A Fatal Deception

by P. F. Ford

  'You really are behind all of this, aren't you?'

  Bradshaw folded his arms and stared at Norman. 'Rubbish,' he said. 'You can't prove it, and you know it.'

  Slater had been digging in his pockets. He threw his warrant card at Bradshaw.

  'What this?' asked Bradshaw.

  'I'm out of here,' said Slater, 'and I won't be coming back.'

  'I order you to stay right where you are.'

  'If I stay here much longer, there's going to be another murder,' said Slater, 'only I like to think I'm better than that.' He turned on his heel and marched from the office.

  'Slater, come back here,' called Bradshaw.

  Watson ran after Slater. 'Sir,' she called. 'Sir, wait.'

  He was away down the corridor, and she couldn't tell if he heard her or not, but she wasn't letting him get away that easily, and she rushed after him. It was as he pushed his way through the doors into the car park that she caught up with him. 'Sir, wait, please.'

  He stopped, but didn't turn around, so she ran to stand in front of him.

  'You can't leave like this!'

  Slater sighed and studied his feet for a moment. When he looked up, she could see the tears in his eyes.

  'D'you know,' he said, 'ever since I came to work here, that man has made a point of asking me how Jenny is, what she's up to, what she talks about. I used to think he was passing on what I said on to her parents, but when she told me about the Shapiros, Jenny also told me about her parents. He wasn't reporting back to them. He was just keeping tabs on her. That's one of the reasons why I didn't tell anyone why she left. I figured if Bradshaw didn't know, she might have a chance to get away without him finding out. I didn't know he had a guy on the inside there.'

  'Do you think he really could have arranged her death?' asked Watson.

  'I dunno, Sam. Norm seems to think so, and he's not often wrong.'

  'What are you going to do?'

  'I can't stay here. If I don't kill the man, I certainly won't ever respect him or trust him. You must be able to see that.'

  'Yes, of course I can,' she said. 'It's just . . . I don't know, I suppose I'm just being selfish, but I've really enjoyed working with you. I don't want it to stop.'

  'If it's any consolation, I think you're the best, I really do, but I can't stay here, even for you.'

  'I don't know what I'm going to do,' she said, a small tear beginning to glisten in the corner of one eye.

  'You're going to stay here and keep working,' he said. 'You've worked bloody hard to get where you are, and you'll be a DI before much longer. You don't want to throw all that away, do you?'

  'I suppose not.'

  He reached a hand to her face and gently wiped the tear away with his thumb. He smiled encouragingly. 'You look after yourself, and make sure you keep that bionic knee well oiled, d'you hear me.'

  She nodded.

  'I'd better go before I change my mind and go back in there,' he said.

  'Can I do one thing before you go?'

  'Sure,' he said.

  She stepped forward and kissed him, her lips a gentle, warm, softness on his. 'It wouldn't have been right and proper for me to kiss my boss,' she said as she stepped back, 'but now, if you're not going to be my boss, well . . .'

  She smiled a slightly shy smile, then turned and walked back through the doors, stopping to look through the window and offer a quick wave before she disappeared from view.

  Slater licked his lips, as if he needed to make sure that had really happened, and then headed for his car.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Five minutes later Norman and Darling emerged from the building and crossed the car park. As Darling started her car, Norman's mobile phone started to ring. 'Yeah, Norman,' he called wearily into the phone.

  'It's Steve Casey here. Remember me?'

  'Yeah, of course I remember,' said Norman, 'though I have to say you're not exactly a fond memory. What do you want?'

  'It's the kid in hospital. You've been to visit him a couple of times, so I thought you'd want to know.'

  'Want to know what? Has he come round?'

  'I'm afraid not. It's gone the other way.'

  'You mean he's got worse?'

  'No, I mean he's dead.'

  Norman couldn't quite believe his ears. 'What?'

  'I just got a call from the hospital. They couldn't save him, he died a couple of hours ago.'

