe. It's been suggested he liked buying underwear for her, as long as he could put his hand up her skirt and see what it felt like. Every time he goes abroad he makes sure she gets a bottle of her favourite perfume, or a bottle of expensive gin, anything like that."
"He's more or less buying it, then?" suggested Slater.
"There's no 'more or less' about it," she sniffed.
"Aren't you worried about any repercussions from talking to us?" asked Norman.
"Not now I'm leaving," she said. "Anyway, someone has to stick up for that poor husband of hers. Have you heard some of the stuff that's been said about him since he left her? And all because she wants to portray herself as some sort of innocent victim. It's disgusting."
"But all her family and friends and neighbours make her out to be some sort of saint," argued Slater.
"Oscar winning actress, more like," said the receptionist.
"Now that rings a bell," said Norman.
"Some people see things as they really are and some people see things how they want to see them," she said. "Diana knew that and she played people accordingly."
"But how could she be conducting an affair without anyone noticing?" asked Slater. "The neighbours claim she never had men calling on her, and she hardly ever went out without her husband."
"How many of her neighbours are home at lunchtime?" asked Millie. "And twice a week Porky has an empty house at lunchtime. And they're not secretive about it. They jump in his car together and off they go. They quite often come back late as well. Everyone despised Diana for it, but no-one had the guts to say anything out in the open."
"You really didn't like Diana, did you?" asked Slater.
"I despised her for behaving like some cheap tart," said Diana. "We all did, men as well as women."
"What about Rossiter's wife?" asked Norman. "Does she know what he’s like?"
"Who, Angela? I'm not sure if she really doesn't know, or if she's one of those women who keeps pretending it's not happening as long as the money keeps pouring in."
"What do you think will happen now Diana's gone?" he asked.
"I suppose he'll try to find someone else who's willing, or failing that he'll employ someone who's willing."
"What if his wife had walked in, one lunchtime, like Woody did?" asked Norman.
"I think she would take him to the cleaners," said the receptionist. "She might be prepared to trade her lifestyle for his philandering, but trust me, if she was to catch him doing it right under her nose I think she'd ruin him."
"What do you think would happen if we showed up at his house asking questions about his relationship with Diana?" asked Slater.
"I just told you," she said with an evil grin. "She would take him apart, bit by bit."
"I'm really tempted to go round Rossiter's house right now," said Norman, as they drove away from Millie Gibson's house. "Just to suggest he might have had a relationship with Diana in front of his wife, and then watch what happens."
"Yeah, I know what you mean," said Slater. "I thought the guy was a creep when we met him, but he's something else, isn't he?"
"Yeah, he certainly is," agreed Norman. "But does that make him a murder suspect? I mean they were consenting adults. Why would he want to do away with his sex partner?
"Who knows," agreed Slater. "Maybe she wanted to become more than just a bit on the side. Perhaps she thought she could become Mrs Porky but he had other ideas."
"It might be worth slipping that into the conversation when we talk to him tomorrow," suggested Norman. "Sort of shake the tree and see what falls out."
Chapter Twelve
When Bruce Rossiter arrived at Tinton police station next morning he had the appearance of a man who hadn't slept the previous night. By contrast, Brian Humphreys looked as bright as a button. He had listened to Rossiter's story and decided enough was enough. It was high time Rossiter was stopped, and now surely was the time. He was actually looking forward to seeing his client's demise, even though it meant he would probably lose his own job in the aftershock.
The first indignity for Rossiter when he was taken to the interview room was having his fingerprints taken. Humphreys had no concerns though, and seemed to be positively enjoying Rossiter's discomfort. Slater and Norman were watching through the observation window.
"Humphreys seems to be enjoying this," said Norman.
"I got the feeling this isn't the first time he's had to represent Bruce Rossiter," said Slater. "Maybe getting dragged into a murder inquiry is a step too far for him and he's had enough."
They watched as Ian Becks took Rossiter through the procedure.
"Rossiter doesn't seem to be as bothered about having his prints taken as I'd expected," observed Slater.
"That's probably because he knows he's wiped that phone clean," suggested Norman. "Wait until you tell him we found prints on the inside. That should get a reaction."
They waited until Ian Becks had finished before they entered the interview room.
"Did you get your fingerprints taken?" asked Norman.
"You know damned well I did," snorted Rossiter.
"Well, you'll be pleased to know it hasn't been a waste of time," smiled Slater. "Because we found some fingerprints inside the phone on the battery. That should tell us who put the phone together in the first place."
He was watching Rossiter's face as he spoke, convinced he was going to get a good reaction, but Rossiter didn't bat an eyelid.
"Well, I've already told you it wasn't me," said Rossiter. "And my fingerprints will prove it."
