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

by Ford,P. F.

  Her voice had become increasingly aggressive as she delivered her speech, almost screaming and spitting with anger as she delivered the final sentence right into his face.

  Slater was still in position above her, knees between hers, propped up with his hands either side of her face, and for a moment, something in his head told him how absurd the situation was. For a split second, he was close to laughing out loud, but fortunately Cindy seemed to mistake it for a grimace of discomfort rather than the grin it almost became.

  And this really was no laughing matter. He had been completely unprepared for a situation like this, and he really didn’t know what to say next, or what to do next, but he didn’t need to worry. Cindy seemed to know exactly what he should do next.

  ‘Will you go and answer that bloody phone?’ she yelled.

  ‘Err, yeah. Of course,’ he mumbled. ‘It’s over there somewhere.’ He nodded his head towards his jeans, lying in a heap on the floor.

  ‘Well you’d better go and find it, then,’ she snapped.

  Sadly, helplessly, he climbed out of bed and found his trousers. He took the phone from his pocket and slipped the trousers on.

  ‘Dave Slater,’ he said into the phone.

  ‘Sergeant Slater,’ said a woman’s voice. ‘This is Sheila Watts, from the Belmont Nursing home.’

  ‘Ah, right. Yes, of course,’ said Slater, remembering now.

  He sat down on the edge of the bed and stared absently at the floor as he listened.

  ‘I’m sorry I’m calling so late,’ she said. ‘We had an emergency that couldn’t wait, you know.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ he said, thinking it really wasn’t okay, but he could hardly complain about her interrupting his sex life, could he? After all, he did leave a message asking her to call.

  ‘Maggie said you were interested in old Dougal’s visitor yesterday evening.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ he said. ‘Did the person leave a name?’

  He was aware of Cindy moving around but he focused on the call.

  ‘Well, he signed in and out,’ she said, ‘But I think perhaps he was a doctor, or some sort of professional like that. I certainly can’t read his signature, and he didn’t bother to print his name like people are supposed to.’

  Yeah, a clear signature, and printed name. That would have been way too easy, thought Slater.

  ‘Can you describe him, Mrs Watts?’ he asked.

  ‘I would say he was sixtyish,’ she said. ‘Quite nice looking, about six feet tall, with silver-grey hair. He had nice blue eyes. And he had a lovely smile,’ she said. ‘He was nice. He looked sort of kind, if you know what I mean.’

  Slater thought that could be anyone, really, but it could be useful.

  ‘So there was nothing particularly special about him?’ he asked.

  ‘Not really,’ she said. ‘He had nice aftershave on. Unusual smell it was. Not one I recognised.’

  ‘How was he dressed, in a suit?’ asked Slater.

  ‘Oh, no. Casual,’ she replied. ‘Trousers, a shirt, and a sweater. Quite smart and tidy, but definitely casual.’

  ‘Did you see what car he was driving,’ asked Slater, hopefully.

  ‘No, sorry,’ she said. ‘We can’t see the car park from the reception desk. I’m sorry if I’m not being very helpful.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Slater lied. ‘You’ve been very helpful, and thank you for taking the time to call me.’

  He ended the call. Sheila Watts hadn’t been a great deal of help really, and certainly not enough to sacrifice his sex life for, but it wasn’t her fault. The timing had been unfortunate, to say the least, but it hadn’t been deliberate. The problem was going to be explaining that to Cindy.

  He got dressed properly and made his way downstairs. Cindy was in the kitchen, slamming things into the dishwasher.

  ‘I’m sorry about that,’ he said. ‘It was about this murder case. I forgot I asked that woman to call me back. I had to answer it.’

  ‘You didn’t have to even have it switched on,’ argued Cindy. ‘It’s supposed to be your night off. You told me I would have your “undivided attention”. Those were the words you used weren’t they?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, guiltily. ‘Those were the words. And I meant it.’

  ‘Well, obviously that’s a lie,’ she said. ‘Or you would have switched your phone off and made sure no-one could disturb us.’

  ‘I didn’t lie, Cindy. To say I lied means you think I did it on purpose to deceive you. Do you really think I’d do that?’

