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

by Ford,P. F.

  “You know her double though, don’t you?” he asked.

  “Double?” asked Rodgers, looking puzzled again. “What double?”

  “It’s like this,” Biddeford said, taking the photo back. “This girl, or her double, has been identified by staff at your leisure centre. They say she came asking for you.”

  “Well, that may well be the case,” said Rodgers. “She may well have come looking for me, but that doesn’t mean to say-”

  “The witnesses also say they saw you taking her into your office,” interrupted Biddeford. “So was it her? Or does she have a double going around impersonating her?”

  “Alright.” Rodgers sighed. “Yes she did come looking for me, but that’s not the name she used. She told me her name was Anne Hunter.”

  “Anne Hunter?” said Norman, sounding as doubtful as Biddeford felt. “Right. Okay, so why was Anne Hunter looking for Rodney Rodgers?”

  “She wanted to hire a pilot with a light aircraft.”

  “And why would she want to do that?”

  “Because I occasionally make flights to France for people to collect stuff and bring it back here.”

  “Oh, do you?” said Biddeford, surprised by this admission. “And who would these people be?”

  “Actually there’s only one person,” Rodgers said, and Biddeford could tell he was reluctant to give any more information about this individual.

  “And we’re talking dodgy stuff are we? Stolen goods, drugs, that sort of thing?” suggested Biddeford.

  “No!” said Rodgers, looking dismayed. “We’re talking legitimate stuff like antiques, paintings, old books, stuff like that. And it’s all above board, with the proper documents. The only thing that’s dodgy is the fact that I get paid cash and don’t declare it to the taxman.”

  Rodgers actually managed to look slightly embarrassed by his last admission. Biddeford studied his face. He looked pretty miserable, but he also looked, and sounded, pretty convincing.

  “So, if it’s all legit,” asked Biddeford. “Why do you make these flights at night?”

  “I d-don’t,” Rodgers said, stuttering over his words. “I’ve told you. We’re not allowed to fly at night. I don’t even make the flights very often. The last one was about two months ago. I don’t recall the exact date, but it was a Wednesday, my day off. If you check my flight log, or the airfield log, you’ll see when it was.”

  They had a copy of both logs, and Norman quickly began checking back. After a few seconds, he indicated an entry to Biddeford. He read the entry, and was amazed to find that Rodgers appeared to be telling the truth. This was completely unexpected.

  “Does this person you work for have a name?” he asked, recovering his composure. “Maybe he can save us some time and verify your story.”

  Rodgers seemed to realise he had little choice.

  “Yes.” He sighed. “He’s called Rudolph Bressler.”

  Norman’s jaw dropped open in surprise at this news. Biddeford was sure Slater’s would be doing the same in the observation room. He paused for a moment, thinking of how to handle this unexpected revelation.

  “It puzzles me, that the man, whose wife you got pregnant, should then employ you,” said Biddeford.

  Rodgers said nothing.

  “Doesn’t it seem odd?” asked Biddeford. “If he’d wanted revenge and perhaps murdered you, I could understand that, but to employ you seems odd. Why do you think he did that?”

  “It wasn’t like that,” said Rodgers.

  “So what was it like?” Norman piped up.

  “You make it sound like I was on the payroll, full time,” began Rodgers. “It was just an occasional thing. Sometimes I didn’t hear from him for months, and then other times he’d need me two weeks running.”

  “How long has it been going on?” Norman was like a dog with a bone, now, and Biddeford was content to let him follow this particular avenue for the time being.

  “It started about a year or so after I got moved down here to Tinton. He just turned up one day and asked me to fly for him.”

  “Didn’t that seem a bit strange?” asked Norman. “Him just turning up, like that?”

  “Are you kidding?” said Rodgers. “Of course it was bloody strange. I thought he’d come to hound me out of another job. But then he told me he understood how he’d been wrong to pin all the blame on me. He said he and Sandra were as much to blame as I was and he felt bad about forcing me to have to leave home and move all the way down here.”

