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

by Ford,P. F.

  ‘Why would he do that?’ asked Slater of no one in particular. ‘Does it say what he’s done with it?’

  ‘Now that I can’t tell you,’ said Jolly. ‘I’ve just checked the local council website, and there are no planning applications associated with Hatton House, Dylan Winter, or Henry Winter.’

  ‘So what does that mean?’ asked Slater. ‘Is it still derelict? Why would you buy an old wreck of a house and do nothing with it?’

  ‘To stop someone else buying it?’ ventured Jolly.

  ‘Maybe there’s something in that old orphanage that he wanted to make sure no-one else could get hold of,’ Norman said. ‘Maybe that’s what the big secret’s all about.’

  ‘Perhaps it has something to do with his sister’s disappearance,’ Jolly added, quietly.

  ‘I hope you’re wrong.’ Norman shook his head. ‘I really don’t need another kid’s death to deal with.’

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ said Slater. ‘Listen to yourselves! I thought I was supposed to be the negative person here. Right now we have no evidence to suggest any kids have died.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ said Norman, sighing. ‘But I’m getting a bad feeling about this case.’

  ‘See if you can find us a map or some directions, Jane, please,’ said Slater. ‘We’ll take a drive out there on Monday, or Tuesday, and have a poke around.’

  Before Norman could say anything more, his mobile phone began to rattle out its terrible ringtone. He looked at the incoming number and cursed quietly.

  ‘I have to take this,’ he said, standing up and heading for the door.

  Slater watched him go through the doors and turned to Jolly.

  ‘Does he have a girlfriend or something?’ he asked.

  ‘Not that I know about,’ she replied, looking up. ‘Why?’

  ‘He just seems to be getting a lot of private calls all of a sudden,’ said Slater absently, returning to his work. He knew it was none of his business, but Norman was his friend as well as his colleague.

  It was a good five minutes before Norman came back into the room.

  ‘You’re popular all of a sudden,’ joked Slater. ‘Have you got yourself a woman?’

  ‘Sorry?’ said Norman. He looked distracted, turning his mobile phone over and over in his hands.

  ‘All these phone calls?’

  ‘Oh, right. Yeah,’ said Norman, with a grim look. ‘I guess I’m just Mr Popular all of a sudden.’

  Norman sat back down at his desk and kept his head down, focused on the screen. Slater got the hint.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘So let me get this straight,’ said Norman. ‘You think we should blackmail this guy by suggesting we think he’s the murderer?’

  They were on their way to the Station Hotel to see Geoff Rippon again.

  ‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that,’ Slater said, smiling. ‘I think it sounds much better if we say we’re going to focus his attention on the matter in hand.’

  ‘By suggesting we think he murdered Winter,’ added Norman.

  ‘I’m just going to present our evidence,’ explained Slater. ‘He was making phone calls to Winter when we believe the threats were made. He paid someone to poke around and find out what’s going on this end, and now he’s here in person claiming there was a big story. That’s a powerful motive for a greedy journalist, don’t you think?’

  ‘It’s a bit flimsy, is what I think,’ said Norman. ‘And if he’s half the journalist he’s supposed to be, he’ll know how vague it sounds. If you want to focus his attention, you’re probably going to have to make it worth his while.’

  ‘What?’ cried Slater, in dismay. ‘You think we should make some sort of deal with this guy?’

  ‘Look, I don’t like the idea, either,’ said Norman. ‘But, unpleasant as it seems, it may be the only way we’re going to find out what he really knows. Believe me, I’ve had to deal with these guys before. In their world, if there’s nothing in it for them, there’s no deal. Like you said yesterday, the guy’s a vulture.’

  ‘I’m not sure I like this idea,’ said Slater, gloomily.

  ‘I promise you I’m not exactly ecstatic about this myself,’ said Norman. ‘But here’s the thing. If you start suggesting he’s a suspect, he’s gonna think we’re as bent as all the other coppers he knows, and that we’re just trying to stitch him up. And if that happens, it’ll be end of story before it even starts.’

