Just A Coincidence & Florence (Dave Slater Mystery Doubles Book 1)

by Ford,P. F.

  Suddenly the panic was gone, reality began to set in, and she realised exactly what she had seen. Then the smell hit her again and she began to retch violently. When there was nothing left inside her, she began to cry; great heaving sobs that threatened to burst her lungs.

  This was an unexpected turn of events for the dog. Unsure what this new game was all about, he began to sniff cautiously around the back of Christine’s head as she sobbed and whimpered uncontrollably.

  Chapter Four

  “Okay. We’re on our way,” said PC Jane Jolly into the radio. She sat back in the passenger seat as her partner PC Phillipa Flight began to accelerate.

  “Did you get all that, Jane?” asked Flight. “I got the bit about the hysterical girl, but did he say out by the Haunted Copse? I’m not sure where that car park is.”

  “Straight up here,” said Jolly. “Left at the T-junction, second right into Copse Lane and it’s about half a mile on the left.”

  “That’ll be a sign of your misspent youth, then,” said Flight. “Anyone who can pinpoint that car park so accurately must have spent a lot of time up there. One of your favourite shagging spots when you were younger, was it?”

  The car park close to Haunted Copse was where dog walkers parked by day and, in the past, it was also where sexually charged teenagers, eager for a grope and possibly a whole lot more, parked after dark. Flight knew that, nowadays, it was also a place where couples came when they fancied being a bit more daring. So it was a car park for dog walkers or doggers; it just depended on the time of day.

  “Huh. I should be so lucky,” Jolly said, grinning. “I know it because I used to go with my mum to walk our dog. Sweaty gropes in the back of a car weren’t on the menu when I was a kid. Not with my looks.”

  Flight cast a sideways glance at her.

  “What d’you mean, ‘not with my looks’? There’s nothing wrong with your looks.”

  “Back then I had a flat chest, knock knees and spots,” said Jolly. “Not exactly the best look for attracting boys.”

  Flight looked doubtful.

  “I know it’s hard to believe now, but it’s true,” insisted Jolly. She patted her rather large chest. “I didn’t start to grow these things until I was nearly 20. Now look at me. Like a woman with three heads.”

  She laughed out loud. At nearly 40, Jane Jolly wasn’t very tall, and had become somewhat dumpy, but she had accepted who she was, and the shape she was, with good grace, and she wasn’t averse to laughing at herself. Having a good home life with a loving husband and three happy kids was much more important to her than trying to look like some clotheshorse. It was this attitude that created her general good humour and almost permanent smile, and that’s what had endeared her to all who knew her. She was known universally as Jolly Jane.

  She cast a glance at her partner, still feeling slightly jealous about PC Flight’s figure. She knew her friend watched what she ate, and worked out several times a week – and it really showed in her slim figure and great muscle tone. Jane was glad her colleague never commented on her own less-than-healthy lifestyle and eating habits.

  PC Flight steered the patrol car carefully along the narrow road, doing a pretty good job of following Jolly’s directions. She had told her the small car park was along this road somewhere.

  PC Jolly wondered what was awaiting them. All she and PC Flight had been told was a hysterical young woman had called from the car park near Haunted Copse, and as they were nearest, and the only ones free, it was their call. Backup would arrive as soon as some could be found.

  Having been unable to discern the actual cause of the girl’s hysteria, it was possible Flight and Jolly could be heading into all sorts of trouble, but Jolly barely considered the possibility. She just wanted to get to the hysterical girl as soon as possible.

  “Over there,” she said, pointing to the narrow car park entrance. As they swung in, she saw the girl’s car, a small red Fiat, tucked in a corner. The driver’s door was open and the girl was sat sideways on, head in her hands, elbows propped on her jean clad legs. A large dog sat in the passenger seat, watching their arrival with great interest.

  Keeping a safe distance from the car, just in case there was any evidence to protect, Flight quickly parked while Jolly flew from the passenger seat and started cautiously towards the girl.

