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

by Ford,P. F.

  “Are you really supposed to warn me this might be coming my way?” asked Slater.

  “Of course not,” said Murray. “And if I thought there was even the slightest possibility that it might be true, I wouldn’t have told you anything about it.”

  Well, at least I’ve got the old man on my side from the start.

  “Now,” said Murray. “I want you to go and take a walk around town so you can cool down and get yourself together. In the meantime, I intend to speak to Norman, and then I shall ask him to stick with you and make sure you don’t do anything stupid. Stay away until Norman calls you. Got that?”

  He began to get to his feet. The chat was over.

  “Yes, Boss,” said Slater, standing up.

  “I mean it, David. If you do anything to make people think we’ve had this conversation, you’ll be back out directing traffic.”

  “Right, boss. I promise I’ll behave.”

  As Slater made his way to the door, Murray picked up the phone and spoke into it.

  “Can you ask DS Norman to come up and see me.”

  Slater was bloody furious. Why was Biddeford doing this to him? Hadn’t he given the guy his chance? Hadn’t he looked after him and encouraged him? They made a good team, so why had this happened now?

  Of course – it was all about Phillipa Flight, wasn’t it? Putting those two together really was a big mistake. Biddeford was pretty naive where women were concerned. He would have been putty in Flight’s hands. She’s turned him against me. But there was nothing he could do about it – he’d promised Bob Murray and there was no way in the world he was going to let the boss down.

  He’d been walking and brooding on his situation for about 20 minutes when his phone began to ring. He looked at the incoming number, but it wasn’t a number he knew. He hummed and hawed about answering it, then decided yes, he would. If it turned out to be someone trying to sell him something, he was in just the right mood…

  “Hello?”

  “Is that DS Dave Slater?” asked a pleasant female voice. He thought he should recognise the voice, but he couldn’t quite place it.

  “Speaking,” he said.

  “Oh, hi. This is Cindy Maine. You said I could call if I wanted to talk to you.”

  The day’s beginning to look up.

  “Miss Maine. This is a pleasant surprise.”

  “Please call me Cindy. Miss Maine makes me sound like an old dear of about 80.”

  “I’m sorry, Cindy. Now what can I do for you? Do you have some information for me?”

  “Not really, no. I just wanted someone to talk to. Do you mind?”

  “What, about Rudy? Won’t he mind you talking to me?”

  “Oh don’t worry about him. He’s lost interest in me now my time’s just about up. He’s busy preparing the next one.”

  “That sounds really clinical,” said Slater.

  “Of course it’s clinical. I told you before, it’s just a business deal. There’s nothing emotional about the relationship at all, I’m just there for show.”

  “I’m not sure I really understand how that works,” said Slater, and he meant it.

  “So why not buy a girl a drink and let her try to explain it to you?”

  “Really?”

  “Really. It would be wonderful to have a real conversation with a real person.”

  “A real person?” asked Slater.

  “I’ll explain when I see you. I will see you, won’t I?”

  There was the merest of pauses, and then, for once, he forgot he was a policeman and let his first instinct think for him.

  “Yes. Yes, you will see me,” he said, suddenly decisive. “When?”

  “Whenever suits you. I’m free just about all the time, but I guess you must get pretty busy.”

  “In my job I never know what’s going to happen, so it’s always a bit difficult to arrange anything. How about tonight? How much notice do you need?”

  “Ha!” She laughed down the line. “Five minutes, if you’ll take me as I am.”

  “I think I can probably cope with that. How about I call you later when I know what time I’m going to be free?”

  “I’ll look forward to that, Dave. It’s alright if I call you Dave, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. I think I’d like that.”

  “Good. I’ll wait for your call then. Bye.”

  That last word was said in a breathy sigh, and Slater replayed the sound in his head several times while the memory was still clear.

  What a weird day this is turning out to be. One minute I’m being told I’m a sex pest, and then half an hour later I’m being asked out on a date.