  Slater brooded on this stark reality for a few moments. He knew Norman was rarely wrong in his assessment of these situations, but even so…

  ‘Alright,’ he agreed, finally, and reluctantly. ‘You’re probably right. You lead the interview and I’ll try not to put his back up.’

  ‘If I get the slightest inkling I’m wrong, I’ll step back.’

  ‘You’re going to get it wrong one day, you know,’ said Slater, with a grim smile.

  ‘Ha! In your dreams.’ Norman grinned back at him. ‘You know it makes sense. That’s why you like working with me.’

  Slater thought of a smart retort, but he chose not to use it. After all, he couldn’t argue. Norman was right.

  They found Rippon in exactly the same place he had been before. Everything about him seemed to be exactly the same, Norman thought; he even seemed to be wearing the same clothes. The look on his face when he saw them made him look as if a bad smell had just drifted under his nose. Obviously his attitude hadn’t changed, either.

  ‘Oh!’ he said, sarcastically. ‘You two again. What a pleasant surprise.’

  ‘And good day to you too!’ Norman smiled broadly at him and pulled out a chair.

  Slater did likewise but said nothing.

  ‘So, did you do your homework?’ asked Norman, looking Rippon straight in the eye.

  ‘Now, why would I do that? I don’t take orders from the likes of you.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you do,’ said Norman. ‘But then I didn’t order you to do anything. I just suggested you could confirm what I told you, if you wanted to.’

  ‘But why would I want to?’ Rippon sneered unpleasantly.

  ‘Because without our help you’ve got zero chance of writing this story.’ Norman looked more confident than he actually felt about this statement, but he reasoned Rippon would have written the story by now if he knew what it was.

  ‘Oh, and you’re going to help me, are you?’ Rippon’s sneer seemed to be getting worse.

  ‘You know as well as I do that we can’t just hand over our files,’ said Norman. ‘But if you help us, we can probably help you. We can certainly make sure you get it before anyone else does.’

  ‘How do I know I can trust you,’ asked Rippon, sounding a little less hostile now.

  ‘You don’t,’ said Norman. ‘But then how do we know you’re not going to give us a load of bullshit?’

  Rippon stared at Norman but said nothing.

  ‘You have to make a judgement,’ continued Norman. ‘Doing your homework should have helped you to do that. And you have done your homework, haven’t you?’

  ‘I don’t need advice from you about who to trust,’ said Rippon. ‘You’ll be telling me how to write next.’

  ‘That would never do. Your stories just wouldn’t sell without all the exaggeration and hype.’

  ‘You do your job, and I’ll do mine.’

  ‘We are doing our job,’ said Slater, sounding irritated. ‘But you don’t seem to want to help.’

  ‘And why should I?’ said Rippon.

  Slater looked at Norman, and Norman nodded. He knew what Slater was about to say next.

  ‘Because you’re a possible murder suspect,’ said Slater.

  ‘What?’ said Rippon, his face reddening and his fists clenching. ‘You’re making this up! I thought you said you guys aren’t bent. How can you possibly suggest I’m a suspect?’

  ‘If you’d just answer a few questions instead of trying to prove how clever you are, perhaps you’ll understand,’ said Slater.

  ‘This is
bullshit,’ said Rippon angrily.

  ‘Did you get a phone call this morning, Mr Rippon?’ asked Slater.

  ‘I get loads of calls every day,’ said Rippon, glaring at him.

  ‘Did the caller hang up when you answered?’ asked Slater, ignoring Rippon’s smart remark.

  ‘How did you know?’ Rippon sounded surprised.

  ‘How do you think I knew?’ Slater sighed and shook his head. ‘It was me. I was going through Mr Winter’s phone records and this number kept cropping up, so I dialled it to see who it was.’

  ‘My, my,’ said Rippon, his voice heavy with sarcasm. ‘Well done, Sherlock Holmes. Aren’t you the sharp one? But I already told you he had been in contact with me.’

  ‘That’s the funny thing, you see,’ said Slater with a wicked grin. ‘There’s not one call made from him to you. All the calls are from you to him. It’s almost like you were stalking him.’

  ‘Bollocks,’ growled Rippon. ‘The first contact was made by him, in a letter.’