  “Christine?” she called. “Are you Christine?”

  The girl looked up at the sound of her name. Her eyes were red from crying, and mascara had run down her face, leaving two black smears down her cheeks. She had obviously been sick, and traces of it still dribbled down her chin. As soon as she saw Jolly, she burst into more tears; huge wracking sobs shaking her whole body. Her mouth opened and closed, but she couldn’t form any words.

  “Bloody hell, Phil, take a look at this,” Jolly called to her partner. She stared with horror at the blood and gore all down the girl’s front. Had she been attacked?

  PC Flight rushed to her side.

  “Are you alright, Christine? Are you hurt?”

  Still unable to speak coherently, the girl shook her head to indicate she wasn’t hurt, and pointed towards the Haunted Copse.

  “Over there. It’s horrible,” she managed to mumble, before the heaving sobs took over again.

  “You look after her,” called Flight, setting off, jogging, towards the copse. “I’ll go take a look.”

  As she set off, Jolly picked up the radio. She called for an ambulance and asked them to hurry up with the back-up.

  After she radioed in, she knelt down to console Christine, wondering what her colleague was going to find in the woodland. As she turned back to the sobbing girl, she felt something leap over her head. What the hell? She stared as the dog, which had been sitting in the car, tore off after PC Flight.

  “Look out, Phil!” Jolly was concerned for her friend’s safety, not being overly comfortable with dogs.

  “It’s alright,” Christine mumbled. “He won’t hurt her.”

  Assuming Christine knew what she was talking about, Jolly decided to ignore the dog and turn her full attention where it was needed most.

  “Now then,” she said to Christine. “Can you tell me about it?”

  There was dreadful smell about the girl, Jolly thought. There was something vaguely familiar about it. Sort of sweet, and sickly, and, well, rotten really. She realised the smell was coming from the stuff smeared up the girl’s front. Then, with a sinking feeling, she remembered what the smell was.

  Oh shite. I know what that is.

  As Flight neared the Haunted Copse, she realised she didn’t really have any idea what she was looking for, or exactly where she could expect to find it. As she jogged, she became aware something was coming up fast behind. She stopped and turned, just as the dog caught her up. He began to leap up and down and his joyful barks filled the air.

  Flight relaxed. At least this idiot dog was harmless, but she didn’t have time for this.

  “Bugger off,” she said to the dog and turned back towards the trees.

  The grass was above knee height, making it difficult to see anything that may be lying on the ground, but she could make out a slightly flattened trail through the grass. She guessed maybe this was the path Christine had made when she’d fled the scene.

  Unfortunately, what training the dog had absorbed in its short life clearly hadn’t included the expression “bugger off”, nor its meaning. He began to follow her.

  Flight turned to the dog.

  “Look.” She pointed in the opposite direction. “You can’t follow me. You’ll have to go away.”

  At least the dog stopped, but he obviously wasn’t going to back off. There was a largish stick lying on the ground and Flight bent down to gather it up. The dog lunged for it, but she was quick enough to snatch it away from him. Now she had his full attention.

  “Oh, you like sticks, do you?” she said, spinning round and sending the stick flying towards the trees with all her might.

  “Go fetch that
one, then, ya big oaf,” she muttered, as the dog tore off after the stick. As if to demonstrate just how stupid he really was, he carried on straight past where the stick had landed and on into the trees.

  Happy to see him out from under her feet, she turned back to her trail and began to wade through the grass. There was something in the air. Just a hint of something sweet, and sickly, and possibly rotting.

  And then, suddenly, the horrible stench was everywhere as she came across the source. At first, it just seemed to be a mass of flesh, and blood, and gore. It was difficult to say for sure, but she thought it was probably a body. Or maybe there was more than one. The reason for her doubt was because it seemed to cover a much wider area than a body should. At the same time, it seemed to be both flattened and bloated, if that was possible. Across the centre, it looked as though something had been dropped on top, causing it to burst.