  “And you believed him?” Biddeford jumped back in, dubious.

  “I didn’t know what to believe at first,” said Rodgers. “But he seemed sincere enough. Then he offered me a grand to fly to France, collect a couple of paintings and fly back. I was short of money and this seemed easy enough, so I said yes.”

  “So, you’re mates now then, you and him?” Norman looked disbelieving.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Rodgers. “It’s just a business deal. How could I be mates with him? I’d be forever expecting a knife in the back, or something.”

  “Has he ever asked you to do anything else?” asked Biddeford.

  “No,” said Rodgers firmly. “Never.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Biddeford wondered if he was telling the truth.

  “What is it you think he might have asked me to do? You must have something in mind,” said Rodgers, warily.

  “D’you ever chop logs?” asked Norman. “Or dig? You look like you could handle an axe and a shovel.”

  Rodgers seemed to consider the question for a few moments.

  “I have never done anything for him except fly,” he said, finally.

  There was a tense silence in the room that seemed to last for a long, long time.

  “Alright,” said Biddeford, eventually. “So what did Anne Hunter want you to fly in for her?”

  “She had this crazy idea that I was the sort of guy who would be prepared to fly over to France one night, and bring back a load of knocked-off wine.”

  “But you’re not that sort of guy, are you?” Biddeford asked.

  “Of course not,” said Rodgers, indignantly.

  “No, of course not.” Biddeford sat back in his chair. “Wine’s much too heavy. You need something that doesn’t weigh too much in a piddly little aircraft like yours. Knocked off cigarettes is more up your street, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Rodgers’ eyes darted wildly about the room.

  “Yeah, right.” Norman sighed, wearily. “Of course you don’t.”

  “But why you?” persisted Biddeford. “Why d’you think Anne Hunter would be prepared to come all the way down here to ask you if you’d be willing to do something like that for her? You’d think there would be plenty of pilots where she lived, wouldn’t you? Why travel nearly 150 miles specifically to find you? It makes no sense to us, don’t you agree, Mr Rodgers?”

  “I don’t know,” said Rodgers. “I didn’t know where she’d come from. She never said.”

  “Anne Hunter, or to use her real name, Sarah Townley, came from the Birmingham area, Mr Rodgers,” continued Biddeford. “A little to the south actually, not far from Redditch. She had a sister who lived in Redditch. That was about 20 years ago. You know Redditch, don’t you, Mr Rodgers?”

  “Yes,” answered Rodgers, sullenly.

  “Because that’s where you used to work, and that’s where Sandra Bressler lived. You remember Sandra – she used to come to your gym, didn’t she?”

  “Yes, alright,” said Rodgers. “I thought we’d already done this bit.”

  “You got moved sideways because you had an affair with her, didn’t you?” Norman leant across the table towards him.

  “Look.” Rodgers looked wild with desperation now. “You know the story, so why keep asking me these questions? Yes, I had an affair with Sandra Bressler. Yes, she got pregnant, and yes, I was told to move to a different location or lose my job. That’s how I came to be here in Tinton, alrigh
t?”

  The outburst was followed by a sudden silence.

  “Got a bit of a temper, haven’t you?” Norman said, quietly.

  “Of course I have,” said Rodgers. “So would you have if you’d been dragged in here accused of smuggling and then been asked all these questions that have no relevance to anything.”

  “You’re sure they have no relevance, are you?” asked Biddeford.

  “What possible connection could there be between a mistake I made in my personal life 20 years ago, a girl who came looking for me, and this night flying smuggling thing you seem to think I’m involved in?”

  “Just bear with me a moment and I’ll tell you.” Biddeford smiled, in control again. “Let’s just go back a little way and make sure I’ve got this right. So you were moved to Tinton 20 years ago, because you got Sandra Bressler pregnant, yes?”

  “Yes. I was moved out of the way to prevent a scandal,” said Rodgers.

