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

by Ford,P. F.

  “See? It’s all subterfuge,” Slater said, peering inside the empty case.

  Ashton still looked rather doubtful.

  “It’ll all become clear later,” said Slater. “You’ll see.”

  Slater eyed Bressler across the table in the interview room. He was eager to hear what the man had to say for himself.

  “Okay, Mr Bressler,” began Norman, once the formalities were out of the way. “You understand you’re here to help us with our enquiries, right?”

  “Yes.” Bressler sounded impatient. “Will you just get on with it, please?”

  “We have another interview going on,” Slater said. “The person we’re questioning claims you employ him on an occasional basis to fly to and from France. I just need you to confirm or deny it.”

  “Is that all you want to know?” Bressler looked incredulous. “You drag me out of bed at 6am and bring me all the way here just to ask me that?”

  “That’s all we want to know in connection with that particular investigation, yes,” said Slater, doing his best to remain ambiguous.

  “So who’s the person?” asked Bressler.

  “Rodney Rodgers,” said Slater. “Is he telling the truth?”

  Bressler leaned back in his seat. If he was surprised to find they were interviewing Rodgers, he didn’t show it.

  “What on earth are you interviewing him for?” asked Bressler. “What’s he done wrong?”

  “You know we can’t tell you that,” said Norman. “Is he for real?”

  “Yes.” Bressler heaved a sigh. “I’ve used him on and off for years now.”

  “And you pay him?” asked Norman.

  “Very handsomely. But that’s because he appreciates the value of the things I ask him to transport and he looks after them. That’s why I use him.”

  “When was the last time you used him?”

  “It must have been a couple of months ago now. I can’t tell you the exact date, but it was probably a Wednesday. It’s his regular day off, I think. He collected a couple of very old books I’d bought in an auction.”

  “Employing him seems a bit strange to me,” said Slater. “It’s almost like rewarding him for sleeping with Sandra.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Sergeant,” Bressler said, sniffing snootily. “When all that happened I made so much fuss I nearly cost the man his job. He had to move away from all his friends and family, all because I couldn’t appreciate the fault wasn’t all his. It takes two to tango, and I must have driven Sandra to seek comfort elsewhere, so there were really three of us to blame. But at the time, I blamed only him. Later I felt guilty about that, so I looked him up and offered him the chance to make a bit of cash on the side.”

  “You expect us to believe that?” Slater thought the whole thing sounded very unlikely.

  “I don’t care if you believe it or not,” said Bressler. “It’s the truth, so it’s all you’re going to get. Now can I get out of here?”

  “Not so fast Mr Bressler, we’ve got plenty more questions yet,” said Norman.

  “But you said-,” began Bressler, indignantly, turning to Slater.

  “I said that’s all we wanted to know about that particular inquiry,” interrupted Slater. “And I thank you for answering that question. Now I’d like to ask you some questions about another inquiry. This one relates to the death of your wife and daughter, so I’d like to think you’d be prepared to help us if you can.”

  Bressler looked as though he was about to blow, but Slater stared impassively back at him.

  “You would like to know what really happened, wouldn’t you, Mr Bressler?” asked Norman.

  “Well, yes. Of course I would,” said Bressler, staring back at them.

  “Good.” Slater smiled, broadly. “So why don’t you start by telling us how often you stay at Lindy Fellows’ house.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” said Bressler. “I’ve never stayed at her house before. This was a one-off visit.”

  “We know you were there all night,” said Norman. “We know only one bed was slept in. That, and one or two other things we’ve discovered, gives us reason to believe you’re a regular visitor. We believe that near enough every time you go ‘away on business’, you just drive over to Lindy’s and share her bed for a few days.”

  “That’s rubbish. I was just calling in to see how she was.”

  “Or making sure you’ve got the story straight and you’re both singing from the same hymn sheet.” Norman raised an eyebrow.

  “What story? There is no story.” Bressler’s face was turning puce.