  ‘Oh good.’ Norman pounced. ‘I take it you’ve still got the letter so you can prove it.’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ mumbled Rippon, looking at the floor. ‘I might have thrown it away.’

  ‘How convenient,’ said Norman.

  ‘It’s the timing, you see,’ Slater went on. ‘We believe he was threatened into believing his life was in danger, and we also believe that threat was made four or five weeks before he died. That’s when you were making all these calls.’

  ‘But he contacted me,’ said Rippon. ‘I didn’t even know the bloke existed until then.’

  ‘What did he tell you?’

  ‘He said he had something really big, and that he needed someone who would tell his story to the world. He thought I would be a good person to do that.’

  ‘It’s a sleazy story, then, is it?’ asked Norman.

  Rippon scowled at him.

  ‘So what’s the story?’ asked Slater.

  ‘I dunno,’ said Rippon, shrugging. ‘I never found out. He didn’t get around to telling me.’

  ‘So you threatened him, and when he wouldn’t tell you, you came down and killed him,’ suggested Slater.

  ‘Don’t be bloody stupid,’ said Rippon, in exasperation. ‘What would be the point? You don’t kill the goose that lays the golden egg, do you?’

  ‘But what if you came down here to reason with him and it got out of hand?’ asked Slater.

  A small smile began to form on Rippon’s face.

  ‘You’re really clutching at straws here, aren’t you?’ he said, his smile turning into a grin. ‘Have you got any real suspects?’

  ‘Apart from you?’ asked Norman. ‘Sorry, we can’t discuss an ongoing inquiry with the press.’

  ‘That means you haven’t,’ said Rippon. ‘But you needn’t think you’re going to fit me up-’

  ‘No one’s trying to fit you up, Geoff,’ interrupted Norman. ‘Is it okay if I call you Geoff?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Rippon, grudgingly.

  ‘We need your help. We believe Mr Winter found out something about someone, and that person has silenced him. It makes sense to us that this is the big story he wanted to tell you. So anything you can tell us could lead us to that person.’

  ‘Believe it or not,’ said Rippon, much calmer now, ‘I would like to help. I only met Mr Winter once, and he was a lovely old guy. But I think the world dealt him a pretty crappy hand, you know? He wanted to right some wrongs while he still could.’

  ‘So what did he tell you?’ asked Norman.

  ‘Well, that was it really. He gave me that much, and then he said he wanted to check me out to make sure I was the right person to do what he wanted. All he would tell me was that it concerned someone who was a household name with a very dark side that he kept hidden from the public.’

  ‘And you accepted that?’ asked Norman. ‘You didn’t push him for more?’

  ‘I understood his need to check me out. He was an old man who didn’t know who he could trust. Like I said, I liked him and I figured it was going to be worth my while to win that trust.’

  ‘But surely you would have been well pissed off if he’d come back later and said no?’ said Slater.

  ‘Sure,’ agreed Rippon. ‘But people often change their minds about telling a story. It happens all the time – it’s not something I’d murder for. I also get offered stories that turn out to be a crock of shite – someone holding a grudge against someone else, and hoping to create a scandal. It happens. That’s life. It’s all part of my job, but it’s not worth killing someone. You must get the same sort of thing in your job. It’s bloody annoying, but you don’t murder people for it, do you?’

  ‘So where did you think Mr Winter fitted in? Did you think he was for real?’ asked Norman.

  ‘Yeah, I did,’ said Rippon. ‘That’s why I was willing to give him time to check me out.’

  ‘Did he tell you he’d been threatened?’ asked Slater.

  ‘He didn’t say as much,’ said Rippon. ‘But I spoke to him a couple of days before he died. He asked me if I could come down and get the job done as soon as I could. The problem was I was working up north. I was going to come down as soon as I finished up there.’

  ‘How did he react when you told him that?’ asked Norman.

  ‘He was disappointed. He said he hoped that wouldn’t be too late, but he wouldn’t elaborate on that. I thought maybe he was ill, you know? Maybe he had cancer or something like that. That’s why I found the kid. I asked him to keep an eye on the old boy’s house and let me know if anything happened. I was thinking if he had cancer or something and he was on his last legs he might get rushed off to hospital. It never occurred to me he was going to get bumped off.’