  He was roused from his daydream by his phone ringing again. This time it was Norman.

  “Norm,” he said into the phone, not quite sure how Norman was going to feel about him after speaking to Murray.

  “You okay?” asked Norman.

  “I’ve had better days.”

  “Where are you? I’ll come and pick you up.”

  “High street. Bottom end.”

  “I’ll be there in two minutes. I shouldn’t have to tell you this, but just so you know, I’m with Murray on this one. I think Biddeford’s had his head turned.”

  “Oh, for sure.” Slater was relieved Norman felt like that.

  “We’ll talk in a minute,” said Norman, ending the call.

  A car horn tooted and Norman pulled up just ahead of Slater.

  “What’s this? Time travel?” asked Slater, as he climbed into the car.

  “Yeah. I’ve been working on it for a few years now. It’ll make me a fortune when I get it perfected.”

  “So you were already out looking for me, huh?”

  “I was worried I might have to arrest you for murder.”

  “Look, I’m past the ‘feeling homicidal and looking for someone to kill’ phase, and I’m okay. Really.”

  “Look at me,” said Norman.

  Slater turned towards Norman who studied his face.

  “I have to say,” Norman said, turning back to the road and pulling away, “you certainly look as though you’re past that stage. In fact, you look rather pleased with yourself.”

  Slater allowed a small smile to cross his face.

  “Are you going to share?” asked Norman.

  “Not this time, Norm. Sorry.”

  “Aha, so that means you have a date. Am I right? Is it with Jelena?”

  “I’m saying nothing, mate,” said Slater, sliding an imaginary zip across his lips.

  “Okay,” Norman said, smiling. “Whatever. At least it’s put you in a good mood, and, considering the overall situation, that means I’m optimistic I’m not going to have to stop you committing murder.”

  “It’s cool.” Slater smiled, feeling slightly happier. “And I’m cool. Okay?”

  It was coming up to 5pm by the time Norman dropped Slater off at the station. He was glad his colleague hadn’t seemed as furious as he had feared.

  “There’s not much more we can do today,” said Norman, as they climbed from the car. “So why don’t you go home and make yourself all pretty for your date. I can tidy things up for tonight and get ready for tomorrow morning’s briefing.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to take advantage of you, Norm.”

  “Look. I’ve been telling you for months that you need to ask Jelena out. Am I really going to get in the way now you’ve finally done it?”

  “If you’re really sure you don’t mind?”

  “Just go before I change my mind. And make sure you relax and have a good time tonight. I’ll see you bright and early in the morning.”

  Norman watched Slater climb into his own car and set off for home, and then made his way slowly up the stairs to the incident room. He told the PC sat in front of the phones to have an early night – he would be here to answer them if they rang.

  The door closed quietly behind the departing PC and Norman sank into his chair. He was beginning to feel increasingly weary just lately and
he was glad to be able to sit and enjoy the silence for a few minutes. He’d just closed his eyes when that silence he so wanted to enjoy was rudely interrupted by the doors being flung open and someone marching noisily into the room.

  “Where’s Slater?” demanded Steve Biddeford, pacing up and down in front of the white boards at the far end of the room. He was furious and really wanted to have it out with Dave Slater.

  “If you mean DS Slater, he’s not here,” said Norman.

  He got to his feet and moved across the room so Biddeford would have to pass him to leave.

  “Has he gone home? Okay, I’ll go and see him there.”

  Biddeford made for the door, but Norman stepped in his way.

  “Get out of my way,” snarled Biddeford.

  “Or what?” said Norman. “Are you going to go and tell Murray a pack of lies about me, too?”

  “I’ll take you on if I have to,” said Biddeford, but he could hear the uncertainty in his own voice.

  “You will have to, if you’re thinking you can leave this room before you hear me out,” said Norman.

  Biddeford was a good three inches taller than Norman, and would probably win if they were to have a fight, but there was something about the shorter man’s determined stance that made him stop and think.