  Norman had been trying hard to keep the alarm out of his voice, but now he realised Darling had picked up on it, and the car hadn't moved an inch.

  'What is it?' she asked.

  'I'll call you back in a few minutes,' Norman told Casey and ended the call.

  'Norm, what is it?' she asked again.

  He tossed his phone onto the floor and turned to face her. 'It's Spiderhair,' he said. 'They couldn't save him. The poor kid died a couple of hours ago.'

  At first her face seemed to freeze in a horrible mask of shock, but then the tears came, and as they did they seemed to wash all expression away. Norman reached across and held her to him while she sobbed her heart out.

  'I'm so sorry,' he said, when she had finally calmed down. 'You really liked him, didn't you?'

  'He was a nice kid,' she sobbed. 'Why did anyone need to hurt him?'

  'I know,' said Norman, softly. 'He didn't deserve any of this.'

  'He would have been all on his own when he died,' she wailed. 'Someone should have been there for him. I should have been there!'

  'We didn't know he was going to die,' said Norman.

  'I still should have been there,' she said. 'No one should die like that with nobody to care. I want to go back. I want to try and find his family, or at least make sure he gets a proper funeral.'

  'We'll go back down tomorrow--'

  'No, I want to go right now!' she said.

  'Okay, okay,' he said. 'But let me drive. You're way too upset.'

  'I'm fine.'

  'You are not. I'll only come with you if you let me drive.'

  'That bloody Bradshaw has to pay for this,' she said. 'He can't get away with it.'

  'Yeah, but he didn't actually kill anyone, did he?' said Norman. 'It was Driver that ran the kid down, and he's dead. We can't prove anything.'

  'There must be something we can get him for,' said Darling. 'We've got to get him, Norm.'

  'We'll never prove he killed anyone, and I doubt we can prove he set this all up. He's not denying he knows Driver, and Driver is the only one who knew the truth. C'mon, let's change places and I'll drive.'

  Reluctantly Darling eased her door open and climbed from the car.

  'Can I use your phone?' she asked, as she settled in the passenger seat.

  'Help yourself, it's on the floor down there somewhere.'

  She found the phone and hit redial. 'Casey? It's Naomi Darling.'

  'Oh, I was going to call you.'

  'You were? What for?'

  'I've been thinking about that kid. I'm partly responsible for his death, and I want to do the right thing.'

  'I'm sorry?'

  'It's my fault your friend's death was swept under the carpet, and it's my fault this kid's dead. I never meant things to go that far.'

  'What exactly do you mean, when you say "it's your fault"?'

  'It was just meant to be a bit of easy money, you know? Look the other way, and say what I was told to say. I admit I'm lazy, and I've taken the odd backhander before, but I didn't know anyone was going to get hurt.'

  'So what are you going to do?'

  'I'd like to make a statement.'

  'What sort of statement?'

  There was a sigh. 'I was in the middle. I passed messages from Bradshaw to Driver. I could have stopped it. If I had refused to pass the messages on, your friends might still be alive.'

  'You're serious?'

  'I am.'

  'We're on the way there now.'

  'I'm on lates,' said Casey. 'Call me when you get here and I'll come and meet you.'

&
nbsp; Darling ended the call and turned to Norman. 'Casey wants to make a statement about Bradshaw!'

  'Yeah? Is he for real?'

  'He sounds it. He says he was passing information from Bradshaw to Driver. It might not prove murder, but it should be enough to finish his bloody career.'

  'Well, I guess even a small victory would be better than none at all,' said Norman, as he put the car into gear.

  In the middle of the car park he could see Slater was sitting in his car, talking on his mobile phone, so he eased alongside and wound down his window. He watched as Slater ended his phone call, then his window glided smoothly down.

  'Are you okay?' asked Norman.

  'Yeah, I guess so. Jenny didn't deserve that, you know?'

  'Yeah, tell me about it. That bastard organised it, and he thinks he's got away with it.'