  ‘But, if he’s dead, why are you down here?’ asked Norman.

  ‘You’re supposed to be the detectives,’ said Rippon, patiently. ‘It’s not rocket science, is it? If he was murdered, it adds weight to the idea there’s a big story to be uncovered, and it makes that story even bigger. That’s why I was at the funeral. When we were talking, he mentioned his sister. I got the feeling the story concerns her in some way. I was hoping she might be there and I could ask her what it was all about. But there was no sister at the funeral. Anyway, now I’m here I thought I might take a look around. Maybe I’ll find something.’

  Norman thought it unlikely a successful journalist like Rippon had done no research. He must know about the orphanage and how Winter’s sister had disappeared years ago. It was no matter – he could play that game too.

  ‘So what have you got for me?’ asked Rippon.

  Norman was about to answer, but Slater got there first.

  ‘Like my colleague said earlier, we can’t discuss an ongoing investigation. And as for Mr Winter’s story – well, you started weeks before us, and it sounds as if you’re way ahead of us.’

  Rippon didn’t look convinced, but Slater looked him hard in the eye.

  ‘So that’s it?’ said Rippon, sounding disgusted. ‘You’re going to give me nothing!’

  ‘Right now, we have nothing we can give you,’ answered Slater. ‘But even if we had, I don’t think it would be a fair exchange at this point, do you?’

  ‘You thought he was holding back, too, huh?’ asked Norman as they climbed into their car.

  ‘Definitely,’ agreed Slater. ‘I don’t think he knows enough to write his story yet, or he wouldn’t be here now, but he certainly knows more than he’s letting on. There’s no way he’d waste his time down here unless he thought he was on to something.’

  ‘You think he knows where the orphanage is?’

  ‘Yeah, he must know that much.’

  ‘Then we’d better make a start by visiting that house this afternoon. Maybe that can help us figure it all out before he does,’ said Norman. ‘Otherwise there’s a good chance the whole world’s gonna know before us.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Hatton House was just a few minutes from the centre of Tin
ton, yet Slater had been completely unaware of its existence. As a fairly new resident of Tinton, Norman obviously hadn’t a clue, but he was surprised that Slater had never heard of the place. It had turned into something of a mystery trip for both them. With Norman driving, and Slater navigating, they almost missed the narrow lane that led away from the bypass in the general direction of Hatton House.

  Once they were on the lane, though, it soon became clear why they had never seen the house before – it was in the middle of nowhere. The lane was so narrow there wasn’t room for two cars to pass, but Norman observed it was unlikely to be a problem, as it looked as if no one ever came along this lane anyway.

  They finally found the driveway that led up to the house. In its heyday, the drive would have been lined with privet hedges on either side, but it was obviously years since anyone had tended to them and they were in a sorry state. In some places they had grown so tall, they had collapsed onto the drive, making it necessary to zigzag around them. Eventually they reached a pair of large, rusting iron gates bound together with a huge padlock and chain.

  ‘Looks like we’re on foot from here,’ said Norman. ‘Good job you suggested outdoor gear for this trip.’

  ‘I had a feeling it wasn’t going to be in perfect condition,’ said Slater. ‘I think we would have been overdressed in suits, don’t you?’

  They were both kitted out in walking boots, jeans and waterproof jackets, and carried small rucksacks with a few bits and pieces they thought might come in useful.

  There was a smaller side gate, which appeared to be unlocked. It creaked alarmingly, but then swung reluctantly open as Slater pushed against it. There was no sign of a house up ahead, and Norman began to wonder if perhaps it had fallen down over the years, but then he realised the drive was going uphill. Soon they spotted a roof as it began to level out, and then the house came into view as they came over the top of the hill.

  It was a large, sprawling old house and the roof sagged alarmingly, but somehow it seemed to be intact.

  ‘The oldest part’s Georgian,’ observed Norman. ‘And that extension on the west side is probably Victorian.’