by P. F. Ford
A Fatal Deception
P.F. Ford
© 2017 P. F. Ford
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events in this book are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real life counterparts is purely coincidental.
Cover Design by Kit Foster Design
Editing by KT Editing Services
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
To my amazing wife, Mary – sometimes we need someone else to believe in us before we really believe in ourselves. None of this would have happened without her unfailing belief and support.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Norman Norman’s Christmas Novella
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Did You Enjoy This Book?
Evolution Of A Series
Next Book In This Series
Books By P.F. Ford
About the Author
Chapter One
'I think you've done enough assessing, don't you?' asked Slater. 'Can I go back to work now?'
Sitting in the easy chair opposite, Dr Andrea Newsome looked impassively at Slater through the large round lenses of her spectacles. 'Are you sure you're ready? I have to be sure there are no aftereffects and you're going to be able to cope.'
Slater heaved a frustrated sigh. He wished he'd never heard of Diana Randall. This was all her fault. If she hadn't jumped off that bloody roof, he would never have been undergoing this stupid assessment. 'This is ridiculous,' he snapped. 'You know I'm not crazy, and I certainly don't need a shrink.'
'We've been through this before. No one is suggesting you're crazy, and I'm not a shrink. I'm here to assess you, not declare you insane.'
'I don't need assessing. I just need to get back to work.'
'You make it sound as if I'm going to have you strapped into a straitjacket and carted off for a lobotomy! My job is simply to determine if you're ready to go back to work. It's only been four weeks, and I told you before, we have to go through a process called "watchful waiting".'
'And what exactly are you watchfully waiting for?'
'Signs,' she said. 'Signs that will tell me you have been affected by what happened and need help before you can go back to work, or signs that tell me you are ready to go back to work without any further help.'
'But I am ready,' said Slater.
'So you keep saying, but that's for me to decide.'
He threw his hands up in irritation. 'But I keep telling you, there's nothing wrong with me.'
'Suffering the sort of traumatic shock you endured isn't something to be ashamed of. Diana slipped through your arms and fell off a roof. Of course you feel guilty. Anyone would.'
'She didn't "slip through my arms". I had hold of her, but she conned me into letting go.'
'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to suggest--'
'I had enough trouble convincing Professional Standards I hadn't colluded with her,' he said bitterly. 'I don't need you to start dragging that all up again. She kissed me! It's not exactly the sort of thing you expect a murder suspect to do, and I was so surprised I relaxed my grip. That's when she jumped. She knew exactly what she was doing.'
'I'm sorry, it must have been awful.'
'Of course it was awful, but what was worse was being accused of letting her jump. But you already know all this. We've been through it before, and I'm not doing it again. You'll just have to accept my word. I'm over it.'
Dr Newsome glanced down at her notes. 'But what about the stuff you told me that went with it? Didn't you tell me you couldn't sleep? And what about your appetite? According to my notes, you're not eating properly. It also says here you have no energy. Shall I go on?'
'That was when I first came here and it had just happened. I was exhausted, and a bit shell-shocked.'
'And what about now? Are you still shell-shocked?'
Slater sighed. 'I suppose I am a bit, yes, but I don't see why it's such a big deal. It's because I have nothing to do. I'm bored out of my mind.'
'What about your girlfriend? You've not really told me what's happened to her.'
Slater looked down at the ground. 'I don't have a girlfriend. She was getting itchy feet before I started this job, and then, once I was away for a few nights, it became obvious it was never going to work. She wanted her cake, and she wanted to eat it.'
'So you chose the job over her?'
'If you want to put it like that. I want a partner, I don't want to be involved with someone who just wants to keep me in a cage and manipulate me. Anyway, what's she got to do with anything?'
Dr Newsome put down her pen and looked at him levelly. 'Do you have a problem with women?'
Slater gawped at her. 'What? Why do you ask that?'
'I'm just curious to understand why you've never settled down.'
'Is that really relevant to me going back to work? Or are you just being nosey?'
She bobbed her head to acknowledge his point.
'You show me a happily married copper,' he continued, 'and I'll show you dozens who have been divorced at least once. It goes with the job. It seems to me that if you don't get married, you won't have to go through the hassle of a divorce.'
She looked at him for a long moment, and Slater dropped his eyes to the floor again.
'Tell me how you feel about Jenny now.'
'I don't actually seem to feel anything,' he said.
'Aren't you worried about where she is?'
'Not particularly. She's an adult and she's made her choice. No one asked her to go.'
'Are you saying you don't care about her at all? But wasn't she living with you?'