  “Have you ever heard the expression ‘to think with your dick’?” asked Norman. “Because that’s exactly what you seem to be doing. D’you seriously think you’re gonna ruin Dave Slater’s career with this crap you’ve told Murray? Well, think again, my friend. The only career you’re damaging is your own. Flight’s using you, can’t you see that?”

  “What do you mean she’s using me? What do you know about any of this?” said Biddeford, indignantly.

  “A lot more than you think,” said Norman.

  “Oh yeah? D’you know why she’s off sick today?”

  “I do, as it happens,” said Norman.

  “And you think it’s alright that Slater should be allowed to carry on as if he’s done nothing, do you?” said Biddeford, in disbelief. “Well, I’m disappointed in you Norman. I thought you were better than that.”

  “Better than what?” asked Norman.

  “He nearly raped her on Saturday night.” Biddeford was shouting now. “You might think that’s okay, but I don’t.”

  “You slept with her last night, didn’t you?” asked Norman quietly.

  “What’s that got to do with anything?” said Biddeford, suddenly on the back foot.

  “And you’re not thinking with your dick?” Norman laughed. “Oh boy, is she taking you for a big ride, or what?”

  “You’re talking shit, Norman. You know nothing about this.”

  “We’ll see who knows nothing about this,” Norman said, pointing to the nearest chair. “Just sit down there, and listen, before you completely destroy the career you say you love so much.”

  Biddeford started to protest, but Norman pushed him just hard enough to sit him back in the chair.

  “You’ve had your say,” said Norman, very firmly. “Now it’s my turn. You say Flight claims Slater almost raped her on Saturday night.”

  “That’s right.” Biddeford nodded his head, feeling sick with anger at the thought of it.

  “But weren’t you and Slater out stirring up the doggers on Saturday night? Oh, and re-arresting the flasher you allowed to walk out of the station earlier that afternoon?”

  “Yeah, but-”

  “And what time did you finish? After midnight wasn’t it?” insisted Norman. “So did this alleged rape take place on Saturday night, or Sunday morning? Flight’s a trained police officer. She would know the difference.”

  “You’re splitting hairs,” said Biddeford, shaking his head. “She was in shock. He could still have got to her after we finished.”

  “That’s a fact,” Norman said, shrugging. “He would have had the time, but that’s not what happened. Let’s go back to earlier that night. When you got to the car park, how many cars were there?”

  “Seven, according to Sergeant Fantastic Bloody Slater,” said Biddeford, sulkily.

  “But you saw eight, didn’t you?”

  “I thought there were eight, yes.” Biddeford said, wondering what this had to do with anything.

  “And you were actually correct,” said Norman. “There were eight cars. Seven parked to one side and a large SUV parked on its own.”

  This wasn’t what Biddeford was expecting. He thought Norman was going to defend Slater, but now he seemed to be suggesting Slater was up to something.

  “I suppose he knew the owner of one of them, did he?” sneered Biddeford.

  “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

  “Typical.” Biddeford shook his head in disbelief. “He’s covering up for his mates.”

  “I think you’d better stop talking now, or I’m gonna punch your lights out,” said Norman, in a very matter-of-fact way. “I can’t believe you’ve worked with Dave Slater as long as you have and yet you seem to know absolutely nothing about him and the way he works. So let me help you out here.”

  Biddeford opened his mouth to speak again, but Norman put a finger to his lips.

  “No, no, no. You just hush your mouth and listen. You are so wrong about this, and I’m going to prove it, but if you so much as make one more peep about Slater, so help me, I really will punch your lights out.”

  Biddeford had never seen Norman threaten anyone before, but it was done in such a cool and collected way, he was left in no doubt that he meant it.

  “Okay,” said Norman. “Let’s go back to Saturday night again. The missing number plate is that of the large SUV. Yes, Dave Slater does know the owner. The owner is Phillipa Flight’s husband.”