  “But what about 15 years ago, when the Bresslers moved here? I understand your company provide transferable memberships. So, as she was still a member, it would make sense for Sandra to transfer her membership to Tinton, right? But, I’m guessing if she did that it would have made things a bit awkward for you. Am I right again?”

  Rodgers sighed heavily.

  “Yes,” he said, finally. “It would have been very awkward, but it never happened.”

  “Why not?” asked Biddeford, fully expecting Rodgers to say that she had disappeared before it got that far.

  “I don’t know,” Rodgers said, sighing again. “She came into the leisure centre about a month before they were due to move. She was checking out the schools, doctor surgeries, things like that, and she came to see where the gym was and what it was like. She was as surprised as I was when she walked in the door.

  “She told me she was going to become a member when she moved to Tinton, and she hoped we could be friends. The company even notified us they were transferring her membership, but then she never came to the gym and I never saw her again.”

  “Did you know what happened to her?” asked Biddeford.

  “I read in the local newspaper about her disappearing.”

  “And you know nothing about that?”

  “Nothing.”

  Biddeford stared at Rodgers.

  “Hmmm,” he said, doubtfully. “And that’s it, is it?”

  “What else do you want me to say?” said Rodgers. “That I know where she ran off to and I helped her get there?”

  Biddeford studied Rodgers in silence for a few moments before he spoke again.

  “You asked me earlier how this was all connected,” he began. “So let me tell you why we believe it’s all connected and how we think it all goes together. Twenty years ago, you lost a job you love because you got a member pregnant. As a result, you ended up in a backwater called Tinton because her husband had enough clout to see to it that you were punished.

  “Then, five years later, that same woman turned up in Tinton and wanted to transfer her membership to your club. We think it’s possible you didn’t like that idea, so you saw to it that she didn’t ever show her face here.”

  He stopped for a moment to draw breath and to allow Rodgers a chance to speak, but Rodgers looked too horrified to say anything.

  “Then, a few weeks ago,” continued Biddeford, “a young woman, who you say called herself Anne Hunter, turned up looking for you. Her real name was actually Sarah Townley. She was Sandra Bressler’s younger sister and she was looking for Sandra’s killer. She believed it was you. So now you needed to get rid of her, too.

  “It just so happens you make regular, illegal night flights. So you drugged Sarah, dragged her into your airplane and then booted her out at 500 feet.”

  Again, Biddeford paused to allow Rodgers to speak, but he just sat there, looking stunned.

  “You read the local newspaper, Mr Rodgers. So you know as well as we do that Sandra and her daughter didn’t run anywhere, don’t you? But we think you didn’t need a local paper to find that out. We think you knew 15 years ago.”

  Biddeford was fast becoming convinced Rodgers knew plenty, but he was actually too scared to tell them anything. But who was he scared of? Bressler?

  “I think you know plenty, but for some reason you don’t want to tell us,” said Biddeford. “I should remind you that you are in a whole lot of trouble here. You have motive to kill Sandra, and Sarah. You also had plenty of opportunity, and we even know the exact method you used to kill them both. You’ll be put away for life, no question. And, worst of all, you killed an innocent child. No-one likes a child-killer, and they definitely don’t like child killers in prison.”

  Rodgers had been listening slack-jawed as Biddeford explained his situation, but his jaw was working fine now.

  “This is crazy.” Tears began streaming down his face. “I’m not a murderer. I need a break. I can’t think straight. And I want to see a solicitor.”

  “I think you probably do need a break,” said Norman. “We’ll suspend this interview now, and you can spend the night in one of our guest rooms. It’ll give you time to think about how big a hole you’re in. And you’re definitely going to need a solicitor. There’s one on duty somewhere. I’ll ask someone to find him for you.”

  Rodgers slumped forward on the table, sobbing, as the two detectives left the room.

  It was approaching 11pm when Slater finally got the call he was expecting from Tony Ashton.

  “Hi, Tony,” he said. “What’s going on?”

  “About five minutes ago, Bressler carried a flight bag and a case out to his car,” said Ashton. “It looks like he’s making a move.”