'Yes, but she was just using me, that's all.' Slater shifted uncomfortably in his chair under the scrutiny of the psychologist, who he knew was studying him carefully. He was struggling to put his feelings into words. In fact, he was struggling to find any feelings towards his former girlfriend, and he was experiencing the uncomfortable realisation that maybe he just didn't have any feelings for anything right now. But then if he said as much, would it condemn him to even more weeks of inactivity?
'You don't seem to know what to say,' she said. 'I want to help you, but I can't put words into your mouth.'
'I can form my own words, thank you,' he muttered.
'But you don't seem to be able to.'
'Maybe I just don't feel anything,' he blurted out.
'And that's normal for you, is it? I understood one of your qualities was empathy. You can't have empathy if you don't have feelings.'
Slater looked down at his hands. He realised he was picking at his fingernails.
'You've been doing that ever since you sat d
own,' Dr Newsome said. 'Is this something new? Or am I making you nervous today?'
He ignored the question and turned his attention to her legs for a few seconds. He had spent a lot of time studying her legs during these sessions, so he already knew they were very long – and very shapely – but it didn't hurt to be reminded once again.
'I just don't seem to be able to get past it. I need my job to focus upon,' he said eventually, looking up at her. 'It's like my brain's going to waste, and I can't sleep, because every time I close my eyes I just see Diana falling away from me.'
'It's called post-traumatic stress disorder,' Dr Newsome said. 'It's not unusual after such an incident. It's much better to face up to it and deal with it rather than trying to ignore it.'
'Ignore it?' Slater gave a hollow laugh. 'Believe me, I'd give my right arm to ignore it. The problem is, right now I have nothing else to think about. That's why I need to get back to work. Thinking about a case will drive all thoughts of Diana away.'
'But you can't go back to work until I'm convinced you're coping.'
'So what now? Are we just going to go round in circles?'
Dr Newsome smiled. 'Sometimes that's how these sessions work. We ride the merry-go-round until I'm sure you're ready to step off.'
Slater sighed again. 'Yes, I think I understand the concept. I'm just not convinced.'
'Not convinced about what?'
He picked at his fingernails again.
'Not convinced I can help you? Or not convinced you want to be helped?' Dr Newsome asked.
Slater tried to stifle a yawn but couldn't. 'These damned pills you prescribed do nothing but make me sleep. I can't see how they help.'
'I thought you just said you couldn't sleep,' she said. 'It sounds to me as if you're not actually taking the pills as prescribed.'
Slater looked guiltily back down at his hands.
'They won't help if you don't take them.'
'But they turn me into a zombie. I can't drive in that state.'
'You're not supposed to be driving if you're taking them!'
'Exactly,' said Slater. 'How else can I get around? Have you tried catching a bus lately?'
'I thought you had your friend staying with you?' Dr Newsome asked.
'Well, yeah, he is, but he's not there just to drive me around all the time. He's still got his own life to live.'
'But the tablets are there to help you sleep. We all need sleep, even you.' Dr Newsome sat back in her chair and crossed her legs. 'I can't work with you if you won't work with me.'
'I just want to get on with my life and get back to work.'
'And that is our shared dilemma,' she told him. 'Because, believe it or not, that's what I want too. The thing is, I'm the one with the power to say if it's going to happen or not. And let me be honest – do you think I'm likely to give you the all-clear if you won't cooperate?'
'Aww, come on, Andrea, I'm going mad here!'
Her lips twitched for just a moment. 'It's Dr Newsome, as you well know,' she said. 'It would be unethical and unprofessional for me to encourage a familiar relationship with one of my clients.'
Slater grinned. 'How about if I promise to take the sleeping pills every night? Will you let me go back to work then?'
'And how will I know you're taking them?' she asked. 'And before you ask, no, I will not come to your room every night to make sure.'
Slater blushed guiltily. Was he really so transparent?
'Yes, you can be quite transparent,' she said, as if she had read his mind. 'Perhaps if you didn't stare at my legs all the time. . .'
Slater squirmed under her gaze and the silence seemed to stretch out for hours.
'We haven't spoken about DS Brearley much, have we?' Dr Newsome asked suddenly. 'How do you get on with her?'
Slater shrugged. 'She's very competent.'
'That's rather noncommittal. She speaks very highly of you. She was very quick to speak in your defence. Very loyal.'
Slater felt a touch guilty. 'I've not worked with her for long,' he said, 'but I believe she's probably as good a DS as I'm ever likely to work with.'
'That's high praise indeed,' Dr Newsome said. 'So she has made an impression. Do you enjoy being with her?'