  “So why go through the pretence of packing a suitcase and telling Cindy Maine you were going on business?” Slater watched as Bressler’s expression turned to shock. He probably thought Cindy had turned on him.

  “She didn’t volunteer that information,” Slater said. “I got someone to phone and ask to speak to you. She said you were away on business. Now we know why you only made six flights in the last year. You don’t need to fly to get to Lindy’s, do you? So it looks like Cindy’s an innocent victim of your cheating too. Just like Sandra was.”

  Bressler looked daggers at Slater, but he said nothing.

  “Does that make the whole ‘living in the past’ thing seem more real for you?” asked Slater. “I couldn’t quite figure out why you didn’t have a younger mistress like you did back then, but I asked someone who knows about these things and she told me, it would work for you if it was still the same mistress, regardless of her age. It’s all about continuity. Age range, or person, it doesn’t matter, as long as it creates continuity.”

  “My lifestyle and my affairs might offend your moral sensibilities, Sergeant,” snarled Bressler. “But they’re not against the law.”

  “No.” Norman spoke up now. “They’re not. But murder is.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you – I didn’t murder Sandra and Rose.”

  “Alright,” said Slater. “We can come back to that later. How about we go back in time? You’ll like that won’t you, Mr Bressler.”

  He slid a photo across the table.

  “We’ve been through this.” Bressler looked at the photo of him and Lindy at Dr McCall’s conference all those years ago. “We were just friends.”

  “Yeah,” said Slater. “I remember. But what about the conference you attended when Sandra was moving house? Was Lindy there too?”

  “I presume you already know she wasn’t, or you wouldn’t be asking me,” said Bressler.

  “Yes, you’re right,” Slater said, nodding. “But we don’t know why she wasn’t there. Do you?”

  “That was a long time ago,” said Bressler.

  “But it’s a time you must remember quite well,” Norman said, steadily. “I’m sure you can recall why your lover didn’t turn up.”

  “She was no longer my lover by then,” Bressler said, shrugging. “I had told her it was all over once Sandra found a house for us to buy. That’s when I thought she was for real and we were going to start over. Lindy didn’t come to the conference because I was going. She wanted to avoid me. What’s this got to do with anything anyway?”

  “We think it’s got a lot to do with Sandra’s murder,” said Slater. “We think you and Lindy conspired to kill her. You had an alibi being at that conference, but you knew all the details about the move. You could quite easily have told Lindy and she could quite easily have killed Sandra and Rose.”

  “This is absurd.” Bressler’s face went red again. “I’m not saying another word. I want my solicitor.”

  “Okay,” said Slater. “I think you probably need one now. We’ll adjourn this interview while that’s arranged. Let’s see what your friend Lindy has to say.”

  Lindy Fellows had obviously been stewing for some time as she sat in the bare room, with only a solitary, wordless PC for company.

  As Slater entered the room, Norman just behind him, she stood up from the table, looking furious.

  “This is blo
ody outrageous.” She banged her fists on the table. “How dare you keep me here like this? I demand you let me go right now.”

  Slater ignored her outburst and sat down, Norman doing likewise. Slater took an excessively long time to get himself sorted, shuffling his papers.

  “So tell me,” he began, eventually. “How often does Rudy Bressler come and stay with you?”

  “He doesn’t,” she snapped.

  “But he was there today when we called.”

  “That was a one-off. I had no idea he was coming. He said he wanted to talk about us.”

  “I bet he did,” Norman said.

  “So why hide the picture if you didn’t know he was coming?” asked Slater.

  There was silence.

  “Come on Lindy,” said Slater. “We know he’s a regular visitor, you said as much at your house earlier.”

  “I did no such thing,” she cried, indignantly.

  “Don’t you remember what you told me about the photograph of your niece? ‘I always hide the picture when he’s coming’ you said.”

  Her face told Slater what he and Norman wanted to know. They had caught her in a trap of her own making.