"You're very confident about that," said Norman, managing to conceal his own surprise.
"Yes, because I know I'm right," smiled Rossiter.
And at that moment, Slater began to think that maybe he wasn't bluffing. But surely he must have been lying about the phone. There was no way it had been planted. It had to be his phone. Didn't it?
"We'll have confirmation of that soon enough," said Norman. "Our little forensics team are very good. They'll be working on it right now. In the meantime we have some questions we'd like you to answer."
"Yes," said Rossiter, impatiently. "That's why I'm here when I should be at work. Now, can we get on with it, please?"
"When we spoke yesterday," began Norman. "We asked you if you had an intimate relationship with Diana Woods-"
"Ah. Yes," said Rossiter. "I may not have been very honest when I gave my answer."
"You may not have been very honest," echoed Slater. "Does that mean you lied to us?"
"I prefer to call it being economical with the truth," argued Rossiter. "Now I've spoken to my solicitor I can see that was the wrong thing to do."
"So you did lie to us," said Norman. "So how about you tell us the truth now."
"The thing is my wife mustn't get to hear about this," began Rossiter. "I'm sure you can see this would be very embarrassing for me if it did get out. You will make sure she doesn't hear about it, won't you?"
"We can't guarantee that Mr Rossiter," said Norman. "It may be that we'll need to speak to your wife during our enquiries."
"But why would you need to do that?" asked Rossiter.
"Maybe we won't need to," said Slater. "We can't say for sure. We just follow the evidence where it leads and question people accordingly."
"But my wife isn't involved in Diana's death. That's an absurd idea," said Rossiter.
"It doesn't sound so crazy if she knows about your affair," said Norman.
"But she doesn't," Rossiter assured them. "And it was hardly an affair. It was more of a flirtation that went a bit too far."
Norman gave a huge, weary sigh.
"I thought you were going to tell us the truth, Mr Rossiter," he sighed. "From what we've discovered your 'flirtation' has been going on for almost three years. It started in a hotel on a business trip, and it's been going on ever since. Now, that's a bit more than a flirtation, wouldn't you agree?"
Rossiter looked at Norman in disbelief. How could he know that? They'd been so careful.
"Every Tuesday and Friday lunchtime," said Slater. "At your house when your wife's at work."
"There's no law against two friends having lunch together," pleaded Rossiter, desperately.
"That's very true," agreed Norman. "There's also no law against two consenting adults having sex every Tuesday and Friday lunchtime."
Rossiter looked to Humphrey for support, but it was obvious how he felt from the disapproving curl of his lips. Rossiter wasn't going to get much support from there.
"We're not here to judge your morals, Mr Rossiter," said Norman. "We're just here to try and get to the truth of what happened to Diana Woods. The fact you were conducting a long standing affair with her could be very significant. Your lies are preventing us from getting a clear picture of her life."
"You're obstructing a police inquiry," added Slater. "I'm sure Mr Humphreys can explain the consequences."
"Alright!" snapped Rossiter. "Yes we were having an affair. But we were discreet, and weren't doing anyone any harm."
"Discreet?" said Slater. "Every employee at Rochester & Dorset knew what you were up to. They used to watch you getting into your car together. They knew where you were going and what you were doing. How the hell is that discreet?"
"That's rubbish," said Rossiter.
"Is it, Mr Humphrey?" Norman asked the solicitor.
"Everyone knew," was all he said.
"Ian Woods knew as well," said Slater.
"He's just a waster," said Rossiter, bitterly. "How Diana ever got tied up with him I'll never know. He's been bringing her down for years."
"Or perhaps it was her behaviour with men like you that was bringing him down for years," suggested Slater.
"She has supported him for years," said Rossiter. "What sort of man is that?"
"Maybe it's a broken one," said Slater. "But if he was such a bad person, why did she want him to come back to her after he left. It doesn't quite add up, does it?"
"Did he tell you that?" asked Rossiter. "That's just another one of his fantasies I'm afraid."
"Like the fantasy about him earning a good living 'messing about on the internet'?" suggested Slater.
"I know for sure she didn't want him back," insisted Rossiter.
"You do?" said Norman. "And why was that? Did she have plans for her future?"
"What do you mean plans?" asked Rossiter.
"Well, maybe she wanted to turn your relationship into something more permanent," suggested Norman. "Perhaps she was planning on taking your wife's place."
"No way," said Rossiter. "She knew right from day one that was never going to be an option. I just wanted a partner for sex, nothing more."