  “Is he still there?” asked Slater.

  Ashton began relaying Bressler’s movements, his voice getting more and more excited.

  “I can see him in the binoculars. He’s out front of the house talking to that blonde bird of his. Now he’s heading towards the car. He’s getting in. He’s driving off. Should I stop him, Boss? He’s not supposed to leave the country, is he?”

  “It’s alright, Tony. Keep calm. I don’t think he’s going to try to leave the country. The suitcase is supposed to make Cindy Maine think he’s going abroad. He doesn’t know it, but he’s not fooling her, and he’s not fooling us either.”

  “He isn’t?” asked Ashton, sounding doubtful.

  “You just follow him at a safe distance. I think I know exactly where he’s going. When he gets there, he’ll turn off the road along a driveway. You just sit outside and let me know. I’ll arrange for a car to sit outside and watch overnight. We’ll pick them up in the morning.”

  “We will?” said Ashton, his voice sounding unsure. “Okay. Right. Whatever you say, Boss.”

  “Good lad,” said Slater. “I’ll speak to you in about 15 minutes.”

  Sure enough, almost exactly 15 minutes later, Ashton was on the phone again, confirming Bressler had driven to a private house and appeared to be staying.

  “Excellent,” said Slater. “You just hang on until your replacement arrives and then you get off home, Tony. I’ll see you back here at five thirty tomorrow morning. We’ll pick up Bressler at six.”

  “You’re the boss,” said Ashton. “I’ll be there.”

  It didn’t take long for Slater to arrange for two cars and four uniforms to be there to accompany him in the morning, and then he set off for home. He wasn’t going to get a lot of sleep, but if could manage four or five hours it would be better than none.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Slater told the uniforms to wait further down the road until they were called, then he jumped into Ashton’s car.

  “Right, Tony,” he said. “Let’s go get ‘em.”

  Lindy Fellows’ face was a picture when she opened the door to find Slater and Ashton facing her. In panic, she tried to slam the door, but Slater had anticipated something like that happening, and his foot was already in the way. She had a second attempt, much harder this time. It made him swear, bu
t by then Ashton was already charging into the door and she was knocked back as his shoulder slammed into it.

  Alerted by the commotion, Bressler came rushing down the stairs.

  “What the hell’s going on?” he shouted.

  “Ah, Mr Bressler,” said Slater. “What a surprise. Fancy us finding you here.”

  “You!” said Bressler, looking furious. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

  “DS Norman did explain to you yesterday that we weren’t totally stupid.” Slater was taking pleasure in this. “He also warned you that the next time we spoke it would be down at the station. He was right.”

  Ashton was already radioing for the uniforms to join them.

  “You even get chauffeur driven,” Slater said, smiling. “Nice drivers in nice uniforms. Shall we go into the kitchen to wait?”

  Bressler was the first to be taken away. This time there was no bluster about him. It seemed the wind had been well and truly taken from his sails.

  Before Lindy was led away to the other car, Slater pointed to the dresser.

  “Where’s the photo gone?” he asked. “The one of Melanie graduating?”

  “I hide it when I know he’s coming,” she said. “She would just remind him of Rose.”

  “Oh, right. I see,” said Slater. “That would be a bit painful for him, would it?”

  “Of course it would,” she said, bitterly. “Anyone who lost a daughter they loved would feel the same.”

  “Yes. Of course they would.” Slater remembered what Bressler had told him yesterday, about never being able to love Rose.

  “Take her away,” he said to the two uniformed PCs. “DS Norman’s waiting at the station. I’ll catch you later, Lindy.”

  “How did you know he was coming here?” asked Ashton, after the others were gone. “He packed a suitcase. I was sure he was going to the airport.”

  “That’s what everyone is supposed to think,” Slater said. “Let’s go and have a look in his car.”

  The car was unlocked. Slater popped the boot open.

  “Lift that case,” he said to Ashton.

  Ashton reached in for the case and then turned, surprised to Slater. He had been right, then – it was empty.