  ‘I don’t know what to think right now. I hardly ever see you, and when I do I don’t know if you’re going to stay, or get dragged off at any moment. I’m sorry, but I’m not sure I want to spend my life competing with your job. Do you understand?’

  ‘Ah. I see,’ he said. ‘It’s you or the job, is it? I did warn you right from day one, that it would be like this, didn’t I?’

  ‘Yes,’ she admitted, sadly. ‘But I had no idea it would be this bad.’

  She began to cry. He wanted to hold her, but he stayed where he was.

  ‘Don’t ask me to make this choice now, Cindy. We’ve only been together a few months. I could throw my job in today, and then in a few more months find we have no future anyway.’

  ‘I know,’ she sobbed. ‘I know. It’s just that we never get any time together. Perhaps if we could go away for a couple of weeks.’

  She looked into his face, and now he did go to her, but only to give her a consoling cuddle.

  ‘A couple of weeks away would be great, but the problem would still be here when we got back,’ he said. ‘I think it’s best if I go home now. You need some time to think about what it is you want. Call me when you’re ready to talk, okay?’

  He left with a heavy heart. Up until now, he’d thought that if it came to it he would happily walk away from his job for Cindy, but now he knew that wasn’t the case. Perhaps she wasn’t the one after all.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Jolly looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost 8.30am, and so far, there had been no sign of Slater or Norman. It wasn’t like either of them to arrive more than a few minutes after 7.30am and if they had to be somewhere else they would have called. She was beginning to wonder what could have happened to them.

  Across the other side of the station, in DCI Bob Murray’s office, Murray’s temper was happening to them. They had both been called first thing this morning with a direct order from the Old Man, in person. This was unheard of.

  ‘Be in my office. Eight o’clock, sharp,’ had been the curt instruction. Those seven words conveyed the message loud and clear. This wasn’t a request. It was an instruction.

  They didn’t need to be told why they had been summoned. Maunder had promised they would regret calling on him and it seemed he had been true to his word. For almost half an hour, they had been read the riot act, without let-up. It appeared not only Sir Robert but the chief constable and Sir Robert’s solicitor had been on to Murray, and they had obviously got their message across. Murray was now passing on that message, with bells on.

  ‘What on earth were you thinking, going to his house?’ he asked them, but he didn’t wait for a reply. ‘I specifically told you, Norman, to stay away from Sir Robert Maunder, didn’t I?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ mumbled Norman.

  ‘With respect, sir,’ interrupted Slater, ‘that was my decisio-’

  ‘Did I ask you to interrupt?’ snapped Murray. ‘And don’t patronise me with that “with respect” rubbish. If you had any respect for anyone, we wouldn’t be having this discussion now.’

  Discussion? thought Slater. That’s a laugh. They hadn’t been able to get a word in edgeways for the last half hour. And he was getting seriously pissed off with this “let’s protect Sir Robert” crap. The guy might have a knighthood but he was still crooked. Why wouldn’t any of them see it?

  ‘If the chief constable had his way, you two would be back directing traffic,’ warned Murray.
‘I take it you shared the decision to go and annoy Sir Robert yesterday, so whatever either of you has to say now, by way of an explanation, had better be bloody good.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Slater, ready for war. ‘We are actually allowed to speak, then, are we?’

  ‘I think it would be better for all of us if DS Norman made the excuses, and you kept quiet, Slater,’ Murray said after a moment. ‘Your lack of respect is going to make you say something you’ll regret.’

  ‘Yeah, but-’ began Slater.

  ‘You will remain silent,’ roared Murray, looking well and truly at the end of his tether. ‘Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said a seething Slater. ‘I understand.’

  ‘Well, that makes a change,’ said Murray.

  He turned to Norman.

  ‘It was a joint decision, was it?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes sir,’ said Norman. ‘Based on the evidence we’ve uncovered we have reason to believe Sir Robert Maunder could well have been involved in child abuse back in the sixties.’

  ‘You do realise who this man is? He’s a knight of the realm, for goodness sake. One of the reasons he got that honour was because of his charitable work with, and for, children.’