  Good grief, she thought, did that poor girl fall into this mess? No wonder she was in such a state.

  Phillipa Flight wasn’t the squeamish sort, but even she felt a little queasy as she turned and started to make her way back to the car park. She thought it was a good job she had gone to investigate and not her partner. Jolly Jane did not have a strong stomach and would have been sure to puke all over everything.

  Chapter Five

  It had taken Slater weeks to ask Jelena out on a date. She was attractive enough, with her not-quite-right English and her gorgeous good looks, and she’d already told him she would like him to ask her out. But, for some reason he just couldn’t put his finger on, he’d avoided the issue up until now. He’d picked his phone up often enough, intending to call her, yet every time he’d found an excuse not to call. Until this time.

  This was another part of his new positive approach to life. He still couldn’t quite believe it was actually going to happen, and, bizarrely, he still wasn’t quite sure he really wanted it to happen, but he had made the commitment to meet her, and now the night had arrived, he intended to make sure he enjoyed himself.

  He checked in the mirror. Yeah, he looked okay. A last quick check around his little house to make sure everything was clean and tidy. They were only going down the pub for a drink, and he wasn’t planning to bring her back here, but you never know your luck.

  It was just as he reached for the door that his mobile phone began to ring. He thought about ignoring it, but that was easier said than done. He looked for the incoming number. If he didn’t know the number calling he would ignore it. Definitely.

  He signed when he saw who was calling. Shit, I can’t ignore that one.

  “Yes?” he said into the phone.

  “And a good evening to you, too,” said the surly voice of tonight’s duty sergeant.

  “It’s my bloody night off,” said Slater. “So I’m hardly going to be pleased to hear from you, am I?”

  “Look, I’m just doing my job, alright? Like everyone else here I have to obey orders from above, so when the big boss tells me to track you down, that’s what I have to do.”

  “Right,” said Slater. “So you’ve tracked me down. Now what do you want?”

  “You have to take charge of a crime scene out at Haunted Copse.”

  “What? Now?” asked Slater.

  “No. Next bloody week,” snapped the sergeant. “Of course now, you numpty. Otherwise I wouldn’t have wasted a bloody phone call, would I?”

  “You’re kidding me, right?” asked Slater. “I’m just going out on a date.”

  “You were just going out on a date,” corrected the sergeant, evidently taking great delight in Slater’s disappointment. “She probably would have been disappointed anyway.”

  “No. Sod it.” Slater gripped the phone angrily. “I’m entitled to time off just like everyone else. Tell the old man to stick it. I’m busy.”

  “Hold on,” said the sergeant. “I’m not your bloody servant. I’ll give you his home number. You can tell him yourself. And do I need to remind you that you’re a police officer and you have a duty to perform? Now, where’s that number? Oh, here it is. Have you got a pen?”

  “Aw this just isn’t friggin’ fair-”

  “Life’s not friggin’ fair, Detective Sergeant Slater. It wasn’t fair on the poor bugger they’ve just found dead out by the woods. It’s not fair on the poor sods who are out there now scraping body parts up and putting them in a bag. But I don’t hear any of them complaining, only you. They’re just getting on with the job while they wait for a nice detective sergeant to come along and take charge.”

  “Oh, bollocky, bloody shite!” stormed Slater. “Why can’t someone else do it? How about Norman? What’s he doing?”

  “He’ll be coming out there to join you, just as soon as I get you off the phone and get hold of him. And I bet he won’t make half the fuss you’re making.”

  “Alright!” snapped Slater. “You’ve made your bloody point. I’ll be on my way in five minutes. I’ve just got to make a phone call first.”

  “Why thank you so much,” said the sergeant. “Give my love to your girlfriend.”

  “Oh, piss off,” said Slater as he cut the call.

  He thumbed through his contacts until he found her number.

  “Hi, Jelena. I’m sorry, something’s come up at work. I’m not going to be able to make it tonight…”

  This had better be bloody good, he thought five minutes later, as he closed his front door and headed for his car. But, he knew if Norman was being called out too, it had to be something pretty big.