  'Bradshaw's a slippery sod,' said Slater. 'He will have covered his tracks. He knows you can't prove he was involved, doesn't he? The only guy who could have proved it was Driver, and he's dead.'

  Norman grinned. 'Yeah, that's what we thought, but we just got a call from Bradshaw's go-between down on the coast. It seems this guy has a conscience. He's offered to make a confession. D'you wanna come?'

  'Yeah, well, good luck with that,' said Slater, starting his car, 'and thanks for the offer, but right now I feel I've had enough of this stuff to last a lifetime.'

  'Are you going home?'

  Slater pursed his lips. 'I dunno.' He wiggled the phone in his hand. 'I was going to, but now I'm thinking I might take a detour on the way.'

  'Anywhere nice?'

  'You might call it the promised land.' Slater winked, put his car into gear, and eased away. Norman stared after him.

  'Where did he say he was going?' asked Darling.

  'I think he said, "the promised land".'

  'What does that mean?'

  'I have no idea.'

  <<<<>>>>

  Norman Norman’s Christmas Novella

  This Slater and Norman novel is rather shorter than I had anticipated. Of course I could have padded out the story with lots of irrelevant text, but that wouldn’t be right. Sometimes it just takes less words to tell the story, and that’s what happened in this case. However, I don’t want anyone to feel short-changed, so there’s a surprise novella included after the main story.

  Called ‘Norman Norman’s Christmas Novella’, it picks up the story a couple of weeks after this one ends and tells what happened to Norman in the days leading up to Christmas.

  I hope you enjoy it.

  Chapter One

  Monday 15th December

  Norman Norman had been in the shower for fifteen minutes. For at least half of that time, he had been standing still. If anyone had asked why he would perhaps have said he was hoping the water pounding on his head would force his lethargy out. Or, maybe he was hoping it would drive in his usual good humour which seemed to have deserted him of late.

  He reached for the tap and turned the shower off. Whatever he may have been hoping for, it seemed nothing had changed. He opened the bifold door and stepped from the cubicle. As he reached for a towel, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

  He stopped and stared at his reflection. He had worked hard to improve his fitness since his heart attack, and had lost so much weight he often described himself as "half the man I was." Now, as he studied the figure before him, he could see there was still plenty more work to do.

  Because it was wet, his hair was quite well behaved, but the pasty, saggy, body he saw reminded him of something, and it took a few seconds before he realised what it was. Then he recalled he had once watched a butcher preparing a haggis, and now he sighed at the realisation. That was it; he looked like a giant, half-filled, haggis!

  He swivelled the mirror, so he could no longer see himself, and grabbed the towel. As he began to dry himself, he made a promise this self-pity stuff was going to stop. Okay, so maybe things hadn't quite worked out the way he had hoped, but at least he still had his health. In fact, he was probably healthier now than he had been in years.

  He figured all he needed to do now was add some muscle tone, and then he would look pretty good. Maybe that's what he should do today; go and join a gym. It would give him something positive to focus upon, and once he had the toned body, he could join one of those online dating sites he had read about.

  Of course, by the time he had dressed and got down to the kitchen, his enthusiasm had faded and all but died. This was in stark contrast to his hair which was now coming to life as it dried and adopting a style all of its own. Norman had given up worrying about this years ago. As far as he was concerned, the fact his hair didn't really have a recognised style was a unique style in itself.

  It had seemed a great idea to stay at the house of his friend, Dave Slater, while he was abroad, but now he found being there on his own just seemed to emphasise his loneliness, and he wished Dave was here now. Of course, he could have taken up Slater's offer and accompanied him to Thailand, but taking the trip had been an impetuous decision much like the one that had led his friend to walk away from his job. It wasn't the first time Slater had walked away like this, and when he had then mentioned something about trying to find himself in Thailand, Norman had rapidly become convinced this wasn’t for him and he should decline the offer.