"But perhaps she didn't see it like that anymore," persisted Norman. "Was she leaning on you? Trying to pressure you to get rid of your wife? Maybe she had threatened to tell your wife about your affair. I mean that would put you in a difficult position, wouldn't it? You might even feel you had to do something about it"
"Wait a minute. What are you suggesting," asked Rossiter. "You think I killed Diana? But that's crazy. She didn't threaten me with anything. We were both quite happy as we were."
"Are you sure about that?" asked Slater.
"Yes, I am," said Rossiter, indignantly. "Quite sure."
"And are you quite sure your wife doesn't know about you and Diana?" asked Norman.
"What? Now you think my wife killed her?" asked Rossiter, incredulously. "Now that's just a crazy idea. My wife couldn't do anything like that. She liked Diana. She thought Diana was wonderful, the best PA I had ever had."
"In which case the betrayal would hurt even more," said Norman.
"I'm telling you she doesn't know, and I don't want you telling her," insisted Rossiter.
"It might be difficult for us not to talk to your wife now, Mr Rossiter," said Slater. "In view of the circumstances she would have to be considered a possible suspect."
"Can you account for your movements on the day Diana died?" asked Norman. "We know you were up in London, but what time did you get back to Tinton?"
"I got back to the office just after five, and then I went home," said Rossiter.
"Can anyone confirm you were up in London all day?" asked Slater.
"I think you'll find there are about thirty witnesses who were with me from ten in the morning right through until we wound things up at around three," said Rossiter.
"So you weren't in Tinton at lunchtime?" asked Slater.
"I just said I was in London, didn't I?" snapped Rossiter.
"Diana had sex with someone at lunchtime on the day she died," said Norman. "Do you have any idea who that might have been?"
"None at all," said Rossiter. "But if she was with someone else it rather proves she wasn't trying to get closer to me, doesn't it?"
"When it comes to people like you and Diana, I think the only thing we can say it proves is that she was having sex with someone else that day," suggested Slater. "Normal rules don't apply, do they?"
"You can think whatever you like about my morals," said Rossiter. "The fact is I haven't broken any laws, have I?"
"We're not sure about that yet," said Norman.
There was a knock on the door. Slater got up and went across to answer it. He stuck his head out and there was a short, hissed conversation, before he came back across to the desk with a sheet of paper which he placed in front of Norman. A frown spread across Norman's face as he studied the sheet of paper. Finally he looked up at Rossiter.
"You'll be pleased to know the fingerprints we found inside the mobile phone aren't yours," he said.
"I think you'll find I told you that yesterday," smiled Rossiter, his confidence and smugness, now fully restored. "I don't know how that phone got into my desk."
"Yeah, right," said Slater. "Of course you don't."
"I think we're done here, don't you?" asked Rossiter. "Come on Brian. I think I've answered enough questions for one day."
"You said it would be a piece of cake," Slater complained down the phone, ten minutes later.
"And I was right," argued Becks. "It was a piece of cake. I got you a result in less than twenty minutes."
"Yeah, but you proved it wasn't him," said Slater.
"That's not my fault," said Becks. "I can't prove they're his prints when they aren't, can I? That's the thing about fingerprints. They're unique, or didn't they teach you that at detective school?"
"But we've had to let the bugger go now," said Slater.
"Well don't blame me, mate," said Becks. "I can only report what I find, and in this case I find the fingerprints don't match. End of story."
"I was sure they were going to be his fingerprints," said Slater. "If they're not his, who the bloody hell do they belong to?"
"We're running them through the database now," said Becks, testily. "That's the best we can do."
"Okay Ian, I know it's not your fault," said Slater, trying to pour some oil on the waters he had just stirred up. "Let me know if you find anything."
"I'll call you later," said Becks.
Slater felt like throwing the phone through the window in frustration, but he resisted the urge and placed it carefully back on its cradle.
"It's no good bollocking him," said Norman. "It's not his fault."
"Yeah, I know," sighed Slater. "I was just so sure."
"So we need to think again," said Norman.
"And who the hell was she bonking that lunchtime if it wasn't Rossiter?" asked Slater.
"Now there's a good question," smiled Norman. "She certainly seems to have liked sharing it around. It could have been anyone. Did she have anyone working on her house, or her garden?"
"There wasn't any sign of that," said Slater.
"Can I offer a suggestion?" asked Jane Jolly. "Only I'm sitting here listening to you two talking doom and gloom, and I think maybe you're missing something."
"Go on," urged Slater. "What's your suggestion?"
"Now I don't know anything about having affairs," she began. "But I do know something about men, and I know if I wanted my husband to get a mobile phone so I could contact him secretly I would probably have to wait a very long time for him to get around to doing it."
"No offence Jane, but I don't think you can compare your husband to an animal like Rossiter."
"Certainly not in terms of his morals," she agreed. "But most women will agree, if you want a man to do something it's often best to do it yourself."