  As he started his car and began to drive, his irritation lifted and he began to feel a sense of relief, because in all honesty, he was actually rather glad he was going to miss his date. He didn’t know the reason why, he just knew deep inside that she wasn’t right for him.

  Chapter Six

  As Slater arrived, he could hear the noisy, rattling, hum of a generator filling the air. Under cover of a hastily erected, larger than normal, tent, copious photographs were being taken and numerous samples collected. Slater saw the police surgeon climbing into his car, shaking his head. He had obviously been summoned to pronounce the death, and from his outfit, he had obviously been in the middle of some fancy dinner. Slater always found it grimly amusing that even in the cases where it was patently obvious someone was dead, the police surgeon still had to have his dinner interrupted to come and confirm that yes, the man without a head was in fact dead.

  It was 8.30 now, and the car park was overflowing with vehicles, so Slater parked on the narrow road and walked the few yards into the car park. PC Flight was the first face he saw.

  “Well now, Flighty,” he said, jokingly. “If you want to get me out here for some car park fun it’s no good inviting all this bloody lot as well. Unless, of course, you like an audience.”

  She looked startled for moment, and her mouth opened and shut without saying anything. He wondered if perhaps he’d shocked her with his suggestion, but surely she’d heard much worse than that before? Maybe she wasn’t as worldly as she made out. To his relief, though, she seemed to recover her composure quickly.

  “I’ve told you before. It’s PC Flight, and you’d be the last person I’d call wherever the venue was. I’ve got a perfectly good husband at home. I don’t need the attentions of some old has-been like you.”

  They often had these exchanges, and as her put-downs went it was quite mild, but this time he felt there was actually some real venom behind it. He considered a retort, then thought better of it. Maybe she’s just had a bad day. Whatever.

  “So what have we got?” he asked her.

  “I’ll take you up to the scene, and sign you in if you like,” she said, sounding all business-like now, heading off towards the copse.

  He had to run a couple of steps to catch her, then fell in alongside as she began to speak.

  “Young woman out walking her dog found a dead body up near the copse. Poor girl was in bits. She must have fallen on top of the body. She’s covered in all sorts of smelly shit. Jolly Jan
e’s gone with her to the hospital. She’ll try to get a bit more of a statement, but that’s about it really.”

  “Do we know anything about the body?” he asked. “Any ID?”

  “To be honest I couldn’t even tell for sure if it was just one body,” she said.

  “What? Are there two heads or something?”

  “You’ll see what I mean when you get in there,” she said. “You won’t find it so funny then.”

  They walked on in silence until they neared the tent.

  “That’s a bloody big tent, isn’t it?” asked Slater

  “It had to be,” she said, grimly. She’d stopped walking now. “I’ll wait out here if that’s alright. I’d rather not see that again.”

  Slater looked at her in surprise. He’d never known her to be even remotely squeamish before. In fact, she had a reputation for having the strongest stomach in Tinton, so this must be a bad one.

  “Okay,” he said. “No problem. Thanks for filling me in.”

  She gave him the obligatory white paper suit, a pair of latex gloves and offered a jar of menthol cream to smear under his nose, then signed him in.

  Women, he thought, as he headed for the tent.

  He stood outside the tent and donned the suit and gloves. He could already smell the body, so he dabbed a liberal amount of the menthol under his nose, then pushed his way inside the tent. The blinding flashes from not one, but two, photographers made it hard to see at first, but after a few seconds his eyes adjusted and he was able to take in the scene.

  “Bloody hell!” was all he could think of to say.

  Two figures, dressed in paper suits, were bent over what appeared to be the head end of the body. One of them looked up from where he was kneeling on the ground.

  “DSDS,” he said. “About bloody time.”

  “Becksy?” asked Slater, not sure at first if it was Ian Becks, although he didn’t actually know anyone else who referred to him as DSDS.