'I enjoy working with her. If you're trying to suggest there's anything else going on, you're wrong.'
'Would you like there to be something else going on? After all, she is very attractive. I can't believe you haven't noticed.'
Slater couldn't prevent the wry smile that accompanied his next line. 'It would be unethical and unprofessional for me to encourage a familiar relationship . . .'
She smiled. 'I'm sorry. My professional curiosity is getting the better of me. I don't mean to pry.'
'That's okay. You can pry as much as you want, there's nothing to find there.'
She studied his face for a moment, then she seemed to make a decision. 'Okay, here's the deal,' she said with a reassuring smile. 'I'll admit the pills you currently take deliver a pretty hefty dose, but I am prepared to give you a new, weaker prescription if you promise you will take them every night. They will help you sleep, but they won't knock you for six.
'I also insist you add my phone number to your mobile phone before you leave here, because your second promise is to ring me once a week to let me know how you're doing, and call me at any time if you feel you're not coping. That's any time, night or day, I want to know, right?'
Slater couldn't quite believe his ears. He had been convinced she was going to say no. 'Really? I can go back to work?'
'If you agree to my conditions and keep those two promises.'
'Of course I will! I'll even get my DS to make sure I take the tablets every night.'
'I mean it about the phone calls. Don't just pay lip service to it. If you do have a problem, I won't be able to help you if you keep it to yourself. If I send you back and it goes pear-shaped, you'll be back on assessment for months, and there won't be a thing I can do to stop it.'
'What happens now?' asked Slater. 'How soon can I start?'
'I will speak to your boss this afternoon and send him my report. The final decision is his, but he's never argued with one of my assessments before. As for how soon, that's up to him, but I'm sure he won't keep you waiting long.'
Chapter Two
Norman Norman had been friends with Slater for more than three years. They had hit it off more or less from the day they started working together, and now he regarded Slater as his best friend.
When he had heard Slater needed help after the traumatic conclusion of his last case, he had immediately volunteered to move into his spare room, and that's how he came to be living there now.
He had just parked his car and puffed his way to the front door, laden with shopping. As he opened the door, he could hear the telephone ringing. He rushed through the door, slamming it shut behind him, dropped the bags of shopping on the floor, and grabbed the phone. 'Hello?'
He listened as the caller made his introduction. It was Bradshaw, Dave Slater's boss.
'You've got some front, calling here,' said Norman.
'What's that supposed to mean?'
'I suppose you want to speak to Dave? Well, tough, he's not here.'
'I know he's not there,' Bradshaw said. 'I'm rather hoping he's attending his assessment appointment right now. That's why I'm calling. It's you I want to speak to. I need your help.'
'What about the investigation? You're hanging Dave out to dry, and you want me to help you? What kind of a friend do you think I am?' Norman said angrily.
'It rather sounds as though you're a misinformed one,' replied Bradshaw calmly. 'I'm not sure where you get your information, but I'm afraid you seem to have the wrong end of the stick. A suspect dies, Professional Standards investigate. You should have been around long enough to know how this works.'
'Now you're talking in riddles,' said Norman. 'I'm talking about the disciplinary investigation.'
'The riddles seem to be coming from your d
irection. There is no disciplinary investigation.'
Norman was quiet for a moment. 'I'm not with you. I was told Dave was going to be the subject of a disciplinary--'
'Oh, I see. And I suppose you got this news from . . .'
'I'm not revealing my sources,' said Norman hastily. 'I'm not going to give you an excuse to pick on someone else.'
'Now just a minute,' Bradshaw said. 'You really have got the wrong end of the stick. I'm not picking on anybody. You should know me well enough from the old days to know I'm not like that. I never have been, and I never will be. Detective Inspector Slater is not, I repeat, not, under investigation. Detective Sergeant Brearley is also not under investigation, and she will not be under investigation, even if she is the person who has wrongly informed you.'
'What about this rumour I've heard?'
'That's all it was. Someone, somewhere heard Detective Inspector Styles complaining because they had lost a murderer. That someone then decided to blow things out of all proportion, and before you know it, there's a rumour doing the rounds. I've spoken to Styles myself and he has assured me that although he was very angry at the time because they had a sure-fire conviction, he doesn't blame Slater for what happened, and he has no intention of making any formal complaint.'
'Are you sure about this?'
'Of course I am, and I'm disappointed you feel the need to doubt me.'
Norman felt somewhat uncomfortable as he thought about this. He had worked with Bradshaw many years ago, and it was true the man had a reputation for looking after his officers. Maybe they had all been a bit too quick to judge him and jump to Dave's defence.