  “And the dirty bugger was up there-” began Biddeford.

  “No,” interrupted Norman. “The ‘dirty bugger’ was nowhere near that car park. He’s abroad on business. He has been since last Thursday.”

  Biddeford was puzzled. What did all this mean?

  “Now,” continued Norman. “Who else do you think drives that car? Especially when her husband’s away on business?”

  Biddeford said nothing. He couldn’t seem to understand what Norman was getting at. He thought it was probably all bullshit to save Slater’s arse anyway.

  “You think this is bullshit?” asked Norman, as if he could read Biddeford’s mind. “You know she drives the car. I’m sure she would have used it to get to your house yesterday.”

  Biddeford’s face reddened. Why did Norman keep on about that? What did it have to do with anything?

  “Now here’s a very easy question for you, but I bet you can’t see the answer,” said Norman. “If her husband was away, how do you think Flight’s car got up to that car park on Saturday night?”

  Biddeford wouldn’t look at Norman. This couldn’t be right.

  “Someone must have stolen it,” he spat.

  “Yeah, right,” said Norman derisively. “And I suppose the nice thief brought it back in time for her to use it on Sunday?”

  “Well, perhaps someone borrowed it, then. Yes, that’ll be it. Someone borrowed it,” said Biddeford desperately. This couldn’t be true.

  “Oh, come on,” sighed Norman. “Do you really believe that?”

  Biddeford said nothing.

  “Okay,” said Norman. “Have it your own way. If you want to play dumb I can keep on going until the penny drops.”

  He stepped back to give Biddeford some space, but kept himself in between him and the door.

  “Now where was I,” he began again. “Oh yes. The mystery of how that SUV got up to that car park. Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but as I understand it, Dave made you recapture the flasher while he went to stir up the others, right?”

  Biddeford was staring hard at a spot on the floor. He said nothing, his thoughts roiling in his head.

  “Just for the record, I would have done exactly the same thing,” he added. “You let the guy escape, so you get the unpleasant job
of re-capturing him. If he happened to be spraying jungle juice around, well, hard luck. If you hadn’t let him get away… Well, you get my drift.”

  Biddeford reddened a bit more, recalling how Dick Waver had escaped from the police station.

  “Let’s cut to the chase,” Norman said, clearly wanting to get this over with. “When Slater got back to the car, would you say his mood had changed?”

  “I suppose,” agreed Biddeford, moodily.

  “Shall I tell you why?”

  “You’re going to anyway, so why not get on with it,” snapped Biddeford.

  “He came back in a shitty mood because he had discovered one of his colleagues shagging away in the back of that SUV,” said Norman, raising his voice. “He was in a shitty mood because he hates to see people with good prospects throwing their lives away. He was in a shitty mood because that colleague had offered to have sex with him, there and then in the back of that car, if he kept quiet about what he’d seen.”

  There was a sudden silence in the room. Norman was breathing heavily. Biddeford looked down at the floor and shook his head in disbelief.

  “No,” he said. “That might be what he told you, but it wasn’t like that. She’s not like that. She wouldn’t…”

  “Listen to yourself,” said Norman. “‘She’s not like that’. Do you really believe that? She didn’t take long to get you between the sheets, did she?”

  “So why didn’t he report her?” said Biddeford, becoming more and more desperate.

  “Because he’s a decent guy and not the arsehole you’re trying to make him out to be. He told her to take a few days off sick and think about her future. He can’t ignore what he saw, but he’s torn between doing his duty and saving her from a whole lot of humiliation, so he’s giving her a chance to resign without a scandal and sort herself out.

  “Now, however, thanks to you, he will probably have to make an official report to prove he’s innocent. He might even tell Murray how you let the flasher escape, too.”

  Biddeford sank even lower in his seat at the mention of the flasher’s escape.

  “Yeah,” said Norman. “That’s something else he kept quiet about to save a colleague from humiliation. But of course, you’re right, the man really is a complete arsehole.”