  He thought the increasingly erratic Slater needed to sort himself out somehow, but he wasn't too sure how going to Thailand would help. Secretly he feared Slater was going to join some mystical cult. He genuinely hoped this trip would provide an answer, and that Slater would come back with his head together, but he also thought it was something his friend needed to do on his own. Besides, it could get hot in Thailand, and Norm didn't do hot!

  To make matters worse for Norman, he couldn't even call Naomi Darling. Naomi was like the daughter he had never had, and she could always be guaranteed to lift his spirits, but they had recently worked a case together in which a young man had been murdered. Naomi had blamed herself for his death, and after the case, like Slater, she had gone away for a couple of weeks to try and get over it.

  He poured himself a bowl of cereal, and as he slowly chewed, he gazed out of the kitchen window at the grey December day and contemplated the real reason for his current malaise.

  Norman had first met Jane Jolly about three years before when he had come to work at Tinton. He had been immediately attracted to her, and after working together, they had become good friends. She had even invited him home to meet her husband and children. Everything had been fine, but then her husband had gone off the rails and kidnapped Norman, having been led to believe something was going on that wasn't.

  Jane's husband had subsequently gone to prison, and Jane had left the police. But, during that time Norman had stood by her and they had become closer. Jane then divorced her husband, and the children seemed to be happy enough having Norm around.

  It was just around the time they were thinking Norm should move in when the kids suddenly decided it was all his fault their dad was in prison. The once happy atmosphere between Jane, Norm, and the kids had rapidly deteriorated after that. Norman knew he couldn't ask a mother to choose between him and her children, so he had done the only thing he felt he could, and walked away from his chance of happiness.

  It would be Tuesday the 16th December tomorrow, and as a Christmas lover, Norm would usually be full of warm good humour. Right now, though, the prospect of a lonely Christmas was filling him with dread rather than seasonal good cheer.

  He realised his mobile phone was ringing.

  'Yo, Norman,' he said, wearily.

  'Is that Mr Norman, the detective?'

  'That's me.'

  'Good morning, Mr Norman. My name is Dr Curtis Bartholomew. I'm the Principal at Tinton Performing Arts College.'

  'Good morning, Dr Bartholomew. What can I do for you?'

  'I understand you're a private detective.'

  'Yes, that's correct.'

  'We have a little pr
oblem at the College. I was hoping you might be interested in helping us sort it out.'

  'What sort of little problem?'

  'Why don't you come along to my office at the College at, say 11 o'clock, and we can discuss it there.'

  'I think that will be okay, but let me just check my diary,' said Norman. He counted to ten in his head and then spoke again. 'Yes, I'm free this morning, Dr Bartholomew. I'll see you at 11.'

  Of course, Norman didn't possess a diary, and he knew he had nothing else to do that morning. But he felt it didn't hurt to let people think he was busy enough that he needed to consult his diary before making an appointment.

  Just a mile from the town centre, Tinton College had originally been just another further education college but had slowly begun to make a name for itself as the place to go if you had a flair for the performing arts. Then, twenty years ago, someone had the bright idea of finding sponsorship to develop that particular niche and soon Tinton Performing Arts College was born.

  Once it had become home to a thriving performing arts sector, the addition of student accommodation enabled them to take in students from all over the country. The college now had an excellent reputation and as a result received additional funding from many sources, which enabled it to continue to grow and offer something new.

  In gratitude to the town of Tinton for making its students so welcome, the college threw it's doors open to the locals whenever they put on a show. The most popular one by far was the Christmas show, which this year was going to be a student production of Jesus Christ Superstar. It was the highlight of the year, and more than one student who had starred in the annual Christmas show had gone on to achieve fame and fortune in a West End show. So it was something every student took very seriously.

  As Norman parked his car, his mobile phone announced the arrival of an incoming text message. There was a time when he had been a slave to his phone and the temptation to open the message there and then would have been too much to resist, but recently he had been training himself to be more disciplined. Now he was the boss, not the phone.