  “I demand you let me out of here.” Her voice was loud and shrill. “You’re making a terrible mistake. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  She let out a piercing scream, which seemed to echo in the confines of the small room. She banged her fists on the table again. The detectives stared impassively at her but said nothing. She stared defiantly back at them.

  “Oh my,” said Norman, quietly. “That’s some temper you have there.”

  “Finished shouting now?” asked Slater.

  “I’ve been waiting hours,” she said.

  “I’m afraid that can happen when we’re busy,” said Norman, jovially. “We had someone here for almost a whole day once, before we got round to interviewing him. But he was like you, you see. He kept on lying to us. If he’d just told the truth in the first place, he would never have been dragged in here.”

  “This isn’t bloody funny.”

  “Murder never is,” said Slater, quietly.

  Lindy glared in his direction.

  “What are you talking about? You think I murdered someone?”

  “Not one,” he said firmly. “But two. Possibly even three – one of whom was just a little girl of five.”

  “And you can prove this, can you?” She laughed, shaking her head. “You must be out of your mind.”

  “Me out of my mind?” said Slater. “You’re the one who’s laughing about a double murder, not me.”

  “This is ridiculous. You can’t prove anything.”

  “Did it ever occur to you that maybe Sandra hadn’t run away?” asked Norman.

  “What do you mean?” she said.

  “I’ll spell it out, shall I?” he said. “Did it ever occur to you that she might have been murdered?”

  “Yes. I mean, no. I mean... Well, I guess it did occur to me, but I suppose I just chose to ignore that idea. He seemed so genuinely upset about her leaving.”

  “You mean Bressler? But why would he murder them?” Slater asked. “Why go to all that trouble when he could simply have divorced Sandra?”

  “How could he do that?” Lindy looked at Slater as if he was stupid. “She would never have let him get away with it. They had a child. She would have taken him to the cleaners to provide for that child.”

  “On the contrary,” said Slater. “The child would have been his grounds for divorce. She wasn’t his daughter. Sandra had an affair of her own and she got pregnant.”

  “No,” said Lindy. “That can’t be right. You’re lying. He would have told me. And he would never have accepted that.”

  “DNA tests don’t lie, Lindy,” Slater said, sighing. “And when we asked him, he admitted he’d known all along.”

  “No,” she said. “No way would he have accepted such a betrayal, even from her.”

  “But he did accept it,” said Norman. “You see, whatever line he might have spun you at the time, it was Sandra he really wanted, not you. He didn’t love you, he loved her. In fact, I think she’s the only woman he’s ever really loved. You were just his ‘bit on the side’ which, of course, you still are.”

  “Of course he loved me.” Lindy glared at them, her face crimson. “He’s always loved me. That’s why he still carries on seeing me.”

  “So why aren’t you the one sharing his house?” asked Slater. “Why hasn’t he married you? Why does he keep you out in the country hidden away from everyone?”

  “If he loved her, why did he kill her?” she shouted, and Slater saw she was getting hysterical now.

  “Oh,” said Slater. “So now you know he killed her. And how did he do that?”

  “He attacked them with an axe,” she screamed.

  There was a sudden silence.

  “Really?” Slater spoke quietly.

  “Okay. Let’s have it your way,” said Norman. “Maybe Bressler did kill them, even though he had no motive for doing so. But you know what? I think you were in on it right from the start. You conspired with him to murder Sandra and Rose.”

  “I didn’t.” She spat the words out. “It was him.”

  “You look tired. I think you need to spend some time in one of our guest rooms,” Slater said, clapping his hands together. “It’ll give you time to decide which story you’re going to run with.”

  “You can’t do this.”

  “Oh, he can,” Norman assured her. “And so can I. But don’t think you’re special; it’s an invitation we usually extend to all our murder suspects.”

  “I haven’t murdered anyone. I’m innocent.”