  ‘Yes, we know all that, sir,’ agreed Norman. ‘But he wouldn’t be the first person to receive a knighthood and then turn out to be not quite the wonderful person everyone had thought he was.’

  That’s an understatement, Slater thought.

  ‘And this is based on what evidence?’ Murray asked.

  ‘You remember Mr Winter, the old guy who seemed to have died by accident but we later found had been murdered? It turns out he grew up in an orphanage Maunder used to frequent. Mr Winter’s sister was abused on a regular basis there. Mr Winter names Sir Robert Maunder as the ringleader of the abusers. We even have a copy of a letter he sent to Sir Robert naming him as the ringleader. We think that could have been why he was murdered.’

  ‘Where’s this sister now?’

  ‘She’s our latest murder victim,’ said Norman. ‘We believe she was killed because she was the only surviving witness to what happened back then. We also have reason to believe the so-called break-in Sir Robert reported was faked.’

  ‘Why would he fake it?’

  ‘That’s what we wanted to know.’

  ‘Why didn’t you come and tell me all this before you went up there?’

  ‘Can I speak?’ asked Slater.

  Murray nodded.

  ‘But think first,’ he said, a note of warning in his voice.

  ‘The reason we chose not to tell you was because we thought you’d order us not to go,’ explained Slater. ‘But the way we saw it we had a legitimate excuse for going up there and we figured it made sense, while we were up there, to shake his tree and see if anything fell out.’

  ‘And did anything fall out?’

  ‘He certainly knows a lot more about what went on at that orphanage than he’s admitting,’ said Slater.

  ‘And his wife tells me there’s nothing wrong with his memory,’ added Norman. ‘Yet he managed to forget to set the alarm, and then forget to put away her jewels, on the same night.’

  ‘So you think he might have been involved in child abuse, but all you have is the written testimony of a dead man, and your only potential witness is now also dead,’ said Murray. ‘Is that right?’

  ‘So far,’ said Norman.

  ‘So really, you’ve got no proof.’ Murray sighed. ‘How do you know this Mr Winter is for real? Maybe he just wanted to smear Sir Robert’s name.’

  ‘We haven’t found anything to suggest that,’ argued Norman.

  ‘That doesn’t mean I’m wrong, does it? And then there’s the break-in? What are you suggesting, insurance fraud? You’ve seen his house. Does he really look as though he’s short of money?’

  Slater sighed heavily.

  ‘Why are you all so convinced this guy’s a saint?’ he asked.

  ‘Because so far, you’ve given me no compelling evidence to believe he isn’t. Why are you so sure he isn’t?’

  ‘I just know it,’ said Slater.

  ‘Gut instinct isn’t a reliable form of evidence. It’s certainly not a good enough reason to go charging around accusing someone,’ said Murray. ‘If you want to change my mind you’ll need to bring me something a bit more convincing than your personal hunch. In the meantime, you do not go near Sir Robert, his wife, or his house, without first speaking to me, unless, of course, you’d like to be directing traffic. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yessir,’ they chorused.

  ‘Now clear off and do something useful, like solving those two murders,’ said Murray. ‘And I want to be kept informed of all developments. As you don’t seem to be able to keep yourselves out of trouble I suppose I’ll have to monitor what you’re doing. As if I don’t already have enough to do.’

  ‘Can I ask one more question?’ asked Norman.

  ‘Go on,’ growled Murray.

  ‘Who’s Maunder’s solicitor?’

  Murray studied the notepad he’d scrawled the chief constable’s dire warnings on.

  ‘Someone called John Hunter,’ he said.

  Slater exchanged a look with Norman.

  ‘Does it matter?’ Murray asked.

  ‘No, probably not. Just curious,’ said Norman.

  ‘Well, that just about rounds off a fabulous twelve hours in the wonderfully fulfilling life of DS Dave Slater,’ grumbled Slater to Norman, as they walked across to the canteen.

  ‘Problems?’

  ‘I think Cindy’s had enough.’ Slater sighed, miserably. ‘We had a big bust-up last night.’