  “Yeah. That’s what they all say,” said Norman.

  “I want a solicitor.”

  “The duty solicitor’s really busy right now. But we’ll see if we can find another one for you. In the meantime, you can go and cool down.”

  “It’ll be a chance for you to get used to the conditions,” said Slater. “I’m afraid the view’s crap, unless you’re about eight feet tall, and the food’s not up to much.”

  “And, believe me, the tea’s like shite,” Norman said, grimacing. “And, thinking about it, the mattresses aren’t up to much either. And you won’t find any spare pillows or blankets. But the company can be really entertaining, especially if you’re here overnight and we get a lot of drunks in.”

  “You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” Lindy was shouting now, glowering at Norman.

  “If you mean ‘am I enjoying locking up a murderer’, then yes, I am,” Norman said, cheerfully. “It’s always better when you enjoy your job, don’t you think?”

  “You fat bastard.” Her words were loaded with venom.

  “That’s an evil temper you have, Lindy,” said Slater, opening the door. “We’ll add it your murderer’s CV.”

  He called in the PC who had been waiting outside.

  “Get some help and take this woman away,” he said.

  “Yes, Sir,” she said.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  It was almost 2pm before Bressler’s solicitor finally told Norman he and his client were ready to resume the interview.

  A small, wiry man, Trevor Bastion was well known to the Tinton police as a fierce, but fair, defender of his clients. He didn’t go out of his way to be awkward, but he was a stickler for the rules, and would speak up any time he thought the police were overstepping the mark. Norman knew he and Slater would have to tread carefully to stay on the right side of him, so he intended to offer him the respect he was due.

  They had barely sat down and finished the introductions before there was a knock on the door. Norman couldn’t believe it. He’d specifically said no interruptions. There was another knock. Whoever it was obviously didn’t intend to go away.

  “I’m sorry about this,” Slater said, looking embarrassed.

  Norman climbed to his feet and opened the door just enough to stick his head through. A nervous young PC wa
s hopping up and down outside.

  “This had better be damned good,” hissed Norman. “We’re trying to interview a murder suspect.”

  “Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir. But the duty sergeant insisted it was very important,” mumbled the PC. He thrust a sheet of paper at Norman, and then stepped back hastily, almost as if he expected Norman to suddenly bite him.

  Norman looked at the sheet of paper. He read it, and then read it again. He reached out and patted the PC on the arm

  “Okay, son,” he said to the PC. “The duty sergeant was right. Thank you for bringing this down. I’m sorry I snapped your head off.”

  “Oh. Right,” said the PC, now visibly more relaxed.

  “You get along. I’ll deal with this now,” said Norman, backing into the room and closing the door. He passed the sheet of paper to Slater, and then addressed Bastion and Bressler.

  “Err, something really important has come up, Mr Bastion, Mr Bressler,” he said. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to suspend this interview for a while.”

  Bressler’s face showed a small sign of relief at being given a reprieve.

  “I hope the need for this delay is relevant to this inquiry,” said Bastion, addressing Slater. The implied threat was that he would be raising merry hell if it wasn’t.

  “It certainly is, Mr Bastion,” said Slater. “I think you know us well enough to know we don’t mess you about. I just have to take a phone call and I’ll be right back. Fifteen minutes, tops. I’ll see you get tea while you’re waiting.”

  Bastion made a big deal out of displaying his wristwatch.

  “I agree to a 15-minute break,” he said. “But the clock’s ticking already.”

  Slater ran up the stairs to the incident room. He could hear Norman puffing behind him.

  “What the hell is Jolly doing at Gatwick?” he asked.

  “Showing some initiative?” Norman could barely speak, and when Slater turned back, he saw Norman had stopped. He was about to stop and wait for him, when Norman waved a hand.

  “I’ll…catch…you…up,” Norman panted.

  Slater rushed on, charging through the doors into the incident room. A small light flashed at his phone to indicate a call waiting.