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ said Norman. ‘It’s the old “me or the job” argument, right?’

  ‘You said it.’

  ‘It always happens. I bet there’s not a cop alive who hasn’t had the same problem.’

  They were in the canteen now. Slater was collecting three coffees.

  ‘And doughnuts,’ Norman reminded him. ‘This is definitely a doughnut morning after that bollocking from the Old Man.’

  They gathered up their drinks and cakes and headed back to their office.

  ‘The thing is,’ continued Slater, going back to the original conversation, ‘I actually thought, if it came to it, I would give up the job for her, you know? But now I’m not sure I would.’

  ‘Torn between two lovers,’ said Norman. ‘That’s bad news. So what are you going to do?’

  ‘I told her we should spend some time apart. See if we can work out what we both really want. I told her to call me when she’s ready to talk.’

  ‘Wow. So this is really serious. D’you think you’ll work it out?’

  ‘Seriously? No, I don’t think we will,’ said Slater.

  ‘Oh, shit,’ said Norman, and he looked genuinely concerned. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Are you okay?’

  ‘That’s the weird thing,’ said Slater. ‘Now I’ve slept on it, I’m actually feeling quite relieved.’

  ‘Oh. Right.’ Norman hovered for a moment, as if he didn’t know what to say. He gave an uncertain smile then pushed their office door open, stepping aside to allow Slater to carry their goodies through.

  ‘I suppose that says quite a lot of negative stuff about me and the depth of my feelings,’ suggested Slater as he stepped into the room.

  ‘I think it says a whole lot more about the depth of your relationship with Cindy,’ observed Norman, as he followed him in.

  Jolly had commandeered the spare desk. She was going through piles of dusty old files and papers she had recovered from the County Council archive.

  ‘Where on earth have you two been?’ she asked, looking up from her work. ‘I’ve been worried sick. You never called or left a message.’

  ‘When the Old Man calls, personally, to summon you to his office first thing in the morning, Jane,’ replied Slater, placing the refreshments on his desk, ‘you’re so busy wondering what’s going to happen you tend not to think about telling a
nyone. I’m sorry. We should have let you know.’

  ‘But we have brought coffee and doughnuts as compensation,’ Norman piped up.

  ‘He called himself?’ said Jolly, looking surprised. ‘That must have been important. Am I allowed to ask what he wanted?’

  ‘Two detective sergeants for breakfast,’ answered Norman, with a wry smile.

  ‘Why? What have you done?’

  ‘We dared to suggest that the well-known saint, Sir Robert Maunder, might not be quite as holy as the chief constable thinks he is,’ explained Slater.

  ‘Apparently if we want to speak to him again, or even mention his name, we have to get special permission,’ added Norman.

  ‘That’s going to make things rather awkward,’ said Jolly. ‘If he’s out of bounds it’s going to be a bit like having your hands tied behind your back.’

  ‘It makes it difficult,’ said Slater. ‘But not impossible. Even with our hands tied, we can still ask questions. There are plenty of other avenues to explore without going anywhere near Maunder.’

  ‘Speaking of which…’ Jolly turned back to her dusty papers. ‘I’ve been looking through this Hatton House stuff I found yesterday. I’ve got a long way to go yet, but there’s a record of kids added to the register as new arrivals. I’ve compared it with the list of kids sent there through Child Welfare and it seems there were more kids sent than were actually registered as arriving.’

  ‘What?’ asked Norman.

  ‘Yes, it’s a bit strange, isn’t it? I thought I’d made a mistake at first, but I’ve double checked. There are at least five kids who were sent there but never appeared on the Hatton House register. One of them is Julia Winter or, as we know her, Florence. Her brother is registered, but there’s no sign of her name appearing anywhere. According to the records she never arrived there.’

  ‘Because she was a Special One,’ said Slater. ‘That’s exactly what Mr Winter said. The Special Ones were kept apart from the others.’

  ‘And if they weren’t on any register they didn’t officially exist,’ added Norman. ‘So anyone visiting the home could check the number of kids against the register but wouldn’t realise there were some others hidden away.’